A softclick of steel against stone.

She hears it too, because herbody goes rigid.

Dark elves.

Coming this way.

I glance toward the entrance of the temple, stretching out my senses.

There arethree.No—four.Moving in formation.

Hunters.

Nora grips the fabric of her torn tunic, her nails digging into the cloth. Her pulseraces.

They are coming for her.

And they will have to go through me first.

I roll my shoulders, letting the molten heat beneath my skinflare brighter, hotter.

My hunger roars to life, uncoiling like a beast in the dark.

The girl does not yet understand what she has woken.

5

NORA

The sound of approaching footfalls istoo light, too careful.

Hunters.

My breath catches, the weight of the realization pressing against my ribs.They have found me.

Of course, they have.The dark elves always find their prey.

The old temple offers little protection. The roof is half-collapsed, moonlight filtering through in broken fragments.There is nowhere to hide, no way to run.I am still too weak, my magic tangled and slow, my body not yet recovered from the bond—from him.

Rhaegar shifts beside me, his molten gaze flickering toward the entrance. His wings, still moreshadow than substance, curl at the edges, like a beast scenting the air before a kill.

"How many?" I whisper, barely daring to move.

"Four," he says. His voice is quiet,unhurried."Hunters."

My stomach clenches.They are not just soldiers.Hunters are specialists.They do not miss.They do notfail.

They have been trained to track and kill creatures like me, and creatures like him.

The temple’s silence stretches thin, suffocating. The scent ofblood and damp earthlingers in the air. The stone beneath my hands is slick with condensation, cold seeping into my bones.

Suddenly, a whisper of movement.

Thefirst arrow strikes.

Iflinch, but Rhaegar movesfaster.

His wings snap outward, half-formed andshimmering with unnatural darkness.The arrow meant for my throatshattersagainst his skin, the force of it barely making him flinch.