Page 43 of Emylia

Jaw clenched, I tightened my core and drew the string back again.

My arms trembled. Fire licked through every muscle. I gritted my teeth and pulled harder—but it was no use. The bow refused to yield.

Defeated, I slumped.

Deep down, I knew the truth. No matter how many times I tried, no matter how hard I pushed—I’d never fire this bow.

Plain and simple: I wasn’t strong enough.

Curse the Gods. Because this?

This straight-up sucked.

“I’m impressed with the effort.” The cool, confident voice sliced through the silence, sharp enough to draw blood.

My head snapped up—and locked onto two stunning cerulean eyes. Emerald flared in response as I glared at him like I could set him on fire with just a look.

Honestly? I probably could.

How long had Maalikai been watching me?

The real question was—how stupid was I to think I was alone?

Didn’t matter now. He’d caught me red-handed, still clutching the Gods-damned bow like a prize idiot. There was no talking my way out of this one. I was going to be in so much trouble.

Oh my Gods, I was going to get banished.

Branded.

Publicly humiliated.

Then how would I protect my mother? Oh my Gods, I'd so royally stuffed up. I’d crossed the line. No—I’d crossed it, set it on fire, and danced naked on the ashes.

Clearly, I shouldn’t be trusted with decisions. Like… ever. And now my fate was in the hands of a stranger. A stupidly attractive, infuriatingly mysterious stranger. But still. A stranger.

My eyes narrowed, digging into his. Even though everything was riding on him, I wasn’t about to cower. I’d rather go down with pure, unbridled violence.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed.

Maalikai stepped forward.

Not just forward—into my space, like he owned the damn air I breathed. His fingers curled around mine, and heat surged up my arm like fire licking bone.

“I came,” he murmured, “to get my bow.”

My gaze dropped to the weapon still clenched in my hand. Then back to his. His eyes shimmered—a flash of steel-blue, then stormcloud gray.

“This is yours?”

“Mmm.” The sound was low. Rough. Almost a growl. It vibrated in my chest in ways I definitely wasn’t ready to unpack. I jerked my hand, but his grip didn’t budge.

My fingers twitched uselessly in his hold.

“I—I’m sorry,” I said, voice catching against my will.

Damn nerves.

His mouth curved, Ezekiel-slick. “No, you’re not,” he said, and his voice was full of velvet challenge. “Not really.”

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