Page 12 of Moonlit Desires

She glances around the tavern—at the faces of people she's served for years, people whose lives and problems she knows intimately. They stare back with a mixture of fear, confusion, and dawning hostility. Whatever happens next, she can't let it happen here.

"Fine," she says. "I'll come. But these people have nothing to do with this. Leave them out of it."

The storm-eyed man smiles. "Wise decision. After you."

As Lyra moves from behind the bar, a ripple of unease passes through the patrons. The dock worker who spoke to Kael rises halfway from his seat.

"You sure about this, girl?" he calls. "These fellows don't look right to me."

The storm-eyed man turns, his pleasant expression never wavering. "Sit down, old man. This doesn't concern you."

"Seems like it might," the dock worker persists. "Especially after what your friend told us yesterday about the Moon Court and curses and whatnot."

A dangerous silence falls. The storm-eyed man's companions exchange glances, hands drifting toward concealed weapons. The patrons sense the shift, bodies tensing, chairs scraping back.

"You've been misinformed," the leader says, his voice hardening. "There's no such thing as—"

The windows implode with a deafening crash. Glass rains across the tavern as a figure lands in a crouch atop the center table. Thorne's golden eyes burn with feral intensity, his lips pulled back in a snarl that's more animal than human. Behind him, shadows detach from the walls, solidifying into Riven's silver-haired form. The temperature drops precipitously as frost crawls across the floorboards.

"Actually," Riven drawls, "we're quite real."

The storm-eyed man's face contorts with rage. "Guardians," he spits. "Always interfering where you're not wanted."

"Funny," Thorne growls, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. "I was about to say the same to you."

Chaos erupts. The patrons scramble for the exits as the storm-eyed man hurls a bolt of crackling energy toward Thorne. The shapeshifter dodges with inhuman speed, lunging forward, body blurring as it begins to change—limbs elongating, teethsharpening, clothing splitting as muscle and sinew reshape themselves.

Riven gestures, and shadows wrap around two of the Storm Court agents, binding them like living ropes. They struggle, pulling knives that glint with unnatural blue light.

"Lyra!" Riven shouts above the din. "Run!"

But the storm-eyed leader is already grabbing for her, fingers sparking with painful electrical charge. Lyra ducks, the pendant swinging wildly around her neck. It catches the light, flaring with sudden silver brilliance.

The storm-eyed man recoils as if burned. "The royal sigil," he hisses. "So it is true."

Lyra backs away, bumping into tables, desperate for an escape route. Around her, the tavern has become a battlefield—fae magic crackling against walls, patrons screaming, furniture splintering. This is her fault. All of it. Maya's disappearance. The fear in the city. The danger to everyone she knows.

"Where is Maya?" she demands, louder now. "Tell me what you've done with her!"

The storm-eyed man laughs, cruel and delighted. "She's with Lord Stormborn now. A guest of the Storm Court. And if you ever want to see her again, you'll come with us willingly."

A shadow falls across Lyra's vision—not Riven's controlled darkness, but something deeper, colder. A voice whispers in her ear, calm amid the chaos.

"He lies," Ashen says, materializing beside her like mist becoming solid. "I have seen her. Your friend is at the abandoned lighthouse. Three of Caelum's servants hold her there. A trap for you."

The storm-eyed man lunges, but Ashen is already moving, pulling Lyra toward the kitchen's back exit. Behind them, Thorne—now more wolf than man—pins one of the agents tothe floor with massive paws. Riven dances through shadow, her laughter bright and terrible as her blades find flesh.

"Kael is waiting," Ashen whispers. "We must go. Now."

Lyra hesitates, looking back at the ruined tavern—at the place that has been her sanctuary for years, now destroyed because of what she is. Patrons cower under tables or flee through broken windows. The city watch lies unconscious by the door, victims of the Storm Court's initial attack.

"I can't just leave," she protests. "Maya—"

"Will die if you are captured," Ashen says, his pale eyes suddenly focused and intense. "I have seen it. Trust me, Lyra. Please."

The storm-eyed man roars in frustration as Thorne and Riven block his path. "This isn't over, princess! We know who you are now! Nowhere in this city is safe for you!"

The terrible truth of his words sinks into Lyra's bones. As long as she remains, everyone around her is in danger. Her ordinary life ended the moment her mark appeared.

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