Page 13 of Returned to the Vissigroth
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The dragoons followed his lead with the kind of obedience that didn’t come from fear; it was born from deep respect.
Gods, he was terrifying.
And beautiful.
And I—I was nothing. Just a ragged girl inside a bloodstained crawlspace, heart beating too loud, too fast. In that moment, when he rode into my world like a death sentence, I remembered thinking:He looks like he belongs to the sky.
I woke with a gasp.
"Daphne? Are you alright?"
It was him. The male from my dream. Older, but that made him look only more handsome to me. My heart was still beating in a rhythm that was too fast and too terrifying. Even as the memories of the dream faded like the smoke I had seen and smelled, I could still feelhim. I could still feel the impact he had on me back then.
I scooted back on the bed, unsure if the vissigroth was going to kill or kiss me. My body buzzed with residual fear and memory, though I couldn’t grasp the dream anymore. It had broken apart too fast; fragmented impressions were already slipping betweenthe cracks of my waking mind. Smoke. Blood. A nicta leaping over fire. Eyes like carved obsidian.
And him.
He was the only thing that remained sharp. Not his voice. Not his name. Just the weight of him. He stepped forward carefully, slowly, as if I were a wounded animal who might bolt or lash out. His movements were impossibly controlled for a male his size, every shift of muscle honed and deliberate. He looked like he belonged in armor and blood, not in the quiet space of my confusion.
“Daphne,” he said gently. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”
I tried to smile, but my muscles didn’t quite remember how. “I’m alright. I had… just… a bad dream.”
The smile felt forced. It felt false. I wanted it to be true. I wanted to believe I was fine. But I could still feel, even though I had no memory of the way the city burned, the way the stones trembled beneath war-shod hooves. My hands were shaking under the blanket.
He stopped at the edge of the bed, his steady gaze took me in, his eyes searching for lies while his voice dropped to a low hush. “You don’t have to fear me. I swear to you, I will never hurt you.”
Something about the way he said it made my throat tighten. I didn’t think he was lying. But I couldn’t stop watching him like he might break me open anyway. He crouched, his posture made him smaller, not less dangerous, but less looming. Like he knew how large he was. How much space he took up. Like he was trying, somehow, to give me back a little space of my own.
"Want to talk about it? The dream?" He asked.
"I don't even remember it…" I tried for a wry smile. That seemed to be the theme of my life right now. Not remembering. Not even a dream that had shaken me to the core five minutes ago.
He didn't reply, just gave me time to gather myself. I took a deep breath and looked at him for a long moment. “You said you’re my mate.”
He nodded once. “Zyn.”
“Why don’t I remember you?” My voice cracked. “I don’t remember anything.”
His expression didn’t shift, not much, but something behind his eyes faltered. “I know,” he said quietly. “It’s alright. You don’t have to remember right now.”
I looked away, down at my hands, then out the large panoramic window that showed stars slipping past like shards of cold light.
“How long until we reach Leander?”
“We'll get there tomorrow.” He promised.
I nodded, biting my lip. The question surged up again, harder to resist than ever. “When will I see Myccael?”
He hesitated; it was faint, but I caught it. Something about my wanting to see Myccael made him uncomfortable. He rose back to his full height, but he kept his voice steady, the way he would if he were trying to tame a scared nicta.
“Once we land, it'll be a three-day ride to Bantahar,” he said. “You’ll see him then.”
Three days. It felt like an eternity.
I wasn’t even sure why it mattered so much, why Myccael's name burned on my mind, urging me to get to him. I didn’tknowhim. But something in me did. Some thread I couldn’t name kept pulling me toward him, tighter every day.
Still, when I looked at the male before me, the male who claimed I was his, my heart stuttered.
