Page 25 of Shifting Hearts 1
Their steps falter. Their movements turn stiff, as if something unseen is pressing into their bones, causing them to hesitate and struggle.
I don’t understand.
And I don’t try.
I just keep running.
Branches whip against my skin, cutting deep. My breath is ragged, raw, scraping my throat with every gasp. The world tilts as my pulse hammers so violently I can hear it, feel it like it’s thundering against my skull.
Something is happening, not to them, but tome.
And yet, I don’t stop.
I don’t think.
I will myself not to turn around to see the confusion in their eyes, the uncertainty in their stance. I can’t stop to question why Aldric, who once commanded me with nothing but his voice, can’t seem to hold control anymore.
I just run.
Because I am a mistake, an exile, a shadow slipping through the trees.
I still believe they will catch me, because that’s the only thing that makes sense in my mind.
The rain hammers down, soaking through the torn fabric of my shirt, clinging to my skin like ice. My lungs burn, my legs shake, but I keep moving, one step, then another, until the glow of headlights and neon flickers through the storm ahead.
I don’t think, I don’t hesitate. I push forward.
The door swings open under my weight, heavy and worn as the scent of whiskey, leather, and smoke punches through the damp night air.
The bar is crowded. Too many bodies, too much noise, but I don’t care. I barely feel my feet hit the floor.
Heat. The overwhelming press of it. The suffocating contrast between the cold outside and the fire within.
I stagger forward, breath ragged, leaving puddles in my wake. My fingers dig into the bar top, slick and trembling, gripping the edge because it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Eyes turn toward me. Slow. Calculating.
I swallow, throat tight, heart still hammering against my ribs. The weight in my chest still lingers, curling through my veins, pressing against my skull like an unseen force.
I don’t understand it.
Then, someone moves.
From the shadows at the far end of the bar, a man rises. Golden eyes catch the dim light—not glowing, but burning. Inhuman. Impossible. And yet, something in me reaches for him.
He stands, and all at once my knees crumble beneath me and I’m on the floor.
I can feel the vibrations of his feet pounding against the floor as he ventures toward me, but the searing pain is back, and this time I can’t control its power flooding through me.
Shadows cloud my vision and mirages dance before me until I’m nothing more than a sopping mess on the bar floor as the darkness sets in.
I’m too tired to move, leaving me bereft of feeling. The golden embers of his eyes are the last thing I see before the darkness claims me, and the storm inside me finally goes silent.
ONE
Kieran
The Fire Pit quiets as I move through it—smoke thick, air heavy, every gaze tracking my steps like gravity itself. The bar hums around me; low voices, the scrape of glass against wood, the steady rhythm of bodies lost in their own worlds. But the second she stumbled through that door, everything shifted.
