Page 175 of Shifting Hearts 1
I followed her.
Not because I trust her, but because I trust the Wyrd more.
The ruins were a cathedral to the forgotten gods. The crumbling stones are slick with purple-green moss, the colours sickly and unnatural, like decay frozen in bloom. I can’t help but think how fitting the location is, given I’m not alone. Had I been, I wondered if the moss would have been more alive than dead. The door groans on its hinges when it's pushed open, eliciting a sound that’s reminiscent of a human scream, as we step inside.
I shook the water from my coat, droplets spattering the dirt floor and stirring up the scent of damp earth. The cathedral breathed around us—every gust of wind through the cracks like the sigh of something long dead.
Eris peeled off her cloak, the fabric heavy with rain. Pale arms emerged, carved with bone-coloured runes that caught what little light there was. They seemed to shift if I looked too long, as though the ink remembered pain. The wound in her palm was still bleeding, crimson sliding down to her wrist, but she tucked it quickly into her sleeve, hiding it like a secret she wasn’t ready to share.
“This place is Wyrd-bound,” she whispered.
She was right, of course. I could feel it. The air wasn’t just heavy—it thrummed. Old magic, bone deep magic. Not light, not dark, something older than either. My wolf stirred, pacing beneath my skin, claws raking, teeth bared, desperate to be loosed into this wild current of power.
“There’s a ward on the threshold,” she said, voice low but steady. “Once we cross it, we will have sealed the rite.”
A growl clawed its way out of my throat. “What rite?”
Her mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “Sanctuary.”
I tested the door with my shoulder, but it didn’t budge. The hinges screamed, the storm outside shrieked louder, rattling the stones like a warning.
Eris tilted her head, watching me. “If either of us tries to leave before dawn, we break the pact.”
“And?”
“And the cathedral will destroy us.”
I slammed a hand against the doorframe. Wyrd fire erupted across the stone, veins of light spider-webbing outward. The scent of ozone filled my lungs.
Trapped, in a ruined church, with the last person alive I wanted to be with.
Fucking perfect. If I didn’t know better, I’d say fate planned it this way.
The hours stretched like sinew, thin and unyielding. Shadows crawled across the cathedral, bending with every flicker of lightning that slashed through the broken roof. She sat across the chamber by a low altar, her back pressed to the wall as if she drew strength from the stones. Her eyes never left me. And I never looked away from her.
We circled each other in silence, not with steps but with stares. The air between us crackled, heavy with all the things left unsaid. It pressed in, thick as the storm outside that waged war outside.
I shifted restlessly, the stone beneath me digging into my palms. “Tell me the truth,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “What are you?”
She lifted her head slowly, as if weighing how much truth I deserved. “Half bone witch. Half dark fey. I told you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Her smile curved, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “I know.”
The words struck deeper than I wanted them to. I rose and stalked closer, each step stirring the dust on the floor, the urge to tear through her wards crawling beneath my skin like fire. “You swore an oath,” I said, low, dangerous. “To kill someone. Years ago.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t know it was me?”
“I didn’t remember.” Her voice sharpened, edged with something brittle. “The court fed me lies. You think I wouldn’t have fought it if I had?”
I stopped close enough to see the faint blue veins running beneath her pale skin, close enough to reach out and close thedistance between us. My hand twitched, but I didn’t touch her. Couldn’t.
“You dreamed of killing me too,” she whispered.
“I dreamt of a lot of things.” My voice rasped, rough as gravel. “Some of them worse than death.”
