Page 42 of Roar Me Like You Mean It
Jennifer’s voice on the steps of the Capitol, steady as steel. Her hands binding wounds in Berlin, ash streaking her face. Her breath soft against my chest when she whispered equal.
The rage doesn’t vanish, but it sharpens. Becomes something cleaner.
“Not revenge,” I say finally, my voice rough. “Protection.”
Michaelis stares, caught off guard. “You mean?—”
“Yes.” I turn, already moving, my decision iron. “Get the jet ready. We leave tonight. She won’t stay here another hour.”
She’s asleep when I step into her room. The curtains are half drawn, moonlight spilling across her face, softening the sharp lines of her stubbornness. She looks younger like this, as though the weight of the world hasn’t carved itself into her yet. But even in sleep, she doesn’t let go fully. Her fists are curled, her body tense, as though ready to spring at the first sound.
I stand there for a moment, silent, watching her chest rise and fall. Something inside me aches in a way I haven’t let myself feel in centuries. The bond hums steady, threading through my ribs, pulling tight with every breath she takes.
She stirs as I step closer, her eyes fluttering open, hazy with sleep. “Malek?”
“We have to go.”
Her voice is rough, heavy. “Now?”
“Yes.” I kneel, brushing hair from her face, the words dragging slow but firm. “Roman sent men to one of my oldest strongholds. He’s getting too close. I won’t risk you here.”
She pushes up on her elbows, eyes narrowing, stubborn fire already sparking. “So we run?”
My jaw tightens. “We move. To somewhere older. Safer. Sacred.”
She studies me for a long moment, then nods, sharp, no argument left in her. She trusts me. That truth lands harder than any blow.
The flight is silent. She sits beside me in the jet, her eyes fixed on the dark clouds outside, her fingers brushing the seal I gave her as though it steadies her more than the seatbelt ever could. Michaelis briefs the men quietly, their voices low, but I ignore it all. My mind is on the ground waiting ahead.
Sacred ground.
There aren’t many left—places untouched by Syndicate claws, places that still remember the old blood and the old vows. This one lies hidden in the Carpathians, deep in a valley where the earth itself hums with power, where covens and clans once stood shoulder to shoulder before the split. Few remember it. Roman will. But he won’t dare breach it yet.
The jet touches down before dawn, the sky gray, the air biting cold. From there, we drive for hours, the road narrowing, the mountains pressing close, the trees so thick the headlights carve tunnels through them. Jennifer stays awake the whole time, her hand resting on her lap, her gaze sharp as she watches the wilderness slide past.
At last, we arrive.
The valley opens before us, wide and deep, its floor carpeted in frost. At the center rises a circle of stones, weathered and massive, their surfaces carved with runes older than language.Pines ring the clearing, their branches heavy with snow, their silence absolute. The air hums faintly, the kind of hum you don’t hear but feel, crawling along your skin, vibrating in your bones.
Jennifer steps out of the car, her breath catching. “What is this place?”
I move to her side, my voice quiet. “The first refuge. Before the Pact, before the split. Witches and shifters together. They called it the Circle of Ash.”
She walks forward slowly, her hand brushing one of the stones, her fingers tracing the grooves cut deep into its surface. She doesn’t flinch at the hum. She doesn’t recoil. She breathes it in, her shoulders squaring, her eyes steady.
“It feels alive,” she murmurs.
“It is,” I answer.
She turns to me, her hair catching the pale light, her face fierce. “You brought me here because you think he won’t touch it.”
“No,” I say, stepping closer, my chest tight. “I brought you here because it knows you. Because you belong.”
The words leave me before I can stop them, raw and heavy, but true. She stares at me, eyes wide, and for a moment the world holds its breath.
The lion presses against my ribs, restless, but not in warning. In recognition.
I take her hand, guiding her toward the center of the circle, where the frost hasn’t touched the ground. My voice drops, low, carrying weight I haven’t given anyone in centuries. “Here, no Syndicate blade can reach you. Not while I still breathe.”
