I’d touched her body. Washed the blood from her skin. Felt the weight of her trust like a blade at my throat. And gods help me, I wanted more.
I passed two corners before I realized I’d walked straight past Lysara’s chambers. Cursed under my breath, turned back.
When I reached the door, I knocked once—twice. Loud enough to wake her if she’d already turned in.
“Lysara,” I called. “I know it’s late, but?—”
The door opened. Santiago answered. Hair mussed, shirtless, eyes bleary—but grinning.
“Uh. This is not what you think. Also, why do you smell like a field of flowers?”
I stared at him for one long, painful beat.Then let my gaze drop deliberately to the bruising on his shoulder and the red scratch trailing down his ribs.
“Did the cat win?” I asked flatly.
He looked down at himself, then back up, unfazed. “She fought valiantly.”
“I bet.”
Before he could retort, Lysara appeared behind him, robe hastily tied, cheeks pink. She stepped forward, her eyes already scanning mine. “What is it, Malachi?”
I hesitated.“She’s… changing,” I said quietly. “Kaelith gave her something—a sedative, he said. To keep her calm while it begins.”
Lysara stiffened. She didn’t need me to explain; she could feel it.
“Her skin was colder. Her pulse weaker. And it wasn’t easing, it was sinking deeper, like it meant to root itself in her bones.”
I dragged a hand down my face, already turning over the only path left. Kaelith had shifted the balance. If I couldn’t stop what he’d begun, then I had to learn how to sever it—or keep him from claiming more than he already had. The Nightmother. The old bonds. The first Vampyres. Somewhere in their histories lay an answer.
Lysara’s lips parted, but no sound came.
“She needs someone with her. Someone who can anchor her if she wakes in the middle of it, confused and afraid. And someone who knows what signs to watch for if the change accelerates.”
Lysara’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ll go.”
I glanced past Lysara, to Santi leaning in the doorway behind her.“And if something shifts physically, if there’s pain, he should be there. Just in case.”
I nodded once and turned before either of them could see too far past the cracks I hadn’t patched yet.Because if they did… they’d know I was afraid. And I didn’t know if it was for her—or of her.
“Malachi, wait.” Santi’s voice rang out, quieter than usual. I didn’t turn, but he caught up to me anyway, stepping into my path.
“We all know she’s more than what we see,” he said. “We all care for her.”
“I never said I cared for her,” I answered too quickly. “I care about what happens to Nyxarra. To the realms she’s tied to. If she turns into something we cannot manage…” I let the words hang, sharp and unfinished. “We’ve all seen the hints. “Her power isn’t dormant,” I said. “It’s restrained.”
Santi blinked. “Restrained?”
“She carries something old,” I continued. “Older than Kaerani’s flame, older than Sylvara’s bloom. Older than the goddesses themselves. The Veil answers her. Shadows reach for her. Gabriel bowed without hesitation. That isn’t new magic waking. It’s ancient power remembering.”
Santi swallowed hard. “You think she’s dangerous?”
“I think she was never meant to be contained,” I said quietly. “And Kaelith knows it.”
If he pushes her into the next phase—if he finds a way to bind her true inheritance, then he won’t just wield her power. He’ll command it. Shape it. Claim every breath of the Nightmother that still lives in her.”
Santi’s jaw clenched.“What does that mean?”
“It means Kaelith is no longer after just a bond,” I said, voice dropping to a whisper. “The vampyric ritual ties bodies. Blood. Mortality.” I met his gaze dead-on. “But the power in her isn’t blood-deep. It’s soul-rooted. Nightmother-rooted. And there’s a binding older than the goddesses that can seize power like that and twist it into obedience.”