Page 11 of Fallen Star

I yank my arm back, glaring at him.

“Seriously?” I snap. “You’re trying to seduce meover my best friend’s dying body?”

“I can’t help it that you’re irresistible when you’re on your knees begging for my help.” He smirks, back to his aggravatingly cocky self, as if he hadn’t been pouring his soul out to me a minute earlier.

I glare at him again, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told that before.” He shrugs, his smirk firmly in place. “Although, normally after certain… activities.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t the time for your little games,” I snap again, gesturing to Zoey. “In case you forgot, she’s dying.”

His smirk fades, and his gaze softens. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good.” I cross my arms, unwilling to back down. “Because apparently, you’re terrible at making potions. And now you’re asking me—someone who’s never brewed anything more complicated than a hangover cure disguised as a margarita—to save her life.”

“You said you’ve never had a dissatisfied customer,” he points out. “I’m betting you won’t start now.”

I open my mouth to fire back, but the weight of what he’s asking crashes over me like a tsunami.

This isn’t about making a drink that will get someone through a bad day or help them forget about their ex for a night.

This is life or death.

Zoey’slife or death.

I glance down at my best friend. Her pale face is slick with sweat, her breaths shallow and uneven. Worse, her bandage is soaked through.

My chest tightens—possibly from the scent of her blood as much as the fear of what will happen to her if I can’t pull through—and I press my palms against my thighs, trying to ground myself.

“What if I can’t do it?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound. “What if I mess up, and she—” My throat closes around the rest of the sentence, refusing to let it out.

“You won’t.” Riven’s voice is firm, cutting through my spiraling thoughts like a blade.

“You don’t know that,” I say. “You said yourself that your mother thought she could do it, and she couldn’t. She was the best, and itstillwent wrong.”

Riven moves closer, his eyes locking onto mine in a way that makes my breath hitch. “You’re not my mother.”

I blink, caught off guard by the conviction in his tone.

“You don’t have her fear clouding your judgment,” he continues. “You don’t have her doubts or her baggage. You have instincts—you know how to feel your way through the unknown, and that’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you capable. That’s why fate—well, Ghost—led me to you.”

I swallow hard, his words sinking in despite the storm raging in my chest.

He believes this. He believes inme.

But can I believe in myself?

The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged. I’m hyperaware of how close he is, the way his presence fills the space between us.

“Did you come alone?” I ask swiftly, breaking the spell. “Did your knights follow you?”

Is this a trap?

His jaw tightens, and he moves away from me, running a hand through his midnight black hair.

“No,” he finally says. “My knights won’t be following us.”

The way he says it makes my blood run cold.

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