Page 1 of Broken Star

Sapphire

Pain.

The burning, unbearable agony spreads outward from my chest as Eros’s arrow rewrites me from the inside out. And it’s not just pain. It’s destruction. It’s a force tearing through everything I was, shattering me at the core and reassembling me with sharp, jagged edges.

I need itout.

So, I wrench the arrow free from my chest with a cry so feral it could slice someone’s heart in half.

Technically, given that I’m half vampire, a blow to the heart like this should kill me.

But this is hardly a normal arrow.

It’sEros’sarrow. The god of love. Which, from what I can gather, is similar to being hit by one of Cupid’s arrows—if Cupid was a devastatingly handsome, cruel, vengeful god.

Needless to say, since I’m not dead, my supernatural healing is already knitting the wound back together, sealing over something far worse than a physical wound.

I should be fine. But as I push myself up into a sitting position, everything feels off. Foreign. Like my body recognizes itself, but my soul doesn’t.

Then, Riven’s voice cuts through the fog like a blade.

“Sapphire!” he says, although something in the way he speaks my name—a name he once murmured like it belonged to him—twists inside me like a knife.

He pushes past Eros, kneels next to me, and reaches for my shoulder.

When he touches me, my world rips apart.

It’s a shockwave of pain exploding through my mind, tearing through me like claws dragging across my soul. My vision blurs, my lungs seize, and suddenly, I’m re-living the horrible moments he and I recently shared.

The cold, emotionless way he kissed the dryad.

His once-familiar silver eyes locking onto mine as he told me he never loved me.

The way he let the ice magic from our deal nearly kill me, then proceeded to use the favor I owed him to take away any bit of free will I had left.

And then, of course, how he mocked my heartbreak, enjoying each verbal punch he swung.

The weight of each betrayal crushes down on me so hard that I nearly choke on it.

“Don’t touch me.” I shove him away, my hands trembling as I do.

He sits back slowly—barely affected by my push—and his expression shuts down, his features smoothing into that unreadable Winter Court mask of his. No softness. No warmth. No love.

Just… nothing.

But the second his touch is gone, so is the unbearable flood of memories. Sure, the ache he left behind remains, thrumming through me like a wound that refuses to close, but I’m no longer drowning in it.

“The arrow,” he says steadily, his silver eyes narrowing as he studies me. “Which one hit you?”

I force my breath to steady, pushing down the lingering wave of emotion that’s wrecking my body and soul.

“That one.” I point to the arrow in question, my eyes not leaving his.

He picks it up, tracing his fingers across its surface.

Lead.

His lips press together, his breathing heavier than before. It’s like he’s trying to stay calm, but I see the shift in him—the way his shoulders are locked too tight, his grip on the arrow white-knuckled, like he’s holding onto something that no longer exists.

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