Page 54 of Broken Star

They roam freely, their hooves sinking into the damp shore, snouts buried in the sand as they search for whatever it is pigs look for.

“I guess whoever lives here is a farmer?” I say, trying to make sense of it.

Riven ignores me, instead reaching into the pack and pulling out a small bundle of white flowers with black roots—the herb the cloaked girl left for him. And then, without hesitation, he plucks off a few leaves and pops them into his mouth, chewing with a grimace.

I arch a brow. “Good?”

“Tastes like dirt,” he says swallowing with visible effort. “With a hint of regret.”

I laugh, but the sound dies abruptly when another wave of hunger crashes into me.

Because the pigs are alive. Their hearts are beating, their blood warm, their scent thick in the humid air.

Most importantly, they can stop me from losing control and pouncing on Riven.

I swallow hard, fisting my hands as I gather every bit of willpower to not jump into the ocean and swim to the shore. The only thing that keeps me from doing so is knowing that whenever I’ve jumped into bodies of water recently, there’s a blank spot in my memories when I emerge.

“If you’re going to drink,” Riven says, low but firm, “you need to be careful.”

I whip my head toward him, the wind blowing with my movements. “Iamcareful.”

He doesn’t argue. He just watches me, his gaze steady, sharp as a blade.

“Listen to me,” he says, and something in his tone makes me press my lips together to do just that. “Whoever owns this island might not take kindly to you killing their livestock. So, you’re going to take small drinks from multiple pigs. Four of them, at least. And you will not drain them. Understood?”

“I know how to handle myself,” I say as heat burns up my spine, a mix of anger and frustration.

“Then prove it.”

The challenge in his voice coils through me like a slow-burning fuse.

Because it’s not the pigs that will make me lose control. It’s him. His voice. His scent. His heartbeat.

And I’m positive that he knows it.

But not wanting to give in to whatever he’s trying to do to me, I exhale sharply, forcing my body to steady.

“Fine. Four pigs,” I agree. “No killing.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and before I can decide if I want to punch him or shove him into the ocean, he turns, adjusting the sails as we draw closer to shore.

I practically leap from the ship the moment we’re docked.

Behind me, Riven says something about anchoring the boat properly. But his voice fades beneath the roaring in my ears—the sound of dozens of heartbeats, the rush of blood through warm bodies, the promise of relief from the hunger.

The first pig barely has time to startle before I’m on it, and as I drink, the hunger lessens. My body drinks it in, and my magic hums as warmth spreads through my limbs, numbing the sharpest edges of my craving.

But Riven’s voice echoes in my mind.

Four pigs. No killing.

So, I drink just enough to take the edge off, then move to a second pig, a third, and finally, a fourth. By the time I finish, I feel steadier, clearer, my magic humming contentedly beneath my skin.

Now that I can think again, I look for Riven. He’s secured the ship, and he’s standing at the edge of the shore, his sword sheathed but ready.

“Better?” he asks me, but a column of fire erupts from the sand between us before I can reply, reaching toward the sky with such intensity that I have to shield my eyes.

I call water from the ocean, feeling it surge toward my hands, ready to strike.

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