Page 26 of Stolen

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“Yes,” I say, my voice lower than I intend.

And in truth, I wish she was asking to touch something else.

Someone else.

The thought angers me, too.

It’s ridiculous for me to have these desires. Dangerous, too.

So I step back. Regroup. Reassert control.

“Touch whatever you like, but stay in here. I’ll return shortly,” I tell her, turning toward the archway. “Before supper.”

I glance back once.

She’s already pulled a book from the shelf and is flipping through the pages with those delicate, fascinated hands—touching ancient knowledge like it’s sacred. It’s not reverence for power, not awe for magic. It’s genuine wonder. And that, somehow, makes it worse.

“Try not to upset anything,Myrrin,” I say dryly, the endearment once more slipping too easily from my tongue.

She snorts. “No promises.”

I let the smile curl at my mouth, but only after I’ve turned away. She doesn’t need to know how effortlessly she affects me. Not yet.

“Oh, Alaric?”

I stop mid-stride, one hand braced on the stone archway.

“Yes?”

She hesitates. “When can I go home?”

The words hit harder than they should.

My back stiffens. My jaw clenches.

Home?

She means Earth. Her little apartment. Her routine. Her sad little bar.

She doesn’t understand yet that this—Nightfall,me—is where she belongs.

And the truth?

There’s nothing for her to return to.

But saying never seems cruel.

Even if it’s honest.

So I give her the answer I know she won’t like, but that buys me time.

“We shall discuss that later. Now,” I add, gesturing to the library, “stay in here.”

“Sit, stay—what am I? A dog?” she snaps back.

I raise one brow in response. I don’t have to say anything.

She huffs, crosses her arms. “Fine. Just tell me why.”

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