Page 74 of The Book of Legends
I settle in, and she places her fingers against my temples. Warmth spreads through my skull like sunlight pushing through stained glass. The tightness in my chest eases.
“There,” she murmurs. “Tristan’s poison is gone. But the damage he caused?” Her lips thin. “That lingers. He wanted you to fear your own strength.”
“I don’t have any power.”
Newt chuckles, low and dark. “They all say that. Right before they burn the world down.”
A chill moves over my skin. I don’t know what she means—but I know better than to argue.
“You were nearly blind, weren’t you?”
I nod, unsure how she knows.
“That doesn’t carry over into Nythia. The magic here… it corrects what your world couldn’t.”
Back in my room, night falls fast. The moons cast long shadows across the tower walls. I sit at the edge of the bed, a heavy blanket pulled over my lap. I try not to think of him. Not his lips. Not the way his eyes turned pitch black when I whispered thank you.
But I can’t help it.
I pace. Then I find myself by the window, staring into the ashen woods. Wondering if Malachi is curled somewhere beneath the stars. Wondering where Kainen is now. Wondering if he regrets kissing me. Or if he meant it.
Then the door opens again.
Not Nieve.
Kainen steps inside, soaked from a rain I hadn’t noticed had begun. Water glistens on his skin. His hair clings to his face, the braids dark and dripping. He’s shed his armor—what remains is a thin black tunic that clings to the ridges of his muscles. He looks tired. Agitated. Haunted.
“Why are you here?” I breathe.
He doesn’t speak.
He crosses the room like a storm rolling over a field. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“I thought I could stay away,” he murmurs, his breath brushing my lips. “But I can’t.”
My body betrays me, arching toward him like it’s answering a command I didn’t give. I hate how much I want him. And yet... I do.
“You said you can’t give me flowers,” I whisper. “But then you gave me your lips. What’s that supposed to mean?”
His forehead presses to mine, his grip firm at the back of my neck.
“It means I’m cursed, Selene. And so are you.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Then curse me.”
And then he kisses me—fierce, consuming, and binding me to him like a spell etched in flame.
His lips collide with mine, depriving my lungs of life. I misplace his tongue strokes among mine.
With fingers curling into the moist cloth clinging to his flesh, my hands travel up his chest. He moans low, raising me as if I had no weight. My legs circle his waist naturally. The fire lighting between us is nothing compared to the cold of his drenched garment.
He brings me to the bed and gently lays me down, a gentleness that runs counter to the force of his kiss. Dazed, I gasp for breath and yet hold the front of his shirt as he distances himself.
“I'm sorry,” he says in a low voice. “I wasn't meant to... I found myself unable to control...” His speech breaks like frayed rope. “I simply wanted to find out whether it was true.”
“If what was real?” I ask, hushed.
“You,” he states. “This curse. The way you give everything the impression of disintegration. Like I'm coming undone, thread by thread, by staring at you.”
