Page 35 of Shifting Hearts 1
On the armchair, a set of clothes waits. Dark jeans, a soft black sweater, and boots that look custom-made. I don’t remember asking for anything. I don’t remember anyone even coming in.
The house must have provided it.
I bathe quickly, letting the hot water chase the chill from my bones. The mirror fogs, but I catch glimpses of something behind me. Flickers of gold, scales maybe, just for a breath. I blink, and it’s gone.
I dress, the clothes fitting perfectly, like they were tailored to my body before it ever arrived. The sweater smells faintly of Kieran, that same wild, smoky scent that calls to me.
I should wait for him. I know that, but I don’t.
The door creaks open under my hand, and the hallway yawns before me like a mouth. The sconces flicker as I pass, lighting my way without touch. The house is awake. Watching.
I move slowly, fingers trailing along the stone walls. They’re warm. Breathing. I swear I hear whispers, low and ancient, like the language of roots and bones.
I pass a room with a locked door. The handle pulses beneath my palm when I touch it, like a heartbeat. I step back.
Another hallway curves where it shouldn’t. A staircase descends into shadow, and I feel it calling me.
I’m not supposed to be here. I know it, but something deeper than fear pulls me forward.
I wander deeper into the mansion, the silence pressing in like velvet. The house feels different in daylight. Less threatening, more... expectant. As if it’s waiting for me to remember something I’ve forgotten.
The vision still clings to me like smoke. I barely slept. Every time I drifted off, it dragged me back into that place. Stone ruins, blood-soaked sky, and that voice, ancient and echoing.
“The dragon stirs. She is the key.”
That part was new. It wasn’t there before. I know it wasn’t.
I pause at the top of a staircase that spirals down into shadow, gripping the railing as the words replay in my head.The dragon stirs.It wasn’t metaphorical. I felt it; heat, wings, scales beneath my skin. Like something inside me was waking up.
But it wasn’t just me.
There was another figure in the vision. Tall. Cloaked in flame and shadow. Watching me. Guarding me.
I think it was Kieran.
I press a hand to my chest, where the heat still lingers.Could he be tied to the dragon? Or worse, part of it?
He said the prophecy didn’t name me. That it warned about me, but he didn’t say what it said about him.
I move down the stairs, drawn toward a corridor I haven’t seen before. The air shifts. Cooler, tinged with something metallic. The walls here are older, rough stone etched with symbols that pulse faintly as I pass.
One catches my eye. A dragon curled around a crescent moon, its eyes carved in obsidian.
I reach out, fingers brushing the stone, and the mark flares beneath my touch. A whisper curls through the air. Not from the house, but from inside me.
“He carries the flame. You carry the storm.”
I stumble back, heart racing.
Kieran said he wasn’t here to hurt me. That he swore an oath, but he never said what he was sworn to.
I need answers. About the prophecy, about the dragon, about him.
Because if he’s part of this, if he’s the flame to my storm, then everything I thought I feared might be nothing compared to what we become together.
Gods help us both if we’re not ready.
I follow the pull.
