Page 52 of Shifting Hearts 1
I can’t speak, can’t move. The magic is choking me.
He reaches me, grabs my face in both hands, and presses his forehead to mine.
“You’re not theirs, you’re not this. You’re mine.”
The mark flares.
The ritualshatters.
The spirits scream and vanish as the blood on my skin turns to ash. The darkness recoils, howling, and I collapse into him, sobbing, shaking, half-mad.
He holds me like I’m sacred. Like I’m still whole.
And I remember.
The binding wasn’t just a rite.
It was a promise.
Aldric foolishly continues his quest toward me, scraping his stomach along the ground.
I raise my hand to end him, but Kieran steps between us. He stands as a man, bloodied, radiant, furious.
“She chose who she wanted, and it’s not you, you filthy mutt.”
Aldric lunges, and Kieran catches his blade, twists, and drives it through Aldric’s gut. The wolf alpha gasps, choking on his own bloo,d but Kieran doesn’t flinch.
“You should’ve stayed buried.”
Aldric falls before me, and the only thing I feel is relief.
Kieran slides beside me, his form dripping gore, his eyes burning. Then all I see is darkness.
FIFTEEN
Raven
Iwake to warmth.
Not fire, not blood, not the searing rush of magic. Just warmth, low and steady, like a heartbeat pressed against mine.
The ceiling above me is carved obsidian, veined with silver runes that pulse faintly in the dark. The air smells like pine, smoke, and something older; dragon magic, maybe. Or Kieran himself.
I try to sit, but my limbs are heavy. My skin hums. Sigils glow faintly along my arms, my ribs, my throat. I remember the battlefield, the wraiths, Aldric’s voice. The moment I almost gave in.
And then, him.
Kieran.
He’s here. Sitting beside me, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His hair is damp, curling at the ends. His shirt is torn, bloodied, but he looks whole. Alive. Fierce.
He raises his head when he feels me stir. His eyes find mine instantly, like they were waiting.
“You came back,” he says, voice low. Rough.
I try to speak, but my throat is raw. He reaches for a flask, holding it to my lips. The water tastes like snowmelt and ash.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
