I roll to my side, my body stiff. And then I see it—a hand lying next to me. A hand attached to a shirtless man.
A man who isn’t Ryker.
I jerk upright, nearly tumbling off the bed. My pulse slams against my ribs, breath coming fast and shallow.
Mael stirs, groaning as he shifts. His dark hair is a tousled mess, his face still half-buried in the pillows, but the moment his bleary eyes land on me standing over the bed, my hair undone, the wrinkled bathrobe from last night slipping off one shoulder, they widen in horror.
He bolts upright with a sharp inhale, pressing a hand to his temple as though trying to steady himself.
“What—” His voice is hoarse, raw. His gaze flickers around the room until it lands on his crumpled shirt on the floor. His face twists in confusion, then alarm.
I just stand there, staring, frozen. My thoughts tangle, fraying at the edges, not a single one clear enough to form words.
Mael scrambles for his shirt, shoving his arms through the sleeves before running a shaky hand over his hair. His dark eyes meet mine, taking me in, lingering on the wildness of my hair. Then, a quick glance at my hands.
I finally follow his gaze to my fingers.
To my blackened fingers.
No.
No, no, no?—
The breath in my lungs turns to stone.
My hands tremble, fingers rubbing against each other as if I can stop the curse before it spreads further. I shake them out violently, willing the darkness to recede, but it clings as if it’s always belonged there.
I stumble back, my legs weak beneath me, and rush to the mirror. When I see it, my world cracks in two.
A single red streak of hair among the snow-white waves.
It’s small. Barely noticeable. No more than a kiss’s worth of color. But it’s there.
The Crimson Tether.
The curse that has damned so many women before me.
I choke on my own breath, fingers digging into my arms as I wrap them around myself, holding on, as if I can stop my body from unraveling. I whirl to Mael, eyes wide, heart slamming against my ribs.
He says nothing. He doesn’t have to. I shake my head violently, answering the question he hasn’t even asked. This can’t be happening. It can’t.
His throat bobs as he swallows. “I’m so sorry, Ray.” His voice is quieter now. He takes a step toward me, but I flinch before I can stop myself.
Mael stills. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “We have to tell him.”
“Tell him what?” My voice barely makes it past my lips. This isn’t happening. It’s impossible.
Mael’s jaw clenches, his next words like a blade pressed to my throat. “Don’t touch anything living.”
Then he’s gone, slipping out the door before I can move, before I can stop him.
I stand there, breath locked in my chest, my body cold despite the heat seeping through the window. It all happens too fast, too suddenly, for my mind to catch up. But now that I’m alone, events from yesterday start clicking into place.
The lashing. The Archpriest. Mael in my room. The wine.
I remember him handing me the cup for a final toast, our glasses clinking and… I hadn’t planned to drink it all. But I had, hadn’t I? And now… now…
A sharp breath escapes me, and I slide to the floor.
