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Roark Ashwood. My hunter. My protector. My lover. My liar.

For a heated moment, Roark looked nowhere but at me, then he slowly tilted his regard toward the warrior. Shadows doused the fire of his eyes, a sharp reminder of the secrets and lies the man carried soul deep.

At my side, the warrior shifted uneasily and rested a hand on the amber pommel of his blade.

He cleared his throat and used his chin to gesture us forward. “Move, then.”

Emi tightened her hold around my waist and leaned into me. “Keep Roark in your sights.”

Truth be told, I wanted to flee from them all, even Emi. As his cousin, she’d kept Roark’s secrets as well as he had. She’d deceived me and her own lover.

Pain and betrayal urged me to pull away, but something fiercer, something deeper than instinct, kept me at her side. Like the friendship forged behind the walls of Stonegate crafted a bond made of sturdier things than the mistrust between us now.

Then again, Emi was not the one who’d shattered my heart.

When my boots sank into the damp sand of the shoreline, I looked behind me. Back to him.

Roark shouldered the satchel, his jaw pulsing with tension so fiercely I was certain it ached, but he studied my every move, my every breath. Like the shadow he’d always been, he remained on the brink of attack, a villainous predator.

The Dark Watch of Dravenmoor had been subtly trying to separate us along the journey from the wood to the Black Fjords. What I knew of Roark Ashwood was that should he be pushed too far, blood would spill.

He seemed on the brink of bloodlust even now, and I hated how I felt the need to go to him, to soothe whatever fury burned under the surface. After it all, how was it that I still yearned to be near the man?

Once, I was taught folk could never truly know a heart until they saw the darkness kept inside. But there was more to it. No one ever mentioned that to love the darker edges of a heart would consume everything. And never did I anticipate that the dark heart I fell in love with would belong to a damn prince.

A vicious truth I’d discovered not even a full sunrise before.

Was he a gallant prince from fables and sagas, like the glittering lovers that Gammal read tales of to me in the youth house so many seasons ago? No. He was the sort of prince so vicious the heroes of lore would cower at his feet and name him the villain. A man hauntingly beautiful and more inclined to slit a throat than to touch it gently, save in rare moments with me.

With me, those fingers traced my skin with a sort of reverence. In those moments, he owned me—body, heart, and soul.

I tore my gaze away and looked forward to the path ahead. Somewhere during the journey, with nothing but my tumbling thoughts to lead, Roark’s lies grew into a poison tainting those sweeter memories of us together. Every cruel omission of the truth stained the tenderness of his touch, the burn of his eyes, the taste of his kiss.

How much of it was true and how much of it was to gain the trust of the melder?

It would be wiser not to feel, not to desire.

There was no longer any existence where twisted lies were not tangled between us.

“Keep pace.” A tall brute of a man waved the Dark Watch warriors forward. “We need to be off road before sunrise. Move your asses.”

More than one warrior shoved past me and Emi, knocking our shoulders. I was pushed aside, proving who claimed their true ire.

More warriors filtered between us, and soon Emi was drawn into the rows of Dark Watchers, at least ten paces ahead. A touch of panic brightened her eyes when she looked back, and I thought she might’ve called my name before she was blocked by a taller warrior.

Alone. Among those who’d be glad to ram a blade into my spine.

I quickened my steps and followed the procession up a slope from the shore until the fjord was shielded by trees and thick branches, a militant wall caging me away from any chance of freedom.

“Where do you think you’re going, Melder?” A lanky Dark Watcher slipped against my side.

Another warrior chuckled and strode up next to my other shoulder, trapping me between them. “Slow down. Let us get to know each other better. Perhaps find a good reason why you ought to keep breathing.”

Panic was tight in my chest. I held no power here, but I would not be slaughtered while whimpering. “Do not touch me.”

He merely widened his grin. “Ah, but we know you prefer Draven cock. Must be something about you if—”

“You will step back,” I said through my teeth. Craft flooded my veins, heady and cold. A taste like swallowing the tides of the sea coated my tongue, and a hint of smoke and ash burned in my lungs. I clenched one fist, readying to strike should he reach for me again. “I have melded a man’s mouth shut. I have broken a Berserkir until he met Salur. I will do it again.”