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He would not fear the darkness. He was the darkness. A razor-edged smile cut across his face. He stepped into the void, footsteps sounding in the silence.
He felt her presence, just as he felt her loss when she had disappeared to the Lion’s den. Perhaps it was the acceptance of the darkness that connected them. Perhaps he was imagining it.
But he saw her. She straightened like a gazelle at the sound of their approach, dark hair gleaming in the torchlight. Nasir had the absurd desire to reach out and run his fingers through the strands.
Then she bolted.
He flicked his gaze to the others and took off after her, Altair’s warning echoing in his ears.
You will need to end lives.
CHAPTER 82
Zafira knew the people who were following her, despite the shroud growing in her mind.
A part of her recalled their laughs and smiles. The camaraderie in conflict. One’s lingering looks that lit her aflame. The rest of her remembered what they were: the enemy. Her exploiters.
She darted between the wisps of shadow, feet silent, breathing hushed. A single pair of boots pounded behind her, not bothering with stealth.
Only one other could see and follow with such clarity through the darkness.
Only one other was arrogant enough to follow her.
Her ring struck against her chest, a silent reminder. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.
Yet another voice whispered: savior.
* * *
Nasir followed without a word, making his presence known, but she would not slow.
Just as our eyes tailor to the darkness, so do our souls.
The ground gleamed of polished marble, a soft light rising to an arched ceiling. The place reeked of magic, old and weary. Columns rose up ahead, a wall of shadow growing beyond them.
“Qif!” he finally shouted. Nothing. Only the whisper of her movements and a wheeze as her breathing grew winded. He couldn’t bring himself to say her name.
He saw his moment.
He cursed beneath his breath. And leaped.
* * *
Someone collided with her, knocking her to the ground.
She jolted when the warmth of him entwined with the ice of her. It awakened something. Her senses. Her mind. It cleared the mugginess that had clawed her when she’d stepped upon this whisper-ravaged path.
“Sorry,” said a voice that had likely never said the word before. He carefully held himself above her.
His arms encircled her, the fringe of the keffiyah around his neck brushing her shoulders. His gray eyes shone in the dull light feathering above them, darkening as they roved her face, riffling something inside her.
She wanted to trace the length of his scar with her hand. She wanted to run a finger across his lips. She wanted—
Skies, he was beautiful.
Her brow creased. She’d never thought him beautiful before, not even when she had straddled his legs and seen his broken gaze. She had never allowed herself to think in such a way before. She had certainly never lay beneath him, his entire body pressed against hers.
Delicious heat spread through her limbs, up her neck, across her nose and cheeks. She was grateful for the dim light, for the shadows obscuring her skin’s betrayal. The whispers hummed, and she silenced them as a very different hum stirred from the depths of her stomach.
