Page 19 of A Sunwoven Ascent

In a village this small, how could he simply vanish? Her worry began to splinter into something more jagged. Her thoughts scattered; every sound felt too loud, every shadow too deep.

“Come here,” Kaldrek murmured behind her when she lengthened her stride again.

She ignored him, forcing her legs to move faster.

Evelyne. His voice carefully brushed against her mind. Please. Come here.

She halted, then turned to face him.

“Look at me,” he said gently, tilting her chin up with his thumb. His fingers traced a slow line along her jaw, grounding her. “Good. Now—breathe.”

She drew in a long breath and let it out in an exaggerated sigh, trying to shake loose the tightness coiled in her chest. Her hands settled against his bare chest, warmth pulsing beneath her palms. The night air was cool, but the males carried heat like banked fire, and for them tunics seemed more courtesy than necessity.

Ah. There we go.

He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She leaned into him, letting the circle of his arms close around her. The frantic edge of her fear dulled, her breathing easing in time with his.

When he finally loosened his hold, she whispered, “Thank you.”

He did not answer. Instead, his body went taut beneath her hands. A low, dangerous growl reverberated through his chest, rolling against her palms like distant thunder.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“I sense something nearby,” he said quietly.

Then the crunch of a boot on packed earth split the night. Evelyne whirled, her gaze following the line of Kaldrek’s rigid stare.

A pale figure broke from the darkness and stepped into the fire’s dim halo. Gray features emerged, and Evelyne’s breath caught as she recognized him. Alaric.

One hand was locked around Cillian’s throat, dragging him over the ground as though he weighed nothing.

“Alaric!” Evelyne cried, just as Kaldrek thrust her behind him, shielding her with his body.

She barely felt the movement. Her eyes remained fixed on Alaric, on the terrible blackness that had swallowed his gaze whole.

Chapter 11

This could not be real. It could not be happening. And yet it was. Evelyne stood frozen, facing someone she loved, someone who should have been safe, now hollowed out and worn like a skin by Vaelora’s darkness.

Alaric.

Was he… Was he still in there?

“No.” The word tore from her as she shook her head again and again, as though denial alone might unravel the sight before her. His eyes were all wrong, vacant and black, and that cruel, familiar grin stretched across his gray face until her stomach turned.

She was so transfixed by it, by him, that she nearly forgot the second horror in front of her.

Cillian.

Still in Alaric’s grip.

Cillian’s heels dug into the dirt as he struggled for breath, Alaric’s hand locked hard around his throat. Whatever strength Cillian had left seemed to be draining from him, leaving him unable to shift or fight back. His eyes were wide, glazed with panic, and every breath that escaped him came in a thin, broken rasp. Evelyne could not move. She wanted to lunge forward, to scream, to do anything at all, but shock had seized her limbs and held them still.

Kaldrek moved instead.

At her side, he eased into a subtle fighting stance, the movement so controlled it was almost impossible to notice. He was waiting for the instant Alaric’s grip weakened, because so long as Cillian remained pinned between them, he could not strike.

“Alaric,” Kaldrek said steadily, “let him go before you make a mistake you can’t undo.”