Page 53 of A Sunwoven Ascent

She had admitted, painfully, that there were moments when she had nearly given up on him. Even saying it had clearly hurt her. Beau’s arrival had only made matters worse, stirring old wounds and leaving her tangled in feelings she did not know how to carry.

Alaric did not care for Beau. Perhaps some of that came from jealousy. Perhaps most of it did. He noticed every glance the Moonshade male cast her way, every smirk, every look that lingered too long. Alaric knew enough of their history to understand that Beau cared for her in his own fashion. But he did not deserve her kindness. He did not deserve her strength, her laughter, or the softness of her mouth.

Not that Alaric had any right to think of her that way.

And yet he did.

The wanting sat heavy in his chest, and he hated himself for how easily his mind slipped toward the thought of her as his. It was foolish. Arrogant. Dangerous. Still, some small part of him kept turning back to the signs he could not quite ignore. She had stayed beside him through the worst of his healing. She had not wavered. She had cried when he first spoke her name. Surely that had to mean something.

Or perhaps it meant only guilt.

Vaelora’s fall had left them all raw, marked by terror, bloodshed, and the sight of Ty torn apart by forces none of them could control. No one had wanted to believe corruption could still linger after all they had survived.

Evelyne had confessed the same doubts. She and Heidara had often spoken of what might be unraveling him from the inside, searching for a name to give the thing consuming him. In the end, they had blamed the brutal journey home and the grief that followed it. Alaric could not fault them for that. Even at his worst, he had felt their concern in the way they stayed near, refusing to leave him behind.

What haunted him most was not the darkness itself, but what he had done while trapped inside it.

He had hurt Heidara, and the thought still turned his stomach. The memory of his hands on her, of fear flashing across her face when he could neither stop nor speak, was enough to make him feel sick. She had told him she forgave him the moment he apologized. But forgiveness did not erase what he felt when he remembered having caused her pain.

And he had hurt Evelyne’s mate. Her brother.

Now he understood why Cillian recoiled from the thought of shifting again. Why the guilt of Ty’s death still clung so tightly, even knowing it had not truly been his fault. Understanding did not make the burden lighter. It only made it clearer. Alaric was grateful no life had ended by his hand, but that did not mean he knew how to forgive himself. Perhaps he never would.

Still, he could not remain buried in those thoughts. He had to look forward.

Tonight, he would take the first step. He would try to mend what lay between himself and Heidara, however clumsy the effort might be. With Evelyne’s help, which once might have felt strange but now felt entirely right, he planned the evening with care.

They were nearing the end of the Sunmere Stretch, and the night itself seemed to invite honesty. The wind carried a hush of calm. The dirt and grass thrummed beneath his feet with a familiarity he could not explain. Lately it had been speaking to him in sensations rather than words, in strange stirrings he did not yet understand. But he remembered this much with certainty: whatever power had awakened in his darkest moments had frightened the demon within him.

He would not forget that.

When camp was made, Alaric washed the dust from his face and hands, combed his hair, and changed into his best leathers. The moon was not yet full, though it was close enough to cast silver across the clearing. Enough to light her face.

He imagined lying beside Heidara on a blanket with the stars above them, finally telling her the true feelings he had carried for far too long.

Chapter 25

Night settled softly over the plains. Small fires dotted the grassland like fallen stars while the packs kept close to the treeline. No one spoke the reason aloud, but all understood it. The forest offered cover. The open land did not.

Alaric paced inside his tent, listening to the low hum of camp settling for the night. The scent of roasted game drifted through the air, mingling with woodsmoke and earth. Laughter rose and fell in scattered pockets, the sound of people who had earned their rest.

He was adjusting the strap on his boot when the tent flap shifted.

“Are you prepared?”

Evelyne slipped inside without waiting for an answer, her eyes bright and far too pleased with herself.

He let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh. “That depends,” he said. “Have you come to tell me something dreadful?”

“No,” she replied lightly. “Something worse. Heidara suspects nothing.”

That was enough to make his stomach tighten.

“You are certain?”

“Entirely,” Evelyne said. “Which means you must stop looking as though you are marching off to war and instead summon whatever charm you once wielded in Caltheris.” She tipped her head. “You were rather skilled at polite flirtation, if memory serves.”

“That was another life,” he muttered.