KAEL'S POV
Her hands are on fire.
Not the kind that burns flesh, but the kind that burns deeper—through the dark, through the ice, through the gnawing emptiness that has been crawling up my veins since the abyss sank its teeth into me.
"Then hold onto me," Ayla says.
Simple words. Impossible words.
Because how do I hold onto her when half of me wants to crush her into the ground just to silence the bond, to silence the light that hurts more than any blade?
The abyss inside me laughs. She's yours to break. Yours to bleed. Yours to take down with you.
I shudder, my claws digging trenches in the dirt. The air around us tastes like iron, hot and sharp, as if the night itself knows I am one breath away from becoming something unrecognizable.
Her grip tightens on my face. Those eyes—storm-bright, furious, terrified—pin me in place. She doesn't look at me like I'm a monster. She doesn't flinch from the shadows writhing over my skin.
"You're not gone yet," she says.
