Page 2 of The Nymph King

Silence shattered with a violent rush of displaced air. The ground shuddered as something immense struck the earth, too close to her hiding place.

Boots crunched over pine needles as the man stepped into the darkness.

She knew the cadence of his stride before she saw him—unhurried, always terrifyingly certain.

Kiran emerged between the trunks covered in bits of leaves and twigs, like something the forest had tried and failed to bury. He was tall and broad through the shoulders, his black shirt stretched taut across the powerful frame Imani knew far too well. Thick dark hair had been thrown into disorder by the flight, short strands falling over his brow and lifting again in the breeze. His face remained infuriatingly handsome despite everything she now knew about him, made more unsettling by the mismatched eyes—fixed on the trees—that gave Kiran a look half a breath away from either laughter or bloodshed.

His onyx crown caught the faint moonlight as he paused a few paces away. Coiled power radiated from it in quiet waves, making the air feel dangerously thin.

Imani’s pulse thundered in her ears. Despite the horror of what he had done, the treacherous heartmate bond flared to life, a sickening wave of relief washing over her at the mere thought of him being nearby. She shoved the instinct down, disgusted with herself. How could her body still crave him when he had condemned innocent people to a scorching death? After his dismissive cruelty? She stayed rooted, feeding her rage until it smothered the bond’s desperate pull.

He tilted his head, inhaling slowly as if tasting her scent in the air.

“I know you’re here, darling,” he whispered.

Trembling, Imani pressed harder against the bark. She wove an invisibility illusion over herself, reinforcing it with shadow and smoothing every edge until she was nothing but a tremor in the darkness.

“Run,” he murmured, a dark amusement threading his voice. “Let me chase you.”

The words slid beneath her skin. Rage flared like a lit torch in her chest. He wanted to use their heartmagic on her, the magic that would let him steal her power from the cursed tether between them. But she would die before she let him wield even a single ounce of her shadows.

He took another step.

Imani almost dropped the illusion to wipe the arrogant hunger from his face. But she held still. She understood him now. He wanted her owned, not dead. If she surrendered even an inch of weakness, he would never let her go.

Frustration tightened his features. He dragged a hand through his windswept hair and paced across the clearing. “I can feel you,” he growled.

The forest trembled faintly in response. Imani squeezed her eyes shut. Hold. If he found her now, it would be a war she was not yet strong enough to win.

After a long, simmering moment, he stepped back. His gaze lingered on her cluster of trees one last time before he turned and stalked away, his shadow swallowing his departure until only the echo of his presence remained.

Imani did not move until the forest resumed its slow breathing, pulsing the surrounding Fabric in an even tempo. It was a temporary retreat. Next time, he would not find the frightened girl he expected. She would see him on his knees before her throne. The thought was a fierce, satisfying promise.

As she stepped away from the trees, the crown thrummed twice.

Imani turned her head, catching a new scent on the breeze. Elves.

She knew something Kiran did not. He was not the only one hunting her.

CHAPTER 2

It had taken far longer than expected to navigate the treacherous woodland and stay ahead of Kiran. Flying gave him speed, but the Draswood gave her somewhere to disappear. From above, the Draswood was an endless black canopy, broken by cliffs, mist, and overlapping branches. Every time she slipped through a ravine or doubled beneath a wall of roots, Kiran had to decide where to go next.

Imani had grown up beneath these trees and knew how the forest broke into ravines, root-choked hollows, narrow game trails, and stretches of canopy dense enough to hide her completely from the sky. Kiran could cover more ground, but he did not know which routes doubled back, where the terrain forced a landing, or which parts of the forest would close around a Norn and resist an intruder.

Her shadows hid her and masked her scent for the most part, she hoped, while the sheer size of the Draswood kept forcing him to search rather than simply follow.

By the time Imani reached the town’s outskirts at dawn, exhaustion dragged at her limbs. She stopped beneath the last line of trees long enough to listen behind her. No wings disturbed the canopy. No roar followed her through the gray morning. For the first time in hours, Kiran was not immediately behind her.

Imani bent forward, braced one hand on her thigh, and dragged several breaths into aching lungs before forcing herself upright again. Her calves burned from climbing ravines, pine needles clung to the hem of her dress, and dried mud stiffened a side of her boot. Wiping sweat from her brow and kneading her leg muscles, she prepared to keep going.

Then, with a deep breath, she stood and started walking again.

As she approached the village, she squinted, taking in the ruined appearance. It was as if the earth itself had tried to swallow it. Glass glittered across cobblestones. Buildings leaned at unnatural angles, and violent fissures had split the ground, cutting through stone and timber alike. There was no ash, no soot, or any other signs of fire, but the air was thick with the acrid, metallic tang of residual magic.

A Fabric event had occurred here. And someone had forced it. Kiran came to mind immediately, but the damage did not fit him. He was destructive when violence bought him an advantage, but this looked as if the destruction had been intentionally stopped midway through.

Her heartmate did nothing halfway.