Page 17

"Kellan, I'll call you back."

The main area stands empty when I emerge, laptop abandoned on the bed with pages loading on the screen. The door hangs slightly ajar, the night air pouring into the space, a dark, intrusive presence that renders the entire floor indefensible.

"Serenity?" Silence answers me, broken only by the distant whoosh of highway traffic and the rustle of wind through oak branches. Adrenaline surges, igniting a hunter's razor-sharp awareness as I catch her scent trail leading toward the treeline behind the motel.

I follow the path through dew-dampened tall grass, her footprints clear in the soft earth. The waxing moon hangs heavy overhead. Shadows spread from it, dancing with the breeze. Her scent grows stronger as I approach a small clearing, perhaps fifty yards into the woods.

Then I see her.

Serenity stands amidst the clearing with her arms raised toward the moon, chrome radiance hemorrhaging from her skin to saturate the night. The seals along her wrists illuminate painfully bright, drumming in sync with whatever power she's channeling. Her gaze is fixed and unseeing, lost in the luminescent haze.

The magic around her writhes and buckles, visible as distortions in the air that make the surrounding forest seem to breathe. A massive oak to her left begins twisting, its trunk spiraling like a corkscrew while unnaturally flexible branches reach toward the ground. Smaller trees bend and sway without wind, their leaves shifting through impossible colors—deep purple and a vibrant electric blue.

A deer stumbles into the clearing, its movements jerky and wrong. Its antlers have grown into elaborate spirals that curve back on themselves, and its eyes reflect the same glow as Serenity's. When it opens its mouth, human words spill out.

"There is a call to the void. The void answers with hunger."

I move on pure instinct, my senses rushing forward as I approach the heart of the magical maelstrom. The air around Serenity crackles with energy that makes my skin prickle, but something far more primitive guides me forward—an instinct that eclipses my training and professional duty.

"Serenity." I reach out slowly, as if approaching a spooked animal. "Come back."

Her head swivels eerily toward me, her eyes locking onto my face in an unnaturally intense stare. When she speaks, she releases layered harmonics that sound alien to anything human. "The moon knows what you are. It remembers the history written in your blood."

The words burn into my memory, an agonizing, indelible stain that I refuse to set down as I push forward. My fingers brush her wrist, right above the glowing tattoos, and the reaction is immediate. The luminescence dims, her magic recoiling from my touch like it recognizes something familiar.

"That's it." I wrap my hand around her forearm, skin-to-skin contact sending a shock through both of us. "Follow my voice back."

Her power latches onto my stabilizing energy with something almost like relief, the chaotic magic settling into steadier rhythms. The twisted oak begins to straighten, its bark returning to its normal brown as the magical distortions fade.

"Darius?" Her eyes flicker between silver and gray, consciousness returning by degrees. "What happened? I was researching and then⁠—"

"Sleepwalking with magical complications." I keep my grip on her arm and watch how her pulse races beneath my thumb. "You're safe now."

The deer bounds away into the underbrush, normal once again. The clearing looks almost peaceful in the moonlight, if you ignore the lingering aroma of scorched air and wild magic. But Serenity sways on her feet, the magical drain stealing her balance and sending her staggering backward.

"I can't—" Her knees buckle, and I catch her against my chest before she can hit the ground.

She fits against me perfectly, her head tucked beneath my chin, dark hair spilling across my arms. The scent of her—rain mixed with her own intoxicating signature—floods my senses. A dangerous contentment settles over me, recognizing something it shouldn't want.

"I've got you." The reassurance scratches past my throat, my voice scraping into something raw that surprises us both.

She tilts her head back to meet my eyes, and suddenly we're close enough that the air between us crackles. Her lips part slightly, and for one insane moment, the urge to kiss her properly overrides everything else, demanding to be more than merely a fleeting thought.

A sharp gasp catches in her throat, and I realize she's thinking the same thing. "This is pure madness." But she holds fast, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.

"Catastrophically bad." I lean closer anyway, coerced by something stronger than logic or professional boundaries.

Then she jerks backward, abruptly shattering the spell. "We can't—I can't do this."

The rejection stings, but I catch her elbow when she stumbles. "Easy, you can barely stand."

"I'm fine." The lie falls flat when she nearly trips over her own feet.

"Right. And I'm a ballet dancer." I scoop her up before she can protest and carefully tote her back toward the motel. "Save your strength for arguing tomorrow."

She yields to my hold, a clear sign of how exhausted she really is. Her head rests against my shoulder, and I try to ignore how right this feels—how a protective satisfaction settles over me at having her safe in my arms.

The walk back feels both endless and too short.