First-Person — Nyra
The alley smelled like wet stone and rot.
I should have known something was wrong the moment I stepped outside the chapel.
Footsteps. Too many, too loud. Not the careful kind.
Predators. Hunters. Or worse — other Marked, twisted by blood and hunger, sent by whoever thinks they can control me.
Kael is already beside me. Calm, impossibly composed, cloak flaring in the wind. He doesn't say a word. I glance at him — his hand hovers near his sheathed blade. Silent warning: trust me, and move.
I bite my lip, trying not to show fear. "What now?"
He doesn't answer. Doesn't need to. His eyes sweep the shadows. Then — a growl. Low, guttural, metallic.
From the mist emerges a man — no, a thing. His skin is pale, marred with cuts that glow faintly red. Eyes too bright, pupils too thin. He's fast.
And he's coming for me.
"Stay behind me," Kael says.
I snort. "Ha. That's cute."
"Do it," he growls. The command isn't a suggestion.
I fall in step, heart hammering. Adrenaline sharpens everything — my senses, my hunger, the burning mark under my ribs. It hums, thrums, calling. Demanding.
The first strike comes at my side — fast, almost a blur. Kael intercepts it with a sweep of his blade, sparks flying as steel meets steel. My own dagger finds the creature's arm, and I feel the heat of my magic flare instinctively, searing through my veins.
It shouts — a horrid, screeching sound — and I catch the pulse of its blood. It tastes like iron and fear, and my stomach twists with a raw craving I don't fully understand.
Kael moves with precision, his body brushing mine as we pivot around the alley. One wrong step — and the thing could pin me. Could feed me to whatever hunger it carries.
"Focus," he hisses, jaw tight. "Control it, Nyra!"
The word hits something deep. Control it. The mark flares again, and I realize — my power isn't just reacting. It's demanding. It's hungry.
We fight as one, instinct blending with instinct. His hand on my arm, guiding me. His eyes locking mine. Not pity. Not desire — yet. But something. Something that scratches under my armor.
The creature lunges again. I twist, and Kael is there — pressing close, his chest brushing mine as he blocks its strike. I can feel his breath. The faint scent of leather and something metallic, stormy. My pulse jumps, my skin tingles.
I stab the thing through the chest. Its scream echoes, then silence.
We stand there, breathing hard, sweat and rain mixing, the corpse of the thing smoking faintly where my magic burned it.
Kael doesn't step away. His eyes are fixed on me — assessing, measuring. The distance between us feels like inches too short and miles too long at the same time.
"You're stronger than you know," he says quietly. His hand doesn't leave mine. Not touching, but guiding. Dominating.
I swallow hard, words lost somewhere between fear, thrill, and the first dangerous spark of something else.
I hate that I feel it.
I hate that I like it.