ARAHThe cabin was right where Mabel had said it would be—off the empty road, nestled beside the river. It was at least a mile from any other houses or establishments. Only the gentle sounds of water, chirping birds, and rustling leaves reached her ears. The heat had subsided, and the sun was about to set.Gildeon had come home late again last night and slipped out early this morning. He’d left a note, about dealing with threats and keeping them safe. She believed that. But the picture Mabel had shown her gnawed at her, every fiber telling her something else was going on. Each time she remembered that image of her husband standing so close to another woman, it felt like a needle was being dragged across her chest.Arah was getting tired of Gildeon always keeping her in the dark.Her eyes widened as she spotted his car parked under the shade of the trees.“He’s here?” she murmured, slowly pulling into the front yard and parking her scooter beside the car.Her pulse quickened, the grave
GILDEONFrowning, he stared at the plain black home screen, his thumb restlessly tracing along the phone edge. It hadn’t been a minute since Arah hung up on him. It shouldn’t have bothered him.But it did.“You really need to wise up about women, My Lord,” Roselia’s voice cut through, sighing and shaking her head just within his line of sight.“If she gets upset again, I can bring her more flowers from your farm,” he muttered absently, half his mind still on the phone, the other half on Arah’s confounding words—“not coming home starting tonight”—as if she’d overheard his exact conversation with Roselia earlier.He shifted in his chair, pocketing the phone. His gaze lingered on the red vines coiled tightly around his dragon-shifted arm, leeching his energy and funneling it into Roselia. She sat on her heels on the cold stone floor, inside a ritualistic circle, her own arm bound by the same writhing vines. Tendrils snaked between them, pulsing with a faint black-and-gold glow as they fe
ARAHTonight, she just wanted to drown her frustrations in something strong, to let the burn wash them away. But it had been almost an hour, and still, there was no sign of her friends. She grabbed her phone and called Cora first. Her shoulders slumped when she heard Cora had to bail—something about babysitting her niece.Next, she tried Mabel, who also apologized. Her fiancé had suddenly gotten sick, and she couldn’t leave him. Arah would have called Tonio, but he was off the island.Sighing, she bit her lip and stared at the walls adorned with artwork and photos of tattooed skin. For a moment, she weighed her options.Screw it. She shut down her studio and decided to get a drink alone. It was better than staying home, moping around like an idiot, waiting for a husband who obviously wasn’t coming back tonight. She seethed again, remembering how he hadn’t even bothered to chase after her earlier.“Roselia can keep him for all I care!” she muttered, jabbing a hair stick into her curly
ARAHHer head felt foggy, but his words cut through the haze. ‘Do I love him?’ The question echoed in her mind.“I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t, right?” she replied with a forced grin, reaching for the bottle and taking a quick, desperate gulp.“I’m asking about how you feel now,” Jeric said, his tone serious.Arah froze mid-sip, her eyes dropping to her wedding ring. She set the bottle down, her thumb brushing over the smooth gold band. It felt like both a lifeline and a shackle. She’d been so focused on making her marriage work that she hadn’t considered how she truly felt about Gildeon.Confusion washed over her like an icy wave. Without the memories of how they used to be, without knowing the real him, without that deep connection...How could she even know?She was deeply attracted to Gildeon, obsessed with the way he carried himself with quiet confidence. Being next to him made her feel like she could brag about him all day. His every touch made her feel alive and crave
GILDEONHe wasn’t supposed to leave Roselia yet, but Arah had been battering at the edges of his mind all day. He needed to see her tonight, or he’d lose it. She wasn’t at home or in her studio, though her scooter was parked outside.Gildeon had Ghulik track her scent, which led them to a bar on the beach strip. The goblin then disappeared into the crowd—probably to gawk at women or hunt for couples making out in dark corners.Shaking his head, Gildeon scanned the area. He immediately spotted Arah’s blue curls, a bright splash amidst the sea of gyrating bodies. Colored lights bathed the scene, casting shadows on her slender arms raised overhead.Gildeon stood there, catching glimpses of Arah through the shifting crowd. Heat surged through him as he watched her—seductive, free, sweat glistening on her smooth skin. Her curves, tightly wrapped in maroon, swayed with each move. She danced as if lost in her own world, owning the space, oblivious to everything.A burning desire ignited with
GILDEONGhulik’s snores grated in his ear, loud and guttural. He had no idea how the goblin had managed to get himself drunk. Meanwhile, Arah sat in silence beside him, staring out the open window. Gildeon kept his mouth shut, giving her space—at least until she sobered up. She had never drunk this much before, and it was a miracle she hadn’t accidentally conjured a tornado right in the middle of the bar.The truth was, he didn’t really know what else she was capable of. Sigilmaker sylphs were a rare presence in Shamibar, and all he had were the assumptions he’d made from observing Arah so far.He stole glances at her now and then, the night breeze whipping at her flushed face and tangling her messy curls. Even in this state, she looked mesmerizing. The hem of her dress had hitched up her creamy thigh, and the thought of her riding him right there in the car filled his mind. It took all his willpower not to pull over and fuck her senseless.To tamp down the heat rising within him, he
GILDEONHer words hit him square in the chest. Part of him wanted to tell her he had never meant to hurt her—that he still cared, even if he’d failed to show it.But the confession lodged in his throat, choked by all the things left unsaid.Another tear rolled down her cheek, and something inside him stirred. Without thinking, he bridged the gap between them, his hand reaching out to brush the tear away with his thumb. His gaze bore into her blue eyes, still simmering with resentment yet tinged with hope. They reminded him of that sylph girl from long ago, the same fire in their eyes.And he had made them both cry.Gildeon parted his lips, ready to let Arah in—not completely, but just enough to lift the weight pressing down on him.But then his rational side yanked him back hard. ‘Remember what's at stake,’ the voice in his head snapped. ‘You're not here to fucking play the role of a real husband.’“You’re tired. Get some sleep,” he said, his tone distant as his hand dropped from her
GILDEONOne hand grabbed her hip, while the other shoved her dress up, baring the smooth expanse of her thighs.“What are you…” Arah stammered, her eyes widening in shock. A deep red spread across her face.With a rough pull, he yanked her underwear down, the fabric ripping in his hands before it fell to the floor, making her gasp. The scent of her arousal hit him like a potent drug.His breath hovered over the soft blue curls above her pussy—so fucking perfect—and his fingers traced her center, finding the slick wetness already there, waiting for him.He glanced up to gauge Arah’s reaction once more, but she quickly averted her eyes, as if ashamed of just how much he had turned her on despite her protests.His mouth followed where his fingers led, his tongue swiping forcefully along the center of her folds, tasting her, savoring the slick heat. She trembled, bracing her elbows on the bar top. A loud moan escaped her as his tongue circled her clit, the pressure intensifying with each
ARAHFear coiled around her ribs like a vice.“I-it’s me,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.Gildeon didn’t flinch. His lips remained curled back, exposing sharp teeth. His expression was predatory, enraged. In his eyes, she was someone else—an enemy.What had Drusden done to him?She tried to choke out his name again, but her throat tightened, the pressure crushing her windpipe. Her pulse pounded—a frantic drumbeat against his grip. The steam curling from his scaled body rolled over her in suffocating, blistering waves.How the hell was she supposed to stop this?Through tear-blurred eyes, Arah caught a flicker of movement—an outline shifting, pulsing like a mirage behind Gildeon. Her eyes widened as she remembered her creature-helper.Gildeon hissed, his body tensing as his free hand shot back, claws poised to seize whatever had latched onto him. The creature clung to his neck, jaws clenched, its form flickering in and out of focus.The grip around Arah’s throat sl
ARAHDays passed. Drusden had recovered, but he remained at Roselia’s farmhouse.Roselia taught him about the old world and the ways of hedge witches. Drusden then hunted the dark witch responsible for the devastation—and eventually killed him.Together, they worked to cleanse the village of its plague and heal the people.Arah witnessed something shift between Roselia and Drusden. It was likely during this time that they began developing feelings for each other.Drusden also bonded with young Alaunus, though their connection was anything but paternal. He spoke to Alaunus about mankind’s corruption and the rewards of embracing a higher power as a witch.Roselia noticed it too, and Arah was sure it bothered her.Then came the day Drusden told Roselia everything—about Zephyr, about the vision of an army—an elite force of witches transformed into higher mortals meant to help Zephyr rule over Earthland.Arah wouldn’t have been surprised if Roselia had kept this knowledge even from Gildeon
ARAHTo say this was a massive shock would be an understatement. The idea of a lower mortal becoming a higher mortal was probably the last thing she had ever expected to hear.How could that even be possible? Flying to Shamibar in Zylas’s dragon form was already mind-blowing. But the idea of altering the very nature of a mortal by merely passing through the Mad End’s Wall? That was a whole different realm of insanity.No matter how she tried to make sense of it, the logic eluded her. Unless Zephyr was lying to Drusden. Maybe the sylph simply said whatever he needed to get what he wanted.“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she whispered.In the next memory, Zephyr was gone. Arah barely had time to take in her surroundings before Drusden crumpled to the ground. Blood seeped from his ear as he fought to stay conscious.The stench hit her—a suffocating, sickly blend of rotting meat, unwashed bodies, and the sharp tang of smoke. She swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat
ARAHThe next memory swept her onto the battlements, where she had a clear view of the invasion unfolding below. This was a different place, a different time. A different nation. The people spoke in foreign tongues.Men in ragged clothing, their faces twisted with barbaric fury, slaughtered civilians with swords and axes. Limbs were severed, bodies crumpled in pools of blood. Women screamed as they were dragged away—some ruthlessly stripped of their clothes, preyed upon by these animals. Children’s throats were slit without hesitation.Arah grimaced in horror at every atrocity, her stomach churning. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget—to block out the carnage. But every anguished scream, every whispered prayer of the helpless, cut through her like a blade, carving into her heart and twisting her gut.Zephyr’s voice interrupted her thoughts.“Look at them,” he said to Drusden as he stood on the parapet ledge, gazing down at the massacre below. “Look at how your kind d
ARAHZephyr brought Drusden to Yonah’s temple. And as she had with Marianne, Arah watched Drusden enter the Dark Plane with Zephyr’s help. It took longer this time, and at one point, she thought Drusden would die right there on his knees.When Drusden snapped back to consciousness, his palms slapped against the stone floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his forehead. His skin was ghostly pale, his wide eyes unfocused—like a man who had stared into the abyss and seen something stare back.“What have you sacrificed, human?” Zephyr asked, crouching before him.Drusden slowly lifted his head, fat tears streaming down his cheeks. “My spirit will live on even after death,” he said softly. “I will never be able to reunite with my family.”Arah couldn’t begin to imagine the misery Drusden would endure for the price he paid.A small smile appeared on Zephyr’s lips. “For that sacrifice, the power you obtained must be great. Show me.”Without a word, Drusden exhaled, and a bi
ARAHAnother death was reported—a woman who sold milk and eggs, saving every coin to buy medicine for her bedridden father.Arah watched as Drusden slammed his fists onto the desk, sending a quill and inkpot rattling, scrolls tumbling to the floor. His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring as he ducked his head, a muscle ticking in his temple. Even his men, though silent, shared his frustration.She still didn’t know how the deaths were connected to the ministers, but she believed in Drusden’s suspicions. This whole thing reeked of injustice. And more than anything, she wanted to see what he would do about it.The next day, Drusden and his men arrived at one of the ministers’ workshops. The place reeked of ink and damp parchment—likely the very goods being produced here.“Y-you shouldn’t be here, Inspector,” one of the workshop guards stammered, his face pale. “The ministers won’t take kindly to this.”Drusden barely spared him a glance. “I’m not here for their kindness, boy,” he said sharp
ARAHDrusden looked almost the same as he did in the present—just younger. His brown hair was longer, and his face was more open, easier to read. There was no trace of his usual smugness. Instead, he was serious. Dutiful. His tone lacked the usual edge of playfulness she had grown so used to.How could he be the same Drusden, yet different at the same time? Maybe witch power really could change people after all.She followed Drusden through the streets until he stopped in front of a small house. Sympathy softened his features as he spoke to the victim’s wife. Inside, four children sat around a table—faces thin, clothes worn—with nothing but bowls of plain porridge in front of them.Arah felt a tug in her chest. It was obvious they weren’t eating enough. And now, with their provider gone, how would they survive?“I am deeply sorry,” Drusden said.The woman broke down, shoulders trembling as she wept.Drusden’s gaze flickered to the children, their wide eyes full of questions they were
ARAHIt was up to her to pull him out of it.The weight of that realization pressed down on Arah like a boulder. She was determined—of course, she was—but how was she supposed to do it? The thought of failing, of not being enough to help Gildeon, curled around her ribs like a vice.She shook her head, shoving the doubt aside. This wasn’t the time for uncertainty. Gildeon needed her, and that was all that mattered.She sprinted down the prison hallway, dodging jagged chunks of fallen stone and splintered beams. Behind her, the sounds of battle raged—Roselia and Lokius locked in a deadly clash.Then, a sharp cry of pain.Roselia.Arah faltered, her body twisting instinctively toward the sound. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn back, to help. But she knew Roselia wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t forgive Arah for wasting time—not when Gildeon’s life hung in the balance.Gritting her teeth, Arah forced her feet forward.Outside, the fog wall loomed before her—a towering, imp
GILDEONIn a blink, he was back in Drusden’s throne room. He dropped to his knees, palms flat on the cold floor, breath ragged. He hadn’t even realized he’d shifted back to his mortal form. His chest tightened, a storm of emotions threatening to tear free.His mysterious birth mother. His father’s death…He slammed his palms against the floor, frustration boiling over. Haemos and Kohina knew who he really was. Why the fuck had they kept it from him?Footsteps. Brown boots halted in front of him—Drusden’s. The Headwitch crouched, head tilted.“If you need a shoulder to cry on, mine’s available, salamander,” Drusden mocked.Gildeon’s glare burned as he met the bastard’s smug face.“Not gonna lie. Your father’s memory might be my favorite one I’ve delved into.” Drusden paced, dragging from his cigarette. “Learned a lot about your kind. Shame we never got the real answer about your mother.”He stopped, gaze lifting to Dragon Zylas as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “I really thought I’