I'm nauseous. The floor tilts.
And the voice behind the door—his voice—says my name like I'm already his property.
"Cio," he says again.
My skin crawls. I'm staring at the cat on my bed—the creature I spent all night stitching back together. Its fur is still matted with blood that shouldn't be dry yet, but is. My hands are shaking so hard I have to shove them into the pockets of my apron. I can still feel the heat from last night, that weird, pulsing golden light that crawled out of the animal's wounds and into my own veins.
God, I shouldn't have touched it.
The door handle turns. No knock. No permission. Charmant Xuánréi doesn't do "permission." He steps in, and the air in my tiny apothecary shop suddenly feels like it's being sucked out by a vacuum.
He looks expensive. Lethal. His dark robes are threaded with silver that catches the dim morning light, and his eyes—those cold, steel-gray eyes—are already pinned on me.
"You're still breathing," he says. His voice is a low vibration that makes my teeth ache. "I expected the backlash to stop your heart by midnight."
"Sorry to disappoint," I snap. My voice is thin, but I force it out.
I take a step back, my heel catching on a loose floorboard. My chest is tight, lungs refusing to expand. Charmant doesn't move, but his presence is everywhere. He smells like rain and ozone. Like a storm about to break.
"The beast," he says, glancing at the bed.
The creature isn't moving, but the air around it is humming. A low, electric frequency that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
"He's just a stray," I lie. It's a pathetic, desperate lie. My stomach flips.
Charmant's gaze snaps back to mine. He's across the room in three strides. I don't even see him move; he's just there, invading my space, his heat radiating off him in waves. He grabs my chin, his fingers cold and iron-strong, forcing me to look up.
"A stray?" He leans down, his face inches from mine. I can see the ring of darker gray in his pupils. "Cio, you're a terrible liar. Your pulse is hammering against my thumb like a trapped bird."
"Let go," I gasp. I try to jerk away, but he's a mountain.
"You touched something that was meant to stay broken," he whispers, and the words feel like a death sentence. "You took that filth into your own blood to save a monster. Do you have any idea what you've done to yourself?"
I'm going to vomit. "I saved a life," I choke out. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"
"Not this one."
He drops my chin, but he doesn't step back. He reaches for my hand instead. I try to hide it, but he's faster. He yanks my right arm up, pushing the sleeve of my tunic back with a rough, impatient jerk.
There it is. A faint, glowing circuit of gold etched into my skin, snaking from my palm up toward my elbow. It pulses in time with my heart.
"It's beautiful," he murmurs, his tone suddenly dark and way too intimate. "And it's going to kill you."
"Then let it."
He laughs, a short, humorless sound that vibrates in my chest. "I can't. If you die, the seal on that thing breaks. If that happens, I lose my grip on this entire province."
He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over my ear. It's a caress and a threat all at once. "You just made yourself the most important person in this world, Cio. And the most hunted."
My ears start ringing. I need to get him out. I need to think.
"Get out," I say, shoving against his chest. It's like hitting a stone wall.
"I'm not leaving you here," he says. He grabs my waist, pulling me flush against him. The contact is electric. My skin burns where he touches me, a sharp contrast to the cold fear in my gut. "The men with the black masks are already in the village. They smelled the surge last night."
"The Alchemists?" My heart stops. "They'll kill him."
"They'll kill you," Charmant corrects. "They'll dissect you to see how a peasant girl managed to survive that much raw power."
The creature on the bed chooses that moment to wake up.
It doesn't meow. It lets out a low, guttural vibration that shakes the jars of herbs on my shelves. Its eyes snap open—solid, glowing gold. The room temperature plummets.
Charmant's hand flies to the hilt of the sword at his waist.
"Wait!" I scream.
I throw myself between them, my back to the creature, my hands pressed against Charmant's chest. I can feel his heart thudding beneath the silk—heavy, fast, and dangerous.
"Don't hurt him!"
"Move, Cio." Charmant's voice is pure steel now. "That isn't a pet. It's a trigger for a war."
"He's mine!"
I didn't mean to say it. The word just rips out of me, impulsive and stupid.
The gold mark on my arm flares bright. The creature lets out a sharp hiss, and suddenly, the golden light isn't just on my arm—it's jumping to Charmant.
He winces, his grip on my waist tightening until it's painful. A matching gold spark ignites on his own wrist, right where he's touching me.
He freezes. He looks at his arm, then at me, his expression shifting from anger to something much more predatory.
"You little fool," he breathes. "You didn't just save him."
"What?" I'm trembling, my vision blurring at the edges.
"You linked us," he says. He leans down, his lips almost brushing mine, his voice a possessive growl. "The beast, the girl, and the man who has to clean up your mess. We're tied together now."
He doesn't wait for me to process it. He scoops me up, one arm under my knees, the other around my back.
"What are you doing? Put me down!"
"Quiet."
"I'm not going anywhere with—"
"I said quiet!" He stares me down, his face a mask of cold command. "I'm saving your life. Whether you want me to or not."
He kicks the back door open just as the front of my shop shatters. I hear the heavy boots of soldiers, the clatter of porcelain breaking, and the cold, clinical voice of a man I don't recognize.
"Find the girl," the voice says. "And bring me the head of whatever she's hiding."
Charmant doesn't look back. He carries me into the rain, his grip bruising, his eyes fixed on the treeline.
"Welcome to the rest of your life, Cio," he whispers.
My house is burning behind us, my old life is gone, and the only thing keeping me upright is the man who looks like he wants to either kill me or keep me in a cage forever.
I look at my wrist, then at his.
The marks aren't fading; they're glowing brighter.