The Blood Traitor

“Part of?” Jaren repeated.

Kiva rolled her eyes, knowing what he was really asking, but also grateful that his hesitation had vanished. “You might have a role in it, too. Maybe.”

A laugh huffed out of him, and he kissed the top of her head. “That’s good to hear, since you’re also in my dreams of the future. It’d be uncomfortable for us both if you’re imagining someone else.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Cresta said in an unyielding voice. “Are you done playing the victim now?”

Kiva had trouble focusing on the redhead, but she glared in her general direction and slurred, “I’m not a victim.”

“That’s right,” Cresta stated. “You’re not a victim. You’re a survivor.” She held Kiva’s blurry eyes. “So start acting like one.”

Instead, Jaren cupped her face with his free hand, her golden glow
like a halo surrounding them both as he whispered a single word: “Beautiful.”

Kiva closed her eyes and swayed toward him, unable to bear up under the weight of her emotions. She felt his lips press against her forehead, a gentle, tender brush, just as she sensed her magic fading, his wound now fully healed. Only then did she open her eyes, seeing the affection shining clear in his expression.

“So beautiful,” he murmured again. But this time, there was no golden light. He wasn’t talking about her magic now — he was talking about her.

“You did know who I was.” Her voice was so choked that it was a wonder he could hear her. She stared at his hand covering hers and forced herself to go on, “You knew me better than I knew myself. I was dead for ten years, and you breathed life back into me. You saved me. You freed me. You made me. And in showing me who you were, in sharing your family and your kingdom and your life with me, in sharing your heart with me, you gave me the strength to carve my own path.” More tears fell as she made herself look into his emotion-filled eyes and continue, “You’re right — I should have told you about me. But it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. You made it impossible for me not to trust you. It’s just — I thought if I told you the truth, that I was torn between my family and yours —” Her voice broke, and she rasped, “I was afraid I would lose you.”

Kiva couldn’t listen, his words hurting too much. “Please, stop —” She held out her hand to keep him away, needing to remind him that he was wrong, needing to protect herself from the dangerous hope unfurling within her, like a flower opening beneath the sun. But there wasn’t enough room between them, and he grasped her fingers, pressing them to his chest, his strong hand covering hers.

Instead, she attempted to piece together her heart, knowing it was impossible — because it had just walked away.

“No more than usual.” His mouth quirked. “It’s becoming a running theme with you. At least no one got stabbed this time.”

she couldn’t help envisioning Jaren’s face again. Not the angry, blank expression he’d worn for most of their reunion, but the gentle, softer look he’d revealed upon seeing she was injured.

That was her Jaren.

He was still in there.

And that, more than anything else, allowed her to hope.

“Good,” Caldon said. He then muttered, “You’d have to, after all that.” He pointed to her face. “You’re disgusting, by the way. I’ve never seen so much snot and tears in my life. You could have filled a lake.” He pulled his shirt away from his body, cringing at how damp it was. “The things I do for you.”

This time, a weak laugh left Kiva.

Caldon smiled, triumphant, and quietly said, “There she is.”