CHAPTER 4 — HE KNOWS HOW I DIE

“Then tell me who stopped you.”

Darius froze. I was still gripping his wrist, but neither of us made a move for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

I let go, frowning. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

“You watched me die.”

“Yes.”

“You knew it was going to happen.”

“Yes.”

“And you tried to stop it.”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

“So someone stopped you.”

He fell silent. That was answer enough.

I stepped in closer. “Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

I studied his face. The arrogance, the detached Alpha mask—gone. I just found frustration there. Maybe fear. Somehow, that unsettled me way more than his usual coldness.

“If you remember I was executed,” I said, “then you remember something useful.”

He looked away. “Some memories come as flashes.”

“Flashes?”

“One second I’m standing in snow. The next, a room I’ve never seen. Sometimes I hear your voice. Sometimes my own hands are covered in blood.” He glanced at me again. “But there are gaps.”

“Convenient gaps.”

His face hardened. “You think I’m lying.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Good.”

I scowled. “Good?”

“You shouldn’t trust me.”

That knocked me sideways. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know if my memories are even real anymore.” He turned towards the window, keeping his back to me. “You shouldn’t trust yours completely, either.”

I stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He turned back. “Your memories might not be the whole truth.”

A chill slid down my spine. Images rushed in—the execution platform, the blade, Lucian looking away. Velara beneath her silver crown. Darius arriving just a moment too late.

What if I didn’t remember everything? What if someone tampered with my own mind?

I shook it off. “No.”

He was watching me, way too carefully. “You remember the execution?”

“Every second.”

“Then remember this.” Darius stepped closer, dropping his voice. “Don’t trust anyone wearing silver.”

My stomach twisted. First thought? Velara—the silver crown, the embroidered gown, the councilors who watched me die. But I wasn’t about to let Darius see that flicker across my face.

“That’s a convenient warning,” I said.

He frowned. “What?”

“You won’t tell me who betrayed me, but you’ll tell me not to trust people in silver.”

“I’m telling you because I want you alive.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you for that?”

“No.”

That answer hit like a slap.

He stopped just in front of me. “You’re supposed to stay alive long enough to decide if I’m even worth trusting.”

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, a sharp whistle cut through the room.

Darius’s head snapped toward the window. “Down!”

I barely moved in time.

The window shattered. Something dark flew through the air—Darius threw himself into me.

An arrow slammed into his shoulder with a sickening thud.

He staggered. I screamed. “Darius!”

He caught himself on the desk, blood already blooming across his black coat.

My mind went blank except for the sight of blood.

“You’re hurt.”

“I noticed.”

“You idiot!”

He looked at me, and in spite of everything, almost smiled. “Still shouting at me.”

“Sit down!”

“Seren—”

“Sit.”

Something in my voice made him obey this time. He eased into the chair.

I ran to the broken window.

“Don’t,” he said.

I turned back, just as he gripped the arrow and yanked it out. Blood spilled down his arm.

“Don’t go near the window.”

“Someone just shot you.”

“Exactly.”

“You could have died.” My voice broke.

He met my eyes, unblinking. “So could you.”

That hit harder than I expected.

He tossed the arrow aside. “Lock the door.”

I did, then hurried back to him. Blood was pooling across his shirt.

“Take off your coat.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

“You’re getting bossy.”

“Take. It. Off.”

A faint smile touched his lips, but he shrugged out of his coat and let it drop.

His shirt underneath was a mess of red. I knelt in front of him, grabbing a clean cloth from the cabinet near the fireplace. I pressed it to the wound, and he stiffened.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I’ll work on it.”

He almost laughed. “You’re terrible at it.”

I glanced up, and for the first time since he’d shown up in my life again, he didn’t look like a king or a wolf or anything dangerous—just a hurt man relying on me to keep him conscious.

I pressed harder. He winced sharply.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He almost smiled, and so did I—until I realized how close we were. My knee was between his. One hand braced on the chair, my fingers pressed to his bare skin. His scent closed in around me—deep cedar, cold night, something warmer just underneath.

My wolf, Vesper, who’d been silent all night, whispered: Him.

I swallowed hard. “No.”

Darius’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He watched me for a second, then glanced down at my hand. His whole face changed—instantly cold.

“Hold still.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Your wrist.”

I looked. The cloth had slipped. A faint, silvery mark curved on my wrist. I’d seen it that morning—thought it was an old scar. But in the moonlight through the wrecked window, it shone in a way I hadn’t noticed before.

Darius reached out, catching my hand. The second he touched the mark, his breath stopped.

“Darius?”

No answer. He traced the strange crescent shape with his thumb. His face drained of color.

“What is it?”

He stared at my wrist like it had spoken.

“Where…” His voice broke. I pulled my hand back.

“Where what?”

He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes.

“Where did you get this?”

I stared at the mark. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

Darius shook his head slowly. “No.”

“What?”

He didn’t look away from the mark. “You didn’t.”

My pulse spiked. “What do you mean?”

He glanced up, and there was raw pain in the way he looked at me. Whatever he’d just remembered, he hated it.

“Seren…” His voice barely a breath. “Where did you get this mark?”