Page 2 of Sunsplitter

“Other Planes are too far off to bother trading here,” he said.

“And what of the Twilit Plane?”

He laughed again. “Alas, I haven’t sold any chairs to the Twilit Plane.”

“Why not? Surely, your work is fine enough?”

“Void take me. No humans do business with the Twilit Plane.”

The first home of the immortal daeyari, before the beasts had spread their territories across other worlds. The Twilit Plane lay close to the Season-Locked Planes, he’d heard. But no one ever said more than that, the route a secret the daeyari kept to themselves. Better, that way. What human would want to visit a Plane withmoreof those flesh-eating creatures?

“Hm.” The woman fell silent, a tightness to her mouth.

The lumber mill sat on a riverbank, a rumble of water welcoming him home, timber walls glinting with copper energy conduits that powered the saws. He settled his horse in the stable, then led the way into the house. The woman followed on whisper-quiet footsteps in the snow.

The kitchen was empty but warm, his sister likely asleep already. He removed his coat.

“We have a spare bedroom down that hall. You’re welcome to—”

When he turned, the woman stood inches from his face.

He inhaled at the scrutiny of her topaz eyes, level with his. She cupped his jaw. Her touch was warm like sunlight.

“Thank you,” she purred. “For your generosity.”

“It’s… uh… not a problem… but…”

His words stumbled, cheeks heating as she traced a fingerdown his throat—pleasant, but confusing. This wasn’t remotely how he’d envisioned his night going.

“I’m happy to share a bed,” he said, rougher. “Lenda bed, rather. You don’t have to… I mean… please don’t feel obligated to…”

She said nothing. Her mouth parted, tongue tracing her lip. He should tell her to stop.

He didn’t want her to stop.

She was beautiful, her dark lashes low over eyes like warm honey. Had he not noticed the color in the dark? His heart thundered as she leaned closer, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt.

The woman pressed soft lips against his jaw. Hungrier, down the hollow of his throat. A brush of tongue and teeth at his shoulder.

Then, an explosion of pain that split him down the middle.

The force was paralyzing. Heat ripped through his gut. Shards of glass surged through his arms, his legs, threatening to buckle him at the knees. His vision blurred in a flash of silver. Fingers tightened in his hair.

He screamed.

When he hit the floor, the pain stopped. Exhaustion followed, his chest ice-crusted, muscles shaking like they’d been scraped from the inside out.

He barely had the strength to crawl. Some primal instinct screamedaway,away, spurring fingernails to claw against floorboards, coaxing weakened limbs to drag him across the kitchen.

He made it outside. Into the snow. Shivers racked him to the core, bone-deep and insatiable. His shoulder throbbed—burned, though he couldn’t crane his neck to see the wound. His wrist itched. He clawed at his sleeve, fingers raking flesh as he pulled back flannel.

A strange golden symbol marked his skin, hot and glowing.

Smoke itched his nose.

Someone screamed.

He moaned at the effort of shifting onto his knees, vision spotting.Holdon. He clutched the foreign mark on his wrist and willed himself to hold on to consciousness. What was that light in the windows of his home? That crackling sound?