Page 90 of Fallen Nocturne

My hands curl into fists. I move faster now. I have to reach her.

The alley opens up, and I see the forge. Light spills from its open front, warm and golden. Coral heads straight toward it.

She walks right up to the entrance and disappears inside.

I press myself against the wall of the building across from the forge. My heart hammers so hard I’m sure someone will hear it.

I edge closer, using the gathering darkness as cover. My feet are silent on the cobblestones. I can’t see inside from here. I need to get closer. There’s a stack of crates near the forge entrance. If I can reach them and crouch behind them, I’ll have a clear view inside without being seen.

Three silent steps, then four. I slip behind the crates. Finally, I can see. But what I see makes absolutely no sense at all.

Coral’s tail is wagging.

Not the sad, listless movement I’ve seen lately but a full, enthusiastic wag that sends droplets of mud flying across the forge floor.

Arescaine looks down at my wyvern and sighs.

“You again,” the dangerous vampire blacksmith says, his voice carrying clearly to my hiding spot.

Coral chirps happily and headbutts his leg, leaving a muddy smear on his breeches.

He sighs. “You’re tracking mud everywhere. Hrolf is going to have my head.”

But even as he complains, he reaches down and scratches behind her jaw ridge. That’s exactly where she likes it, I realize with a start. It’s exactly the spot that makes her eyes half-close in bliss.

How does he know that?

Coral makes a pleased rumbling sound and flops down right there in the middle of the forge, her wings spreading out like she owns the place. One wing tip knocks over a bucket of water. Arescaine jumps back to avoid the splash, cursing in an ancient language I do not know.

“You muddy little menace.” He rights the bucket and returns to the anvil, where something glows orange-hot in the coals.

Coral watches him work, her head resting on her front claws, tail still wagging slowly. She looks... content. More content than I’ve seen her in weeks.

This isn’t the first time she’s been here. She knew exactly where to find him and walked here with purpose. The ease between them makes the truth impossible to deny. This is familiar to both of them, part of a routine I knew nothing about.

How many times has Coral slipped away to visit him? How long has Arescaine been welcoming her into his forge?

Arescaine pulls the glowing metal from the forge with tongs, sets it on the anvil, and begins to hammer. The rhythmic clanging fills the space, but Coral doesn’t flinch. If anything, she seems soothed by it, her eyes drifting closed.

I should leave or reveal myself. The last time I spied on Arescaine, it ended with him catching me. I should have learned from that humiliation. Yet here I am again, crouching behind a stack of crates like a thief and watching the vampire work.

I have watched him before, always telling myself that I needed to keep an eye on the dangerous stranger living among us. But I have never been this near. I am close enough to see the dark strands of hair that have fallen over his brow.

The hammer falls in a perfect rhythm. The muscles beneath his shirt flex with each strike, revealing the lean, powerful lines of his body. Every movement is controlled and utterly captivating.

Stop being a pervert, I tell myself. You have a mate. You have Landon.

But the golden string feels distant right now, a warm glow somewhere in the back of my mind. This pull toward the vampire is immediate and visceral. It makes my breath come faster.

He pauses in his hammering to examine the metal, tilting it toward the light. His dark eyes are fixed upon his work with such intensity that I find myself wondering what it would feel like to become the sole focus of that gaze.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. This is foolish and dangerous.

Arescaine sets down his hammer and wipes his brow with the back of his arm. Then he turns toward Coral, and my breath catches.

He’s moving toward her wings.

His hand reaches out, fingers extending toward the delicate membrane, and every protective instinct in my body screams.