Chapter 9 Secrets in the Dark

The cave smelled of earth and iron, sharp and damp, the air thick enough to choke if I thought too hard about it. Somewhere deeper in the dark, water dripped in a slow, steady rhythm that echoed like a drumbeat against the silence pressing down on us. Every sound felt amplified here—the shuffle of boots on stone, the ragged pull of breath, the low hum of pain that radiated off my body in waves.

I leaned against the wall, stone biting into my spine, every muscle aching from the fight. The sting of my cuts was sharp, but it wasn’t what hurt the most. No, what hollowed me out was the storm brewing in my chest, the clash of fear and relief still battling inside me.

Kier sat a few feet away, his arm stretched across his knee, blood dripping in a slow line from elbow to wrist. The wound was bad—deep enough that even the wolf in him wouldn’t heal it back quickly. He’d fought too hard, burned through too much strength.

Stubborn as I was, I couldn’t ignore it.

“Let me see,” I muttered, shifting forward on my hands and knees. The scrape of stone beneath me filled the silence.

He didn’t argue. He never did, not when I used that tone. He simply turned his arm, exposing the torn flesh, trusting me without hesitation. That trust sat heavy in my chest, as dangerous as any blade.

I tore a strip from my undershirt with my teeth and pressed it to the gash. My hands were steady, practiced, though my heart rattled like loose bones in my ribs.

Kier hissed softly, a low sound that curled through the cave. “You always did have a heavy hand.”

“You always did have thin skin,” I shot back, unwilling to give him silence, because silence was worse.

The corner of his mouth lifted, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. He watched me with an intensity that made my throat dry, as if my hands on his skin mattered more than the blood pooling beneath them.

“Sable.”

The way he said my name stopped me. I looked up, and the world tilted.

The faint sliver of moonlight filtering through a crack above caught his face, carving the sharp line of his jaw, glinting against the grit of dirt on his cheek. But it was his eyes that snared me—soft, unguarded, a piece of him no one else got to see.

“You scared me,” he said, voice low, raw. “When you fell, I—” He broke off, his jaw clenching hard enough to strain. “I thought I lost you.”

Something inside me cracked. No one had ever said that to me before—not like that, not with that kind of weight. Not with fear woven through every word.

“You didn’t,” I whispered. The words came out softer than I meant, my throat too tight to shape them properly.

His hand lifted, tentative, calloused fingers brushing dirt from my cheek. The touch lingered, his thumb grazing just beneath my eye. My skin burned, not from the scrape but from the warmth of him.

The air thickened, charged with something fragile and dangerous. His gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes. The unspoken question hovered there, so close I could feel it pressing against my skin.

My pulse thundered. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or longing, only that if he kissed me, I wasn’t sure I’d stop him. And that terrified me more than the rogues ever could.

“Kier…” I started, but my voice broke, splintering in the silence.

He leaned closer, just enough that the heat of his breath brushed my lips, just enough that the steady drum of his heart seemed to fill the entire cave. His voice dropped to a murmur, rough and uneven. “Tell me not to.”

I should have. Goddess help me, I should have. The word balanced on the tip of my tongue, but it stuck there, heavy and immovable.

My silence was an answer all its own.

At the last second, he pulled back, jaw clenched, breath ragged. He pressed his palm hard against his face, like he needed the sting to anchor him.

“You make me forget everything,” he said hoarsely. “Duty. Expectations. With you, none of it matters.”

The confession wrapped around me like a snare, sinking deep into my ribs. I wanted to believe it, to let myself fall into the safety of it. But fear clawed at me. If I let this happen—if I gave in—would I ever have the strength to walk away?

I swallowed hard, the words tangling in my chest. Before I could answer, a sound split the air.

The scrape of shifting stone. Voices calling our names, faint but growing clearer. The search party.

We both exhaled, the spell breaking as quickly as it had woven itself. The cave felt smaller suddenly, emptier, but the space between us still hummed with the weight of what almost happened.

Kier shifted, testing his arm. His hand brushed mine once more, just a fleeting, deliberate touch.

“This isn’t over,” he said quietly, a promise and a warning all at once.

And the worst part? I knew he was right. And a part of me—reckless and unguarded—wanted it not to be.