The Pull You Can’t Ignore
Rhea didn’t believe in destiny.
Destiny had gotten her mother burned at a stake, her village razed, and her own name written on a dozen wanted posters. If magic tugged at her bones or whispered in her ear now, she ignored it.
So when she felt the pull, she told herself it was bad wine.
Until she saw them.
Two men walked into the tavern like they owned shadows and light between them. One—broad shoulders, cloak dark as midnight—swept the room with a predator’s glance. The other—sun-warm, golden hair tied at his neck—smiled at the barmaid like she’d just made his day.
Her heart stuttered.
No… it lurched—like something inside recognized something outside.
Rhea ducked her head, tugging her hood lower. Didn’t matter.
The darker one saw her anyway.
He crossed the room first, moving like smoke. He stopped at her table without asking, gaze steady, hungry, certain.
“We’ve been looking for you.”
Rhea’s chair scraped back hard enough to squeal. “I’m not interested.”
Golden-boy joined him, hands raised in peace. “You don’t even know what we’re offering.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “People hunt me. You do not want that smoke.”
Midnight dropped into the chair opposite her, uninvited. His grin was a little wicked, a little feral.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, voice dragging over every nerve she owned,
“We are the smoke.”
Something low in her belly tightened.
She shoved it down.
“Names,” she demanded.
“Kael.” Dark and sharp, eyes like storm clouds.
“Rowan.” Warm and open, like sunlight breaking through.
“And you,” Rowan added gently, “are Rhea.”
She cursed under her breath. “If you know who I am, you know I run alone.”
Rowan’s eyes softened.
“We do. But that won’t last much longer.”
She snorted. “Watch me.”
