The cave still smelled of fire and rain.

Anaya’s skin glowed faintly in the storm’s light, pressed against Riyan’s chest, her breath shallow from what they had just shared. For the first time, the war outside felt far away. For the first time, she belonged only to him.

And then-

A shadow slipped across the doorway.

Riyan stiffened, every muscle coiled. He reached for his blade.

Anaya clutched the damp blanket around her, fear slicing through the warmth of his embrace.

A whisper, serpentine and cold, drifted through the storm: “You thought you could hide?”

Lightning tore across the sky. For one heartbeat, the cave entrance blazed white, and in that light, Anaya saw them: dark armor glinting with crimson sigils—the soldiers of the House of Shadow, Mira’s kin.

The hiss of arrows filled the air. Riyan swung his blade in a brilliant arc, sparks bursting as steel clashed. One arrow scraped across his shoulder. Blood ran down, mixing with the rain.

“Stay behind me!” Riyan shouted, his voice cutting through the storm like thunder.

Anaya pressed against the stone, torn between terror and rage. It was her cousin Mira’s people who hunted them. Her own blood.

The storm roared louder as more horns answered in the valley below. Torches dotted the mountainside. Anaya’s heart froze when she saw the banners:

The crimson flame of House of Flame. Her own clan.

The storm-sigil lightning bolt of House of Storm. Riyan’s bloodline.

And the black eclipse of House of Shadow. Mira’s line.

All three houses. All three armies. Converging on the same ground.

And she and Riyan were at the heart of it.

Riyan struck down a Shadow soldier, then grabbed Anaya’s wrist. “We run... now!”

They plunged into the storm, mud splashing beneath their feet, arrows slicing past. The ground shook as war drums thundered through the mountains.

Flashes of red flame lit the sky- Anaya’s House unleashing fire magic against the storm bolts raining down from Riyan’s kin. The shadows slithered through the trees like ghosts, striking from every angle.

The world was tearing itself apart, and Anaya could barely keep up as Riyan pulled her through the chaos.

Finally, he shoved her into a hollow beneath the roots of an ancient, fallen tree. Rain dripped through the tangled wood. Both of them gasped for breath, bodies pressed impossibly close in the cramped space.

Torches swept past outside, soldiers’ shouts fading into the storm. For the moment, they were unseen.

But the heat between them was undeniable.

Anaya’s hands shook as she touched the blood on Riyan’s shoulder. He caught her wrist gently, his breath hot against her face. “It’s nothing,” he whispered, though his eyes burned with something fiercer than pain.

Her pulse raced. She wanted to run, to scream, to deny what her heart screamed for him. But pressed against him in the dark, his chest rising against hers, she could think of nothing but the taste of his lips, the strength of his arms.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered. “Then let the world stop us,” he growled, before pulling her into another desperate kiss.

Their mouths met again, fire against storm, a clash of forbidden bloodlines as rain trickled over their skin. Every second was dangerous, every breath stolen from fate itself.

And then, Anaya froze.

That feeling again. The weight of eyes upon her.

She broke the kiss and turned her head, trembling. Through the gaps in the tangled roots, she saw it: a figure standing on the ridge above them. Unmoving. Silent.

Lightning flashed, and for one terrible heartbeat, she swore she saw Mira’s eyes gleaming in the storm. Watching. Waiting.

“Riyan…” her voice cracked.

He followed her gaze, his jaw tightening like stone.

But before they could react, the figure raised a hand, then melted back into the shadows.

The horns outside changed. No longer the frantic rhythm of the hunt. This was different. Unified. A summons.

Anaya’s blood turned cold. She knew that sound.

The High Council of the Three Houses had arrived.

Her secret. Their love. Their night of sin.

It would not stay hidden for long.