The lingering scent of human cologne, a mix of musk and something vaguely artificial, clung to me as I propped myself on my elbows. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm beside me, blissfully unaware of the true nature of the 'tattoos' he had traced on my back just hours before. Mortals were so delightfully oblivious.

“I should get going,” I murmured, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The cool morning air kissed my skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of the night. His half-hearted suggestion to “do this again” was met with my usual, flat dismissal. I didn’t do numbers; I knew where to find him if I wanted another roll in the hay.

A quick, silent touch, a whispered command, and he was out cold, magic settling him into a deep sleep. Mortals truly were sensitive to our magic. I allowed myself one last, appreciative glance at his sleeping form before pushing open the window, the soft breeze a familiar caress against my face. With a silent leap, my wings unfurled, catching the wind as I soared into the pre-dawn sky, heading home to the palace.

I was barely over the border when a searing pain ripped through my right wing, a jolt that stole my breath. It wasn’t responding, a dead weight. Panic surged. Then, a scream echoed in my mind – MIRIAM! – a flash of blood, my twin Mikah, on his knees, cloaked figures from the Fire Clan closing in. A knife, a searing pain across my own throat, and then, only black.