The Witch Who Bled The DragonFire

Someone I don’t know

I should be relieved.

Instead, I sit on the floor, staring at him and wondering what I’ve done.

I’ve heard stories about healing magic. I’ve read enough old books to know that powerful witches sometimes develop abilities they don’t understand.

But I’ve never heard of anyone saving a stranger with a single drop of blood.

And that voice seems _

I press a hand against my chest.

The crescent mark has stopped burning, but I can still feel a faint warmth beneath it.

Whatever happened, it wasn’t normal.

And I have a horrible feeling it wasn’t an accident.

The stranger groans.

I scramble to my feet, grab a clean cloth, and press it carefully against the wound around the blade.

His eyes open.

Gold.

Not hazel. Not amber.

Gold.

The same unnatural colour I’d seen when he stood at my door.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. He looks at the cloth pressed against his side, then slowly raises his gaze to mine.

“What did you do?”

I blink.

“Saved your life, apparently. You’re welcome.”

He tries to sit up.

Bad idea.

Pain flashes across his face, and he drops back against the floor with a sharp breath.

“Don’t move,” I tell him. “You have a blade between your ribs.”

“I noticed.”

“Then stop behaving as though you’re invincible.”

One corner of his mouth lifts, but the expression disappears almost immediately. His attention shifts toward the window, and something in his face changes.

He’s listening.

I follow his gaze, suddenly aware of how quiet the shop has become.

“How long have you lived here?” he asks.

I stare at him.

“Long enough to recognise a suspicious question.”

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“My customers know I run an apothecary. Why?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he studies my face as though he’s searching for something he expected to find.

Then he says my name.

“Elowen Vale.”

My stomach drops.

I haven’t told him who I am.

“How do you know that?”

His lips part, but before he can answer, a distant horn sounds outside.

He goes completely still.

I hurry to the window and pull the curtain aside just enough to look through the glass.

Two riders are approaching the village from the northern road. Rain blurs their outlines, but the silver insignia on their coats is unmistakable.

The Crown.

I let the curtain fall.

Then I turn to the stranger.

“Are they looking for you?”

He says nothing.

Honestly, I don’t know why I bothered asking.

“Who are you?” I demand. “And why is the Crown apparently interested in a man who turns up at my door half-dead?”

“Kael.”

I fold my arms.

“That’s a name. I’m asking for the rest of it.”

His eyes flick toward the blade in his side.

“Draven.”

The name means nothing to me, but the way he says it suggests it should.

Another horn sounds, closer this time.

Kael plants a hand against the floor and tries to stand. His injured side gives way, and he catches himself against the table before he can fall.

I reach for him instinctively.

“Stop that! You’re going to make the wound worse.”

“I can’t stay here.”

If the riders come here, I won’t be able to explain the black blood, the strange healing, or why a man with golden eyes is lying on my floor with a Crown weapon embedded in his side.

And I certainly won’t be able to explain why the mark over my heart still feels warm whenever I look at him.

I slip his arm over my shoulder and help him stand.

“We’re leaving through the back,” I say. “You’ll explain everything when we’re somewhere safe.”

Then he nods.

“Your medical supplies,” he says.

“Already thinking about those.”

I grab my cloak and a small medical bag, checking quickly that I’ve packed the essentials. I glance toward the drawer where I hid the silver heather

For one second, I consider taking it with me.

Then I decide against it.

If I return tomorrow, I’ll have questions for that plant.

If I don’t, I suspect I’ll have much bigger problems.

We reach the back door, but Kael pauses before I can open it.

“Whatever happens tonight, don’t use your magic again until you understand what it can do.”

I turn to him.

“My magic? You mean the thing I apparently discovered by accident five minutes ago?”

His expression doesn’t change.

“You don’t know what you’ve awakened.”

“And you do?”

He looks at me, and for the first time since waking, I catch something in his eyes that looks almost like fear.

“No,” he says. “But I know enough to tell you that you need to be careful.”

I hate how little that explains.

I hate even more that part of me wants to believe him.

Outside, voices carry through the rain. The riders have reached the village, and I hear the clatter of hooves against the road.

Then someone calls my name.

Not a question.

Not a guess.

My name.

Kael’s expression hardens.

I grip the medical bag and ease the back door open. Cold air rushes in, carrying the smell of wet earth and smoke.

For one last moment, I look around the shop I’ve known all my life. The shelves, the bottles, the familiar wooden counter—all the ordinary things that made this place feel safe.

I have a terrible feeling that nothing will look the same when I return.

If I return.

I step into the darkness behind the shop, with Kael leaning heavily against my shoulder and the Crown searching for me on the other side of the door.

For the first time in my life, I have a reason to fear the Crown.

And I have no idea why it knows who I am.