The Wildwoods held many secrets, but none as sacred as the glade of the moonfall.
Hidden deep between weeping willows and thickets of elderroot, it was a place untouched by war or time. There, a waterfall slipped like silk over black stone, its pool ringed by luminous white lotus and grass. The water shimmered with a faint silver hue, lit not by sunlight but by something older. Something lunar. An echo of a world once lost.
Nyx bathed here often, when the forest was quiet and the priestess who raised her slept.
She waded through the pool like a dream, the pale shift she wore clinging to her skin as water lapped gently around her thighs. Her long midnight black hair, wet and heavy, flowed down her back like spilled ink. Beads of water clung to her lashes and collarbones. Her lips parted as she tilted her head beneath the fall, the rush of cool water against her skin like a kiss of life.
She did not sing, but the wind hummed with her presence.
She was unaware she was being watched.
He had not meant to find her.
High Priest Kieran of the Dawn Court had come to the Wildwoods on a sacred pilgrimage. A solitary week of fasting and prayer beneath the sun's path, as was custom before the summer solstice. The temple's scrolls had spoken of forgotten ruins, sacred altars, abandoned ley lines and he, ever dutiful, had followed the call.
But what he found instead… was her.
He stepped through the trees and froze.
His breath caught.
The woman in the pool was half-submerged in water, her skin gleaming like the moon, her eyes closed as she turned her face to the fall. She looked like a goddess fully-formed, not quite real, yet her limbs were delicate but strong, her body curved and glowing.
He should have looked away. He tried to.
But the forest was utterly silent, as if nature itself held its breath.
She turned around, sensing him.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither moved.
Nyx straightened slowly, the water cascading off her as she stepped toward the edge. Her shift clung transparently to her frame, but she showed no shame, only a stillness, a watchfulness, like a doe unsure if the approaching figure was predator or kin.
He stepped forward, breathless.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice husky, and low. "I....I didn't mean to intrude."
"Then why haven't you left?"
She wasn't angry. Merely curious.
His white robes brushed the dew-laced underbrush as he approached, more reverent than bold now. He held up a hand, not in threat, but in greeting.
"You looked like something out of a vision," he said softly. "A spirit of the water."
"I'm not a spirit," she replied. "I'm flesh and breath."
His gaze flicked over her, guilt warring with awe. She should have been offended, and yet… something about him did not frighten her.
He was beautiful in his own right. Older than she expected, though draped in power. Hair the color of burnished amber, skin kissed gold by the sun, and eyes, a startling shade of sky blue, when the Sun was at its peak. Those eyes were fixed on her with stunned reverence.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She paused. Water was dripping from her fingertips. Her lips parted, hesitant… then surrendered to the truth.
"Nyx."
The name hit him like a breathless blow.
He blinked and took a step back.
"No," he whispered. "That's not possible."
Nyx's expression changed. She moved slowly from the pool, unafraid, water trailing behind her like a veil. She stopped before him, close enough to touch. Her eyes searched his face, reading something deep and conflicted.
"You know the name."
Kieran nodded once. Slowly.
"Every priest of the Dawn Court knows that name. It's a forbidden word." His voice grew quieter. "A ghost of a prophecy."
"And now you've seen me," she said, tilting her head.
He swallowed hard. "I'm not sure if I should kneel before you… or kill you."
The wind stirred as though it heard his words and was about to protest.
"Then you must choose, priest," she said, voice like velvet.
She stepped close enough that he could feel the heat of her, the strange pull between their opposing bloods, light and darkness, day and night, fate and freedom.
He didn't move, as she leaned just slightly forward, her lips nearly brushing his ear, she whispered:
"Perhaps God brought you here… not to destroy me… but to remember."
He stood frozen.
Her breath lingered against his ear like a silken thread, drawing him taut. The glade pulsed with quiet magic, the kind that lived in the hush between heartbeats. Kieran's pulse quickened. She hadn't stepped away.
And neither had he.
"To remember what?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.
Nyx pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Her gaze was calm, but it held fire. "Not to remember," she said. "To feel."
He was suddenly too aware of everything, the cool damp of the forest floor beneath his boots, the slow rise and fall of her breath, the faint perfume of moonflowers in the air. Her body glistened with water, her skin dewed and glowing beneath the lunar shimmer. She was unlike anything he had ever known. Wild and soft. Elusive and real.
He reached for her, and this time she didn't stop him.
His hand found the curve of her jaw, fingertips brushing a drop of water from her cheek. Her lips parted, not in surprise, but in acceptance.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"I am," she murmured.
His thumb traced the edge of her mouth. Her lashes fluttered.
"I should leave," he said, but he didn't move.
"Then why haven't you?"
Kieran swallowed hard. The last of his vows burned away like mist in the morning.
He leaned in slowly, giving her the chance to pull away.
She didn't.
Their lips met, tentative at first, as if the kiss itself were sacred, something fragile and new. But then her hands rose to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes, and the kiss deepened.
It was all tension and wonder and a quiet hunger between warm mouths and wet skin, breath shared, heat exchanged. A man and a woman in the glade. Light and dark tangled together, dissolving the lines between duty and desire.
He cupped her cheek, drawing her closer. She pressed into him, water dripping from her hair, her body soft and sure against his.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, the world around them felt different. The moonlight was brighter. The leaves shimmered with dew.
Kieran rested his forehead against hers.
"What are we doing?" he whispered.
"Something we'll probably regret," she said, "or something we won't forget."
In that quiet, suspended moment, neither of them cared which one it was.