Feral Blood (Bound to the Fae Book 2)

by Eva Chase

At the sound of steps beyond my door, I limp over and peek out. August comes to a stop just outside, his head tipped to the side, an eager gleam in his eyes. “What’s the secret, Talia?”

  “I think I’ve made a friend in the pack. And she gave this to me.” I pull the door farther open and step into view.

  I’m not sure any sight has ever been quite as gratifying as the widening of August’s eyes as he takes me in. When he meets my gaze again, so much fondness shines through his expression that I couldn’t possibly doubt what he told me earlier.

  “I forgot gorgeous,” he says. “Definitely the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met too.”

  My face flushes, both pleased and embarrassed. I doubt that’s true, having seen just what kinds of otherworldly beauty the fae can possess, but I’ll take the compliment anyway. I turn a little from side to side, letting the intricate skirt rustle around my legs like so many leaves. “I just thought you’d like to see it. I should save it for some kind of special occasion. If I wear it to breakfast, I might end up making a mess of it.”

  “Oh, I can ensure that doesn’t happen. You’ve seen how enthusiastically the fae can party from watching Whitt, haven’t you? I’d bet a spell to protect clothes from stains was one of the first pieces of fae magic ever invented.” He grins at me and then pauses. “If you’d like me to work that on your dress, that is.”

  I beam back at him. “Please.” It feels like a day for a dress like this. A day to look the part of lady of the keep.

  My happiness keeps tickling up inside me like fizz in champagne while August casts the spell with a couple of syllables and a gesture of his hands, while I wash berries next to him in the kitchen, and while we lay out the table for breakfast together. It’s spread so deeply through me that I can hardly believe I could ever be unsettled again—until Sylas walks into the dining room with an expression so serious it stops my heart.

  Whatever’s weighing on him, it can’t have anything to do with me. The moment his whole eye catches on me, the shadows retreat for an instant, an approving smile curving his lips. He makes a detour on his way to the head of the table to steal a quick kiss. “Looking every bit the lady,” he says, his hand lingering by my cheek. “You slept well?”

  I get the impression he’s asking not just about my sleep but how I felt when I woke up. “Very,” I say, and wrap my arms around his torso in a hug that I hope says everything else I’d want to.

  Sylas returns the embrace with a pleased rumble. But after I let him go and he’s settled into his seat, his somberness has returned.

  Watching him, I debate whether it’s my place to ask what’s wrong. Before I come to a decision, August does it for me. “Did you get concerning news from the sentries?”

  Sylas shakes his head. “I have something important to discuss with all of you—but that includes Whitt. I did indicate to him that he should make an appearance in a reasonably timely fashion…”

  Whitt’s jaunty voice carries from down the hall. “And your wish is my command, oh glorious leader.” He ambles into the room, his high-collared shirt as rumpled as his hair as if he’s just rolled out of bed with both, and drops into his usual chair, already reaching for the egg-glazed pastries. “What announcement is so important that it couldn’t wait until a more respectable hour of the morning?”

  Sylas gives his strategist a baleful look. “It’s closer to noon than dawn. And I expect we’ll want the rest of the day for preparations.”

  As I watch him, my fingers tighten around my fork. “Preparations for what?”

  The fae lord’s solemn gaze lingers on me long enough for my stomach to plummet all the way to my feet. Then he glances around at the others. “I believe we should travel to the front. The three of us.”

  Whitt’s jaw halts in mid-chew, his eyebrows leaping up. He swallows. “All of us? A couple of weeks ago, you were hesitant to send even August.”

  “That was before I heard his report. With the observations he made on top of what we’ve heard from our warriors previously, I’m convinced that the arch-lords are aware of some imminent escalation in the attacks. Something they feel is a large enough threat that they needed to become directly involved. Something that could change the entire course of our world’s future.”

  August is studying him. “And if we’re there to play a decisive role in that battle, it could be all we need to redeem ourselves to the arch-lords.”

  “Exactly.” Sylas nods to him and turns back to Whitt. “I don’t make the decision lightly—and as always I’ll consult with you on our best approach. But if we’re going to make a major show of loyalty and strength, we have to do so decisively, and this may be the only chance we get. I don’t want to risk the opportunity slipping through our fingers or our pack being slaughtered in the fray. I have to be there, and I want my cadre with me.”

  “Fair enough,” Whitt says. “As long as you two do most of the battling and I get to call out advice from afar.” He smirks, but the humor fades from his expression as his gaze slides to me. August’s follows it.

  I swallow thickly. “What about me?”

  Sylas meets my eyes steadily. “What I’ve heard from our sentries is that there’s been no sign at all of intrusion—from Aerik’s people or anyone else—since that first trace Whitt encountered many days ago. By all appearances, they’ve given up their suspicion of us. We would lay down magic around the keep before we leave, and I’d assign Astrid—whom you seem to have gotten along with—to stay here with you for direct protection, as well as others from the pack if you wished. What warriors we still have in our domain would watch over the keep from the outside. I think it’s highly unlikely you’d face any trouble, or I wouldn’t be considering this at all, but if you did, they could hold off most until we got word and could return.”

  His evaluation of the risks is probably correct—he knows so much more about this world than I do—but my body balks all the same. “How long would you be gone?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t know for certain. Once we’re out there, we’d gather whatever information we can on the expected threat. If it appears to be less pressing than we assumed, we’ll return straight away. Otherwise, we’ll wait it out. The first stretch will only be a matter of days. It’s only a week until the next full moon, and we won’t leave you to fend for yourself during that, obviously.”

  Then I’d be going nearly a week without seeing any of them—and after that, for who knows how long, they’d only return for brief visits? The rest of the time, they’ll be out at the border fighting enemies who’ve killed other Seelie, all so that they can reclaim their honor that way rather than risking my safety.

  And meanwhile, what am I going to be doing? Puttering around the keep uselessly? Watching movies and reading books and worrying three times as much as when it was just August in the line of fire?

  Every part of me resists that imagined future. My throat constricts, but I force out the question. “What if I want to come with you?”

  Sylas blinks in a rare show of confusion. “It would hardly be safe for you by the border, Talia. The sort of fighting we’d be engaging in—I wouldn’t put you in danger like that.”

  I gather more determination into my voice. “I don’t mean I want to fight. I—I know I’m not in a position to take on a bunch of fae warriors. But you’ll have some kind of camp set up while you’re waiting for the next battle, won’t you? A place to live. I could stay there—I could get food ready for you and the other pack members, maybe help with whatever equipment you need. I’ll feel safer if I know you’re close by… and then none of you would have to worry about what’s happening to me back here.” I spare a glance at August, hoping he might argue on my behalf.

  Whitt chuckles, staring at me in bemusement. “So eager to leap straight into the fire after everything the fae have already put you through, mite?”

  A shiver runs through me, but it doesn’t shake my resolve. That glimmer of fear only reminds me of why this matters so much.

 
“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” I tell Whitt, and focus on Sylas again, since the decision will be his. “I spent more than nine years shut away from everything important that was going on around me, knowing barely anything about the world beyond that room… I don’t want this keep to feel like that too. I promise I won’t get in the way and I’ll help every way I can. I’ll follow whatever rules you give me. I just… I want to be a part of this, not the kind of treasure that gets locked away for safe-keeping.”

  Have I gone too far, throwing his term of affection from last night back at him? I can’t read the fae lord’s expression. He considers me for a long moment. August reaches for my hand beneath the table and twines his fingers with mine. He draws in a breath as if to speak up for me, but Sylas lifts his voice first.

  “I suppose you are in fact in more danger from Aerik than from any Unseelie. We could construct our living quarters well away from where any fighting should reach. And I did promise you as much freedom as I could give you. If this is what you really want, Talia, I can give it.”

  Relief swells inside me, shot through with another quiver of nerves. “Yes. I want to go.”

  I’ll brave whatever waits out there a thousand times before I’d ever consign myself to another kind of cage.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Talia

  “Are you sure you won’t come with me?” I ask August with a playful tug on his arm.

  He laughs and gives me a quick kiss by the keep’s front door. The glowing orbs lining the entrance room reflect off his golden eyes, making them shine even brighter. “It’s better for the pack if we all keep to our areas of expertise. They don’t want to think about their lord or the cadre-chosen who’s supposed to be prepared to defend them at the drop of a hat getting high on faerie wine, let alone see it. You don’t have to worry. No one ever gets too wild, and Whitt will look after you.”

  The other man did promise as much when he extended the invitation, pointing out that it might be my last chance to enjoy one of his revels in a while—and that I was already dressed for one. I think he’s holding this one specifically to raise the pack’s spirits before their leaders depart for some unknown length of time. Still, an anxious quiver runs through my stomach as I step toward the door.

  “You don’t have to join in if you’re uncomfortable,” August reminds me.

  I shake off my nerves as well as I can. “No, I’ll be fine. I’ve been curious about these parties for a while.”

  That’s true, but it’s not just curiosity compelling me out into the thickening dusk. Sylas may have accepted my arguments for why I should come with him and his cadre, and August seems happy that he’ll be nearby to defend me if need be, but I got the impression that Whitt was still skeptical. How can I expect him to believe I can handle being on the fringes of a war zone if I won’t even brave a revel with the pack I now call mine?

  When I step outside, my gaze flits first over the shadowy fields to the southeast, the direction we’ll be traveling tomorrow morning to head to the border camps. Our fate there feels as murky and uncertain as the darkness before me. I turn away from it, toward the rollicking music drifting from around the other side of the keep.

  As I circle the towering wooden building, the warm summer breeze licks at the hem of my dress. In the nearby field just beyond the village houses, bordered by the orchard on one side, several lantern orbs float in midair. Their orangey glow lights up the blankets and pillows laid out here and there, the fae men and women sprawled on those and others wandering between them, and the two musicians perched on seats that look like bent saplings, one with an instrument like a clarinet and the other with a fiddle.

  With each swipe of her bow across the strings, the woman with the fiddle sways, the smooth fall of her flaxen hair slipping across her shoulder. Even with her eyes narrowed in concentration, I can tell they’re just a little too large and close-set to look totally human. Harper’s mother passed a lot of her looks on to her daughter.

  But not her interest in music, apparently, as deft as Harper’s fingers are with a needle and thread. The younger woman isn’t joining her now.

  I spot Harper lounging on a velvet cushion at the other end of the revel area, watching her pack-kin alone. The other fae are dressed up more than the pack typically is during the day, the magical glow catching off silver embroidery and tiny gems woven into their clothes, but Harper’s dress outshines them all. It must be one of her own creations, the filmy gold fabric billowing around the skirt and bodice like dawn clouds drifting over a turquoise sky.

  When she sees me, she scrambles up and skips over to me with a warm, wide grin that offsets the alienness of her features. “I heard you were joining us tonight, so I had to come,” she says, and glances around. “I don’t usually bother.”

  I smile back at her. “You’d rather be making your dresses?”

  “Most of the time.” She drops her voice, as if anyone is paying all that much attention to us. “The revels are for people who want to pretend they’re somewhere else for a little while. I’d rather be getting to work making it really happen. If I can.”

  “Well, I’m glad you do that work, because I love this dress even more now that I’ve gotten to wear it for more than a few minutes.” I skim my hands down the intricately patterned sides. “August likes it too, by the way.”

  Harper gives a pleased little clap. “Perfect, perfect. Maybe someday he’ll take you to one of those balls or banquets in some other domain, and if the other ladies like it, if they ask where you got it—”

  I laugh at her eagerness. “I’ll tell them all about you, I promise.”

  “It’s a good thing we fae live so long, because you may have to wait a while yet on August attending any festivities abroad, Harper,” Whitt remarks from behind me, resting his folded arms lightly on the back of my shoulders and tipping his head past mine. His bare forearms conjure more warmth in my skin, and I’m abruptly aware of all of him just inches behind me, of the corner of his jaw grazing my hair. “I’ll add ‘procure ball invites’ to my to-do list, but I’m not sure anyone we’ll meet where we’re going will have dancing on the mind.”

  Harper ducks her head bashfully. “I wouldn’t expect—I mean, I’m sure you have more important things to do anyway. I wasn’t trying to imply I’m not happy with everything we’re provided with here.”

  I feel more than see Whitt’s smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to report you to Sylas for treason. You’re allowed to get restless.” He straightens up, giving a lock of my hair a playful tug. “Have you introduced our first-timer to the refreshments yet?”

  “Oh! No—I should have—” Harper beckons to me, hurrying off between the blankets. “There’s lots to eat and drink, whatever you’d like.”

  As we follow her over to a low wooden table set up beneath a couple of the glowing orbs, I glance over my shoulder at Whitt. “Are you trying to give her a heart attack, thinking she’s not being hospitable enough?”

  He’s still smirking. “Oh, if I wanted to give someone a heart attack, I could do a much more efficient job of it. I enjoy giving the pack their entertainments, but I can’t have them getting too complacent either. A little anxiety is for her own good.”

  I jab my elbow at his chest, but he dodges the half-hearted blow with a chuckle. “Clearly I need to make sure I don’t get too complacent around you after all these combat lessons with August.”

  “Don’t harass my friends, and we’re good,” I tell him.

  I think his grin softens a little around the edges. “I’m glad you’re settling in with the pack enough to consider some of them friends.”

  I’m not sure it’s so much “some” as “one”—or maybe two, if I can count Astrid, although I don’t know that she enjoys my company particularly rather than simply watching out for me on behalf of her lord. The other fae of the pack have been welcoming enough if they’ve bothered to pay attention to me, but they treat me like more of a novelty than any sort of equal. Like righ
t now, watching me cross the revel area with apparent interest but only speaking to each other.

  Well, I guess seeing me as a full member of the pack will take time. Hopefully joining in their revel will help with that too.

  Harper gestures toward the table, where silver platters are heaped with jewel-like fruits, brownie-like squares, and more fae delicacies, as well as several tall bottles next to a few remaining empty goblets. “You can eat whatever you’d like—the mirrornuts are particularly good at this time of year. Some of the wine is my father’s brew.”

  I hesitate, my fingers curling into my palm. A nearby woman draped across her partner’s lap is breathing out a stream of glittering smoke from a spindly cigarette. Beyond her, a cluster of fae are giggling madly between sips from their goblets.

  I’ve experienced what effects some of Whitt’s preferred “refreshments” can have on a person’s mind as well as their stomach before. I can’t imagine he’d have anything here that would muddle my head and twist my gut quite as horribly as the pulp Cole forced down my throat more than once when Aerik wanted me incoherent, but the memory rises up anyway with a shiver through my belly.

  It’s probably better to keep as much of my good sense as I can during this party anyway. If I turn all goofy again, won’t he be even more convinced that I shouldn’t be coming to the border?

  Then again, I also don’t want to look like a coward.

  I glance at him where he’s come up beside me, his hands slung casually in the pockets of his elegant slacks. “What’s normal food, and what has… special effects?”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Not looking for the full revel experience? You seemed to enjoy letting loose before.”

  Before I hadn’t realized what I was getting into—and I made some embarrassing remarks, like about how beautiful that admittedly stunning face of his is. I wrinkle my nose at him. “Maybe another time.”

  He hums to himself as if disappointed but points to the nuts Harper mentioned, little spheres so bright and polished they reflect the shapes around them as if they really are mirrors, and a bright blue fruit that looks jellied within its brittle husk. “You’ll be safe with those. The tumblemeld will give you a slight lift to your spirits but nothing that’ll addle your thoughts. You may need to avoid the beverages entirely.”