by Eva Chase
I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. “All three of you know that our pack’s current standing can be blamed on the unfortunate ambitions of my lord’s deceased mate—which he did not share or act in favor of—not any deficiencies in strength or wits. Whatever’s coming, we’ll push it back however we can, but we’ll be a much more effective tool in the arch-lords’ arsenal if you share what you’ve learned about the Unseelie’s plans.”
Maeve tosses back her tawny hair. “Even if we did have some foreknowledge, anyone with wits would be able to figure out it’d hardly be sensible to share it with a pack that’s been associated with treachery against our arch-lords once before.”
Cashel nods in agreement. “Yes. Tell Lord Sylas that he may as well go home. We have no scraps to offer you poor beggars.”
The two of them stride out without another word. Hollis shoots me a grimace that might be slightly apologetic and follows, equally silent. I glower at their retreating backs and draw in a breath to settle my temper.
I hadn’t really expected them to say much. Getting confirmation that some scheme is afoot was enough. Judging by their attitudes, I feel confident in telling Sylas that they don’t know exactly what to expect from the Unseelie themselves. They know something bad is coming, but not enough to want to toss some sort of “scrap” our way to let us take the brunt of the attack.
Stepping out into the thin early-morning sunlight, I roll my shoulders and then stretch out into my wolfish form to lope back to our own camp.
The meeting tent of sorts stands about a mile back from the border, near enough that I can see no raven warriors are piercing the haze there at this particular moment. Beyond the scattered buildings constructed based on their inhabitants’ magical affinities for plant-life or stone or metal, the ephemeral wall that separates the summer half of our world from winter rises all the way up to tint the stark blue sky gray. Minor eddies whirl through the haze’s glinting surface, which combines the shimmer of heat rising off a scorched earth with the clotted fog of a cold damp night.
If I were to lope that way, within a few steps of heading through the haze I’d find myself treading on icy ground in frigid air—for however few seconds it’d take before the Unseelie warriors descended on me and bashed my brains out.
The Seelie camp buildings stand in clusters for each squadron, spaced apart across the flat terrain here. Most of the tall, hissing grasses that cover the fields have baked beneath the sun so long the blades now shine like brass. Here and there, one squadron or another have cut the grass down to make room for scruffy gardens.
Warriors don’t enjoy playing farmer, but they must also tire of hunting and foraging. Some of them, like many of our own, have been stationed out here for years on end.
A few distant wolfish figures prowl along the base of the hazy border, reassuring me that our fellow packs are at least organized enough to be keeping up their patrols even though there hasn’t been a full-out attack since the one that sent Ralyn back to us weeks ago. I turn away from them and speed up my strides, weaving through the grass and skirting the beehive-like hillocks that rise from it farther afield.
I’m just coming around one of those pocked protrusions when an unpleasantly familiar form stalks into view—the skinny, pale-haired man from Aerik’s cadre: Cole. The one who’s been spying on our domain for reasons still not entirely clear. And now he’s lurking near our current settlement?
I veer toward him, and he stops at the sight of me, cocking his head. I can’t tell whether he recognizes my wolf, but the moment I shift to stand upright in front of him, my skin prickling with the abrupt transformation, his lips curl with an equally familiar sneer. He must have learned it from his lord.
“What brings you all the way out here?” I ask in a conversational tone that may be slightly undermined by the fact that I haven’t bothered with so much as a greeting.
Cole’s eyes narrow, but he makes a careless gesture as if unperturbed by the question. “The same thing as you, I’d imagine. Hard to keep the squadron’s spirits up if they start to feel abandoned by their leaders. Especially so in your case, given the history, I’d imagine.”
I ignore the barely concealed barb in that remark and glance around. “And where exactly is this squadron of yours? Awfully far from home all the way out here, aren’t they?” Sylas would never have picked this spot if he’d thought we’d be near neighbors with Aerik’s warriors. Last I’d gathered, they were farther south along the border, closer to the Heart and to Aerik’s domain.
“We decided a change in scenery was in order. As it seems your lord has too.” Cole’s grin is so sharp it can barely be called a smile. “Has Sylas nothing better to do than dawdle around waiting for a battle to come to him? Or perhaps he doesn’t trust his cadre to handle things without his direct supervision.”
I bristle inwardly but keep my expression mild. He’s given away more than he might realize. Aerik isn’t here, only Cole. And I have a strong suspicion this interest in seeing another portion of the border was driven by curiosity after hearing that Sylas had arrived here himself. Cole is chasing glory and guessing there’s no reason Sylas would have come if an opportunity wasn’t imminent.
“You’ll have to ask him yourself, if you’re so concerned,” I say, baring a few teeth of my own, and spring forward as a wolf again.
I glance back once to check which direction Cole heads in, and then set off at a full run. Within a few minutes, I reach the stream where the current sings like harp strings, bound across the swaying reed bridge, and skirt the edges of the village built on its far bank.
No one likes to live both this far from the Heart and this close to the winter lands, especially now that the Unseelie have made themselves a continuing, concrete threat. The fortress that rises beyond the cluster of houses is a lopsided affair grown of brambles, looking like little more than a massive thicket. I hate to think what the walls and floors within must offer.
I may be biased, but I have to say that the building August and I helped Sylas call up yesterday evening, about a half a mile farther west, looks a damn sight more appealing for all its flimsiness. We’re a little closer to the Heart here than right out on the fringes in Oakmeet, but not enough to change the fact that we were attempting to conjure an entire multi-bedroom home in the space of a few hours. It’s certainly not as elegant as the Oakmeet keep, let alone the castle in Hearthshire, and a bad windstorm could knock down those thin oak walls, but it’ll do for the few weeks we’re staying here.
Heart help us, let it be no more than a few weeks.
My own heart is thudding in my chest at a pace I can’t entirely blame on my swift journey. It hitches faster when I spot a head of deep pink hair off to the side of our new building, which looks like the polished stump of a mountainous tree. Talia is crouched in the hasty garden Sylas and August coaxed into growing, pulling berries off of the plants there.
If Cole slunk by here recently, he’ll have seen her.
It shouldn’t worry me so much when I know Sylas bolstered the glamours around her just before we arrived yesterday and no doubt checked on them again this morning. I shouldn’t worry about her at all when she has her two paramours doting on her at every turn.
It definitely shouldn’t send an icy twinge through my chest when her eyes widen with terror at the first sight of my wolfish form—or warm me quite so dizzyingly when that fear flees in the wake of one of her shy but brilliant smiles as she recognizes me.
She isn’t mine, I remind myself as I have so often in the past few weeks. She isn’t mine, and she won’t be. But the way she gazed at me the other night during the revel, so concerned about my happiness of all things—the way she looked when she talked about finding her own happiness in our world—
I shake those thoughts away and shed my fur at the edge of the garden.
As she takes in my expression, Talia’s smile falters. “Is everything okay? Did they get angry with you?”
More concerned for me than for herse
lf yet again. I jerk my head toward the arched door of our new abode. “The people I went to speak to were exactly as much pricks as I expected. But I had a less expected conversation we should discuss.”
She grabs her basket and heads inside without argument—trusting me. In the open-concept space of the first floor, a couple of our warriors are sprawled asleep on the cushions in the living area, having come from the main camp area to wait on their lord. Talia sets the berries on the short span of kitchen counter, and I motion her up the stairs to the four cramped bedrooms.
Hers is the farthest back from the narrow staircase, I suspect because Sylas wanted any intruder to have to get by all of us before reaching her. No sign of Sylas or August—August mentioned meaning to hunt, and Sylas wanted to speak to a few of the other squadrons, as much as they might tell him.
Talia limps straight to her roughly-hewn bed and stops there, waiting until I’ve closed the door behind us. We need the privacy, but I’m abruptly aware with a quiver over my skin of how little space lies between us.
“Is it safe to talk now?” the mite asks, canny enough to understand why I’d have brought her away from everyone.
“We set down all the magical protections we could around these rooms,” I say. “It’d better be.” Then I hesitate, because I don’t actually want to tell her what I need to. But I do need to. “I don’t think you should be pitching in outside the fortress anymore.”
Talia blinks at me. “Why not? If I did something wrong—”
I wave off any question of that. “It’s not you. Aerik’s squadron has moved nearby. Cole is already sneaking around. I’d imagine he’s wondering what brought Sylas and the rest of us out here just now. That bunch are always looking to improve their advantages any way they can. I think it’s best if we give them as little opportunity to study you as possible.”
She has already tensed up, her back stiffening. “With the glamour—he shouldn’t have been able to recognize anything about me, right? He didn’t come close enough that I saw him.”
“You should be fine for now. We simply don’t want to push our luck. Let me check the glamours, just in case.”
I can see already that the one across her shoulder, to hide any trace of her scars that might peek past her shirt, is solid as ever. I motion for Talia to sit. She sinks down on the edge of the bed, and I kneel to examine her malformed foot.
Close up, I can squint through the illusion and make out the awkward jut of the bones, the curves of the wooden slats that form her brace. But when I set my fingers against her ankle, the glamour obscures even them. Cole would have to be mere inches away to see through Sylas’s magic.
That doesn’t mean he couldn’t notice something odd about her gait if he watches her walking around outside, though. I hate telling her she should stay confined—but she doesn’t want another encounter with that bastard any more than the rest of us do. Less so, presumably.
“Is it okay?” Talia asks, and I realize I’m still crouched there before her, holding her ankle. Stroking my thumb across her skin to tease out its warmth, without even thinking about it.
I drop my hand as gracefully as haste allows and look up at her. Her vivid green eyes pin me in place.
“Yes,” I say. “Nothing to worry about.”
“For now.”
“Exactly.” I pause, considering. Her words from the other morning, when she said she didn’t want to stay locked away, ring through my memory. “If you didn’t venture far from the building, and you kept particular care with how you walked when outside—you shouldn’t have to stay completely cooped up in here.”
Her bittersweet smile could slay me. “This was the risk I took when I insisted on coming out to the border. I’ll manage. The house is still a lot bigger than Aerik’s cage. I’ll just focus on the cooking and other tasks I can do indoors.”
“So stoic, oh mighty one,” I can’t resist teasing.
As my reward, her smile brightens for a moment. She gives my arm a playful kick. “It isn’t easy for you either, is it?”
I raise my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you must have to be even more on your guard all the time out here. The other packs’ warriors are all over the place. None of this territory is actually ours. Even if you’re always on alert around other people back home, you at least have the space to get away from everyone if you need to.”
I’m not sure what makes my heart twinge harder—the fact that she just referred to Oakmeet as “home” as easily as if she’s always lived there, or how clearly and matter-of-factly she’s extrapolated about my wellbeing from the few admissions I made the other night. Maybe it’s neither but the fact that she cares enough about my wellbeing to consider it that far.
I give her calf one last gentle pat through her jeans. “Save your worries for yourself, mite. I have plenty of practice at tolerating discomfort as need be.”
She shrugs. “So do I.”
Who could deny that?
I don’t know how long I’d have stayed there, kneeling at her feet and basking in her attention if Sylas’s voice didn’t carry from downstairs just then. “You’ve returned, Whitt?”
I stand, torn between gratitude and regret at the interruption. I might have enjoyed lingering longer, but that doesn’t mean it’d have been good for me.
“I’ll explain the situation to Sylas,” I tell Talia. “And maybe we’ll all get lucky and the wretched Unseelie will peck Cole’s head off before we have to deal with him again.”
Chapter Nineteen
Talia
It doesn’t make sense, not really. We just came to the border, and now I’m standing in the field outside the keep with the lights and music of a revel all around me.
The initial burst of doubt slips away with the whirling of the dancing figures surrounding me. I turn, the lanterns seeming to spin above me, and Whitt is there. He takes my hand to spin me around like he did at my first revel, and his eyes hold mine with a heat that washes through me from head to toe. His mouth curves into a sly grin.
He looks fierce and somehow free as I’ve never seen him, as if there isn’t a single thought in his mind except me and what he’d like to do with me. A thrill races after the rush of heat.
I twirl before him as if my feet are steady. The dancers around us fade away. The music keeps playing from some distant source. When I come to a stop facing Whitt again, he’s dropped to his knees in front of me like he did when checking my foot this morning.
His fingers glide over my bare skin, skimming my ankle and up my calf, raising the hem of my dress until it reaches my knees. As my pulse thumps, he leans in and kisses the inner side of that knee. Then a little higher, and a little higher, his hands easing the dress farther up with each movement of his lips.
A sharper tingling shoots to the meeting of my thighs with every kiss. He’s teasing me and worshipping me at the same time. His fingers slide upward until they’re nearly grazing the place now throbbing with need, his mouth rising after them, and I want—I want—
A creak shatters the spell. I snap awake amid the coarser sheets of the bed in my temporary new room, my body flushed and my heart still pounding, though in a much more eager way than past moments when I’ve jolted out of sleep.
In the darkness, I just barely make out the silhouette of a brawny figure in the doorway, lit by the faintest of glows from the hall. The fall of wavy hair and the gleam of one pale eye reveal him as Sylas, not the man I was dreaming about.
The memory of that dream sends a renewed flush over my skin just as Sylas steps inside. He tips his head questioningly. As I sit up, my eyes adjusting to the dimness, I catch the quirk of the corner of his mouth.
“I heard you gasp and thought you were caught in a nightmare,” he says, the rumble of his voice low but warm with amusement. “Now I’m thinking it wasn’t a bad dream after all.”
How well can his wolfish senses pick up my bodily reactions? I wet my lips, willing away the thrum of arousal still coursin
g through my veins. “It wasn’t. I’m all right. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
He makes a dismissive sound. “I was turning in for the night. There was nothing to interrupt.” His voice dips even lower, with no less amusement. “Although now I’m curious exactly where that dream of yours was taking you.”
My drowsy mind slips back to the moments before I woke, to the gleam of Whitt’s sun-kissed hair below me and his lips hot against my inner thigh. More heat spikes from low in my belly, but at the same time my stomach twists uncomfortably.
Why would I dream that? Whitt and I haven’t done anything. Even if I’ve felt flickers of attraction now and then, I already have not one but two men I’ve promised my heart to. How can I even think of anyone other than them?
How would Sylas react if I told him? My tongue turns leaden, my mouth going dry, remembering the flares of possessive aggression when he first found out about me and August. And that was before I’d made any sort of commitment to him. After what his former mate did to him… The thought of him thinking I’ve betrayed him, that I lied when I told him I loved him, makes something deep inside me shrivel in dismay.
“Talia.” When I glance up at Sylas again, his expression has turned so serious that I can see the concern in it even in the faint light. Whatever he’s seen in me—with his good eye or the ghostly scarred one—it brings him to the side of my bed. He perches with surprising deftness on the very edge of the thin mattress so he isn’t crowding me and takes my hand where it’s clenched on top of the covers.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says, his voice somber as well as quiet now. “Your dreams are your own. I would never make a demand like that—and if it was a dream of August that stirred your body that way, I wouldn’t be angry with you. How I reacted in the past was not a reflection on you, only my own urges to deal with.”
