“I always forget thegoing backpart of running away.”
“Aye, but your arse doesn’t.” Magnus clapped him on the shoulder with a soft chuckle, the sound sad. “Ten gold pieces says its puckering even now.”
Thaddeus loosed a long groan and flopped backwards. “Don’t remind me. I was doing a fine job of ignoring it.”
Lunara nudged him with her foot. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Ach, aye. It can.” He wiggled around in the dirt and leaves, a grimace on his face. “Still, it’ll be better than living out here for the rest of my life. I’d never survive without a bed.”
“There’s an idea,” Magnus said, a thoughtful look on his face. “Perhaps that’s how we’ll mark you. You’d be a legend—the mighty Wolflord warrior with feathers and a wee blankie tattooed across his scrawny arse.”
A giggle bubbled up as Thaddeus kicked Magnus in the shin and Lunara let it free, allowing herself the small drop of levity amidst the weight of reality.
You’re all over the damned place. How can you think this is good? Fine?
Because, alone in the dark Nachthellian wilds, there was no such thing as laughter to help stave off the burden of sorrow.
She sensed Brand approaching before he touched her, his knuckles brushing hers as he sidled up. He’d schooled his features into a bland mask, but it did nothing to hide the emotion roiling just beneath the surface.
Not when her skin was suddenly too tight, buzzing and numb at once. When an ache so deep it choked her formed and her lungs turned to lead, and—when every one of those sensations fell away as quickly as they’d come—Lunara realized those were not her feelings buthis.
A memory of her parents, one long-since buried, sprang up from the lost depths of her mind.
Lunara had been young, hiding among the library stacks with no one the wiser. She’d thought herself clever when her mother had swept in and shut the doors behind her with a sigh, clearly thinking herself to be alone.
Then, her mother—the most renowned healer of her time—had doubled over, clutching her stomach as she tried to stifle her weeping.
At her tender age, Lunara hadn’t understood that her mother was painting a perfect picture of the age-old Nachthellian tragedy—the inability to save themselves or their own, unborn children.
She later learned the loss had been weeks prior to that moment, and she’d been witnessing her mother’s continued grief.
It was her father though, barging in with wild eyes, that she thought of now. How he’d dashed across the room, scooped her mother into his arms, and held her in one of the plush window alcoves for what had seemed like hours. Never speaking a word, but being so connected that even Lunara had felt the power of it.
Her father hadknown.Had sensed his mate’s distress and come running.
She’d forgotten, over the years, that such a thing existed. That a bond could run so deep that two creatures became one, every part of them merely an extension of the other.
The others were making decisions, conversing in low tones, but she didn’t absorb any of it.
Lunara was struck silent as she acknowledged the part of her that had been experiencing whispers and inklings of that verything. Dozens of pulls and tugs and cracks that didn’t belong to her, but had been given into her care nonetheless.
The first meal they’d shared. The mountaintop. The river. Even his greater half had brought something out of her in the chasm she’d thought long gone, a power that had nothing to do with magic as they’d soared through the air. Freedom, even as they’d thought themselves hurtling towards their own doom.
It had beenhim.Hislonging across the supper table. Hisdisquiet and determination battling under the stars. Hiscalm as he’d bathed her. Hislightness as they’d flown. His sadness in the deep. His guilt over Faldir.
At every turn, he’d fought for her. Soothed her. Lifted her. All in spite of his own struggles.
Brand hadknown.Had sensed his mate’s distress.
The bond was already there. Ephemeral as mist over a forest lake, it came and went—this tiny, fragile thing that hadn’t yet found its purchase. But surely something even half as beautiful as what her parents had shared was more precious than any of her worries, wasn’t it?
Too much. It’s too much.
“Are you well, little moon?” Brand said under his breath, drawing a single finger down the line of her arm, both comfort and concern in the touch.
Lunara froze as she tried to accept that her mind was no longer only her own. Hazel eyes stared back, glittering and searching beneath furrowed brows—a solace of fire and earth that begged the ice in her to melt away. Begged her to give in.
Don’t be rash. You’re just tired. You’ll realize this is folly just as soon as you?—
