Torryn’s jaw clenches as his hands ball into fists at his sides. “Watch it, fangs. Your primal urges aren’t too far off.”
Riven sneers. “Our kind could never be confused, mutt.”
Before the tension can dissipate, Sylvin lifts a hand, voice slick with amusement. “Easy now. No need to bruise your egos in front of the girl.”
The air in my lungs tightens and I bristle at his clear choice to not use the name I chose.
“It’s Wren,” I whisper quietly, but none of them stop to listen.
“I’m not the one confusing bloodlines,” Riven mutters before looking out at the battlefield. “She asked and I answered. Simple as that.”
“And you answered like a petulant child,” Sylvin replies smoothly. “Try not to embarrass yourself in front of the first female outside of your own kind to look at you like you aren’t a monster.”
“Say that again,” Riven’s attention snaps to him as he growls, fangs flashing faintly behind his taunting smirk.
“I’d rather not repeat myself for someone who hears with his teeth,” Sylvin goads.
I stand frozen, coat tight in my hands as the air sparks with an air of violence. It feels old and bitter, like there’s hundreds of years worth of history driving their clear disdain of one another.
These men arenotallies. They barely tolerate one another.
Did I make a mistake in thinking they could help me?
Once more, I hear Azyric breathe out quietly, “How did I get stuck with these children?”
Just like my reminder of my name, the other men ignore his words. Maybe they don’t even hear him through their haze of anger and bruised egos.
Torryn cuts in, his voice a warning growl. “This is a temporary ceasefire. Remember that when you’re spoutinginsults, Riven.”
Sylvin nods once, curtly. “When the war ends, we draw out our new borders after reclaiming the land we gave to humans and stick to them.”
“I, for one, can’t wait,” Riven agrees.
I barely suppress a groan at the annoyance they are stirring up within me.
Torryn lifts a hand to run it through his hair, pulling gently on the roots as he sighs. “I need a fucking cigarette.”
The word brings forth the image of something burning between his lips, and somehow I remember that it’s a bad thing.
“No, you don’t,” I counter before I can think my words through.
The three of them offer me looks of confusion.
Part of me wants to walk over to stand in silence with Azyric, but I know I need to take advantage of this moment to learn everything I can. However, maybe that starts with sharing what I do know.
“I’ve slowly realized that as I see things–like a tree, for example–or you mention them, sometimes things resurface in my mind. I know that cigarettes are bad for you, suddenly.” I end on a shrug, unsure of how else to explain it.
Their stares leave me shifting on my feet with discomfort. It’s time to redirect.
I look at Sylvin, my voice quiet. “If you’re not a shifter…then what are you?”
His smile returns, distant and polished. “I’m Fae. Winter Court, to be specific. We have magic tied to the elements in our blood and silver on our tongues. We don’t lie outright–our kind can’t–but we’re very good at saying only what serves us.”
The word lands with soft weight.Fae.It hums through my chest. It’s familiar.
Riven shifts closer, pulling my attention.
His voice is smooth as he offers. “Vampire. I drink blood, yes. No, I don’t sleep in coffins. And yes, Icanhear your heartbeat.” His eyes glint. “It’s been racing since we arrived.”
