For a moment, Nivarrah’s magic ebbs as her surprise makes her look up at my black dragon.
The others who have been fighting amongst themselves shout to one another. Many begin preparing more magical attacks.
I do not know which of these foolish fae harmed my mate, but it is possible they were seeing something else entirely, thanks to the illusory magic of Nivarrah.
I do not wish for Nivarrah to continue creating so much chaos that might harm my mate. Yet I know she is afflicted by Veld’s meddling and not truly deserving of death. So instead of setting her ablaze, I let my dragon settle to the ground, shaking it before I whip my long black tail around. It knocks intoNivarrah, throwing her several long paces before she crashes to the ground, unconscious from the blow.
I would like to knock down Veld, too, but he is nowhere to be seen now.
At once, the world settles. The sky returns to blue, the angry purples fade from everything else, and the ground no longer appears to be moving. Scents return to normal. Nivarrah’s illusory magic evaporates, leaving a couple of dozen confused fae to stand and blink at their actual reality and the sight of several of their comrades dead or badly injured on the ground.
I crane my long neck to check on my mate—but a male has already run to her, now that Nivarrah’s magic is no longer holding them hostage. He removes his coat and helps her stand, wrapping it around her quickly. His face is badly scarred, his entire countenance like a vicious winter as he glares up at my black dragon.
He raises his hand to attack me in some way, but my mate stops him, shouting a plea I do not know.
Some of the fae are shouting to one another once more, their hands held up with the glow of magic curling around their fingers. They are wary and may attack me at any moment, but seeing proof of my mate's concern for me calms my inner beasts.
Far more interested in my mate than I am in these threatened fae, I shift once more into my two-legged form, hurrying toward her. Soon, I can make out her face for the first time, and my heart begins to pound within my aching chest.
She is beautiful. Breathtaking. There is no mistaking the perfect softness of her form, curving and tempting me beneath the fabric of the coat upon her.
"My mate," I whisper as I quicken my pace, though it feels like dragging my throat across hot coals to speak for the first time in so long. "At last."
Her wide brown eyes track my every move as I draw closer. Her hair, like the light reddish-brown fur of her doe's summer coat, falls over her shoulders, stirring in a spring breeze. Her soft pink lips are parted in surprise, promising a glimpse of Paradise from a single kiss.
One of the fae is saying something to me as he tries to catch up with my pace, but I ignore him as I approach my mate, entranced. It is strange—she is undoubtedly a shifter, despite having no spotted deer markings, hooves, or fur upon her two-legged form. Perhaps she is like me, born beastless and so lacking the physical traits of her beast that most shifters have.
Then did she manifest her beast through meddling, as I did with mine?
It does not matter. All that matters is whether she will let me bathe her and taste her and tend to her every desire the way I now burn to do. I have longed so bitterly for my mate—or mates—that I cannot focus on anything but my mate's perfection. I am filled with a breathtaking array of intensely pleasant emotions as I near her, but it turns to concern when I see her flinch and clutch her stomach.
I slow to a stop, concerned.
She looks as though she feels ill.
Why is she ill? Was she harmed by the spell that was cast at her?
No. It is because she is a Feeling One,the quietest, most attuned of my beasts whispers to me.
Surprise and awe fill me.
Before the great darkness fell upon this land, all shifter clans, fae peoples, and others within this realm revered beings of deep feeling who sensed the heartfelt emotions of others. Feeling Ones were considered holy—rare but capable of ending hostile skirmishes and unifying peoples with their ability to understand and soothe the feelings of those around them.
Did the gods really bless me with a mate so precious?
The white-haired male has been watching my approach warily. When he sees how I am marveling at my mate, he steps in front of her, protective.
He is her kin,my most sharp-eyed beast decides after studying them.
An elemental soul,another beast chirps in agreement.
It pleases me to know my mate has another here to guard her from any further harm, but the fae who was following me now steps in front of me. He is less fear-filled than the others here, and unlike the other fae, he has no magic prepared to attack me.
This one is pale with blood-red irises, the marks of a blood fae.
"You must calm," he tells me.
Though he has an odd accent and his pronunciation is clumsy, I am relieved that he speaks even a little of the fae tongue I learned before that long sleep.
