The memory of last night makes heat crawl up my neck. I cried. Actually cried, for hours, while he held me and whispered gentle reassurances. The mortification should be crushing. I’ve spent my entire adult life perfecting my composure, my masks, my carefully constructed defences. And I let them all crumble in front of this man.
But when I look into Jack’s eyes now, I see only that same steady kindness. No pity, no disgust, no calculation about how to use my moment of vulnerability against me. Just genuine concern and the sort of loyalty I’ve never inspired in anyone.
It makes me want to swoon like some ridiculously vapid maiden.
“You don’t need to,” I begin, but the words die in my throat. Because the truth is, I would like someone having my back. I would like not to face Silas’s anger and Cai’s suspicion and Ninian’s terror alone.
“I know I don’t need to,” Jack says gently. “But I want to. If you’ll let me.”
The simple honesty of it undoes something in my chest. After everything, he still wants to stand by me.
“Very well,” I manage, my voice rougher than I intended. “But I should warn you, where we’re going is different.”
“Different how?”
“You’ll see.”
I extend my hand to him, and he steps forward and takes it without hesitation. His fingers are warm and strong, and the trust implicit in the gesture makes my heart do something ridiculous and fluttery.
Together, we step through the wall that isn’t quite a wall, through a shimmering portal that connects our flat to wherever I wish.
The transition is seamless for me, as familiar as breathing. But I feel Jack tense beside me as we emerge into the vast stone cathedral that serves as the Paranormal Council’s main gathering space. Massive columns stretch up into shadows, and the air hums with barely contained magic from a dozen different supernatural traditions.
A small selkie, barely knee-high and covered in sleek grey fur, yelps at our sudden appearance and nearly drops the armload of scrolls she’s carrying.
“Terribly sorry,” I say politely. “I need to speak with the Grand Master. Urgently.”
The selkie bobs her head rapidly, scoops up her scattered scrolls, and scurries away between the columns with flipper-feet slapping against the ancient stone.
“Are we still on Earth?” Jack asks in a slightly strangled voice, his head tilted back to stare at the impossible architecture.
“Yes,” I assure him, squeezing his hand gently.
Bless his little heart. In such a short space of time, his entire understanding of reality has been completely overturned. Fey invasions, political marriages, interdimensional portals, and now underground magical councils. He’s coping remarkably well, all things considered.
Footsteps echo across the stone floor, and I turn to see a young man approaching us. He has silver hair that catches the magical lighting and purple eyes that mark him as having significant fey ancestry, though he’s clearly been raised in the human world. His clothes are modern, jeans and a simple jumper, but he moves with the sort of otherworldly grace that speaks to non-human bloodlines.
When he reaches us, he pauses, studying my face with something that looks almost like awe. I suspect I might be the first full-blooded fey he’s ever encountered in person.
“Prince Dyfri,” he says, his voice carrying just a hint of Welsh accent. “The Grand Master will see you immediately. Please, follow me.”
He leads us through a maze of corridors carved from living rock, past chambers where I can hear the murmur of voices discussing various supernatural concerns. The bureaucracy of the hidden world, carrying on its essential work of keeping the supernatural community safe and secret.
Finally, he stops at a small meeting room and gestures us inside. “The Grand Master will be with you momentarily.”
The room is simple but elegant, carved from the same stone as everything else but warmed by tapestries and comfortable chairs. We’ve barely settled when the door opens again and Silas strides in.
He looks exactly as dangerous as always. Sharp-featured, with the sort of predatory grace that marks him as far more than human. His black hair is pulled back, and those night-dark eyes fix on me with laser intensity.
“This had better be important,” he says without preamble, settling into the chair across from us. “I was in the middle of negotiations with the Greater London vampire coven, and they get tetchy when interrupted.”
“It’s important,” I assure him. “MI5 wants full operational integration with our Resistance efforts.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. Silas’s expression doesn’t change, but I can feel the dangerous stillness that settles over him like a predator preparing to strike.
“They what?”
“Full partnership. Joint planning sessions. Access to all parties and resources.” I keep my voice calm and professional, laying out the facts without editorial comment. “They’re offering technical support, intelligence resources, manpower, and protection in exchange for complete transparency about our operations.”
