Just like that, the warmth of the glade dies on my skin. The magic that had been singing in harmony with my heartbeat goes silent, replaced by something colder, more ominous. The very air seems to thicken with unspoken threats and political machinations I don’t understand.
I have a feeling that everything is about to change, and the brief peace I found in this impossible forest is about to be ripped away just like everything else I’ve ever dared to love.
CHAPTER FIVE
SAM
“How much time do we have?”
Cashira’s voice carries its usual steady cadence, but I catch the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers grip the worn fabric of her apron. She’s standing near the cottage door like she’s ready to bolt or fight, maybe both. The way her sea-glass eyes dart between Locke and Esme tells me she already knows she won’t like whatever answer he’s about to give.
Locke shifts his weight, that predatory grace making every movement seem calculated. His gray-green eyes flick between Cashira and Esme, lingering on my mate’s face longer than I like. Then that maddening smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, the kind of expression that makes my wolf want to rip it clean off his face.
“Judging by the look on your face and hers,” he drawls, voice carrying that infuriating fae arrogance, “I’d say there’s a talk that needs to happen. A long overdue one.” He pauses, studying Esme with an intensity that makes my hackles rise. “I’ll give you until dawn.”
The growl rumbles from deep in my chest before I can stop it, low and threatening. It’s the kind of sound that usually makeslesser wolves submit and humans back away. Locke doesn’t even flinch. If anything, his smirk deepens, like my territorial display amuses him.
He tips his head toward me in mock acknowledgment, those pierced lips quirking upward. “Easy there, wolf. I’m not going anywhere you need to worry about.”
I want to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going in the middle of this sentient forest. Does the arrogant bastard plan to sleep in the trees like some overgrown bird? The questions burn on my tongue, but I think twice and decide I don’t give a shit. As long as he keeps his distance from my mate, he can commune with the damned mushrooms for all I care.
Then his voice drops, taking on a different quality, softer, more intimate. It’s aimed squarely at Esme, and the familiarity in his tone makes my blood boil. “Catch you in the morning, Starlight.”
The endearment hits me like a physical blow. My hands clench into fists at my sides as possessive rage floods through me. Who the hell does he think he is, giving her pet names? That’s territory I haven’t even fully claimed yet.
With a little flourish of his hand, a casual wave that somehow manages to look both dismissive and elegant, he melts into the shadows. But it’s not like the teleportation magic I’ve seen from Micah and the others at the Academy. This is something else entirely. It’s like he wraps the very essence of shadows around himself, becoming one with the fabric of the forest itself. The blackbark trees seem to bend toward him, the mist parts, and then he’s gone, not vanished, but absorbed. Like Kasamere Forest opened its ancient maw and swallowed him whole.
“What the hell is he?” I mutter, staring at the spot where he disappeared. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and steel lingers in the air, foreign and unsettling. I can only assumeit’s definitively fae, but even among the magical beings I’ve encountered, Locke feels different.
Esme doesn’t answer. She’s still staring after him with that crease between her brows, like she’s trying to decipher some hidden message in that last look he gave her.
Cashira places a weathered hand on Esme’s back, the gesture tender but urgent. “Come, daughter. It’s time.”
“Time for what?” I ask, falling into step behind them as we return to the cottage. My wolf is still agitated, pacing restlessly beneath my skin. The scent of Locke clings to the air around us, marking territory in a way that makes me want to shift and show him exactly who Esme belongs to.
Cashira doesn’t answer until the cottage door closes behind us with a soft click. The interior feels smaller somehow, charged with the weight of unspoken truths. She turns to face Esme directly, her expression grave, hands clasped before her like she’s about to deliver a death sentence.
“I had hoped to wait until you were stronger,” she says quietly, her voice carrying the weight of years of held secrets. “But the king’s summons makes that impossible. There are things you need to know, things I should have told you long ago.”
Esme stiffens beside me, her entire body going rigid. I can feel the spike of fear through our bond, sharp and electric.
I’m still reeling from what the arrogant bastard just implied, what did he mean? Esme a queen? Cashira? Now her mother’s using words like ‘king’ and ‘summons’ like they carry personal weight, like they’re not just political abstractions but immediate, terrifying realities.
Esme moves toward the bench by the fire with unsteady steps, her face pale in the flickering light. The flames cast dancing shadows across her features, highlighting the sharp edges of her cheekbones, the worried press of her lips. I linger near the door, arms crossed, heart hammering against my ribslike it’s trying to escape my chest. Every instinct I have is screaming that whatever comes next will change everything.
She pats the worn wooden seat beside her and reaches for my hand, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the fire. The moment our skin touches, something settles in my chest, our bond, that golden thread that connects us, pulses with life. For the first time in weeks, I feel truly grounded. My wolf stops its restless pacing, soothed by the contact. Whatever storm is coming, we’ll weather it together.
Cashira blows out a long breath and runs her hands down her apron in a gesture I recognize as nervous habit. Her fingers catch on the rough fabric, and when she begins to speak, her voice has taken on the cadence of confession.
“I met your father at the base of the Blue Mountains,” she says, settling into the chair across from us. Firelight plays across her freckled light brown skin, casting her wild silver curls in shades of copper and gold. Her voice grows softer, more distant, like she’s speaking from memory rather than the present. “He was hurt. Bleeding badly. Barely conscious when I found him collapsed against the ancient stones that guard our borders.”
She pauses, her eyes unfocused as she drifts back through time. “I don’t know where he came from or how he ended up on our lands. The wards that protect the Blue Mountains are some of the oldest magic in existence, nothing gets through them without permission. All I know is that one moment the path was empty, and the next, he was there. Like the mountain itself had deposited him at my feet.”
The weight of her words settles over us. I’ve heard enough about the Blue Mountain Coven to know they don’t make exceptions for anyone, especially not strange men who appear out of nowhere.
“When I found him, he had no memory,” Cashira continues, her hands twisting in her lap. “He didn’t know his name orhow he’d gotten through wards that have stood for centuries. Nothing. His mind was completely blank, like someone had taken an eraser to his entire existence.” She shakes her head slowly. “I’d only read about the fae in our oldest texts, stories so ancient most of the coven considered them myth. You know how sheltered we are on the mountain, how isolated from the rest of the world. So, when I looked at this beautiful, broken stranger, I didn’t even realize what he was at first.”
Esme leans forward, her grip on my hand tightening. “But you took him in anyway.”
