“Seekers.” He curses in the old language and bellows, “Take their heads!”
The seekers come for us, some of them racing through the trees and others descending from above on black, webbed wings. Blood is quickly spilled, my guards hacking and slashing as the seekers rip and scream their way toward me. Pale skin, white fangs, and dark eyes—they prey on the weak. But for so long now, they’ve been trying to topple the strong. The day realm will never fall to such creatures, not when the sun keeps them at bay, but they take particular pains to attack any Daylanders who visit the night realm.
Brock dismounts and swings an arc around us, clearing the way as he brandishes his sword. “Keep going! Form ranks around our king!”
Soldiers hurry to obey his order as more and more seekers appear, their fangs and claws slicing through sinew and bone.
I can’t sit and watch my people be slaughtered. Slinging my leg over my horse, I jump down and behead the nearest seeker. My soldiers join me. “Take them down!” I grab the next one and will my magic to the surface. It’s weaker in the Nightlands but still potent. The sun shines through the creature, light streaming from his eyes and mouth as he turns into ash at my feet. My fire doesn’t ignite, but it doesn’t have to. Seekers abhor the sun, and my touch is enough to destroy them.
Several of the creatures rush the carriage. The changeling screams, and my hackles rise as I fight to get to her. I slice through three more seekers, then use my magic to incinerate half a dozen that rip and tear at the horses.
“Get off!” The changeling fights and screams as one of the seekers grabs her by the hair and tries to yank her from the carriage.
I press my palm to its chest, and it turns into ash as she falls back inside. Following her in, I ask, “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Her gaze darts up. “Watch out!”
I shove my sword behind me, gutting the seeker who’d been running toward me.
She sinks onto a pillow and wipes her brow, leaving a bloody streak.
“A bite?” I climb the rest of the way in and pull her arm to me. Three long gashes mark the skin of her arm, blood welling as she winces.
“It scratched me. I’m all right.”
Brock yells for the guards to chase the creatures down. The assault must be over.
“Here.” I pull her closer, sitting her in my lap as I line up our arms.
“What are you—”
“Shh.” I press my lips to her ear. “I have my mother’s talent for healing, but not her strength. I have to concentrate.”
“I, um.” She takes a deep breath as I pull her against me, her back to my chest as I concentrate on her; her breathing, the midnight jasmine scent of her hair, the smoothness of her pale skin.
She’s exquisite, so different from the females of the Dayland court with their golden hair and sun-loved skin. Not this changeling. She is part of the night, her red hair a flame in the dark.
I breathe her in and force my thoughts to the cuts on her arm. They flicker with green, then slowly close. My healing is spent before they’re completely healed, but they’re well on their way and shouldn’t scar.
“Better?” I press my lips to her ear, enjoying the goosebumps that spread down her neck and shoulder.
“Yes.”
My arm tightens around her waist, and I have the distinct desire to bite her.
She tries to pull away. “I’m good now. You can stop whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I think I’ll keep doing exactly what I want.” I taste her skin, my mouth fastening to her smooth neck in an open kiss.
Her breath catches and she wiggles her hips just a little, setting off a throb in my already-hard cock. The need to bite her surges inside me. Which is ludicrous. Fae only bite theirmates. And this changeling—though she is delicious—isn’t my mate. She can’t be. She’s a mortal, and no bond runs between us, no desperation to claim her. Well, perhaps the claiming part is true. I came to the Nightlands dreading choosing my consorts. But now, with this strange creature on my lap, I’m rather pleased with my selection.
But she’s still just a changeling. I’ve heard rumors of the winter realm king choosing a changeling mate, but there’s no way that could be true. Changelings are not mates, especially not for a Daylands high fae.
“My lord.” Brock opens the carriage door, takes one look at me, then turns away. “Forgive the intrusion, but we’ve handled the seekers and can continue in safety.”
I relinquish my prize, her enchanting taste still on my tongue. “Casualties?”
“Four soldiers.”
