“I’d love a fray.” The obsidian darts her tongue out at Brock. “Come get me. I can tell you like what you see.” She twirls a lock of silver hair around her finger, magic oozing off her as she stares at him. “Fancy a visit to my stone cavern?”
“Witch, if the king hadn’t bade me—”
“Pffftt.” She turns away. “Boring talk.”
“Witch.” I struggle to sit up but manage to do it without grunting.
“My lord.” Brock reaches for me.
I wave him away. “I’m fine.”
“You look two shades short of death.” The obsidian leans forward, and all my warriors tense at the same time. She glances around. “I could end you all with a whisper.”
“Everyone, stand down.” I lean back against the pillows along my headboard. “Including you, witch.”
She shrugs. “What do you want of me? I have people to shred and bones to gnaw. My cave misses me. The bones call for me to return.” She snaps her teeth. “I need to sharpen my fangs on fresh meat and sinew, marrow and blood.” She waves a hand at the azure day shining through the skylights overhead. “Hate it here. Need to go.”
“Why were you in the bog to begin with if you hate the day realm so much?” Bladin growls.
“I go where I want.” She points a long claw at him. “I do who I want.” Her gaze cuts back to Brock. “I’m soft and warm on the inside, Brock Firstfrost Mayhollow. Maybe even wet.” She waggles her brows and drops her eyes lower. “Depending on how big your co—”
“I’ve called you here to assist me in rescuing my mate,” I interrupt before Brock explodes.
“You have no mate.” She flicks her cold gaze back to me.
My feral roars in my breast at her false words.
“Brandishing your fangs won’t change that fact.” She leans back.
I hadn’t even realized I’d bared them. The fiery crown atop my head sizzles even though my magic is still weak. Nothing can keep me from proclaiming my bond with Emma.
“Emmaismy mate.”
“She bears the mark of another.”
“How do you know this, witch?” Brock is on the edge of violence. “Are you in league with the seekers?”
“I’m in league with no one.” She harrumphs. “But I’d be in league with you, if you like.” She bats her lashes.
“Why weren’t you this randy in the bog? I was there.” Bladin cocks his head to the side. “Surely, you saw me hunting you.”
She waves a dismissive hand at him. “Too pretty.”
Everett snorts a laugh.
“You’re wasting my time.” My feral’s rage is outpacing my own, but only slightly. I need a plan to get Emma back. Now. Not later. Not between witty banter and barbs. Half of me is gone, stolen, and I need it back.
“I didn’t ask for your time, my lord,” she sneers. “I was minding my own business, peeling the skin from a wretched soul who enjoyed beating his many wives when your louts disrupted my fun.” The witch’s eyes narrow. “I can feel your desire for the changeling. It tastes—” She juts her tongue out like a snake. “True.” She seems surprised by the word, but then she shrugs. “But, as I said, she bears the mark of another.”
“She was stolen from me. Taken by Eraldon, King Sigrid’s son.” My feral roars again. “I don’t give a damn if he’s marked her. She’smine. Our souls are bound by the magic. My mark is the only one that lays claim to her heart.” I sit up, my strength returning bit by bit.
“Pretty words, kingly one.” The witch frowns. “But you have a realm falling into ruin. Even now, there are whispers—Shhh!” She holds up a claw. “I hear one right now, tip-toeing up the wall and into the too-sunny sky. It says that you have your mate locked in the dungeon. Not the changeling, but a cold, beautiful fae who lays claim to you from an old betrothal.”
“Gwenarie is not my mate.” I grit my teeth. “She’s lucky I haven’t flayed her alive for betraying my true mate.”
“You still have sooty ashes of a curse all over you. Did she cast it?” She shakes her head. “More enemies than you even realize—they’re all around you.” The witch reaches out as if catching a fly in her fingers. “Another whisper.” She holds her empty palm to her ear. “This one says the seekers can walk in the daylight, that your power cannot keep the realm safe, that all is ruin and rot. You are not your father. You are not strong enough. You cannot keep the Nightlands at bay no matter who—”
“I swear by the Ancestors, if you don’t shut your lying mouth, I will end you, obsidian demon!” Brock starts to draw his sword.
