She wanted to cry, because she didn’t have an answer. She wanted to be with Devin, more than anything she’d ever wanted. He was the first person to ever inspire her to act, to venture from an abhorrent pre-destined future. She had wanted to continue to have adventures, to explore new things, to use her skills to help people and to have Devin with her while she did. Devin gave the impression that he cared little for her world, for society, but that had a lot to do with him feeling like they rejected him. What if…what if, when given the chance, he would leap at the idea of finally fitting in? Of marriage to a well-bred woman who could settle in as Lady Drake in his father’s estate—the home he chose to live in, despite already having a home at his club? A club now destroyed and so allowing him the freedom to enter fully into her parents’ world without attachment.
Her heart was starting to fracture, little fissures that ached with each beat of her pulse. Her heart wanted Devin, herbodywanted Devin, but…she had been so close to freedom. Could she give that all up? Could she hop right back in line when she had finally,finally, run through the untamed wilds and found they suited her infinitely better?
“Miri, honey, what’s wrong?” Her father stepped closer, arms reaching out to soothe her. She hadn’t noticed the tears had started falling.
“I just…I don’t think I can be the daughter you want,” she wailed, louder than intended, but she couldn’t help it.
“What are you saying? You will always be—”
“But I can’t! Ican’ttell you that I don’t want my sole purpose in life to be motherhood. I don’t want to manage my husband’s social calls and raise daughters to be just as caged and…andboredas I am. I don’t want to be a society princess.” She finished the last words with a yell, not sure if she was screaming at him or herself.
Her father pulled her closer. “Shh, my dear, that is not what marriage is, at all. But…I also don’t make the rules. What you’re suggesting comes with consequences that not even I or your mother can change. We don’t have the luxury to live however we want.”
“I know.” She wailed, burying her face in his pressed, wrinkle free jacket and smearing her tears into the expensive fabric.
He let her cry. If he had planned to say anything more, he didn’t get the chance. Her mother opened the door, her brown hair swept up into a tight, orderly arrangement to keep it out of her face and her uniform hugging her figure in a way her dresses had always hidden. Her father’s jaw fell open and Miranda hated that—with her newly discovered freedom—she now suspected she knew what his look implied.
“Enough, James, it’s not like you’ve never seen me in this,” her mother huffed, still adjusting herself like she wasn’t used to wearing such form-fitting clothing. On her hips were dualswords, smaller and not as heavy as the two-handed blade Miranda and her father preferred.
“Now.” She finally looked at the pair of them, her expression softening. “Oh, my dear, I know you’re worried about your sister, but we will get her back.” Her mother turned to her father, eyebrows raised. “James? Are you going to stare at me all night or are you going to do as I asked?”
“Right.” He blinked, stepping away from Miranda, but not before his hand brushed through her hair, and he gave her a paternal kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll be off.” He gave her mother a look and she rolled her eyes, staring back in some silent exchange that Miranda couldn’t decipher.
“Now then, grab what you need and meet me at the carriage as quickly as you can. I’m eager to have my daughter back,” Her mother said, leading Miranda into the foyer and, when Devin made to follow Miranda, she caught the back of his collar. “You will come with me, thank you.”
“But—”
“Ah, ah, I’m a mother. My child is missing. You don’t want to test my good graces at the moment.” She tossed him forward, sending Devin stumbling ahead of her with little effort. “Out you go.” She pushed him through the front door and shut it behind them as she yelled, “Make it quick, Miri, or I’ll have to send a separate carriage for you while Lord Drake and I get better acquainted in private.” The tone of her voice carried a hint of threat that suggested Devin might not survive if left alone while her mother was armed.
Miranda raced to the armory where they kept weapons that weren’t for training or ceremonies. This room held swords and maces and bows passed through her family throughout the generations, tools carefully maintained and polished to be used in real combat. She picked a sword that felt good in her hand, the balance just right, and attached the sheath.
She made an additional stop at the kitchen, filling a loose cloth with anything she could grab: some fresh fruit, bread, a selection of sandwiches leftover from tea, and the last few pieces of bacon from breakfast. When she returned to her mother, the carriage was just being pulled out front.
Her mother made Devin crawl in first, then herself, then Miranda. Tearing into a roll, Miranda sat and passed some of her collection to Devin. Her mother watched with a hawk’s precision, clearing her throat when Devin’s fingers brushed Miranda’s as she passed over bread and fruit. A sharp tap on his shin if his knee ventured too close to Miranda’s. His every move was guarded and reprimanded until he could do no more than breathe.
“Enough, Mother, your point is taken. There’s no need to keep attacking him,” Miranda snapped after swallowing the last bit of bacon.
“Nonsense, no one is being attacked,” her mother said, her voice rising an octave the way it did when she meant to appease company. “Are you being attacked, Lord Drake?”
Devin speared Miranda with a look as he answered, “Not at all, Lady Wilde.”
“There. You see?”
Miranda huffed and focused on the window. A mantra of “this is for Cordelia” kept her sane and kept her from wondering why Devin was still here. If he wanted his revenge on Graves, he didn’t have to wait for Miranda or indulge her overbearing mother in the process. He could have left. Yet there he sat, silent, brooding, unable to move without getting chastised.
He didn’t leave when Miranda was harsh or when she snapped at him or scolded or yelled. Miranda’s heart cheered, screamingfinallyand beating for the chance that Devin could actuallyloveall of her, but the elation was tainted by the conversation withher father, the fear that if she married Devin her life would not be free.
Her mood soured.
As the carriage continued through the city to their destination—a few blocks clear of the marina, so they could plan how they would enter—a tense silence threatened to strangle her, but her mother was a master of easing tension, even tension she created.
Once the silence teetered on hostile, her mother spoke, “Now that we are underway, I think it’s time you filled me in on what we are up against.”
“Graves has figured out how to extract the Divine’s blood from guardians and he’s injecting it into loyal members of the Night Fae,” Miranda started, “They’re strong. I could barely move them without effort, but they’re highly untrained, relying solely on brute force. Although, I suspect Graves has his own private guards of altered fae that are sure to be well equipped to defend him.”
Her mother listened, nodding along, but her face grew more drawn. “We should have a plan. Can Lord Drake handle himself or are we going to have to compensate?” She asked, as if he weren’t sitting right next to her.
“He can hold his own. Though he’s prone to distraction, he’s also more strategic than me and there’s a hesitation in using his left hand, possibly from an old injury,” Miranda answered.
