Obviously, Rooke wanted the Triune; obviously, Varian was supposed to find them for him.
But…if the Dark Prince of the Shadowlands had lost the Fae artifacts, then who, exactly, had them? Who erected the ward, and who killed my men?
“Of course you will. You’re always fine, aren’t you, Lyrae?” Ryland’s lips twitched into something not even close to a smile. “Spit it out, now that he’s gone. The question you’re dying to ask.”
“Why do you have a room here at Misthall?” I blinked up at him innocently. “Unless Rooke is running a hotel, after all?”
“The other question, Lyrae.” Ryland’s voice took on a keener edge as he leaned closer, caging me in with his hands braced on the arms of the chair. “You know, the one you really want the answer to.”
“Ry, leave her alone. She almost died. She’s been through enough tonight, don’t you think?” Varian argued quietly, dropping his pack beside my chair with an echoing thud. “Just…leave this until tomorrow when our heads are clear and our tempers aren’t so frayed.”
I tipped my head back until I stared Ryland straight in the eyes. “Is the Triune real, and do you lying bastards know where it is?”
Ryland’s lips curled in triumph, and Varian let out a long-suffering sigh. “Godsdamn it. I told you to leave this to tomorrow. Now we’ll never get any sleep.”
“Yes, the Triune is real, and no, I do not know where it is. But Varian will find them for us, won’t you, Var? And when we do, we’ll use those cursed artifacts to destroy Gravelock the Butcher and free our friend from this prison.”
I made a show of looking around. “Well, it’s a pretty nice prison.”
“Make no mistake, this place is a prison, Lyrae, no matter how pretty the decor. Once you’ve lost your freedom, you’ve lost everything that matters.”
The glint in his eyes grew harder, and before I could stop him, he swung me up out of the chair and tossed me over his shoulder. “You’re going to bed. Don’t even think about fighting me, or I swear to the gods, I’ll hogtie you.”
17
LYRAE
Ipounded my fists on Ryland’s back as he carried me upstairs like a sack of potatoes.
Called him every foul name I knew, and some I made up along the way. I caught the briefest flashes of boots and steps and stone floors and flickering torches, but the only thing I knew for sure…
I was definitely going to puke again.
But I’d wait to throw up all over Ryland Storme, who I’d never been so furious with in my entire life.Why did I allow myself to get sucked back into his endless lies and schemes? Why, when it came to this male, couldn’t I fucking learn?
The world tipped upside down and I was flying.
No, I was being thrown.
“Goddamn…”
The scream was halfway out of my mouth when I landed on my back on the bed, the soft-as-air mattress cushioning my fall and the remainder of my scream turned into a high-pitched feminine squeak.
Utterly humiliating.
I caught my breath staring up at a beamed ceiling, golden firelight playing across the dark wood and white stucco. Paintings hung on every wall, landscapes painted byan expert hand, all of them featuring some version of ice and snow and a castle with slender turrets.
A half-finished piece was propped on an easel in the corner, a paintbrush balanced across a palette, dust coating the handle.
“I’m taking off your boots and if you so much as try to kick me in the face, Antares, I will tie you down to this bed.” Ryland’s threat started out as a vicious hiss, but ended as something else entirely.
Something dark and sensual, made real with how greedily his eyes dragged down my body.
Like a wolf sizing up his dinner.
Even worse was how every part of me felt set ablaze, how I wanted nothing more than to have him press me deeper into this mattress, to tangle our lips together, to feel his hands roam over my body, like they once had.
But people like us…
