My limbs become limp. I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into a fog I can’t claw my way out of. The last word in my mind—Fury.
ten
Saff
Itakeawideberthof the Silver Sands when night falls. Having lived here for many rotations, I know what they get up to at night.
Thoughts of my egg back with Orion fill me with uncertainty. I know he would never hurt the egg. It’s why my mate gave it to him. Orion is not like the other Gods. He never sought to pit us against each other. Orion created us out of reflections of himself. He made us immortal because he saw us as family.
For a time, we used to live in harmony with the creatures of this land—the animals before the current incarnations the Gods made. Untilthey grew jealous of what Orion had created—the beasts. So, they created their fae, silvers and mers in the likeness of themselves.
Creation takes imagination. It takes depth of soul, and just because you are created as a God doesn’t mean you are more than any other being. Fate is the true predecessor of everything within the stars.
I’m not mad at Orion. He was imprisoned, just as all his creatures were after the war. I’m angry at the situation he helped create.
Swooping down over the twinkling sand, the suns crest over the horizon. I look at the sandstone buildings and billowing cotton roofs of the Kingdom of Osear.I should go back.
Flying back over the town,an eerie crackle lights my core.Where are the silvers?They are not strewn across the ground as they so often are after a night of carnality.
Swinging around, I see only sand where bodies should be lying. From past experiences in this kingdom, they often bask naked in the morning suns’ rays. Spreading my wings, I hover over the circular landing zone in the centre of the kingdom.
This cannot be.
Where are the silvers?
Where is Dove?
A squawk sounds off from a roof in the distance.The white bird that follows the fae male.
Something is off about this. I don’t like it. I’m too big to investigate the walls. All I can do is wait. The wolf will keep Dove safe.
I must save my fire for my young.
Even if it is tempting to burn this place to the ground.
eleven
Rivern
Iwillkillthem—eachandevery one of them—for touching her.My body lies stiff in the bed we made love in. My eyes blink rapidly, the first sense to come back after I was suffocated in an intoxicating, sour scent that left my whole body limp. It also left me unable to feel her. My bonded.
My heart is beating out of my chest to get to her.It had to be those fucking silvers.An anger I’ve never known before vibrates my form, making my skin prickle.
I knew Moyrie was acting too coy about the whole situation yesterday. Yes, we were going to help each other. Her peoplewould get something in return. They would absolve the marriage contract and save Fury.
Slowly, my fingers start to move, followed by my toes, each body part coming back to itself. My blood thrums a menacing song in my veins. I wait and plot how I will kill them.Fuck, where’s the wolf? If he’s not with her…
Damn it, I want to scream, but my throat is a hoarse croak as I try to get something out. With my arms and legs now limply working, I push my body off the bed to fall on the floor. A hazy fog still sits over the tether connecting us. I crumple as I get up again, trying to stand, the fury of losing my love pushing me forward.
“Goddess,” I croak.
Finally, my weary body makes it over to the curtained doorway, clumsily pushing through, holding onto the wall for support.
With my blood pumping the hazy concoction out of my system, I’m soon stumbling down the long hallway, my fae healing abilities no match for the toxins the silvers smothered our mouths in.
“Solen,” I try to shout, barely a grumble coming out.He would have seen them. He will know.Whistling is not an option right now. My mouth is dry like the sand beneath my feet.
I run on wobbly legs, relying on my intuition to find her. The rising suns glint against the sands, lighting my way. I’m the only person on the streets. An eerie sensation overtakes me, washing through the anger directed at the Silver Sands people—fear. It holds me deep within its grasp.What if they’ve hurt her?
