“Thank you,” he muttered.
Nexus licked his paws, purring silently. Rune had chosen to trust the Vareth and perhaps form a mild tolerance for Caelum. As much as he hated the thought.
Rune brushed the loose golden strands from Alora’s cheek. She had been so quiet. So strong. But he had seen the pain in her eyes. The tremor in her hands. The silent sobs.
The missing magic.
And he hadn’t been there to stop it.
That one despicable fault burned him from the inside and tore him to the core of whatever made him. He nearly lost her because he hadn’t been able to protect her.
If she had died…
As if sensing his thoughts, Alora’s fingers curled into his tunic, clinging to him even in sleep, and that small, instinctive reliance nearly undid him. She held onto him without knowing what he truly was. Without knowing he was who she should run from.
Rune brushed his knuckles over the small bruise on her cheek, so lightly the touch barely registered as he healed it. His shadows curled around them both, trying to soothe the rage boiling beneath his skin. It was useless.
Wrath didn’t wane. It only waited. It paced inside of him like a beast. His shadow on the wall warped, stretching intosomething ancient. Grotesque. A truth he hid from her. That ruined him more than any damnation ever could.
The mirror on the wall hummed. Rune snarled at the notice before Calla’s image appeared in the reflection. His lead Harbinger stood at attention, arms crossed behind her back, poised and grim.
“I bring word, sire,” Calla said, her expression carefully composed.
Her method of communication was intentional.
They all must sense him wild for his mate, the bond was there beneath the surface. Feral. Claiming. Viciously protective. And right now, it wanted blood.
Calla knew better than to be anywhere near him in his current state of mind. Had it been any of the others—any male—Rune would have already attacked.
His claws curled slightly against Alora’s shoulder, shadows twitching with restraint. “Speak.”
Calla bowed her head. “The knight and his men have set Calveron’s ships ablaze, hindering their escape. All remaining warlords have been captured per your command. But Prince Eldrik escaped in the mayhem. We tracked him to the northern shores before he crossed into Midland territory … where we cannot follow.”
The shadows surged up the wall like a tide, making them rattle.
“Seeking sanctuary, I presume,” he said, his fangs growing as his glamor flickered.
His demons couldn’t cross the Thornbearer’s wards that kept out all who were not fae. But no such magic could deter him.
The air thickened, charged with silent violence. Power rolled off Rune in waves. He could tear apart the cottage with his fury alone, but Alora was asleep in his arms. A reminder to keep calm for her sake.
Rune took a slow breath and the shadows settled on the floor like wolves called to heel, awaiting his next order.
“Take the remaining warlords to the mountain for my court to enjoy.” His red eyes lifted to Calla’s. “I will see to loose ends myself.”
“As you wish, sire,” Calla murmured, bowing her head again. A small, knowing smile curled at her lips as her image in the mirror faded away.
It was about time he had his fun.
Rune had promised not to leave Alora’s side. And he wouldn’t, not in body. For his shadows did not require presence. Only command.
They stirred, shifting with his thoughts.
His voice echoed,“Rise.”
Shadows peeled from his body like smoke. The fire in the hearth dimmed, drawing darkness into the cottage as a form rose from the floor. Unfolding, twitching, trembling, andhungry. A silent silhouette stood beside the bed. Horns rose on its head, wings of smoke at its back. An entity of darkness that had stepped out of the void.
His shadow-self.
