Sam’s appearance mirrors the alarm edging his voice, his usual composure fractured and harried in the dim light of the corridor. His throat and wrists are devoid of their usual layers of jewelry, and his shirt hangs untucked from his pants. One of his boots is unlaced, as if he jumped straight out of bed and into his shoes.
I’m still staring at the laces when a soft tendril of his power brushes my skin, slowing my heartbeat and smoothing the sharp edges of my rising panic.
Niko furiously waves Sam’s magic off as if it’s an errant bug. “What’s happened?” he demands without preamble. “Has she been discovered? I swear to the second star, if Dawson’s laid a finger on her—”
I stare at Niko, stunned at the pure animosity radiating from him. It isn’t just a general hatred for the Strayed—it’s an intimate anger. One that tells me he’s all too familiar with Dawson’s brand of depravity.
Sam shakes his head. “Marina is safe,” Sam assures him hurriedly, but Niko doesn’t appear at all assuaged. His death has begun to writhe around him like snakes, and his hands are twisted into tight fists at his sides.
“Marina tried to send word, but—I don’t know, Niko…” He curses, shaking his head. “It might be too late.”
“Send word of what, Sam?” Niko says, his voice laced with barely concealed death.
“The Strayed. They’re in the Grove.”
Chapter twenty-nine
There isn’t enough air.
There hasn’t been since the moment I touched Willa; since I wrapped my fingers around her delicate wrist, driven by instinct and desperation, and discovered she was not ruined by my touch, butawakenedby it. Filled with such beautiful anger and tempting violence, she became theonlyair.
As I tear through my chambers gathering weapons, shoving my feet into boots as I go, my lungs burn no matter how deeply I breathe. And there’s no time to delineate the source of the panic pressing against my ribs, the line between my want and anger and regret blurred so furiously together, it’s impossible to feel one without feeling the others.
I’ve teetered on the edge of destruction for so many years, holding onto the kingdom so tightly I’ve bled into it. One wrong move, one miscalculation, and I’ve always known I’d lose it entirely. We’d all topple so far into an abyss, it would be impossible to right it again.
And now, the day has come: the day I’m too late.
Adira’s Grove, the sacred heart of the wild, is burning. The children we’ve painstakingly kept from the Strayed’s reach for so many years are threatened.
I tug on leather armor, trying not to wince at the heavy feel of it—trying not to think about how any pressure other than Willa’s body against mine feels innatelywrong.Like I was born to touch nothing but her smooth, warm skin.
Shoving the thought ruthlessly away, I finish with the armor and lace braces over my wrists. I don’t bother with gloves. There will be no need to contain my magic today.
When I emerge fully dressed, it’s to find Willa clad in leather armor similar to mine. She twirls a sword in her hand with practiced ease, her footwork denoting her skill. I had no doubts given the way she’s handled herself, but shock threads through me at the sight of her dressed for battle all the same. There’s certainly no armor in the Lunaedon that would fit her—not the waythatdoes. Leather encases the soft curve of her muscled legs, pulling tight over the swell of her ass like it was made just for her. Her hair had been wild where I’d fisted it, but now, it’s braided neatly down her back.
All evidence of me—ofus—ironed out.
“Going somewhere, Darling?” I drawl, struggling to keep my voice unbothered. To keep myself from yanking her to me and pulling out that braid.
She whirls toward me, gripping the sword more firmly in her hand. “I’m coming with you.” Her voice brooks no room for argument, the command of warrior queen, and I swear to the second star, my power fuckingsingsin response. It threads over my skin, and slithers through the air around her, spiraling in morbid black designs likeshe’sthe one who controls death.
“No.” My answer is a clash of teeth, and I turn in dismissal, dragging my ribbons back toward me.
“Niko—” A warning and a plea at once, the sincerity of her worry enough to stop me in my tracks. Willa may want my death, but I’m under no illusion that means she wantsme.Certainly not enough to worry. “You don’t know how many there are, and you’ll kill yourself trying to face them alone.”
My lip curls in an annoyance I have no right to feel. Willa’s right. Now that Dawson knows the cost of my power is too much for me to pay, he’ll press his advantage. Most of the Strayed are undisciplined, flitting from one distraction to the next with no strategic goal. My brother has always been different.
He sees what he wants and takes it. Stolen away to a world of magic, yet gifted with none of his own, Dawson became a shrewd and ruthless manipulator to claw what power he could from those around him. He climbed the ranks of the Strayed on the bones and blood of others, never hindered by something as weak as remorse.
He’ll have brought enough reinforcements to the Grove, Sam and I won’t stand a chance of holding him off, not even with the help of the Silva Lucai. Not when I’m the only one who can fell a Strayed completely. Not when they’ll attack and never tire, no matter how they’re injured.
I’ve never tested the true limits of my magic. How much power can I wield before the pain overwhelms me? How many Strayed can I kill before my body betrays me completely?
I don’t know the answer.
And I fuckinghatethat just when I’ve felt something as divine as Willa’s touch, I have to immediately give it up in exchange for more pain. I know better than to allow myself pleasure, and yet, the moment it was presented to me, I was overcome. I hadn’t just touched Willa’s body, her power, her mind—I’d baptized myself in it.
There is no coming back. No unknowing. No matter how much I try to forget—the feel of her is ingrained in my skin, in my head, on my tongue.
