She produces an amulet from the folds of her cloak, holding it out with solemnity. I don't recognize, nor do the other guys, but our mate definitely does.
A sharp intake of breath from the lass draws my gaze; she’s pale, her freckles standing out starkly against her skin. “It’s just like hers,” she murmurs, lost in the grip of dark memories that flicker behind her eyes—memories of loss, pain, and wild transformation. “Feray wore an amulet like this every day, from the minute we were little until that stupid ceremony when it broke. That’s when she went wolfy.”
“Is the amulet upsetting you, or just the past?” I ask gently, reaching out to steady her with a look.
Fiadh doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she reaches out tentatively toward the artifact, Khol’s hand firmly clasped in hers. A spark jumps from the metal to her fingertips, and she jerks back with a hiss, muttering curses under her breath.
“Damn thing’s protected,” she grumbles, weaving a spell with a series of intricate hand gestures. “I hope this works.”
The air crackles with unseen energy as Fiadh works her magic, but the amulet remains silent and still. My brows knit together in frustration. “Someone went to great lengths to keep us from prying. I’ll have to dig deeper, Ro.”
“I know you don’t know who made them yet, but when info comes, give me a call, quick as can be, I’ll help the fluffy butt and her smitten men see what they need to know, no trouble at all!” Rowena’s tone is casual, but her eyes betray her concern.
Taking a deep breath, Fiadh drapes the amulet around her neck; it nestles against her collarbone, hidden beneath Dezi’s collar and her shirt.
“Are you okay?” Dezi asks, watching her closely. “It’s not harming you, is it, witchling? I won’t stand for that, even if I have to carry it myself.”
“I’m fine,” Fiadh assures him, shaking her head slightly. “No burn, just cold metal now.”
“Good. We don’t need more surprises,” he replies, his voice a comforting baritone.
Rowena gives us a mock salute, her face splitting into a grin once more. “I’ll head back to share the info with the rest, but I’ll see you all later. You can count on my best!”
With another pop, she vanishes from the SUV, leaving behind a trace of her scent and a promise of further intrigue.
Fi looks at me with a wry expression. “She’s helpful, but if she was anymore cheery, my teeth were going to rot out.”
That’s my girl.
I’m sprawled on the plush sofa, my feet propped up on the coffee table when Revelin’s phone pings loudly from where it rests against a stack of glossy magazines. He picks it up, his eyes scanning the message quickly before they narrow, just slightly. I can tell the gears in his head are turning, deciphering whatever cryptic words his father sent.
“Anything wrong?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer or not.
Revelin huffs, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside him. “A ‘congratulations’ that smells more like a warning than anything else,” he mutters, and I can see the tension knotting at his temples.
His father is on my shit list, King or not.
The tours yesterday had been a whirlwind. We’d danced through a maze of flashes and interviews, our faces now pinned across every news outlet. Despite the chaos, we pulled it off with a facade of ease. But Revelin’s father, with his sharp tongue hidden behind silk words, always knew how to prick holes into my playful mate’s triumphs.
Before I can offer any words of comfort—or sarcasm, knowing me—his phone chimes again. This time, his lips curve upwards as he reads. “Mother,” he explains, and there’s a softness in his voice that wasn’t there a second ago. “She’s sending her love to me and my ‘handsome, beautiful and supportive friends.’ Also, she suggests I continue to match your hair trends, lass, but it would be so prettyif we all did it together.”
Tiernan, who’s been quietly flipping through one of the magazines, snorts from across the room. “Sounds like she’s onto us,” he says as he scribbles notes on a pad, frowning at the page for a second.
“Or she just enjoys embarrassing me.” Revelin rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance there, just the warmth of familial teasing. His eyes drift to his screen and he groans. “Like all of my damn sisters, who must be in on it now.”
“Your brothers didn’t text, too?” I ask, half out of genuine curiosity, half because I enjoy watching the play of emotions across Revelin’s usually guarded face.
“No, which is odd, I’ll admit,” he shrugs, his gaze drifting off for a moment. “But I will not dwell on their silence.”
“Typical dudes,” Khol chimes in from where he’s lounging in an armchair, his voice tinged with amusement. “Ignoring the important stuff. Fuck knows Khal misses damn near everything buried in his books and shit.”
“You’re a paragon of brotherly affection,” I joke, drawing a chuckle from Khol.
“Or lack thereof,” Revelin adds dryly, but he’s smiling now, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. It’s moments like these, rare and fleeting, that remind me of the bond we share.
Dezi arches a brow, looking at us with a fond smile. He’s sipping his blood and scotch as he flips through the magic book again, looking for hidden symbols or text. “Now, children. It’s the time for relaxing. We have a ridiculously busy evening to attend to.”
The suite feels like a sanctuary, a fortress of calm amid the frenzy that buzzes several floors below. We’ve holed up here, the curtains drawn, with room service trays crowding the coffee table—untouched gourmet sandwiches and pastries becoming collateral in our war against the public eye.
