“Will you and your friends never learn?” Meg of Maldon, the most powerful witch in all of the Yeavering, shakes her head. “These humans are fragile.”
“Human?” I look down at the pale face of my sweet mate. “She is not human. She is the landlady of the Dark Gibbet, one of the most notorious taverns in the Night Lands. She cannot be human.”
“Did the fact she had no magic not alert you to what she was?” Meg huffs as she places her bony hand on the chest of my mate and inspects her face.
I want to pull the body away from her. I don’t want anyone but me to even touch my Hazel.
“She had others with her. They had no magic either,” I respond.
“Theythoughtthey had no magic. That is how the Night Lands work, Warden. You know it as I do.”
“I didn’t sense any there, and when I asked my Duegar to assist, their magic opened a portal to the Underhill. It was escaping that place which resulted in my mate being injured.”
Meg tuts at me, shaking her head. “Bring her inside.” She walks away, beckoning me with a skeletal finger. “I will see what I can do for the human, but it won’t be easy.”
“Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.” I follow her closely, changing my form in order to be able to fit inside the darkened keep at the centre of her domain. “I don’t care what it may be. Hazel has to live.”
“And she will, Warden, she will, but you’re going to have to tell her the whole truth when she wakes.”
“The whole truth? She already knows I am immortal.”
“But she doesn’t know why, does she?”
“She knows what she needs to know.” I place Hazel on the pallet of straw where Meg indicates.
The room is filled with the fragrant scent of woodsmoke from the open hearth. Drying herbs are hung in huge bunches from the rafters of the great hall. Tables range along one wall, covered in the detritus of preparations. Along another, where I kneel next to Hazel, are a number of soft pallets, each one covered with a pristine white cloth.
Fortunately for anyone else, we are entirely alone with Meg.
“If she is truly your mate, Warden, she needs to know all. Because it’s only through you she can find out who she is.”
“The landlady…”
Meg holds up her hand to stop me. “That’s what the Yeavering wanted her to be. She is not, and you know who she is.”
“Hazel,” I say, staring down at her face as I brush a lock of her pretty hair away from her skin. “She is mine.”
“She belongs to the Yeavering, Warden. Until you win her from it.”
HAZEL
The soft scent of leather and fresh hay reaches my nostrils, forcing me to open my eyes, even when I don’t want to because I know it’s going to hurt.
It hurts. A groan passes my lips as the light, far too bright, hits the back of my eyeballs. It’s a moment before I can actually see anything.
Like the huge centaur standing in the middle of the room, his chestnut flanks gleaming in the light filtering from the great arched windows, thick stone holding the myriad diamond panes edged in lead, causing rainbows to luminesce as he shifts his weight from one huge hoof to the other.
Warden’s arms are folded over his chest as he gazes out the wide, arched doorway into whatever is beyond. Half predator, half guard, all glistening muscle and hide. As I watch him, feeling as weak as a kitten, he dips his head, his chin, the scruff even more in evidence than I remember, hitting his chest, and he unfolds his arms to grip at one of his horns before looking in my direction.
For a moment, he is entirely still, like a bronze statue, frozen at the moment of moulding. Until, finally, he blinks, and in anexplosion of hooves and flanks, he closes the gap between us, swirling into his human shape and landing on his knees next to me.
“Little mare,” he says, grasping my hand.
I hiss with pain because every single one of my joints appears to have needles stuck in them, although when I check, there are no needles.
Warden withdraws his hand, his eyes flaring with fire as he gazes down on me.
“It’s okay,” I respond, my voice hoarse with lack of use. “It hurts, that’s all.”
