“No, but his blood is. When Meriam cast her spell on the Regio bloodline, it didn’t only make them immune to Shabbin magic, it changed the nature of what ran through their veins.”
For a solid minute, no one speaks, but then Lore must break the silence because Justus kneads his temple and growls, “You of all people should understand why Meriam bound Dante and Fallon, Ríhbiadh. You lived with Zendaya. You witnessed her power first-hand. The magic of the royal bloodline is tenfold more potent than any other Shabbin’s magic, and that was the sort of power running through Dante’s veins. If we hadn’t magically cuffed him to your mate, can you imagine the damage he would’ve reaped?”
Bronwen tightens her grip on Cian’s bicep. She must sense the weight of many a stare because she says, “At the time, Meriam didn’t tell me that she’d bestowed blood magic upon my genitor. All I knew was that she’d made him invincible to Shabbins.”
“So youdidn’tknow?” My father’s voice is as sharp as the talons still tipping his fingers.
“No, Cathal. The same way I didn’t know my brother or my nephew possessed magical blood or I would’ve understood the reason the Cauldron kept showing me Lore—any Crow, for that matter—losing his humanity should he snuff out Dante’s life.”
“Why would a Crow perish?” Sybille murmurs in the crook of my ear.
“Because they cannot kill the offspring of the woman who created them,” I explain. “Mórrígan is Queen Mara, and Mara is my great-great-grandmother.”
When the strain in my father’s body loosens, I release my death grip on his arm but begin to regret it when he flicks his gaze toward the sticky web of shadows that is my livid mate.
You better not be asking him to harm Justus.
Lore’s eyes swing toward me, black pupils so slim his gaze is full-yellow.
“Doyouhave blood magic, Bronwen?” Phoebus asks.
“I was born before Meriam spelled Costa, so no, my blood holds no more magic than an earth-Fae’s.”
She sounds truthful, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that Bronwen is a master at deception.
Fallon.
I pretend not to hear Lore call out to me.
Come here, Behach Éan.
I cross my arms.Apologize about the wholeme running into my new husband’s armscomment, and I’ll consider going to you.
You want me to apologize for fucking caring that my mate is bound to another?
I interrupt his snarling with a calm,That doesn’t sound like an apology.
His pupils spread and spread until they overtake the yellow, and subsequently, the entire room. What the—
I blink.Murgadh’Thábhaincomes back into sharp focus, but it’s empty save for me and Lore, who’s prowling toward me. Yes,prowling. On feet and legs, leather trousers whispering as he erases the distance between us.
Has my swelling anger caused me to pass out? Odd, but surely not implausible. A surplus of emotion can—
You’ve not lost consciousness, Fallon.
Then . . .Oh, fucking great. Of course my mind would deem takinga walk on the dark sidenow, while my father is about to murder an inherently good man, wise. I try to transport myself back into the real Market Tavern to no avail.Why can’t I snap out of this trance?
Lore’s warm breath breezes across my forehead.Because I’m insideyourmind, Behach Éan.
Forty-Four
“Now’s really not a suitable time for a one-on-one, Lorcan Ríhbiadh.” Gods, this was not how I pictured our reunion.
Lore pinches my chin, gently tipping my head back to force my eyes to his. “Do you think I imagined my mate coming home to me married to another man?” His expression is a chasm of darkness, as though flooded by the storm that flogs the kingdom beyond the warded ceiling.
Even though I don’t uncross my arms, I loose a sigh. “Don’t you think I hate this as much as you do, Lore?”
His grip turns brutal, as though he forgets that my bones are brittle and can be snapped. I’m about to ease my chin from his punishing fingers when he says, “No, Little Bird. You’re upset; I’m fucking wrecked.”
