“No, Mr. Korol. I only wanted to meet you.”
Ksenia snorts. “To slay you, Kostya.”
My niece vibrates. “She lies!”
“I know,” I say.
“She lied about wanting to help me. She lied about who killed my father—it wasn’t Isla. The same way it wasn’t Salom who setfire to my home; it was my own biological father!” Her gaze skips over the corpses.
“It’s that one.” I gesture to the bust at her feet as Vance crosses the cabin toward Ksenia and bleeds Isla’s likeness from my sister’s features.
If only he could bleed Izolda’s likeness as well.
“I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, but, Gods, how I want to hurt you right now.” Mestyla’s glowing palms flicker as she fists her fingers.
“Spoken like a true Korol,” Ksenia spits out through the jagged gaps of her again-ruined front teeth.
“Oh, good, she’s still alive.” Aodhan’s voice flashes through the obscurity.
And then my brother-in-law is there, crouched over his mate. After checking on Vance’s handiwork, he combs a lock of hair off Izolda’s wan forehead, scoops her into his arms, and crosses over to me.
The wagon rattles, shuttling magic into my palms and adrenaline into my veins.
“It’s Lach and the other two,” Aodhan says.
“Two?” I ask.
“Elio and Sofiya.”
My head rears back. “Sofiya? As in Milana’s sister?”
“As in my new favorite family member,” he declares. “After Isla, obviously.”
Words fail me.
A rhythmic clicking resounds on the ceiling—Lachlano’s talons? When it carries on in the corridor, I surmise it mustn’t be talons; a Crow wouldn’t fit in such a narrow space.
I hear Sofiya mention how the train looked loads comelier in shades of blue than in shades of gore an instant before the knob rattles. I unbolt the lock with a flick of my fingers.
“Hello, everyone!” Sofiya exclaims, punching the door into Bohdan’s trunk. A grimace seizes her mouth as she hobbles in on Elio’s arm. “I didn’t think it could smell any fouler in here than it did in the other wagon, but apparently, even I can be wro…” Her mouth remains agape yet stops discharging sound at the sight of the newest shifter. She blinks at Mestyla, then drops her voice to a hiss. “Is it me, or does the she-Serpent resemble?—”
I make cursory introductions. “Sofiya, meet my niece, Mestyla.”
“Holy snow gremlins…” Sofiya’s eyes are pitched so wide she looks like someone has just informed her that the sun would wrest its way over the horizon this winter. “Alyona the Antimorph laid with a shifter?”
“Not quite. Elio”—I nod to my mate, who still hasn’t come to—“Isla’s wound could use some cleansing.”
“On it.” He leads Sofiya to the bed before kneeling beside his best friend on the floor.
“Why are you limping?” I ask, my attention divided between the seemingly injured Fae and the woman who holds the key to my soul.
Sofiya hitches up her long skirt, displaying a peg leg she must’ve fashioned with her earth-magic, considering how well adjusted it is. “I’m down half a leg. Courtesy of your mate.”
My jaw clicks as I unleash the full force of my pent-up ire on her. “Stop trying to pass yourself off as a victim! If Isla chopped off your leg, then?—”
“She did it to save my life.” Sofiya dips her chin. “Your fiancée and I are friends now. Very good friends.”
I need a minute to process this madness. I take that minute to observe Elio filling my mate’s wound with water that cascades right back out—seemingly darker, though it could just be a trick of the dim light and my desperate optimism.
