She marches toward her iron-chained daughter. When her palm flies into Ksenia’s cheek, even I feel the crack of her ire.
My sister teeters but doesn’t fall. Then again, she’s already fallen.
“You are a disgrace. A stain upon our family tree!” Milana’s wrecked timbre makes me glad that my mother was spared the misery of abhorring her own flesh and blood. “I amashamedto have given birth to you!” Lashes fluttering wildly, she whirls, yelling that she never again wants to lay eyes on Ksenia.
Ilya hurries after his mother, gripping her quivering elbow before leaning in and planting a kiss on her temple and murmuring something that only increases the echo of her sorrow.
I catch Izolda’s stare. Like Milana, tears have dyed the whites of her eyes scarlet.
“Come inside, sweetheart,” Radka Patchenkov says, holding tight to Sofiya’s arm. “Your mother needs you.”
After receiving another kiss from her grandfather, Izolda trails her aunt and grandmother into the lit manor, but then she comes to a brusque stop. I think she’s about to return to yellat Ksenia or inform me of her wishes concerning her traitorous twin’s future, but I’m wrong on all accounts. She retraces her steps to offer Mestyla her hand. Which is so much more than a hand. It’s a family.
That’s what Izolda is giving our niece.
A safe place to land.
Mestyla turns toward Vance, who clutches his mate’s waist in a rare show of intimacy. How tangled my family tree has become. Once he nods, she plaits her fingers with Izolda’s.
“Will you take her back to Luce with you, Vance?” I ask as they vanish into the house.
A sigh jostles the apple in his throat. “I’ll need to keep her close to train her.”
So, that’s a yes. My niece will be leaving. I feel a twinge of sadness at having to entrust her to this new father.
“Though I can keep her close here, if you’ll allow us to stay on. There’s little my mate and I like better than justice, and there’s much justice to be doled out.”
“By justice, we mean revenge,” Imogen clarifies.
The Serpent tows his Crow mate infinitesimally closer. “I think he twigged that,ah’khar.”
“Do we have permission to hunt down the antimorphs, Vizosh?” she asks, one-track minded.
“My permission and my blessing. Especially now that my army has been decimated and my general…” The pit in my throat is so ragged that I think I just may choke on my grief.
Not here.
Not now.
Isla presses her cheek to the hollow place I’m trying to armor.I love you.
I bury my mouth in her hair and absorb her wind-swept essence and her tender warmth until the current of emotions begins to recede.
“Find the king!” The sound leaps from inside Imogen’s jacket, from what I assume is a listening sigil. She slides her zipper down, releasing a puff of sky-blue that pants, “Save the king!”
“Did you drool all over me, Sprite?” Imogen wipes her pale skin while Borat whirls and blinks bloodshot eyes at her.
And then he prods his square jaw that is shiny with saliva. “Um… Uh…”
“Hope you enjoyed your restorative nap between my mate’s breasts,” Vance says, “because it was your one and only.”
“No need for jealousy.” Imogentsks. “His body was frozen stiff.”
As Borat gives the shifter pair another hard blink, air flows around the lump in my throat, coiling out in a rasped, “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
“Sire!” Borat whirls, wings beating so briskly that they become one with the ambient night. “You’re alive!”
“Yes.” I swallow deep.
