Isolde had offered to heal the wounds, leaving behind only the black ink. Veyka had refused her. By tomorrow morning, it would be healed anyway, she said. But I knew her soul; she wanted the reminder, for every second she could, of what it felt like to be alive.
I could help with that.
I slid my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me. Veyka did not resist, lifting herself from the stones of the parapet and painting her body against mine. One hand drifted up to tug at the club of hair at the back of my head. I knew she would not be satisfied until she’d worked it loose and could grab a fistful of my hair.
What do you want, Princess?my wolf growled softly.
Veyka made a small hum of appreciation as she got my hair loose and buried her fingers in it
“You,” she said softly. “To stay here forever with you. Right here—where nothing can touch us. Where we are safe and whole. Our friends. Our family.”
She was thinking about it, too. How could she not? It was her life, that the prophecy required.
I held her tighter. “We will come back some day, I promise.”
You cannot promise that.
I pressed my lips to the shell of her ear. “I do promise.” I paused to inhale the plum and primrose scent of her. “A thousand years, and a thousand more.”
She did not answer, did not argue. That worried me more than anything. The silence began to press in on us.
“I am certain if you coached the cooks long enough, they could produce an acceptable chocolate croissant.”
Veyka snorted. “We might need a thousand years for them to get it right.”
She licked her lips, the sound causing every muscle in my body to tighten. I kept on holding her.
“We have to decide now.”
She was right. The time to tarry and argue and debate had run out. The succubus could strike anywhere, at any time. The first shipment of amorite had arrived, half of it sent on to the forge at Cayltay, the rest awaiting further discussion and decision. We had to choose a course of action the best we could, based on scenarios and outcomes. And then we would adjust. Every battle went that way—you planned and adjusted. Planned and adjusted.
But I refused to plan or adjust for the possibility of a world without Veyka in it.
I cleared the emotion from my throat. “Parys and Gwen are waiting in Baylaur. Merlin and Igraine… we would be naïve to leave them alone too long. Even in Gwen’s capable hands.”
“Or paws?” Veyka squeaked, already laughing at her own joke.
Ancestors—how could she laugh? I could barely breathe.
That had to be why the words came out half-choked. “We need armies.”
She exhaled, so slowly. Drawing it out, forestalling her response. But it came, eventually. “I know.”
Wolf Bay—Cayltay, the war camps. Or Baylaur—to rule, to harness the full power of the Knights of the Round Table.
Veyka rotated her neck, stretching out the tense muscles before eventually letting her head rest on my shoulder, exposing the burn of her new tattoo to the cool night air. We stared out at the stars in silence, letting the night close around us. It was cold, but I’d take any excuse to hold Veyka close.
After what might have been a minute or an eternity, she spoke again. “What if we did not have to choose?”
Unease unspooled in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
I could feel her maelstrom of emotions through the bond. She did not try to keep them from me. I did not try to block them. But I was still unprepared.
“I could go to Baylaur.”
I pulled away—just so I could grip her shoulders and spin her to look at me.
She winced at the pressure—her Talisman.
