“I’m good,” I promise him, sending out another reach of magic to Sam.
No response.
Riot grips my shoulder before disappearing.
By late morning, all other outfits depart with their guides, and the thirty remaining Hunters from Central march in front of me through the carved chamber, Mortifer’s massive stone door rumbling shut behind us. I watch the backs of my men as we venture out from the mountain into the slashing wind. Rhett and Riot hike ahead of me, their honed forms bundled in furs and bent forward against the gale, their boots crunching in the snow under the weight of countless weapons strapped to their backs and belts.
Our weapon stores haven’t been this empty in a long time; every Hunter has taken all they can carry.
Master Hull and Grace trail me. The old man wouldn’t stay, no matter what I said. Outside of chaining him to the fortress walls, I didn’t have a choice. Or so he told me while threatening to douse me with his scalding coffee if I even dared to have an opinion about it.
With heaving breath, we trudge for hours through the icy wilderness back to Southend, and finally the familiar salted cobbled streets thud against my boots and the tension in my chest uncoils a bit.
“Home sweet home!” Riot announces, all but kicking the front door down and stripping armor and swords as he barrels into the kitchen.
Grace sheds her coat and assists her father with his belongings.
“Woman, I’ve got it,” he snarks, and she backs off with a grin, going into the kitchen with Riot.
Men filter in, clogging the modest foyer, and with the last Hunter finally through the door, I slide the bolt and lock us in.
Home.
My favorite fucking place with my favorite fucking people.
“Food’s in here if anyone wants some,” Riot calls from the kitchen.
I escape into my study before I’m trampled by hungry Hunters.
The door snicks shut, and I find comfort in my large leather lounge chair after lighting a fire. I flop open the journal resting on the table next to me.
My pen scratches against parchment as I record the past few days—the decisions, the attitude of the Hunters, my magic that changes and grows with each passing hour since I sent the call across all of Goreon. Whatever unseen fate dangles in our future, my actions are reinforced by the approval of my magic.
The fire pops, and my eyes flick to the flames.
My study door creaks, and I don’t bother to check who opened it. Only one person would ever dare such a thing. I set the journal on the table as Grace slides into my lap, her fingers tracing the Hunter crest chained around my neck.
“You need to eat,” she tells me. “Should I bring it in here?”
My gaze finds her plump lips before skating up to kind eyes crinkling at their corners.
“I’m in the mood for something else,” I admit, the feel of her body sending mine into a frenzy. Everything about our upbringing and magic calls us to protect and honor our women. With our words, time, andattention.
And I’d never trade it for any other skill in this life.
Grace runs her hands up my chest, humming as her green eyes sparkle at me. “Probably the same thing I’m in the mood for, Kade.” I huff a laugh, and Grace sighs. “I could use a drink tonight, too, though.”
My eyebrows pinch. Now,thatis not a Gracie trait.
She thuds her forehead into my shoulder. “Do you think I should accept my magic before we walk into this thing—” Her voice catches, and I hate that she would even dare to second-guess her decision.
“You don’t owe them anything, Grace,” I growl as she hides in my neck.
She lifts her head. “I know. A part of me always wants to accept my magic, but I just—I want our children to have the choice.”
I cup her face with my palm. “And I love you more because of it.”
Magic or not, I’ll bow before Grace until my last breath.
