I glance between them, something uneasy settling in my chest.
Oberon’s gaze locks on mine. “You can bet that we’re going to talk about this again.”
There’s no anger in it now. Just certainty. And something else. Something protective. Something that makes it very clear… this isn’t over.
“Before I leave?” I offer softly.
Oberon gives a cold laugh. “Yeah, right,leave.”
But I have no idea what he means by that. I’m just glad that we don’t have to keep discussing my uncertain future, my grandparents, or anything else that makes me queasy.
Eventually, the others join me, collecting more fire wood, building a new fire, before settling in a rough circle. No one speaks, not for a long time, and maybe it’s better that way.
When the fire is going strong and the night has fallen into a sullen hush, Cassius is the one to break the silence. “I can stand watch first.”
“Or I can,” Oberon challenges.
Cassius sighs. “I don’t really care.”
“I could just sleep through the night,” Ashton argues.
Sylvian though? He just keeps glancing toward me.
They argue a little more, about who gets which watch, who can be trusted not to sleep, but eventually it’s decided and everyone relaxes. We curl around the warmth of the fire like a pack ourselves, setting up our spots and organizing our things once more.
I close my eyes, blankets clutched tight, and try to remember what it was like before these fae and their quest. The labyrinth breathes, alive and ancient, all around us. But somehow, my past feels like a distant memory. It feels as if I’ve lived more life in the last few days than I have my whole life.
Which is weird,isn’t it?
2
Alette
If I close my eyes, I see the wolves.
Not just the white one, but all of them, a roiling river of muscle and teeth, blotting out the hedges, trampling every memory under heavy paws full of claws. I see them as they were, but also as something else… as teeth with fur, eyes with no mercy, jaws big enough to crack bone like an egg. They run in circles around my thoughts, ripping apart whatever comes close.
I keep my eyes open. I’m unable to escape the thought,what if they come back?
The fire has been steadily burning for hours. Maybe longer. The ground is hard and cold and crowded with roots, but I can’t stand the idea of rolling over. If I move, everyone will see.
Sylvian is two feet away, but he’s still far too close. His presence fills the clearing, like he’s still on top of me, pressing the air from my lungs. His breathing is uneven. He’s either dreaming of something interesting or he’s faking being asleep.
Oberon lies on the opposite side of the fire, hands folded over his stomach, face half-shadowed by his own arm. He wears his blanket only pulled halfway to his chest. Even in sleep his jaw islocked tight, the muscles twitching with the ghosts of unspoken threats.
Ashton is curled with one of his blankets under his head, using it as a pillow, and another hiding the bare lower half of his body while his clothes continue to dry near the fire. His skin is golden and bare and utterly indifferent to the elements. In the moonlight he looks like he’s already in a story someone will tell centuries from now. When he laughs in his sleep, it’s not a real laugh, but the echo of one, as if he knows he should be laughing even when nothing’s funny.
Cassius is the only one I can’t fully see, as he’s leaned away from the fire, sitting in the shadows. He’s watching the labyrinth, keeping an eye on all of us until it’s someone else’s turn to keep watch.
I try to think about something else—about my mother, or the village, or what we’re supposed to do when the sun comes up—but every time I start to drift off, the memory of Sylvian’s mouth finds me, or the thundering of the wolves sounds in my ears. It’s all tied together into a memory pumped with adrenaline and desire.
None of it is right. Not me kissing a fae. Not the pack of wolves overpowering the labyrinth.
A wolf howls in the distance, and I clench my hands so hard my bones ache. No one else stirs. No one else is afraid.Are they crazy for being so relaxed, or am I crazy for being so tense?
I try counting backward from a hundred, but I lose my place at ninety-four. I think about how many hours it’s been since I slept last. I think about how many minutes it’s been since I went from someone with no knowledge of men to too much knowledge of men. I think about how many seconds until I give up and just scream into the night.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because when I open my eyes, Sylvian is leaning over me, his face inches from mine.
