A small worry nudges at the back of my mind. My wings were damaged in the fight with my father. I can only hope that the dark magic reached them as surely as it reached my bones.
Actually, now that I think about it, Diavolo may have sensed the existence of my wings, since his power was streaming all the way through me.
I’m about to ask him, but through the act of asking, I could reveal their existence when he might not otherwise have become aware of them.
Argh.
I shouldn’t be worried about him finding out about them. It’s just that they’re a part of myself that I have never loved, and the thought of showing him makes me feel all kinds of vulnerable.
I’m not ready for that yet.
I remind myself of what my mother taught me above all else: Always stay in control. Well, I’ve lost enough control in the last twenty-four hours—or however long it’s been since I was taken to my father. I don’t need to lose anymore.
The keeper releases my hand to pluck the feather from the air.
A curious light grows in his eyes as he studies it briefly. “Your father’s, I presume.”
Before I can confirm or deny his assumption, the tree that he was draining gives a groan. It appears just as it was before,completely unchanged in appearance. Then a gentle breeze wafts across the clearing, and the entire tree crumbles.
Its fine pieces fall in a large heap onto the ground, scattering at the edges and blowing upward. Fine dust sparkles in the air before it settles.
At that, Anarchy rushes toward me, pouncing so quickly that she nearly knocks me back to the ground.
I can’t stop the laughter rising to my throat, or my groan of relief. “Finally, I can hug you!”
I guess she had the same thought.
She nudges her head into my shoulder, purring loudly.
I close my eyes, bow my head over hers, and wrap my arms around her. I wish I could make the purring sound that she makes to tell her how much I welcome her nearness. “I’m so glad you’re alive. It hurt me when I thought you’d died.”
“She did die,” the keeper grumbles. “I brought her back from death.”
Tears fall down my cheeks and I’m not at all worried about letting them flow now. “You did it for me.”
He looks disconcerted. “I did it for your heart.” Anarchy hisses softly at him, and he rolls his eyes at her. “Fine. Maybe I, too, would have missed you a little.”
Her purring resumes in full force, muffled against my shoulder when she turns her head into my chest again.
We stay like that for another few moments before I force myself to focus on what needs to happen next. I don’t want this moment with Anarchy to end, but there’s a growing tension in the air around me that I can’t ignore.
My wounds may be healed, but I haven’t forgotten where we are or that the crimson wolves are watching us.
Neither, it seems, has Diavolo, who has re-focused on a spot past the edge of the clearing. Or, for that matter, Lucian, who is edging toward me.
“We need to leave,” he murmurs urgently.
Now that my sharp eyesight has been restored, the wolves appear to me as glowing forms of pure energy where they stand within the trees.
I can finally glean their characteristics and personalities from the nature of that energy, in a way I couldn’t before.
The wolf who danced with the butterflies is younger than the other two, a lightness in her energy that feels innocent. Free from the knowledge of pain and loneliness.
The masculine wolf is far too wise for its young energy, but his demeanor easily reflects the young boy’s solemn personality.
As for the oldest of the three—the mother’s wolf, no doubt—well, I don’t want to focus on her too long because it’s hurting my eyes.
What’s more, I can smell them now.
