His arms rise around me, warm and strong against my back, and his voice rumbles in my ear. “I’m a little insulted that you underestimated my determination to protect you, my Veda.”
With an enormous feeling of relief, I step back and accept both of the feathers from him. “Never again.”
Even though… at the back of my mind… there’s a question about whether or not he’s still bound to me.
But by asking that question, I could trigger a realization on his part that he might not yet have had. Just like revealing that the feathers are actually mine, I’m not ready for that yet. Maybe it’s deceptive, but I need to stretch out these moments as long as I can.
Besides, deception is in my nature.
I swallow my fears and focus on the task at hand.
Clasping the feathers closely, I lead Anarchy into the bedroom and then to the dressing room at its side.
I head to the drawer where I previously laid out my treasured items—the remains of my mother’s clothing and the page fromTheBook of Dark Magic. These feathers aren’t precious—far from it—but they’re a part of me, so I place them alongside my treasures.
Ragged material. A ragged page. And now ragged feathers.
Anarchy immediately sets about rummaging through the racks of clothing. This apartment once belonged to a witch who was killed by an assassin. The assassin kindly cleaned up her body and left her apartment in pristine condition. The keeper saw the witch’s memories when he collected her magic and, as he said, she liked to shop.
Now that Anarchy’s standing closer to me, I inhale the lavender scent of her elven skin. It explains the perfume in the air when the curse was broken. I have a lot of questions for her, but most of them need to be asked when the keeper and Lucian can hear the answers, too.
She pulls out a pair of black pants and a low-cut purple T-shirt. She tries on a few bras before she settles on one she seems to like and I help her clip it up at the back.
She grumbles about corsets being easier to latch together before she puzzles over the drawer filled with string-likeunderpants. She’s seen me wearing underpants, but nothing like those ones.
“Do I need these?” she asks, dangling a triangle of lace from her fingers.
“Not those, you don’t.” I’m sure there must be some point to underwear like that, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is.
I quickly retrieve a pair of underpants from a different drawer. They’re made of a softer material and will cover her butt. “These are more comfortable.”
Her comment about corsets and the fact that she seems as much in the dark about the string-like underwear as I am makes me wonder how much experience she has with this modern world.
Handing over the underpants, I ask, “How long were you imprisoned in the veil?”
With a sigh, she throws the lacy item into the drawer and takes the other one from me. “We lost count of the years we spent in that dark place. Probably several centuries.” She thinks for a moment. “We’d survived for nearly 1500 years when the Sentinels caught us. It was the 1700s and we’d made our way into France, where the humans were in the middle of some sort of revolution. Death and war always called to us, but I suppose it made us easier to track.”
As she pulls on the underpants, she muses, “Say what you will about dark magic creatures, but we barely make a mark compared to what humans do to each other.”
“If you were in that cage for hundreds of years, then this world must be as strange to you as it is to me.”
“Very strange.” Her eyes brighten again. “Although I’m happy there’s basic sanitation. I don’t miss the piss and shit that caked some city streets.”
She shudders and shakes out her hands and feet one after the other. I can’t help but imagine her in her feline form, picking her way along a filthy street and trying not to get any sludge on her paws. Cats, after all, are clean creatures.
She pulls on the long pants and shirt and turns to me. “I’m ready.” She wrinkles her nose at me. “You have blood in your hair. I’d approve if it were someone else’s blood, but the fact that it’s your own…” Her expression darkens. “Your father will answer for what he did.”
My voice sticks in my throat. Gratitude shouldn’t be in my nature, but I’ve felt it multiple times today. “Thank you for coming for me.”
“Not just me.” Her anger fades and her voice lowers. “That dark king needs you, Veda.” Her focus flickers in the direction of the living area. “He won’t let you die.”
It sounds a little like a warning, but I can’t be sure because she’s already turning away.
If I didn’t sense a rising tension from within the living area, I’d ask more questions. I’d also indulge in a good wash. I never thought I’d wish for a shower after my first disastrous experience with them, but I desperately want one now.
However, I’ve left Lucian alone with the keeper and the panthers for long enough that I can sense the rising friction seeping through the walls.
I promise myself I’ll grab a wet cloth in the kitchen to clean off my hair as I hurry after Anarchy.
