The silent, desolate stare of Silver Shadow was my only response.
“You didn’t claim her.”
Even Rhett tilted his head in curiosity at Anjani’s words.
“What?” I rasped.
Anjani laughed wickedly as she tapped the base of her neck. “You didn’t claim her according to shifter customs. And thenyousent her straight into the arms of another male who would doanythingto have her.” Her piercing laughter mimicked the deafening screech of nails scratching against stone. “Into the hands of a powerful alpha who would love nothing more than to mark her as his chosen mate. Perhaps Gilen will believe this is fatefinally turning in his favor. The Gods allowing her to return without a claiming mark.”
“Skylar would never—”
“Never what?” Anjani challenged as she sucked her teeth. “She would never make a sacrifice to save those she loves? She would never trade herself to the alpha in exchange for the dagger in order to successfully complete the trials?”
My world stopped.
Anjani’s wicked smile only grew, witnessing my reaction. “You didn’t claim her!” she taunted, tapping her neck. “You didn’t claim her! You didn’t claim her!” She laughed again.
My stomach plummeted as despair wound its way through the cracks of my breaking heart. My chest ached. My center shredded apart as if my very soul was on the verge of fading into nothing.
“No,” I rasped.
Rhett and Anjani exchanged smug glances before turning on their heels and leaving the prison cell, driving a fictional death blow straight through my bleeding heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Skylar Cathal
I was home, yet somehow, I wasn’t.
Upon cresting the cliffs, I realized the smoke I’d seen from the green sand beach was carried from the eastern regions of our territory. The darker plumes in the distant hills were not an immediate threat to Solace, but still, the sight of them was unsettling.
My father, Emery, died fighting on those very fields. Countless battles had been fought between the dividing of shifter and human territories. With each new ruler of the human lands, a new divide and tentative peace treaty was struck, the binding law written in blood from lives lost fighting to protect our homes.
Humans were not born of Valdor, yet our history books and even the records of the High Fae lacked detailed accounts concerning their origins.
I remember attempting to read all I could about the humans’ culture when I was young, naturally curious about the other half of my heritage. Our viable records stated that humans sailed across the vacant sea to the east, drawn to the magic of Valdor with the promise of peace, settling and creating a stronghold in the southern region of the mainland centuries ago.
Magic in humans appeared to be a rare stroke of genetic grace, while others inherited the ability passed down through a family bloodline. Some humans held the ability to manipulate and connect to the magic of our world, similar to shifters and fae, tapping into the raw magic and bending it to their will to create beautiful miracles like healing and, at times, dark weapons such as the hunters. Others could create weapons out of magical energy, and some were even rumored to have gifts of foresight.
But all too soon, a desire for power and control brought forth war and bloodshed between humans, shifters, and fae.
Kneeling, I placed my palm against the cold earth, grounding myself to the familiar presence of my homeland once again. A strong sense of unease swirled through my center, my instincts telling me something wasn’t right.
Tugging the hood of my cloak over my head, I marched forward and entered the forest. My animal stirred with a potent surge of anxiety, putting all my senses on high alert.
The forest was quiet. Almost as if the wilderness embodied the bone-chilling stillness of death itself. Boisterous songbirds fell silent. The natural music of the land had become hushed.
The chilling feeling I had while in the hunters’ keep crept along my spine, creating goosebumps at the nape of my neck.
Were hunters here?
No, not again. Not inmyhome.
I drew my knife and crouched in the nearby brush of ferns, carefully avoiding the patch of devil’s club. My eyes meticulously scanned the bare willow and spruce trees. Utilizing my training from Daxton, I created a barrier to conceal my scent, cloaking myself in case anything nearby was trying to snuff me out of my hiding place.
Keeping my blade drawn, I waited and watched. But still, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Standing, I kept my knife at the ready, walking along the path I knew by heart. The route I had taken hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. The path that led me to my home. To Julia, to Neera, to Magnus.
