It would explain why he’s always on my mind, his scent tickling the tip of my tongue.
His voice in my ear.
Maybe I should find a way to imprison him…just until I’m sick of him or whatever.
London watches me closely, and just as she makes to speak, something buzzes from inside her pocket. She pulls out a small square, lifting it to her ear as she climbs from the branch seats. “Be right back.” She wanders a few feet away, keeping her back to me as she faces out the cauldron house window, voice dropping low as she answers.
Flames crackle from the open-air kitchen behind us, mixing with the wind carrying Blackwood spice and steam across the hilltop. I keep eating, tearing through my food with my hands and letting the warmth settle in my chest while London murmurs a string ofhmmsandokays.
Then something brushes the inside of my ear.
It’s a soft rush, like water being pulled overhead, followed by a low, rolling hush. It fills my skull in a slow, sweeping tide—and then it clears. Like the waves withdraw, taking with them everything the land had held, leaving nothing but smooth sand in its wake.
Only, as it clears, a voice appears in its place.
“Come to me, baby.We’re still in the archives room and I’m going fucking insane.”
I pause, meat halfway to my mouth.
Knight. His voice cuts straight through my head.
I blink and exhale, nostrils flaring just as he speaks again.
“We’ve been here for a full moon and still not even a mention of a possessed flower that can kill our kind. The closest we’ve found is something called the Silkvien. But it says they attack the senses, which doesn’t feel right.”
“Yeah, there was too much blood for that,” London whispers, but she may as well be screaming with how loudly I can hear her inside my head.
“Exactly, and they’re solid white, not red with black thorns.”
I perk up. Hold up. Possessed flower? Red with black thorns?
My smile is instant.
“Great, so what now?” London mumbles.
“Creed sent for the mage before we found this so she should arrive soon. If this poison has a source, she should know which scripture we’ll find answers in.”
I scoff, muttering under my breath, “Well, that’s a waste of time.”
The air around London shifts, her shoulders stiffen. Her whispered conversation falters as she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Slowly, she comes toward me again. “Knight?” she calls, but only to get him to answer.
“Mate?”
I roll my eyes and hers narrow further.
“You can hear him.” It’s not a question.
I lift a shoulder, stuffing a small potato into my mouth. “He speaks loudly.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
“What the hell is going on, mate? Is that Haide? Where are you?”
“Quiet,” she tells him, gaze pinned on me. “Haide, what do you mean ‘it’s a waste of time?’”
