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Eivor sheaths his axe in the sling around his hips. “Like hell you do.”

“Did Riven specifically say you needed to complete this on your own?” Carver strokes his jaw.

My eyes drift to Rory, unbidden, as I ground out, “No.”

“Then we’re going with you.” Carver gathers the spears we’d been practicing with into a pile. “Besides, we know from Ash’s report that Adelphi is a complete shit show right now.” He pauses and levels his steely eyes on me. “Going alone is suicide, and I’m speaking for all of us when I say we really need you to become vampire supreme, not a fucking martyr.”

“And,” sings Risna, “maneuvering through the city and the library on your own will take at least twice as long without our help.”

“I can manage just fine on my own.”

“We’re stronger together,” Rory argues. “Carver, Eivor, and Risna can patrol while you and I find the book. Maybe I’ll have another vision⁠—”

“You haven’t had one since that day in the Mocking Woods,” I counter. “And besides, your father has your face plastered around the five fucking kingdoms, Rory. You’re the most recognizable out of all of us. It’s not happening.”

She narrows those vibrant eyes on me as she drops the yarn on the ground and folds her arms across her chest, mirroring me. “This is going to go one of two ways. Either you stop being a stubborn ass and allow us to come, or”—she smiles sweetly—“you go alone, and we follow anyway. The choice is yours.”

Chapter 33

RORY

My mate must be one of the most stubborn males on this continent.

After Quill very reluctantly conceded to let the four of us help him on his mission to secure whatever elusive book the fae king requires, he sequestered the five of us in the dining room with a map of Adelphi and several pints of blood. We spent a few hours drinking and plotting, and after an endless evening of bickering, we had a plan.

Now, we’re gathered in a meadow in Seagrove about a mile and a half from Wall Lilium, ensuring this ruse of ours is without a doubt believable. Because if the trackers posted in those towers looming over the tree line or the guards stationed just outside the gate have even an inkling we’re a caravan full of creatures, our deaths will not be swift.

Especially mine.

Risna, in horse form, whinnies beside another horse as Eivor attaches a harness to them. Her tale flicks with annoyance, and Carver nearly has his hand nipped off when he motions to rub her speckled head. She does, however, allow me to fasten her mane into a sleek, black braid.

“Your ability is incredible,” I murmur to her, twining a cerulean ribbon throughout her hair and using it to tie the section off. If I hadn’t watched Risna shift into this horse, I never would’ve suspected she wasn’t what she now seems to be. She nickers, low and soft, a thank you if I’ve ever heard one.

Carver beams as I come around to the second mare we borrowed—stole with the intention of returning, is more like it—from a quaint little town just outside Wall Lilium. Whinnyfred’s braid is horrendous, but the ribbon is secure, and the twinkle in his eye shines far too brightly for me to comment otherwise.

“We’re all finished with them,” I tell Eivor.

He grunts as he tightens the harness around their withers, securing the braces in place. He tugs on the leather linking the collar to the load, satisfied. Whinnyfred’s hind receives a gentle smack as he circles around the horses once more, triple checking every buckle and strip of leather.

“Tell Quill we’re almost ready,” says Carver.

“I can hear you just fine,” Quill barks from the rear of the wagon.

I circle around and find the stubborn male leaning against the bumper, arms folded across his broad chest, his gorgeous face tilted toward the cloudy sky. It’s no coincidence the darkened clouds rolled in at the same time as us with the promise of a hefty storm.

“Carver says we’re almost ready,” I tease.

His lips curve upward as he wraps an arm around my waist and scoops me up and into his arms. I can’t help the startled squeal that bubbles out of me. He sets me down gently in the back of the wagon and then leaps into the covered darkness, tying the canvas closed behind him with three knotted bows.

He nudges a bale of hay out of his way and tucks himself into the furthest corner. I’m folding myself into his lap a second later as if the space between his powerful arms has always been meant to hold me. He brushes my hair over my shoulder, exposing my nape, and nuzzles close. His nose traces lazy circles against my skin. I sink into him, into the way his sturdy thighs support my weight, the way his sculpted chest presses in from behind me.

Without warning, the horses take off at a canter, and the carriage rolls over roots and rocks until Carver, acting as coachman, turns onto the worn city road leading straight to the heart of Adelphi and Wall Lilium’s front gate.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” I ask Quill.

A bag of blackened sand tips over from its pile and hits the wagon floor with a loud thud.

Eivor pounds against the wall separating us from them and whispers, “You two better not be fucking at a time like this.”