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Fangs out as he grins, the basilisk counters, “Twenty says the first one to tap out is the vampire. I agree with the prince about our girl. She was always a powder keg waiting to explode.”

“Not taking that bet,” I reply as I slide Fiadh’s sword into my belt. “We haven’t seen the mosquito so desperate before, but Knuckles fights like she’s got nothing to live for, and I assume her Fae being free for the first time since her last life means she’ll fuck like it now, too.”

We sit for a while longer, letting the cold and the banter patch over the cracks in the evening. Eventually, Khol stands, rolling his neck until it pops. “Let’s go, guys. We should catch up before Dezi drains her dry, or she shanks him for real.”

I kinda of think he’d enjoy it, so I’m not sure that’s the enticement he believes it to be.

My charge helps me up, and together we start down the path, leaving a glittering trail of scales and blood behind us. The night is clear, the air sharp, and every step brings us closer to whatever disaster waits in the castle. As we walk, the prince glances back at the Worldroot, now quiet in the moonlight. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he mutters. “Oliver kept me from ours, and I’ve seen another Court’s without even meeting my own. Total bullshit.”

I follow his gaze, watching the moonlight crawl over the runes on its bark. “He’s terrified of you, Rev. He knows when you meet Daybreak’s, it will signal the end of his reign of terror,” I say truthfully.

That said, I also believe Fiadh meeting this one is the beginning of the end for this Court’s as well.

Thirty

FIADH

My brain floats up out of sleepy bliss like a corpse breaching the surface of water after being submerged too long—blunted, cold, and not at all ready for oxygen. There’s a warm cloth on my shoulder, heavy with the tang of floral Fae soap and blood. When I blink my eyes open, Dezi is shirtless, his hair wet and slicked back from his face, as if he’s just bathed in the moonlight instead of a shower.

Damn, he’s good-looking. All my men are, in different ways, and I have no idea how the fuck I managed this group of kind, fierce guys when I’m so broken.

He’s staring at me with those intense red eyes, but his expression isn’t hunger or even lust—it’s something closer to concern, which unsettles me way more than fangs and bondage ever could. Pressing the towel to the side of my neck where he bit me, he dabs until the fresh blood is gone and only the inked bruise remains.

“You don’t have to do that,” I mumble in a gravelly voice. “I’m not made of china, and it doesn’t even hurt.”

Dezi doesn’t look up as he works, but I feel his jaw clench in the way he does when he’s exasperated with me. “I choose to do it because you are my mate and aftercare is non-negotiable, as you know, sanguis meus canticum⁠*.” Another squeeze of the towel, and another swirl of cold along my new, not-quite-healed glyphs follows. “Consider it…reparations for my lack of control or gratitude for choosing me back, if it helps.”

I snort, which hurts, and he seems to enjoy the sound because his mouth twitches up at one side. “That does not help, and if I can’t get down on myself, none of you can either. Now that I know I’m Fae, my obsession with fairness makes a fuckton more sense than it did as a low-powered witch.”

“Indeed, it does, witchling.” He pauses and then asks, “Does that moniker bother you now? It is inaccurate, but I am somewhat attached to it. However, if you would prefer not to be associated with the beings who rejected you now, I will adjust accordingly.”

Smiling to myself at his insistence on consent in every part of our lives, I reply, “It’s fine. The Fae haven’t really welcomed me with open arms, either. I’m good with that nickname and any other you guys use as long as they aren’t humiliating. Don’t try ‘bunny’ or ‘honeybun’, got it?”

“Understood,” he says on a chuckle as he continues cleaning me up slowly.

Looking around, I realize our suite is trashed. The bed looks like a crime scene, sheets kicked to hell and the comforter bunched up at one end like it was trying to crawl away. There’s a streak of blood on the wall that I’m one hundred percent sure isn’t decorative, but have no idea where it came from. On the floor, I catch a glint of something silvery-blue—a crescent-shaped earring I didn’t even know I was wearing before. When I reach for it, my hand trembles and nearly knocks the thing under the dresser.

“Easy, witchling,” Dezi says, finally meeting my eyes. “You lost a lot of blood, and even with your newfound abilities, you need to replenish internally before you try to climb mountains or fight demons.”

He’s probably right, even if all I wanted to do was shift to pick up a mysterious piece of jewelry.

I feel wrung out and boneless, but the weird thing is I don’t feel weak. There’s a charge running under my skin, like every nerve ending is dialed up to eleven. I touch the side of my neck, expecting pain, but it’s just a dull, almost pleasant ache that makes my inner magic purr a little bit. That’s when I catch my reflection in the obsidian mirror over the minibar, and the towel slides off me as I sit up slowly.

Fuck. They weren’t kidding about ‘permanent’ changes when they taught us about developing powers when we were kids.

It might be the only thing those assholes taught us that was true, and its application to my current transformation would shock the shit out of them. I don’t look like the old me anymore—at least, not naked like this. My skin is mapped with blue-white markings, every line from my hairline to my collarbones aglow with faint, electric light. The moon brand on my hand now wraps my wrist, climbing up my forearm in jagged stems, leaves, stars, flowers, and a small addition of vampiric-looking fangs with blood blossoming along one set of thorny branches. My ears have elongated and sharpened into pointed Fae territory with a soft purplish cast to the tips. My lips are as dark as new bruises, sans lipstick, and my eyes—goddesses, my eyes—are almost black, the old color replaced by a deep, spiraling void rimmed in icy white.

I look like I ate the old me for breakfast, and then had her taxidermied as a trophy.

“Holy shit,” I say as I stare at myself. “If I looked unapproachable before, now I seem like I’d Mortal Kombat you for looking at me. This is kind of fucking awesome, Dezi.”

The vampire rolls over and rests his hands lightly on my shoulders. “You were beautiful when we met, witchling, and you are even more so now. However, that is more about your soul, your heart, and how you’ve grown as we’ve traveled with our family than your outer reflection.” He says it with no doubt whatsoever, and I believe him because I feel his truth vibrating again.

Damn, that power has been hiding more often than not, and here it is humming like a bird at the feeder.

I shake my head, not taking my eyes off the woman in the glass. “I’m beautiful like a murder weapon, but that’s actually cool to me. I prefer uninvited people to fuck off before I have to tell them.”

His smile sharpens, fangs visible. “That’s always been your preference, Fiadh. However, I cannot claim that the demon inside of me is not pleased that you do not want anyone besides our accepted family to be near you. He is quite unevolved regarding mates, I fear.”