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He turned and stalked to the door, not making a sound as he went. It made no logical sense, this primal draw that went against every bit of reason. It was unsettling and sobering. Perhaps Niah had been right, he recognized with a sharp pang of bitterness. Perhaps it had simply been far too long since he’d fed. Perhaps it had simply been far too long since he’d felt the warmth of a woman. Perhaps this temptation had nothing to do with Gwendolyn at all.
Chapter Nine
Something felt—different. Gwen pulled herself out of Sirus’s embrace and faced the dark line of trees. Whispered voices echoed around her like unseen ghosts.
Gwen watched the forest, her heart beating wildly as her eyes darted from tree to tree. Her skin prickled with a chill. A face appeared through the shadows. Her breath hitched. The voices surged.
He was thin and sallow. His skin pale and his brown hair matted. His green eyes stared back into her own. They were eyes she knew. Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. A smile formed over his lips, causing a shiver to spread up her spine. Gwen slid backward. Too frightened to run. Too frightened to speak.
Sirus stepped in front of her to the edge of the stone circle, blocking the man from view, his curved silver swords held firmly in each hand. A different fear gripped her then. Gwen reached out and snatched his arm. “No!” she pleaded.
He turned to look back at her, and she was struck with horror. His eyes were no longer silvery-blue but completely black, his face and torso smeared thick with blood.
“Stay away, Gwendolyn,” he warned her, his voice dark.
She didn’t let him go. The voices grew louder as she stared into the black of his eyes. The eyes of death. She pressed her hand against his bloodstained cheek. Her skin vibrated with energy. The voices hummed in her ears. “No,” she breathed through a ragged gasp.
Pain tore through her. Pain like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her body burned. She didn’t care. She focused on him. Only him.
“Selda asor Listë,” the voices whispered over and over. Daughter of Darkness.
* * *
Gwen felt oddly relaxed given the wild day she’d had.
“Heavens,” Levian huffed with a heavy sigh, dropping her fistful of shopping bags to the floor and throwing herself over the settee in the library. “That was a bit more than I had planned, but it was good to get out and have a little fun.”
Gwen smiled softly, putting her own modest two bags down by the door. “Thanks,” she offered again. “For the clothes and—everything.”
“Of course, darling,” Levian chimed. “You couldn’t be expected to wear those dirty things again, and besides…” She smiled coyly. “We both needed a bit of pampering.”
When Gwen had slipped downstairs after some much-needed sleep, she’d found Levian and Sirus chatting in the library—though “museum” seemed like a more accurate description, considering all the bizarre artifacts lying everywhere. The last thing she’d expected when she woke up was to be whisked away for an afternoon of exploring and shopping, but that’s exactly what she’d gotten. She stretched out her arms, trying not to fall prey to the tiredness settling into her body. She was exhausted but calm. Calmer than she’d been in ages. It was more than a little bizarre.
She’d been reluctant about the idea of gallivanting through London, in no small part because her brain still hadn’t entirely come around to the fact that London was actually where she was, but within five minutes Levian had managed to convince her and Sirus that it had to be done. The mage had insisted, without pausing for input, that Gwen couldn’t keep wearing her dirty old clothes, that it was impossible anyone would find her in London, that she would be happy to disguise them both, and that it would be inexcusable for Gwen to have been dragged all the way here and only get to see Barith’s shabby old garden.
It’d been weird wearing a glamour. Looking in the mirror and seeing herself as a blonde with brown eyes had caught Gwen off guard every time. Thankfully, Levian had dropped the spell the moment they returned to Ember Hall, which was in a neighborhood she now knew was called Mayfair.
Gwen caressed her smooth, exfoliated face. She’d only agreed to go with Levian so that she could get some clean clothes. Once that was done, the mage had convinced her that she should at least try some English tea and scones while she was in London. Before Gwen knew it, they’d had traditional English tea service, seen several of the most popular sights in London, enjoyed facials at a posh spa, eaten a late lunch at some fancy place called The Wolseley, and then finished with a bit more shopping on Bond Street.
“Where do you think Barith and Sirus are?” Gwen asked casually, falling into one of the green velvet chairs next to Levian.
Sirus had only agreed to the mage’s plan because Gwen was desperate for clean clothes, though she suspected he wasn’t thrilled with the idea in the slightest. In fact, since the moment they left the house, she’d struggled to shake the feeling that Sirus was behind her everywhere they went, even if she knew she was just being silly and paranoid.
Levian snorted, brushing out a wrinkle from her plunging blue silk dress, which was covered in swirled patterns of dusty silver. “The kitchen, most likely, knowing Barith. Be glad you came out with me, because it’s doubtful he’s left a morsel in the house. He’s got the stomach of a herd of goats.”
Gwen hadn’t been exactly sure how to feel about Levian at first, but to her surprise the mage was actually quite friendly. She’d treated Gwen like an old friend from the moment they stepped out of the house. Hers was an infectious disposition Gwen had struggled not to warm to. She also had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with her being part faerie.
“What’s up with you two?” Gwen asked. The mage cocked a brow. “You and Barith,” she elaborated. “You don’t seem to get along much.”
Levian shrugged a shoulder. “We get along fine, considering he’s a walking tree trunk with less between his ears than a garden snail.” Gwen couldn’t help but smirk.
The mage hauled in a deep breath and let it out through her nose before she added with a touch more softness, “We’ve known each other a very long time. The last time we parted ways we were not on the best of terms, but we’ve made peace. There’s no need to worry that I’m going to turn him into a toad or anything. I would have done that ages ago if I really wanted to.”
To her credit, during their outing Levian had tolerated Gwen’s nearly relentless questions with the patience of a saint. She’d answered each one and elaborated where she felt she should. Over their day, Gwen had not only gotten to experience London, she’d also learned a lot about the world of magick. A world that seemed to have existed right under her nose all this time without her ever knowing. It was more than a little overwhelming, especially because once the mage started pointing things out, Gwen felt like an idiot for not noticing them before. Like how shops owned by a creature of magick almost hummed with energy, while all the others felt flat. How witches tended to draw nature to them without even trying. A gust of wind. A nearby bird. A squirrel trailing just behind them.
Levian had told her stories of magickal Folk and how they’d lived in London. How a fae bloodline still ran through the lords and ladies of the British aristocracy and that you could tell by very subtle physical attributes. A pointed nose. A twinkle in the eye. Then there were the glamours and magicks that protected houses. Gwen had felt a weird little tingle when they’d walked down a particular street, and Levian had quite casually told her that it was likely from warding spells that kept houses hidden from sight. Like Barith’s house. Compared to the other houses on his street, his looked like it had been entirely forgotten and lost to time. A fact Levian had grumbled about the moment they got back. She clearly didn’t approve of his neglect of the property.
They’d talked about a lot during their outing, but the one thing they hadn’t really talked about was Levian’s history with Barith and Sirus.
