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My mind doesn’t work. It splinters and falls to pieces as I sample that exquisite taste that belongs to my mate. Arin stops. Only my heartbeat remains, each thump a promise to the one my soul must have.
“Did you just lick a stranger’s glass?” Valen walks around the desk, his dark brows high.
She’s here. My mate. And I know her scent. I know it because I was surrounded by it for weeks on our trek across the summer realm, then to the Gray Mountains and back. It’s the scent I dream about, the changeling that I thought could never be mine. How wrong I was. Because she is mine, and I intend to claim her the moment I find her.
“Beth.” My voice isn’t a sound, but a dagger of need hurtling through the air toward the one who was made for me.
Ravella stows her blades with a smirk and takes Valen’s and Gray’s elbows. “Come on, let’s go feast at the banquet while Gareth sees to his mating business.”
“His mate?” Gray’s eyes widen.
“You heard me.” She pulls them away.
“What?” Valen sputters. “Where is she?”
I don’t have time to explain, not when this niggling sensation sets my teeth on edge. The glass still in my hand, I dart out the door and into a dark hallway that leads along the east side of the castle, most of the rooms used for formal affairs or diplomacy.
She was here not long ago. I stop and inhale, a growl ripping from me when I scent another on the air. A stranger. A male. With my mate. I draw my sword and continue down the hall until her scent begins to fade, but not before I catch something acrid that turns my stomach. Fear. She was afraid. And worse. Blood. Her blood.
Movement in a doorway to my right draws my eye, and I rush toward it, my blade drawn. I will slay any male who even thinks of harming her.
“Hey!” Phinelas holds his hands up, his eyes focused on my sword. “Gareth.”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Beth!”
“Oh.” He meets my gaze. “I didn’t realize you had a claim on her.”
“She’s mine.” I want to ram the blade through him until he tells me everything.
“Dial it back, Gareth.” He presses the sword between his palms. “I think you’ve caught the mating fever.”
“Where is she?” My voice is guttural, my anger like an inferno raging in my chest.
“I don’t know.” He glances down the hall. “I was supposed to meet her for a quick—”
My growl stops him.
He swallows hard. “For a quick discussion about winter realm customs. Nothing more than that. But I’ll go.” He backs through the doorway behind him. “And you two can hash out the whole mate thing between yourselves.” Pausing, he smiles, though it’s a little sad. “Congratulations, by the way. Finding your mate must be a revelation.”
It is. One I thank the Ancestors for. Phin disappears as I continue my search, but her trail goes cold. The other scent, though, the strange one that doesn’t belong—I follow it. I burst out of a door along the granite wall, a secret entrance most have forgotten about. The moon shines high and bright, a fresh fall of snow covering the crags in the distance. Below, the High Forest spreads out, its dark depths home to many creatures.
“Beth!” I yell for her, but she doesn’t answer back.
Has she gone off with another male to engage in—no. I won’t think it. I can’t. Something is amiss. She wouldn’t wander off into the woods like this, not alone or otherwise. My jaw clenches, and for the first time, I can feel my feral beneath my skin. Find her.
I want to jump from the parapet and tear through the trees. Instead, I try to keep a level head. It’s what I’m known for. Keeping the peace. Playing the long game. Strategy and discipline. I don’t make rash decisions like chasing through the woods after a wayward changeling.
But then my mate’s scent wafts by, a hint of fear turning her wild perfume sour. She’s afraid. She needs me. Damnit all to the Spires! I jump down, my feet crunching on the snow, and tear off into the woods, the moon as my guide as I hunt down my changeling.
3
Beth
The Catcher throws me down next to a small fire. The ground is muddy from melted snow, and I fall to my side, cold muck ruining my dress and chilling me to the bone.
He drops to his haunches and pulls a leather bag free from his belt.
“What’s that?” My muffled voice is unintelligible, and he ignores me anyway.
I sit up and shiver as the chilly mud squishes against my ass. My hands are bound in front of me, and my legs are free. Glancing around, I can’t tell anything from the dark woods, all the trees just like the other trees. Which way is the castle?
“If you run, I’ll catch you,” he says emphatically without even looking at me. “Granthos is paying quite a bit of coin for you, and I intend to collect.”
Leaning over the fire, he strikes a lump of stone against a bright magenta crystal he pulled from his bag. The flames shimmer, and the exotic aroma of pure magic mixed with alchemy thickens the air. Primal fear runs along my skin, and I slowly push myself toward the edge of the clearing. The fire turns a deep green and grows higher. A doorway forms, and I catch the sweetness of night-blooming jasmine from the summer realm.
I didn’t know such alchemy existed. No wonder the Catcher is so adept at retrieving runaways—he can travel between realms with ease.
As the doorway solidifies, panic threads with my terror and creates a horrific tapestry of how Granthos will punish a runaway. I can’t go back. Not when I’ve finally found freedom. I scoot back from the fire, but the Catcher reaches out and grabs my arm, wrenching me to my feet. My scream doesn’t make it past the gag as he stands me in front of the blaze. I dig in my heels, pushing away from the hazy doorway. Different landscapes appear and flash past, as if the spell is roving to find the right spot to stop.
“No!” I struggle like a wild animal caught in a trap. I won’t go back. I’d rather die.
“Shame I can’t have you for longer.” He grins and lifts his bandanna to hide his face. “You’re a lively one.”
“You have no idea.” Gareth charges from the trees, his sword drawn and a mask of wrath on his face.
The Catcher shoves me to the ground and draws his sword.
I kick away from the fire as the two males engage in a blur of speed and aggression. Gareth’s howl of rage sends a shiver coursing down my spine as I gain my feet and hurtle away from the fight. I don’t stand a chance against the Catcher, but Gareth can handle himself. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I dash through the woods, the snow adding to the mud that already cakes my shoes and the hem of my dress. The clang of their swords wars with something else, some other noise that I can’t place. I ignore it and plunge ahead, hoping my steps lead me back to the castle, to safety.
Shaking my wrists, I try to free myself from the iron manacles, but there’s no chance. They’re rumored to be deviously enchanted, and only the Catcher’s key can unlock them. I hope that’s not true, but even if it is, I’d rather live life with two shackled hands in the winter realm where I’m free than return to the summer realm’s slavery unbound.
