Fuck. They kept a child alive as a trophy. And I thought my mother was brutal. “You couldn’t leave?”
“Not until I was old enough to challenge the alpha. Which I did. And lost. More than once.” Logan’s attempt at a smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Turns out being the pack’s punching bag doesn’t prepare you for singleton combat.”
He stops talking as the path opens onto a wide, sloping meadow ringed on three sides by low hills and copses of silver-barked trees that shimmer faintly in the moonlight. The air is thick with the scent of musk and wildflowers and somethingundeniably primal—sulfur and scale and sky. “Turns out it does prepare you for other things though.” A corner of Logan’s mouth twitches and this time the emotion is real. “Turns out it’s great training for the draken trials.”
Before I can follow up on that, the giant thing in the sky that had been keeping us company, swoops down toward us, his massive wings blocking out entire constellations as he banks.
“So… Nyx is a friendly sort of draken?” I ask, trying to convince my suddenly racing heart to slow in case fear was a kind of condiment the draken enjoyed.
“Eh… no.”
The draken comes in for its landing, powerful haunches bunching as it settles onto the ground with surprising grace for a creature the size of a small building. Nyx’s scales shimmer with an iridescence that seems to absorb rather than reflect the moonlight, creating the impression of a living void.
I grip Logan’s shirt, preventing him from setting me down.
Nyx folds his wings against his body with a sound like canvas snapping in a gale—a gesture that flattens a nearby sapling with casual, terrifying strength.
"Nyx," Logan says, his voice carrying a note of weary affection. "This is Rowan."
The draken's great head swivels toward me, steam hissing from between dagger-like teeth. Golden eyes narrow to slits of molten fire and stare at me with the kind of assessment usually reserved for potential threats.
Or meals.
So this is the little alchemist who's caused all the fuss,a mental voice dripping with disdain suddenly says inside my mind.She looks half-dead already. Hardly seems worth the effort of keeping her breathing.
"Nyx-”
What? I'm simply observing that your mate appears to be defective. Perhaps you should have chosen better.
Chapter 19
Logan
“Wait. What?” Rowan releases her death grip on my shirt and wriggles down to the ground, stepping away from me and Nyx both, her palms raised in the air. “What mate?”
I frown, immediately missing the feel of her body in my arms. Then my mind catches up to what she’d just asked. My chest tightens. “What mate?” I echo back to her, trying to sound innocent.
She glares at me.
So not a slip of the tongue then. Shit. Because the only reason she’d be asking that question is if… “You heard Nyx? That's impossible."
"I don't know who I heard. With the amount of voices recently taking residence in my head it's turning out to be a challenge to keep track. Butsomeonejust referred to me as your mate. And a defective one at that. What does thatsomeonemean by that?"
Rut it. I shut my eyes and keep them closed for a moment in hopes that when I open them again, this will all have been amirage of some kind. A fever dream without a fever. Anything but the very very messy reality Rowan was never meant to know.
“Logan.”
I blink my eyes open to find Rowan standing with her hands on her hips. "It's… complicated," I manage.
Everything is complicated with you,Nyx snorts, a sound that sends small puffs of smoke curling from his nostrils.
Rowan throws up her arms, which I could have told her was a mistake even before she yelps and curls in on herself. She’s been through hell and neither of us knows just how much injury her body has taken. I wish I’d kept Reece around long enough to heal her, though it’s unlikely the male had anything left in him. She sinks to her knees, her arms hugging her chest but head up and glaring. “Complicated isn’t an explanation.”
Complicated is a fact,Nyx observes, lowering his head until his massive snout is only inches from Rowan's face.
"Look away," I say quickly to Rowan, though the instruction should really be unnecessary. Anyone who isn't suicidal does so on instinct. "Do not make eye contact."
Rowan scowls at me. Then at Nyx. "His eyes are a foot away and the size of small saucers—where am I supposed to look?"
