Ashen.
His form prowls from the shadows, smoke made flesh, his white eyes glowing with unholy light. He snarls, teeth bared, every muscle coiled with threat as he pads closer, the rain slicking his fur, steam rising off him in ghostly curls. He stops inches from the impostor and sniffs the air. His jaw quivers.
“If I were you,” I growl, “I would answer. I am not the only one who knows you lie.”
Silence fractures the space between us. The male’s silver eyes hold mine until they don’t.
They shift.
A flicker of violet flashes in the depths, and I suck in a breath, stumbling a step back.
Then he lunges.
His hand snatches my wrist with bruising force, the other slamming around my throat. I cry out, thrashing, but he’s strong. Stronger than me. The cabin door slams into my back with a crack. I don’t know if it’s the wood or me that splinters.
Stars burst behind my eyes. My vision dims. His breath is hot against my face, and in my panic, my power awakens. A swell of heat surges from my chest, and a bright burst of green fire explodes between us.
He screams as the flames lash his face, searing flesh and hair. He stumbles back with a howl, dropping to one knee, hands clawing at his scorched skin.
And then, right before my eyes, he changes.
Dark hair recedes into a shorn, rune-marked scalp. Silver eyes ignite violet. Leathers ripple, becoming furs. My husband is gone. In his place stands a Fae female, and I recognize her. One of the Lady Twins of Jor’Thalas, but I do not know whether it is Vashar or Vasheeth.
She lets out a shriek, high and furious, her face half-melted, skin peeled back in angry welts.
“Look what you’ve done!” she screeches.
No shimmer is visible. No glamor needed.
The Fae of Jor’Thalas are shapeshifters.
“Where is Daed?” I hiss, flames dancing in my palm.
The twin staggers upright, blood slicking her jaw. Her hand peels away from her cheek. Skin comes with it.
“You will return with me to the castle,” she rasps. “Modok commands it.”
I raise my hand, fire flaring brighter. “Take another step,” I warn, “and I will reduce you to ash scattered to the winds.”
She stills.
The rain falls in sheets now, drumming against the deck, washing her blood into the wood.
Then, from the cabin, comes an infant’s wail.
The twin’s eyes narrow, lips parting in curiosity.
“Is that…” she breathes, “a baby?”
I say nothing. But my throat bobs. A single tremble.
She sees it, and she smiles. A cold, wicked thing that exposes a mouth full of sharp, animal teeth.
“My, my,” she croons. “You have beenverybusy, haven’t you? Oh, Modok will bethrilled.”
Her tongue darts across her teeth.
“Heloveshuman babies.”
