Reon lifts his cup toward mine. “And you made it very clear today that I’m not your type. Seems you and your sister have that in common.”
I nod, and whether it’s the wine or the company, the tight coil in my chest loosens for the first time in weeks.
“Don’t take it personally, Reon,” I murmur. “My miserable heart only beats for one.”
Quiet settles between us as we sip our drinks. Thenthump…thump…thump.A slow, rhythmic pounding echoes from the ceiling above, followed by a soft drift of dust sifting down from the rafters. We glance up together, then back at each other with matching frowns.
Reon adjusts the front of his leathers with a grimace. “Might have to pay a visit to the Red Room before the night’s through.”
I chuckle into my cup, the sound low and tired. But even that small warmth can't quiet the ache that lingers beneath my skin. The longing for the only touch I’ve ever truly craved… and the quiet fear that I may never feel it again.
Chapter 9
Daed
The next few days drag like a lame mule, and the inn’s no better than the ship, just a different kind of dank hole to dwell in. We don’t go out. Can’t risk drawing eyes, not when we’re this close. Close to what, exactly? I couldn’t say. The answers might come tonight, or this could be another waste of time, another false thread unraveling in my hands while Amara slips further from my reach. And then there’s the other rot blooming under my skin. The sigils of the unseen grow weaker each time Solena carves them. I can feel the void creeping in, smoke curling at the corners of my sight, whispering through the cracks of my mind. It wants me. Wants to take me, twist me, use me. If Gygarth wins, if he gets his claws in deep enough, then I’ll no longer be the Fae who aches for Amara with every cursed beat of his heart. I’ll be hishound. His butcher. My only purpose, a blind, brutal hunger to hunt meat for the beast.
I must find answers tonight. Before I lose everything.
The evening breeze rushes through the open window, cool against my skin, but all I feel is her. Amara. The whisper of wind becomes the ghost of her fingers, tracing along my flesh. My eyes slip shut, surrendering to the memory. The way she touched me, how her hands mapped my body with a knowledge that should have taken a lifetime to learn.
But that was the secret, wasn’t it?
She wasn’t just any human. Nor any other Awakened.
She was mine. My mate. My destiny.
And she carried the map of me within her, etched into her soul as surely as I carried hers. I knew her. Every lush, tempting curve, every dip that beckoned my touch, every mouthwatering crevice that even now has my cock stiff and aching beneath my leathers.
The way her body hummed for me. The way her breathy moans tangled with mine. The feel of her soft breasts crushed against my chest as I stole the air from her lungs,claiming her so fully, so completely, that there could be no doubt she was mine to possess, to love, to fuck.
A sharp growl rumbles in my throat as I grip myself roughly, the throbbing demand between my legs a cruel reminder of what was stolen from me. Of what I will kill to get back.
Then the wind shifts.
The warmth of memory is replaced by something colder, more formal, laced with power, and then a voice follows.
“My prince. I bring news from Baev’kalath.”
The breeze coils into the shape of a female, her features indistinct, a mere echo of something Fae, a whisper on the wind.
Lady Ilyra’s spies are everywhere and nowhere, unseen but ever-present. Without them, I would be blind to what has become of my kingdom in my absence. Ilyra is as loyal as she is ruthless, and through her, I remain informed.
I force my need aside, moving from the window to the edge of the bed.
“What news do you bring?”
“All goes well, Your Highness. Lady Ilyra holds Baev’kalath with the aid of the warriors of Eyr’Drogul, despite Lord Modok’s persistence.”
My jaw tightens. “Has he crossed the sea? Does he bring more than threats?”
The wind-wrought figure shudders. “Not yet, Your Highness. But with the Lady twins and Lord Horax unwilling to continue negotiations, a challenge is not implausible.”
My teeth clench. “And what of Sarberos?”
“Nothing yet,” the voice murmurs. “He fortifies himself and his people within Thal’Morven, refusing communication with anyone.”
“And the Sundered Kingdoms? The Legion?”
