Wraith's eyebrows shoot up. "The human hunters? Fuck, Fen."
"It's... complicated."
A laugh escapes him, rusty from disuse. "I imagine so." His expression grows serious again. "Does she know? About the mate bond? The soul shard?"
"Not everything. Not yet." The admission feels like failure. "She knows I'm not human. Knows there are other worlds. Knows the two of us are connected by something. The rest... it's a lot to take in."
Wraith nods, understanding in his tired eyes. "And you're back here because...?"
"The Enclave is harvesting magick. Trafficking beings from multiple planets. Working with sirens." I keep my voice low, though we're alone in this corner of the courtyard.
"Fuck." Wraith runs a hand through his white hair. “Let’s go. The faster you share your news the faster you can get your soon-to-be-furry ass back to earth.”
“Very funny, old friend.”
“I try.”
“That’s a lie.”
He grunts. “Fair point. You try.”
“I do.”
We are led by a single butler through the palace into a small intimate living space. A fire burns in a massive hearth despite the mild evening, and comfortable chairs surround a small round table inlaid with a map of Avalon. Cormac stands next to the hearth sipping on a drink.
Hawke's eyes lock on us as we enter, flickering with momentary surprise at seeing Wraith. He straightens from where he'd been leaning over the table, a protective hand moving instinctively toward Melinda.
But she pops up from her chair. And greets me with genuine warmth, clasping my hand in both of hers. "Fenrir, it's good to see you."
My eyes drift briefly to the gentle curve now visible beneath her flowing dress—a subtle swell that wasn't there when I saw her last. The scent of her has changed too, sweeter somehow, layered with something new and delicate. Life growing within life. The wolf in me recognizes and honors it instantly.
"Queen Stormblood." I bow. "You look well."
A smile touches her lips. "A kind lie. I look exactly as I feel. I haven't slept in a week." Her eyes move to Wraith and she flashes him an empathetic smile. "All of you, please, sit. You must be exhausted. Cormac said you just rescued nearly two dozen people."
We arrange ourselves around the table.
Bracken sits beside an empty chair, his face grim. When he sees Cormac, father and son exchange a brief nod. Wraith moves to sit beside Bracken, shoulders easing slightly.
I drop into one of the carved chairs, my body still fighting the aftermath of almost shifting. Every muscle protests.
The table holds the expected map of Avalon, but also untouched platters of food. Several decanters. Papers with what look like battle plans and troop positions.
Hawke remains standing, pouring wine into glasses with his own hands rather than calling for servants.
His eyes meet mine as he slides a glass toward me, then flick meaningfully to the crystal decanter of ambrosia at the center of the table.
"Now," he says, taking his seat beside Melinda. "Tell me more about what you've found out."
I lean forward and blink hard, forcing clarity. Fresh ambrosia waits in a crystal decanter at the center of the table. Hawke pushes it toward me without comment. I pour a generous measure, downing it in a single gulp.
“I assume you’ve been filled in about the mission and the Enclave to some extent already,” I say.
He nods. “We’re suspicious if this Enclave group is who the other Fae cities are working with.”
"It’s likely. They’re trafficking people and magick from other worlds," I say once I can trust my voice to remain steady. "So they definitely have sirens helping them."
"Or they’re blackmailing the sirens somehow," Cormac answers.
