I turn, keeping my face carefully composed. "That we'll finish this job quickly. I've got plans next week. Didn’t get a good visit with my mom."
Sherlock's gaze holds mine a beat too long. "You never have plans with your mom." It's not quite an accusation, but close.
"She’s having a hard time." I move past him, deliberately casual. "We're landing soon. Let's review the tactical approach."
Back at my seat, I feel Sherlock's eyes on me, but I just focus on the Rome intelligence with exaggerated intensity, ignoring both his scrutiny and the corrosive anxiety eating away at my composure.
My phone vibrates with another text from my mother: Everything's fine, stop worrying.
If only it were that simple.
CHAPTER 8
A Visit From The Knights
* * *
Melinda Stormblood, Queen of the Fae
The fountain in the palace's solarium is still, despite our anticipation. I've been watching it off and on all day, waiting for the Knights to return from Earth for their first check-in. Hawke stands beside me, his hand warm against my lower back.
A warm sensation ripples across my forearm. Siva shifts restlessly, her emerald form spiraling around my wrist, working her way up and then back down the length of my arm. She can feel my anxiety over the knights’ return.
I lean into Hawke’s touch, drawing comfort from his presence. "Do you think they found anything?" I ask quietly.
Hawke's body tightens slightly. "Two weeks is a short time to search an entire planet. Especially one as complicated as Earth has become."
He doesn't say what we're both thinking—that time isn't on their side. We've all seen how quickly they're deteriorating, how much ambrosia it takes just to keep them stable. I rest my hand absently on my still-flat stomach, thinking about everything that's changed since I first made it through a portal from Earth into this world of magick and very complicated politics.
My breath catches as the fountain's surface suddenly churns, ripples spreading outward in concentric circles. Siva tightens around my wrist, responding to my anticipation. I lean forward.
Beside me, Hawke straightens, his posture alert. "Here we go."
A hand breaks the surface first, followed by Fenrir's massive frame as he steps out of the fountain completely dry. The Viking warrior looks exhausted in a way I've never seen before, his usual confident stance slightly rigid. Behind him, a man I don't recognize emerges, looking equally drained. They’re both wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and t-shirts. So different from the renaissance styled clothes I’ve gotten used to since arriving in Avalon.
What I wouldn’t give for a pair or jeans or a hoodie right now… I need to remember to ask Hawke to make some for me.
"Welcome home," Hawke says warmly, stepping forward to clasp Fenrir's arm in greeting. "How was Earth?"
Fenrir's laugh holds no humor. "Strange. Loud. Full of metal beasts they call cars." His nostrils flare slightly as he looks at me, and I wonder what his wolf can smell. "No sign of my mate yet, but we've barely started searching."
I step forward and touch Fenrir's forearm lightly. "It's good to see you back safely, Fen. Earth can be overwhelming even for those of us who grew up there." His skin radiates heat beneath my fingertips, the wolf's fever burning just below the surface. He nods in acknowledgment, the tension in his jaw easing slightly.
He gestures to the man beside him. "This is Cormac. He's been... helping me adjust to Earth's peculiarities."
I extend my hand to Cormac, but the fountain begins to swirl again before I can properly greet him. This time it's Wraith who emerges, his usually pristine appearance somewhat rumpled. The dark circles under his eyes speak of sleepless nights. He's wearing a button up white shirt with dark jeans and cowboy boots. It suits him. Another unfamiliar man follows Wraith—this one younger, with sharp features and watchful eyes.
"Bracken," the young man introduces himself with a quick bow. "I've been assigned as Wraith's guide on Earth."
Two more times the fountain activates. Boaz arrives with an older Fae male who introduces himself as Dugall. Ares is next, wearing his typical smug grin. Then finally one more strange fae male introduced as Toran.
I drift toward one of the tall windows while Hawke speaks with his knights and their guides, their voices a low murmur behind me. My hand finds my stomach again, an unconscious gesture that's become a habit lately. There's barely anything to feel yet—no bump, no movement—but knowing our child grows there fills me with equal parts wonder and dread.
This baby will be so loved. I can already feel Hawke's fierce joy through our mate bond whenever he thinks about it, sense how his parents practically vibrate with excitement at the prospect of a grandchild. The entire Fae court seems to hold its breath in anticipation of an heir that will unite Earth and Avalon blood.
But they don't all know the price—they don’t know this child will cost Hawke his life.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching the lights of Vandimoor city sparkle below.
