The siren steps forward, her movements fluid and graceful. "I'm Maven," she says, then gestures to the others now gathered on the stone porch. "Our resident chef and computer hacker—Isabella and Nari." The two human women smile in greeting, Isabella's dark eyes warm with welcome while Nari's hold a sharp intelligence that makes my wolf uneasy. "And our protection, Domlia and Kieran." The elf and fae nod in acknowledgement.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Wraith says. “Typically we’re not quite this problematic.”
“It’s all good now, right?” Keiran says, avoiding eye contact with me and only looking at Wraith.
He nods and answers. “Fen is good.”
“I think he might piss his pants if he sees your claws come out again,” Ares whispers from behind me, the grin I know he’s wearing bleeds into his tone.
"Great. Since that’s all cleared up,” Isabella says, cutting in. “The lasagna is out and the bread's done. Let’s eat and then we can talk about those soul shards you're hunting."
My wolf pushes forward again at both mentions—food and soul shards—but I force it back down. I can keep control. I will.
They turn and head up the steps and into the house. The five of us follow after and Nimue brings up the rear. I brace myself for the close quarters, for the press of too many bodies in an unfamiliar space. But the interior opens wide before us, cool air washing away the outside heat and soothing my feverish skin. No cramped hallways or tight corners in sight.
A long wooden table dominates the main room, and I pause at the sight. Steaming platters and fresh-baked bread fill the center. The scent of herbs and cheese hits me hard enough to make my mouth water, momentarily drowning out my awareness of all the individual heartbeats around me.
We settle around the table, the rich aroma of food momentarily quieting even our darkest thoughts and worries. Ares claims a seat that lets him watch both exits, not surprising any of us at all. His eyes widen at the first bite of bread, pleasure briefly overtaking the constant tension in his jaw. Wraith picks at his food with precise movements, but I notice his plate clearing faster than anyone else's. None of us have eaten properly in days.
Boaz, for once, seems to have forgotten his troubles. He savors each mouthful of the dish Isabella called lah-zahg-nyah, actually groaning at the taste. "We need to bring this back to Avalon," he declares, already reaching for seconds. The words draw genuine smiles from our hosts—the first sign that they are truly comfortable around me… around all of us.
I'm halfway through my second helping when something in Maven's pants chirps like a bird. She pulls out a small metallic glowing rectangle, her expression darkening as she reads.
"Problem in New Orleans," she says sharply.
"The new contact?" Nimue asks.
Maven nods. "The Enclave found them. Lara says they're gone."
My jaw clenches. Gone could mean dead, captured, or scattered. The strategic part of my mind starts mapping contingencies on instinct. The wolf rises with my frustration, and I dig my lengthening nails deeper into the table to ground myself.
Nimue frowns. "Better them than the damned GUIDE hunters. But I was hopeful we'd be able to hide their group."
The casual dismissal of lost allies grates against everything in me. How can she be so callous about losing someone? My gaze drifts to my brothers in arms—the thought of any of them vanishing, of having to say "they're gone" with that same cold finality... My claws threaten to emerge, scoring tiny grooves in the wooden table.
But I swallow the growl building in my throat. Nimue has kept her people alive in this hostile world for gods know how long. Perhaps distance is the only way to survive when you're constantly losing people to an endless war.
A war that maybe we have the chance to end?
"Who are the Enclave?" A fresh wave of predatory awareness washes through me. "I thought we just had to be careful of the people Queen Melinda called Inquisitors."
Kieran sets down his fork. "You're right about the Inquisitors. We call them hunters most of the time. The Enclave is something else entirely—Earth's magickal underground mafia. They're the descendants of those who chose to remain here when Earth was abandoned. Some stayed out of pride, others because they loved this world. Most just refused to believe things would get as bad as they did. They've spent centuries building power through both magickal and mundane means—corporations, governments, criminal enterprises. They hate the Inquisitors for hunting magick users, but they hate us more for abandoning Earth in the first place and cutting them off."
"So they're not on our side either?" The words come out sharper than intended, my wolf bristling at the growing list of threats. Finding my mate was already a near-impossible task. Now we have two different organizations hunting us, either of which might already have her. Might be hurting her. The thought sends a wave of protective rage through my blood that has nothing to do with my wolf.
"No." Nimue's voice cuts through the air like ice. "They are not. They want power. Information. Connections."
"We have to be very careful not to lead them back here," Maven adds, her fingers curling protectively around her strange device. "The Enclave has tried to hold us hostage before to gain access to Avalon. So have the Inquisitors."
All four of us—me, Wraith, Boaz, and Ares—turn to Nimue in silence. The implications sink in like stones in a deep well. We knew Earth would be somewhat hostile, but this... I imagine the Enclave breaching Avalon, their tainted magick spreading like poison through Yggdrasil's roots. Or worse, the Inquisitors following them through, bringing their witch hunts to the other seven worlds in the universe.
"What happened to those people? The hostages," I ask between gritted teeth, not sure I actually want to know the answer.
"We never saw them again." Nimue, meets my gaze steadily. "Neither group will negotiate with us. If you're caught, we won’t be able to get you back."
The words strike like a club to the gut. My wolf surges forward, raging against the idea of never seeing Avalon again. Never finding my mate. I taste copper as my fangs slice into my cheek. A low growl builds in my throat—but it’s silenced when Boaz lays a gentle hand on my shoulder.
I push back against the wolf and take a deep breath. This journey is going to be difficult… very difficult.
