He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a ball of blue-tinged light began to glow from within Avalon’s translucent body, directly between two of her ribs. Even after all he’d been through these past few weeks, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He blinked, and when he looked again there was a third spirit. A child standing beside Avalon’s head.
She looked at him, but he didn’t—couldn’t—move. His blood ran cold.
Please,he begged the old gods.Please.
The light spilled through Avalon’s body until it was the only thing that existed. The child watched on, and as the sun rose in the east, a shadow fell behind her.
Hershadow. It had wings and horns.
Before Hadrian could look any closer, the child vanished.
Color rushed back into Avalon and Sable’s bodies as they solidified again, and when Avalon’s chest slowly rose with a steady breath, Hadrian could not contain the sob of happiness that burst through his lips.
Sable looked over her shoulder at him, and then lowered the wall of fire.
~
When Avalon awoke, she was enveloped in cool, comforting darkness. The fire was out, though the taste of smoke was heavy on her tongue. Coughing once, she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, her wrist grazing something soft. Blinking fiercely, she tried to see…
Were those…feathers?
Finally, she forced her eyes open. Beyond the soothing darkness surrounding her, she glimpsed a blood-red sky.
And then she took in the face of the woman leaning over her. Golden eyes set in a tanned face, waves upon waves of strawberry-blonde hair that tumbled over her shoulders. The angel wore a white bodysuit that did little to hide her curves, but surely did the job of concealing whatever deadly weapons were strapped to her.
The wings she noticed last—white feathers that shone gold at the edges. They had enveloped her like a cocoon, protecting her from the wave of fire that had threatened to kill her.
The angel smiled. “Hello, Avalon,” she said, her voice like music.
“Sable?”Avalon choked out. Her throat was scorched from the smoke.
She sat up so fast her head spun, and she threw her arms around Sable’s neck. It took the warrior a moment before she closed her arms around Avalon’s waist, holding her tight, her wings wrapping gently around her also.
“I love you, too,” Sable said with a sob. It was how she’d broken the curse: it had been shattered into pieces by the miracle that was love. Sable was the sister Avalon never had—and Avalon was the friend who had survived the odds. So many people Sable had lost, so many friendships ended in blood and death.
But not this one.
One of Sable’s wings slid back, allowing Avalon to see over her shoulder. Hadrian stood several feet away. His bronze hair was covered in ash, his lip was split, and his knuckles were bloodied. Other than that, he appeared unharmed.
Avalon could settle for that.
She smiled at him and waved him over. When he was close enough, Avalon and Sable each grabbed an arm and pulled him into the embrace.
The three of them sat there for a long time as the sky burned above them.
50
Nocturne stood at the top of the gorge, staring down at the mounds of snow that had nearly suffocated her—and her wolf. When she had sprinted directly into the avalanche, a part of her hoped she wouldn’t emerge. The other part—the reckless, selfish, and idiotic part—had hoped to prove a point.
And she supposed she had, though she didn’t feel any different. She was now a member of the Wolf Pack as the Dark Lord and his lethal allies had always wanted her to become. Perhaps they would still call herruntandcowardand all the other nasty names they could think of, but she had walked out of the snow with a new flame kindled within her. Like so many other times that had come before this one, she had survived. Perhaps she wasn’t as useless as she thought.
Perhaps this would allow her to gain the revenge she sought at last. To end it, once and for all.
“You should be eating,” said the general as he came to stand beside her, his footsteps nearly silent in the snow. Having him stand this close to her, she could feel the energy crackling between them like the threat of a storm. Only, it no longer felt like a threat. No—it felt more like a magnetic pull.
In his gloved hand, he held a platter overflowing with seared rabbit, stuffed potatoes, and winter vegetables. After the close death they had encountered, the packs had decided they’d earned a short rest.
“And you should be minding your own business,” said Nocturne, her voice hoarse from the cold. Despite her words, she snatched a piece of rabbit meat off the platter.
