The two of them stood by the door and watched me slowly peruse the room. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt in sight, but that wasn’t unusual. This was an old Fae castle, and whatever magic they’d woven into it kept it clean, even so long after they’d abandoned it. My previous room had been big, but this one was easily twice its size. A bed with a ridiculous amount of pillows was against the wall to my left, and a couple of settees with matching chairs had been arranged in front of the fireplace to my right.
Two arched doors led to what I guessed was a balcony. I had to admit I did really like the room. It was spacious but still had a cozy feeling to it, and I knew I’d be spending a lot of time on that balcony.
I’d just have to make sure Warrick wasn’t around to shove me off it.
“There’s another change you should be aware of,” Bastian said lightly, drawing my attention away from the balcony. “Cade has decided we will do nightly dinners to help you adjust to your life here. Dinner will be in two hours. Just follow your nose and I’m sure you’ll find us.”
“Not really in the mood to be social any time soon.” I glanced at the bed I wanted to crawl into with a book for the rest of the night.
“Either walk on your own two feet”—Bastian headed for the door—“or I’ll send Ryker back up here to carry you.” He looked at me over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’d hate that, right?”
Now I understood why Samara always had daggers on her. I wished I’d had something to throw. Ideally something pointy.
Bastian slipped out the door, but instead of following him, Ryker closed the distance between us. I held my ground, raising my chin as he halted in front of me and plucked at my tunic. “You reek of the Moroi. Bathe before you come to dinner.”
“You don’t give me orders.” I smacked his hand away.
Something wild danced through Ryker’s eyes before he leaned in, and I went completely still as he whispered in my ear, “Come to dinner smelling of them, and I’ll tear your clothes off with my claws.”
I started to shove him away, but he danced back out of my reach and strode towards the door. “Also, I left some of my shirts in your wardrobe, since we both know you enjoy my scent.”
My hands curled into fists as he left.
One time. I’d worn one of Ryker’s shirts one damned time. Claws punched through my fingertips as fury raced through me. I stalked over to the wardrobe and flung it open. Sure enough, a stack of light blue shirts, which smelled of pine and rain-soaked spring days, rested on the top shelf. Ryker.
I grabbed the shirts, stomped over to the bedroom door, and flung them out into the hallway before slamming it shut.
Taking several deep breaths, I tried to settle myself. Cade had been right earlier. This was my life now and I needed to accept that. The first few days would be the worst, but surely we could figure out some way to coexist without driving each other insane.
Or killing each other.
I thought about the way Warrick stared at me with hatred. How Cade dismissed me as a necessary inconvenience. How Bastian fluttered between not giving a shit about my existence and saying things to needle me. And Ryker . . . I didn’t want to think about the lycan anymore.
My head thumped against the door. I was so fucked.
Chapter One
Rynn
8 Months Later
“If you don’t stop doing that,” I said calmly, not lifting my gaze from the ledger I was studying, “I’m going to throw this”—I held up my quill with its very sharp point—“straight into your eye.”
“I’ve seen your aim.” Ryker threw the glass ball at the wall. It bounced off, changing from a crimson red to a brilliant green. He caught it and threw it again. “I’m not worried.”
I gritted my teeth and tried to refocus on my task. Of the three realms across Lunaria, the Velesian realm covered the most territory, and we had easily four times the population of the Moroi and Furies combined. While each pack was fairly good at taking care of itself in terms of defenses and housing, food was a different matter.
Those farther north had a very short growing window and therefore produced less food, but they did have a better supply of gems and precious stones that we traded to both the Moroi and Furies. Packs in the south were able to grow more crops but had less to offer in trade.
Many of the clans, smaller groups that consisted of family units or close friends that made up the packs, had personal dislikes of other clans. Not to mention a lot of them didn’t like trading with the Moroi.
All of this meant trade was a complicated thing in the Velesian realm and trying to determine which trade offers would most likely be accepted by all parties was frustrating and challenging.
Listening to something smack against a wall over and over again was not helping.
“You’d be less stressed if you went for a run,” Ryker said, his voice tinged with amusement. Bounce. Catch. Bounce. Catch.
“I’d be less stressed if you took a long walk off a short balcony,” I replied mildly, refusing to raise my gaze and look at him. Honestly, it’d been a mistake to speak to him at all, even if it had been a threat.
