It looks familiar. Like a house—a vólkin house. It’s grown, not built. How?
My blood thunders in my ears. The crystal on my pendant pulses harder with each beat of my heart.
“Ándor?” I call, my voice cutting through the quiet. Nothing.
Is it Ándor’s home? Is that why you’re pulsing?
The leaf spirits tug at me, pulling me toward the right side of the house. They flit. I follow.
This house is enormous. Whoever grew it must be powerful, almost as powerful as Theron.Theron.
Where is he?
I stop to glance over my shoulder. He’s not there. I hadn’t even noticed he didn’t follow. My chest tightens, but the spirits pull harder, urging me forward.
Footsteps. Heavy, getting closer. Could this really be Ándor’s home? Is that why it’s outside Ávera?
The scent of blue roses grows stronger, sweet and overwhelming my senses. And then I see it. I stop. Goose bumps rise along my arms as my eyes widen. A blue rose garden. But it’s not like the one I grew. This one stretches endlessly, covering the land.
“My mate.”
Theron?
I lift my head, and there he is, standing tall, arms crossed. Kaël, Zephyr, and Aeson are with him, and a few other vólkins I don’t recognize beside them, forming a wall.
“What is this?” My voice is low, sharper than I intend. Something twists inside me. Anger? Unease? Why are they circling me like this?
Theron takes a step closer, and the others stay where they are.
“Do not move,” I snap.
His ears twitch, but he listens. He stops.
“Answer my question, Theron.”
“You were weak??—”
“I am NOT!” My pulse thrums in my ears, my anger rises hot and fast, and I advance on him.
“Noël,” he growls. A warning.
The leaf spirits dart behind him frantically. There’s something there, something behind him.
“Move,” I command. My gaze sweeps over the others. “ALL OF YOU!”
Mother taught me how to command a room, how to claim space and demand what’s mine. And I will.I always will.
The vólkins exchange hesitant glances before they slowly step back. All except Theron. He doesn’t move.
I’ve softened with comfort. Too much. “There is no room for softness, Noël,” Mother would say. She was right. She was always right.
There is no room for softness.
“You’re in my way,” I say as my eyes stay on Theron.
His jaw clenches. “I am never in your way. We walk the path together, my mate.”
“Is that why you haven’t told me about this house?” I ask, holding up the crystal. Its light pulses against my palm. “Ándor’s crystal is pulsing. This house belongs to him, and he was connected to my mother. And you didn’t say a word.”
