But for the glamour I’d been wearing for the last eighteen months, I could’ve been gazing into a mirror.
“It’s really you,” he whispered as I approached. Blood leaked from a half-dozen wounds in his chest, hawthorn stakes jutting out at odd angles, sapping his strength. His pain must’ve been unbearable, yet his eyes held only wonder. Happiness.
Evander…
“No one gave you permission to speak, slave.” One of my guards kicked the prisoner in the back, sending him sprawling. He caught himself on his hands with a grunt but made no effort to get back to his knees. A coughing fit seized him, wringing the blood from his lungs out onto the polished floor. The guards had dragged away the remains of the executed shifters but had yet to clean up their mess. Now, it mingled with the blood of my new prisoners in a dark, wet stain. The scent of copper and fear hung heavy in the air.
“Keradoc!” the witch cried out, as fiery as ever. I didn’t need to turn around to know she was still struggling against her bonds. “Help him!Helphim!”
At her desperate cries, the second fugitive—a one-eyed demon shot full of metal bolts—winced, as if the fear in her voice hurt him even more than the devil’s trap sigils sucking away his life force.
Even more than watching his mate suffer brutally on the floor beside him.
The vampire-fae lifted his head once more. His arms trembled. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth, but he was still staring at me with awe.
“Do you not remember?” he whispered. “Do you not know your…” His words trailed off into another wet cough that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, but through it all, one word rang out clear, whispered over and over again like a prayer.
Evander. Evander. Evander.
The echo of it unleashed another flicker of images—two fae boys swimming in a cool emerald-green lake, diving for make-believe buried treasure. A mother calling them back to the shore for lunch, the sand pink and glittery beneath her bare toes. The rustle of the breeze through treetops dripping with silver leaves.
An odd warmth spread through my chest, quickly chased by a sucking emptiness so cold it left me gasping.
I cleared my throat and dismissed the visions, reclaiming my focus. This was obviously another of Melantha’s games—some wicked spell meant to disarm me and distract me from her machinations with the Darkwinter witch.
No matter. When this war was finally over, I’d make the dark goddess pay. By the time I finished with her, the banishment she was enduring now would look like a pleasant vacation.
“Keradoc,” the witch called out again, cutting straight through my thoughts like a blade through flesh.
I turned to her, drawn by the anger in her voice. The righteousness.
The contrast of the raw bones and sharp, polished obsidian of my throne against her soft skin and artfully painted face was so striking, it nearly stole my breath. Death and beauty, darkness and light. Both suited her equally.
A smile touched my lips. For all Melantha’s tricks, the blood witch Haley Barnes wasnota disappointment. Not only was she beautiful, she was sharp-tongued, passionate, clever, and just this side of mad.
Precisely how I needed her.
No witch in herrightmind would attempt the ancestral ritual required to channel her Darkwinter kin—Midnight’s most formidable enemies. Haley herself would certainly refuse at first, but I had no doubts she’d come around soon enough.
Now that I’d captured her companions, persuading her to cooperate would be much easier.
“Dosomething,” she implored, and the fire sparking in her green eyes ignited a more recent memory—one I could absolutely claim as my own.
Her lips crashing into mine as she wrapped her legs around me, stealing a kiss that left us both breathless. The feel of her silky hair in my hands as I laid her on the dais and gave her what she seemed to so desperately want…
The taste of her still lingered on my tongue, threatening to make me hard again.
But no. It wasn’t me she’d wanted. The witch had seen through my glamour, however briefly, and mistaken me for another.
Her vampire-fae, I realized now. The Midnight fugitive who seemed to be wearing my real face.
More dark magick. More trickery.
My blood simmered as Melantha’s betrayal burned through me anew. Was there no spell she wouldn’t conjure, no illusion she wouldn’t cast in her endless attempts at vengeance?
I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, forcing myself to remain steady. In control. Unraveling in front of my guards and prisoners would put everything at risk, and I’d worked too hard, too tirelessly for that.
“Evander…” the fugitive said once more, his voice a gurgling whisper as he continued to drown in his own blood. New images flashed through my mind—fae children chasing each other through a thick forest. A festival in the heart of the oaken woods, boughs glittering with lights, couples dancing merrily as red and gold leaves fluttered on the breeze like birds…
