And then, in a red-hot rush,panic. It starts in my chest and quickly spreads through my limbs, tiny pinpricks that sizzle and burn and threaten to steal my breath.
I sit on the bench and put my head between my knees, forcing myself to take long, even breaths until the panic finally begins to fade.
But my stomach’s still twisted up, and I can’t quite shake the feeling that someone is spying on me.
All the signs I’ve been trying to ignore.
Fuck.
The first two times it happened, I tried to chalk it off to my sometimes overactive imagination or a stress-induced hallucination brought on by all the recent upheaval in our lives. But this is the third time I’ve felt it since West’s arrival the other night, and tonight’s was the most invasive attack yet.
I check in with Rook, but he assures me the wards are still in place and nothing’s amiss on the home security network—magical or otherwise. Drae’s still in flight after his meeting with the Archmage. Which leaves…
Fucking Jude.
“Jude?” I catch him upstairs, heading out of West’s room. He closes the door behind him and presses a finger to his lips, shushing me.
“Where is she?” I whisper. “What’s wrong?”
“Resting comfortably now, I promise.” He grins at me, his mouth red and puffy.
Doesn’t take a Rook-level genius to figure out what he’s been up to. Bastard doesn’t even bother hiding the fact that his cock’s hard.
Jealousy flares in my gut, which pisses me off. I don’t do jealousy. It speaks of attachment, and Idefinitelydon’t do that.
Through gritted teeth, I say, “I cansmellher on you, asshole.”
“Poor girl had a nightmare. Needed something to help her relax.” He drags his thumb across his lower lip, letting out a soft moan. “No worries. I got her settledrightnicely. Hey, are those muffins I smell? I’m bloody starving.”
I follow him down to the kitchen. “Is she coming?”
Another grin. “Not at thisprecisemoment, but I know she’s eager to do it again soon.”
Biting back my supreme irritation, I add, “Tobreakfast, Jude. Is she coming to breakfast?”
“I think she needs a bit more rest, but she’ll be down later.” He grips the edge of my wing, giving it a playful shake. “Honestly, Augs. What’s got your knickers in a twist tonight? We’ve got muffins in the oven, a beautiful girl in our guest room, no one’s tried to kill us for at least a week… Show a little gratitude for the good things, mate.”
“Yeah, about that ‘not trying to kill us’ bit?” I slump onto the bench in the breakfast nook. “Something’s here, Jude. It’s not good.”
“Define ‘something’ and ‘not good.’” He sits down across from me. “Come on, Augs. Use your words.”
“You know those feelings I sometimes get?”
The teasing vanishes from his eyes. He knowsexactlywhat feelings I’m talking about.
“Auggie’s heebie-jeebies,” he whispers—the nickname he gave the phenomenon when it first started happening eons ago.
Of all of us, I’ve always been the one most able to sense and identify otherworldly presences. Over the centuries, we’ve dealt with everything from Civil War ghosts to the vengeful spirits of humans hung for witchcraft allegations, demonic entities attached to Rook’s collection of dark grimoires, trickster fae wreaking havoc in the orchard, you name it. I’ve always been able to track it down, figure out what it needs, and send it packing.
But this? This is different. This is worse.
“Demon?” he asks. “Ghost?”
“Fae, if my gut’s anything to go by. Only there’s something off about this one. Almost like it’s not completely… formed.”
“I don’t follow.”
“There are stories of dark entities from the void between the fae realm and ours—not quite one or the other, trapped in a sort of dark fae purgatory without a physical body, always looking for a way to get free.”
