The words cut through me like daggers.
Dark fae. Hunt her down. Noble. Court. Steal.
I can barely speak through the fear lodged in my throat, but somehow, I force the words out anyway. “Whichcourt?”
Jude shakes his head, and for the first time since he accosted me in the hallway, I see true fear reflected in his eyes, too. Fathomless. Black. Hopeless.
I already have my answer, but I ask again anyway, my teeth gritted, barely keeping the rage in check. “Which. Court?”
“Wintermoon,” he finally says, confirming my worst nightmare. “Her father is a noble of Wintermoon, Drae. Serving in the King’s court with the rest of the high born dickheads.”
“She doesn’t know?”
“She will soon enough. Rook’s going to give her the diaries tonight. Sent me up here to fetch you both.”
I close my eyes, my heart thudding loud in my ears.
The Wintermoon nobles have always been notoriously possessive bastards. Land, magic, women, babies—it’s all the same to them. All things to conquer and possess in the name of King Verrick.
Our past has finally caught up with us, all the threads of our lives tangled in knots we can never escape.
“The rune on the back of her neck,” I say, the sudden realization chilling me to the marrow. “It’s not a binding rune, Jude. It’s a fucking tracking device.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
WESTLYN
My head is spinning from everything Draegan shared about their curse, about his family. From holding him in my arms as he bared his soul for the first time since his life was ripped apart. From feeling his hot tears on my skin as he wept for a family he never got to mourn.
And then… feeling the walls rise once again around his heart, completely shutting me out.
The scent of him lingers in the air, making my blood boil.
Damn it, Draegan.
My heart is broken for him. I can’t draw a single breath without feeling his pain.
But I’m alsoroyallypissed off. I’m damn near vibrating with it.
No chance at surviving the curse? Fuck that.
Youwillsurvive the curse, Draegan Caldwell. I’ll make damn sure of that. It’smeyou might not survive.
Ditching my shorts, I pull on a warmer pair of sweatpants and fuzzy slippers, grab the fae amulet stone from my night table, then head downstairs, determined to lock myself in the library for as long as it takes to finish transcribing the Codex.
The amulet pulses in my hand, and I smile. Good. That fucking curse doesn’t stand a chance against me.
But the moment I pass the study, I know right away something is wrong.
Seated on the sofa with a drink in one hand and his tablet in the other, Rook looks exhausted. His eyes are red, shoulders stiff, knee bouncing in an uncharacteristic show of nerves.
Auggie’s pacing before the fire, his hazel eyes wide and unfocused.
“What happened?” I gasp.
They both startle, which is another red flag—they can always hear and scent me coming.
My heart lodges in my throat. “Guys? Is everything—”
