“Fuck you, asshole,” I hiss, but he only tightens his hold.
Eloise clucks her tongue at me. “Still, with the language? Honestly, Westlyn. It’s unbecoming.”
Frustration burns inside me. All I want is to curl up by the fireplace with my gargoyles and tell them everything. I want Rook to talk through all the angles with me, to offer his theories about the prophecy. I want Jude to describe in gory detail all the pieces of art he’s going to carve for me out of Verrick’s bones. I want Auggie to make me a latte and apple scones and kiss me until I forget about all the bad things in this world.
And Draegan… I want him to fold me up in his wings and whisper in my ear,Everything will be okay, little mortal. I’ve got you…
But I’m here, as far away from them as I’ve ever been.
But I can’t give in. Not like this. Not while there’s still a chance.
My father’s words come back to me.
Something tells me we’restillunderestimating you…
He’s right. Theyarestill underestimating me. They’ve only ever seen me as powerless. Rebellious at times, perhaps. But never strong. Never truly powerful.
And that will be their greatest mistake.
I’ll make damn sure of that.
“Can you behave yourself?” Eloise asks.
“Y-yes,” I stammer, forcing exhaustion and defeat into my voice. “I’m… too tired to fight.”
I repress a grin as Eloise eyes me up and down, nodding once at the mage to release me.
This time, I don’t make a move. I let her think she’s cowed me again.
“Good. Now get dressed, Westlyn. It’s time.” She tosses a swath of fabric at me—a simple sleeveless dress in dark violet. “Don’t turn your nose down, child. It’s the best we could do on such short notice, and considering how youruinedthe last dress I had made for you—at great cost to myself, I might add—you should be grateful I’m not putting you in rags tonight. Honestly, I will never understand how…”
Her rant blurs into an indiscernible din as my attention snags on her first words, throbbing like a pulse through my mind.
Get dressed. It’s time. It’s time. It’s…
“Time for what?” I blurt out.
Her terrible smile is all the answer I need, but she drives in the knife anyway, unable to hide the glee in her voice. “Yourwedding, dear stepdaughter. And this time, it will go off without a hitch. Guaranteed.”
Chapter Seven
ROOK
Books.
For fifteen hundred years, I’ve relied on them for knowledge. For history. For companionship when I’d lost almost everyone else who’d ever mattered to me in this world.
Mostly, I relied on them for answers.
But for the first time in my long immortal life, I’m faced with something so deeply unsettling, so far outside the realm of possibility, so ridiculously nonsensical… there are no possible answers to be found in books.
Even if my libraryhadn’tburned to the ground.
Westlyn, my wild girl, my witch, the woman I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with… She’s gone, taken by some dark magic we’ve yet to discern. And there’s no comfort I can seek—not even in the most logical, most reasonable parts of my mind.
There, I find only chaos.
The fact that I’m still standing is a fucking marvel, and I’m pretty sure it’s only instinct keeping me going at this point. Instinct to keep pushing, to turn over every stone and shine a light upon every shadow until we figure this out and bring our witch back home.
