Of all the ones who’ve turned before Rook and Jude…
None of them ever came back to us.
But that’s not what she needs to hear right now, so I force a tight smile and say, “I’m fine, little mortal. No symptoms. I promise.”
It’s not a lie—physically speaking, I’m one hundred percent. But I don’t tell her my suspicions—that the only reason I’m in such an unaffected state is that Verrick is low on power and saving me for last. One more cruel trick to ensure the most egregious suffering goes to the man he believes is responsible for the fae wars against his people.
People who no longer even exist.
None of it makes sense, yet here we are.
“And you?” I ask. “Are you… still cold?”Damn it. It’s the first thought that comes to mind—an obvious and relatively minor discomfort, something I could actually do something about. Because I can’t bring myself to ask about the true source of her pain—her worry over Rook and Jude. Her fears about the curse. All the unknowns about Verrick and his true motives for wanting her and the Codex.
“He’s with me,” she whispers, pressing a hand to her heart. “He’s always with me now.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I first woke up in the cathedral, Verrick told me I was the one who brought him to our realm. We’re linked somehow. I can feel him trying to draw on my power—it’s like an incessant tugging. And whenever he’s close, it’s like… like ants crawling all over my skin.” She shivers and rubs her arms, but before I can draw her closer, she’s shooting to her feet, alarm blanching her face.
“He’s here, Draegan. He’s—”
“Be reasonable, my moon.” Verrick strolls out from an adjacent passageway, silver eyes flashing. His crown is missing, dark hair hanging lank over a pale face, those strange inky marks still visible on his skin.
But he’shere. Solid and real and very, very determined to take what he believes is his.
I’m on my feet in an instant, but with the careless flick of a wrist, Verrick’s magic slams me back against the cave wall. I struggle against the force of it, but it’s useless. I’m completely pinned, my wings crushed behind me.
“Please!” Westlyn cries out. “Let him go!”
Verrick takes his time sauntering over to her. At first, I think he’s doing it to taunt her further, but there’s a slight wobble to his gait, an unsteadiness as each foot lands. Westlyn notices it too, her eyes tracking his movements.
Tracking the sword shining from a scabbard at his hip.
Don’t do it, little mortal. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t take that chance…
She raises her hands, a hint of indigo light gathering between them.
“I wouldn’t,” Verrick says calmly, and with another flick of his wrist, I’m gasping for air, my lungs nearly crushed.
She drops her hands at once. “Please, Verrick. It’s me you want. Let him go.”
“Now, what good would that do?” He’s right in front of her now, reaching out to finger a lock of her hair.
Westlyn stiffens at his touch, but he doesn’t release her.
“Unhand… her,” I grit out, but my words are barely audible, and he doesn’t even acknowledge me.
“Draegan and his soldiers are not long for this world,” he continues, his tone bored. “Or your world, for that matter.”
“So undo the curse!” she shouts. “You said it yourself—you want the human realm, and you want me to rule here. You don’t even need the gargoyles anymore. Set them free. Please!”
“Ah, yes. The dreaded curse. Is that what your little crusade against me is all about?”
“It’s not a crusade, Verrick. I’m asking you to let them go. Break the curse and give them the choice of remaining immortal or… or moving on.”
Verrick laughs, the sound of it like knives on a blackboard. “Why do you even care, my moon? Soon you’ll have more riches than you could even want—riches that can buy you all manner of… Oh. But wait. I see.” He drops her hair and looks her over, a sneer curling his lip, mockery filling those silver eyes. “You’re in love with them.”
Westlyn says nothing.
