Page 79 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

But I’m stuck on the nickname. How long has this been going on? How did I miss it?

“Fine,” Hayes relents.

I step closer to her. “Since when does Hayes get to call you Gem?”

She glances at me. “Since we’re friends.”

“Friends.” I let the word hang there. “And what does a man have to do to earn that privilege? Grow you an apple tree?”

“Jealous, Ryewood?” She teases me with a grin.

“Wildly.” The word comes out lighter than I feel, because I am jealous. Stupidly, irrationally jealous of my own brother.

“If you call me Gem, then who will call me little fox?” she says playfully, still caught up in the delight of the magical show.

My heart stutters. She’s not just tolerating the nickname; she’s claiming it, claiming us, and my chest cracks open a little wider.

“Well,” I manage, voice rougher than I intended, “we can’t have that.”

Her grin softens into something warmer, something just for me, and for a breath, the whole clearing narrows to the space between us.

I grin back and let my eyes say what my mouth can’t. I’d risk everything for you.

Before I can say something stupid, Hayes steps into the center of the clearing and rolls out his shoulders. The shift ripples through him, bones reshaping and skin giving way to fur. It’s faster and smoother than I remember. One moment my brother stands there, and the next—a stag. Massive and proud. His coat is a deep brown, dappled with gold where the winter sun touches it, and his antlers crown his head like branches of an ancient oak, intricate and sprawling.

Gemma’s breath catches, and Rosie’s hand flies to her mouth.

He’s majestic. I forget sometimes that this is what lives inside him.

He turns, and those light green eyes, still Hayes, still my brother, find Rosie. He steps toward her slowly, carefully, something almost shy in the gesture.

“Hayes,” she breathes. “You’re beautiful.”

She reaches up, and her fingers brush his muzzle. He nuzzles into her palm, then lifts his head and scans the clearing until those light eyes land on Gemma.

He tosses his antlers. A clear command.

“I think you’re being summoned,” I tell her.

Gemma shoots me a huge grin and is already moving. When she reaches him, she hesitates before pressing her palm to his neck.

Hayes makes a low rumbling sound, content and happy.

“You’re so soft,” Gemma murmurs with awe in her voice.

Rosie grins. “He’s perfect.”

My brother stands between them, more at peace than I’ve ever seen him. I don’t know what it is about these two women, but they’ve unlocked something in him. Gemma looks up, eyes filled with joy.

“We’re doing this every day from now on. I don’t care about sword drills or archery; this is what I want.”

The stag makes a sound that’s suspiciously smug.

“Careful,” I call out. “You’ll give him an ego.”

“Too late.” Rosie laughs, stroking his muzzle. “Look at him. He knows he’s magnificent.”

The walk back feels different, lighter, like the magic in the clearing followed us home.