Page 72 of A Beastly Court

Ossian roared as the translucent veil between our worlds crystallized into an impenetrable wall. The subsequent shock wave blasted us apart, our hands ripping free of each other. The same opalescent light of the portal shot through me like an electric current—a booby trap?—searing through every nerve and pathway. It crashed against my oak tree, breaking like a wave into sparkling foam, but the tree remained firm, unhurt.

The churning maelstrom imprisoning my memories, however, was torn asunder. The golden haze cradling my consciousness vanished, banished by the oak tree that had exploded in size to claim every inch of me, and my eyes snapped open.

I was still in the clover field, not far from the portal, steam rising from my skin. Some subconscious instinct must have activated midair, for I’d cradled the foraging bag with the tomcat to my chest. The sounds of screaming horses and shouting Brothers punctuated the night air, but it was all drowned out by the rapid beating of my heart.

I remembered everything.

Marten, my brother imprisoned by Arcadis in an Unseelie Court dungeon for my mistakes.

My family, touched by sluagh and imprisoned in the farmhouse, an illusion shielding them from my sight.

Redbud, transformed into a farce of a fae court and encased in a shield that blocked its existence from the outside world.

My friends, transformed into animals and their memories altered.

Brandi, shackled in the dungeon.

It had been my own magic that had created that net of interlocking leaves, guarding it—us—from being stolen away. I’d believed my own grandmother had cursed me, a notion heavily encouraged by him.

He had stashed me away in the east wing not so I could have a haven in which to meditate, but so I would be isolated, alienated, and solely dependent on him.

I remembered the truth from every lie he’d sold, every time he’d blown Caer powder into my eyes, every gaslighting explanation and illusion, every kiss and touch and—thistle thorns, how he’d nearly made me orgasm on the table in the great hall.

And I knew why.

The signs and hints were all there. It may have started with a mutually beneficial fae bargain where he helped me unlock my true potential and I anchored the portal to Elfame, but it had evolved into something more sinister. In his hubris, he’d believed I’d never put the puzzle pieces together, either.

“When high fae marry and consummate that marriage, their powers join and amplify.”

“Come to Elfame as my queen, Meadow. As my bride.”

“You’re bonded to your magic now, just like a fae.”

He was going to wed me, bed me, and take my magic for himself.

I didn’t think my skin would ever stop crawling. My fingernails itched, pleaded, to dig in deep and peel it all away like the rind from an orange. And forget the compost heap. That was going right into the incinerator.

Swallowing, I forced my thundering pulse to slow even as the roar that split the air made me tremble. Lifting only my head, I saw Ossian for what he truly was, his glamour gone. The ancient power governing the portal had ripped his control to shreds, and with it, the hooks he had sunk into me. Ossian’s tonics and powders and rubies and magic—their influence had vanished like so many splinters being yanked out simultaneously.

What remained was a high fae standing seven or eight feet tall, a crown of elk antlers sprouting from his coppery curls. From the waist down, he resembled a red deer with strong legs and large, skull-crushing cloven hooves.

The Stag Man.

My enemy. My betrothed.

His hooves churned the earth and his antlers scraped the sky as he bellowed at the portal and cursed his brother’s name. In response, the center of the opaque doorway flashed molten silver once before returning to its impenetrable state.

“Meadow?” Sawyer croaked.

“Oh my Green Mother,” I breathed, the reality of my new situation ripping through me. Tears trickling from the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away. There would be a time for grief later, but now I had to fight for my life for the second time tonight. “I remember everything.”

“You do?” he exclaimed, his voice mercifully muffled by the thick canvas of the bag.

“Shhh,” I whispered, sitting up. I needed to concentrate, for these next few seconds determined whether we lived or died.

Seething but no longer raging like a rabid beast, Ossian stepped up to the portal and took hold of what the flash of molten silver had produced.

“The portal is locked?” he thundered. “By a primal key? Callan, when I get my hands around your neck, I’m going to—”