Page 10 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

“How could you let this happen, Cal?” She pressed long, delicate fingers against her temples. “You only had one task.”

“What do you want me to say? There were two beasts. I led one away not realizing another lurked nearby.”

His patience was wearing thin. The two of them regularly made a habit of getting on his nerves.

“You were gone so long, I thought perhaps you’d decided to abandon your folk and live amongst the humans.” Evander smirked.

“She’s injured,” Callan snapped. “Is there a bed available, or would you have me lay her out on the dining table?”

“Oh—of course—follow me!”

Fawn raced back up the stairs, her long auburn hair flying out like a cape behind her. Callan followed her into the hallway lined with chambers for the Noble family and their guests. Poking her head out of an open doorway halfway down the hall, Fawn waved him in wildly.

He laid Nova on the maroon velvet coverlet and adjusted her head so it rested atop a pillow, then sat on the edge of the bed beside her. In the bright candlelight, she looked far worse than he had originally assessed. Dried blood caked her hair and coated the right side of her face. Bits of moss and twigs clung to her thick braid. Nearly every bit of her was covered in blood, mud, or a mixture of the two. Gently, he lifted her right hand, laying rough fingertips against her wrist and finding a flutter of a heartbeat.

Fawn appeared beside him, balancing a basin of warm water in one arm and carrying a stack of cloth strips in the other. Evander flopped down into a brown leather armchair in the sitting area near the cold stone fireplace.

“Evander, make yourself useful,” Fawn chided as she organized her supplies on the bedside table.

Evander waved a hand lazily toward the empty hearth. A blazing fire sprang to life, crackling and popping cheerily. Fawn leaned in close, inspecting Nova’s head wound.

“I’m afraid that’s the least of her worries,” Callan said as he slowly rolled Nova onto her stomach, revealing the injury to her upper back.

Fawn gripped the thin fabric of Nova’s shirt and tore it down the middle. Four deep, red slashes split the flesh of her pale back. And yet, it was clear the wounds had already begun to heal. The edges had puckered slightly, the tissue beginning to knit itself back together. Fae healed rapidly, but injuries such as hers typically required the aid of a healer. Evander pushed on the arms of the chair, briefly lifting himself up for a better look, and let out a slow whistle.

“That’s it.” Fawn clapped her hands loudly. “Show’s over. I need to remove her clothing to clean her wounds, and I won’t have you two standing around gawking.”

Evander rose to leave at once, always eager to be reacquainted with his bed, but Callan remained frozen to the spot beside Nova. He wanted to be the one to clean the blood from her face. To be the one waiting when she woke. It was curious.

“Out, Cal.” Fawn tugged on his arm, practically dragging him from the bedside and across the room, where she deposited him in the corridor. He turned, intending to ask her to send for him as soon as Nova woke, but she slammed the door in his face. Callan spun around to find Evander watching him.

“Did she take much convincing?”

“Actually, no. She was surprisingly receptive to the idea.”

Evander’s gaze appeared momentarily calculating. Callan’s intuition flickered, but the flash of shrewdness vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with Evander’s usual mischievous glint.

“Get some rest, Cal—you look awful.” Evander smirked and strolled down the hallway to his room.

Humming with agitation, Callan retired to the quiet of his own chamber. The fireplace was empty, but he didn’t mind the chill. Hailing from the perpetual winter of Nivali, the crisp autumn air of his current residence was nothing compared to the frigid winds and swirling blizzards of his homeland.

He slipped his sword sheath over his head and laid it on the low table in his sitting area, disturbing a thin layer of dust coating the flat surface. The dagger he kept sheathed on his right thigh soon joined it. Callan examined the dagger Nova had used against the lycane, turning the weapon over in his hands. The blade was simple but well-made by human standards. He hadn’t known she’d been carrying a weapon. She certainly was full of surprises. Clever, too. The echo of her battle cry rang out in his mind suddenly, the memory sending a chill through his entire body.

Sinking into a brown velvet armchair before the hearth, he fought the overwhelming urge to pace the perimeter of the room. An uneasy feeling coiled in the pit of his stomach as he dragged his hands over his face. Never before had he felt this way.

In the woods, the instinct to protect her had consumed him entirely, bringing her to safety his only concern. With Nova out of his sight, being cared for by someone else, he felt utterly useless and out of sorts.

Callan rose from his seat and crossed the room, throwing himself onto his bed, hoping for sleep. After two weeks of tracking Nova down in the Human Realm, coupled with the excitement of the past several hours, he should have been exhausted. Instead, he remained wide-eyed, restlessly tapping his thumbs on his chest as he watched the early-morning light creep across the ceiling. After an hour or so had passed, his stomach grumbled, and he resolved to get up and find some way—any way—to distract himself.

He rolled off the bed and entered the attached bathing chamber. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he noticed the shoulder of his gray tunic was stained with blood. A large rust-colored smudge marred his cheek as well. He yanked the tunic over his head, draping it on the edge of the tub. Having no patience to wait for the water to heat, he scooped a handful of icy water from the sink, splashing it on his face and running it through the length of his hair. His jaw was rough with a rasp of stubble, but, considering how jittery he was, he decided holding a blade to his throat was ill-advised.

He took a fresh tunic from the wardrobe, this one blue, and pulled it on before exiting his chamber, pausing in the hall just outside the door to fix the belt at his waist. He glanced down the hall toward the guest chamber where he’d left Nova. No sounds came from within.

The telltale clink of cutlery told him someone was helping themselves to breakfast in the common area on the lower level. He made his way down the wide-planked oak staircase. Evander sat alone at the long dining table crowded with platters of fresh bread and jam, boiled eggs, sausage, and fruit. Callan loaded up a plate and helped himself to a steaming mug of tea before taking a seat across from Evander.

Always dressing the part of a proper heir of Pyralis, Evander wore a finely tailored cream-colored tunic embroidered with gold thread, brown breeches, and shiny brown leather boots. His chestnut curls lay in a tousled mess atop his head, and his hazel eyes held their customary glint of mischief.

“Gods cousin, you still look a mess,” Evander chided, rubbing a hand over his own clean-shaven jaw.