Page 62 of Veil of Blood and Bone

She wants the version of me that still knows how to pretend. Poor girl.

The second yawn is entirely real and the crunch of underbrush beneath soft paws has my mind drifting back to the frost kitties. They might not be satisfied with horned bunnies as a late afternoon snack.

They might want something more substantial.

“There are no balls anymore. Nothing but dull, bleak days. He’s called all his available Dökkálfar back to the palace like he’s bracing for some kind of war. Is it any wonder I wanted to slip through the world a bit?” Sabine grimaces.

My ears prick. “War. You heard this verbatim?”

“Here and there,” she replies with a sniff.

Her dress, as insubstantial as the mist, shows a glimpse of perky tits and dusk-colored nipples. The roundness of the globes and the heavy fall of her hair would entice anyone, sane or not, to risk a touch.

My mouth goes dry and my cock shrivels. “Where did you hear it, Sabine?”

“Gods, Wren, are you seriously more concerned with Draven than you are with me? What’s happened to you?” She cuts her hand through the fog but the thickening haze recovers almost immediately. “You’ve changed.”

Every minute I waste out here is another minute Helene’s breathing the same air as a troll. If that thing so much as touched her⁠—

Best not finish the thought.

“Darling, I am exactly the same as I’ve always been.” The lie tastes strange. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not adopting you.”

I snap my fingers, and her image fades, never here. The veil might be thinning, but she’s right about one matter, even though it was never explicitly stated.

King Draven keeps an iron fist of control on the door to his world. He’s shut all of them except the one leading straight from the great tree, and the only way out is by express permission.

Which must be hard to come by these days if he’s hibernating in his chambers.

“Sure as shit he is. Dramatic bastard.”

A thinning veil won’t make a shit of difference in the universe of the dark Fae.

Draven will personally keep the threads plucked tight enough to cut if anyone should attempt to pass. Of course he won’t listen to reason. Of course he’s preparing.

Because a fight is coming whether we want to admit it or not. It’s in my bones. The future war sits under my skin like rot.

I glance skyward, halfway expecting the starlight to solidify into the awful paleness of the Norns, the weavers of fate.

The impending twilight reeks of the heavy hand of something more mighty than Gods. None of us are exempt.

Not me, not King Draven.

And especially not Helene.

Chapter 13

Helene

My chest caves in like someone sent a molten boulder, curveball style, into my organs. Breath stalls somewhere beneath the cage of my sternum, and my hands curl, reaching for Audra’s cold one.

The dark haired man clutches her on his lap. Dusky olive skin stretches across a tight jaw and bone-white fangs. Without the reflection of the sunglasses, his eyes are the rich brown, almost black, of burned-out stars.

A high collar, leather coat, and combat boots make sense. The gold cufflinks from centuries past do not.

He’s sin in silk, and when he speaks, his voice thrums, resonant in my flesh.

Too bad the panic attack yanks the floor right out from under me. I’d be able to appreciate that voice more sans anxiety.