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Rory laughs. “So what flavor is your favorite then?”

“Doe,” I say, filling a goblet with the sustenance. “Try it.”

She takes the glass from me hesitantly and brings it to her lips. Never before have I been so jealous of a fucking cup. As she drains the liquid, she groans, and my stomach tightens. That little sound can only mean one thing—she’s pleased.

“Gods,” Rory says, wiping her finger around the basin. “It’s delicious.”

I catch her wrist and bring that bloodstained finger to my lips. “May I?”

Her gaze is molten as she brushes it against my mouth and then steals a kiss. Her tongue drags across my lips greedily. She darts away before I can pull her close, laughing. “We should go while there’s still daylight if you’re going to teach me how to hunt.”

My cock surges at the sound of her laughter, at the mere thought of her hunting alongside me, and I will myself to settle. For fuck’s sake, I’m not some teenage boy who can’t control himself.

I take her hand in mine. “Let’s go now then, because afterward, I’m going to fuck you properly.”

“What about our luggage?” she asks, lacing her fingers through mine.

“I’ve already taken it, and I unpacked while you changed.”

She licks her lips once more. “I’m nervous. About traversing through the myst.”

“Don’t be,” I say, tugging her to my chest. “Now that I have you, I’ll never let go.”

Chapter 25

QUILL

Rory’s fingers dig into my shoulders as we step onto the snow-crusted earth nestled between two mountains deep in the North. The crisp scent of winter and pine washes over me, and for a moment, I’m homesick for the ocean breeze and salt air.

Wynterhaven has never felt like another home to me. Not like the Shore of the Damned or Garden’s Gate.

Puffs of white snowflakes fall from the sky, landing in Rory’s hair and on her thick lashes as she spins around, beaming. I hope the wonder brightening her face never dims. Snow dusts the shoulders of her cloak, seeping through the thick velvet to her pale skin underneath.

Her full lips twist to the side.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“It’s… cold. Not unbearable, but I didn’t think I’d be able to feel it.”

“It’s because you’re a fledgling.” I lift my face toward the snow, feeling nothing. “As you age, you lose those phantom sensations.”

She tilts her head back and catches several snowflakes with her tongue.

The sun has made its descent, bruising the sky in deep blues and purple. Behind her, the cottage windows glow orange, sensing our arrival. This cottage is nearly sentient from the ancient fae magic that was used to build it. Lazy plumes of smoke drift from the stone chimney in streaks of gray, showing a fire has been set for our arrival.

It’s idyllic, really. But it isn’t home.

“Wow,” Rory says, stunned. Her gaze roams over the ancient stones transported here from the Fae Isles and across the fine lines of the wood split from enchanted trees. They linger on the snowcapped roof and the sharp, gleaming icicles dripping from the edges like silver stakes. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

I’ve seen beauty all across the continent, from early morning sunrises at the Shore of the Damned to stars streaking across the sky like fallen tears at the end of summer. I can even admit there’s beauty here in the way the snow blankets everything in an unblemished white.

When you’ve lived as long as I have, beautiful views are not rare.

Well, besides Rory.

Out of every view, she is the most beautiful, the rarest, I’ve ever seen.

A rapid heartbeat drums in my ears, and our attention snaps to the lone deer grazing beside the cottage. Rory’s entire being grows still.