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Her eyes drift to the cabin, then back to me. “Godrick and Nerissa… were they…?”
I nod. “Mates.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “So, that’s how she’s your stepmother. Did they meet in secret here?”
Another nod. “Often. Their relationship was not widely known.”
A loose curl falls into her face and she tucks it behind her ear. “It sounds like creatures used to co-exist in a far greater capacity back then if a werewolf was able to become a fae queen’s guard.”
“Things were certainly different then. Less division between creatures. The fae king’s actions toward Rosemarie and Archer have been scrutinized by many as the turning point in creature relations. It gave those who wished to elevate their kind over others a leg to stand on, and those with hate in their heart are usually the loudest in the room,” I say. “It’s why I want to become vampire supreme. I truly believe creatures can co-exist with other creatures again, just as they can co-exist with mortals.”
“I can’t wait to see you usher in that future,” she says. Her face is thoughtful for a moment before she adds, “Why is Mihal so hateful, anyway?”
“After Godrick hurt—” I cut myself off before I can finish the thought. “Mihal has always had hate in his heart and a thirst for power in his veins. I was just too blinded to see it.” I climb to my feet. I offer Rory a hand and pull her and her cloak up off the ground. “Let’s get inside; your lips are turning blue.”
“Blinded?” She looks at me quizzically. “What happened between you and Mihal, Quill?”
“Nothing.”
I duck away from her prying gaze, but she is relentless as she dashes in front of me and glares. “Let’s not do that, okay?”
“Do what?” I ask.
“Say something is nothing when it’s very obviously something.”
My jaw clenches. The way she reads me so clearly… It’s unsettling in the best possible way.
“I’ll tell you everything inside,” I say reluctantly. “I wasn’t joking when I said your lips are turning blue.”
Chapter 26
RORY
The story Quill told me about Rosemarie and Archer lingers with me as we venture up the stone path toward the picturesque cottage that was once a safe haven for not one but two sets of lovers.
The orange glow emanating from beyond the rounded windows is almost as welcoming as the melodic tinkling of the wind chime hanging from the small front porch.
“It’s fossilized lightning,” Quill says, catching me studying the dangling shards of glass. “Eivor made it for Godrick as a thank you gift for allowing him to stay at the Shore of the Damned when he’d first been sired.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” I reach for one of the pieces and jolt at the zip of energy it sends through my fingertips. “How did he create it?”
He takes the piece of smoky gray glass between his fingers. “It’s a natural phenomenon when lightning strikes sand. Eivor had been trying to practice his powers on the beach when he noticed these little shards cropping up all over the place. He said his people used to make wind chimes from everything—sticks, shells, bones—and so he recreated one.”
Letting the strand fall free, he places a hand on my lower back and guides me toward the circular door. It swings open in greeting. A burst of warm air washes over us in a thick puff. I sigh as I rub my hands together, desperate to ease the chill from my bones. My gaze immediately zeroes in on the fire raging in the hearth and the piece decorating the wall above it—a framed bouquet of pressed flowers as vibrant as the day they were plucked.
I slip out of my shoes and cloak and pad across the swath of animal fur spread flush against the wooden floor and approach that stunning focal point.
“Those were plucked from the Fae Isles,” Quill says. I turn to find him hanging my cloak on a hook and shucking off his boots. “It was a bouquet Godrick gathered for Nerissa.”
I glance back at it. “Who preserved it?”
He’s standing behind me now, arms wrapping around my middle. “That, tiny monster, is a secret.”
“If you think for one moment, Quill Godrickson,” I say, swiveling to look up at him, “that you can distract me from the story you’re supposed to be telling me, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
He swears as he moves toward the bag he left beside the door. Reaching inside, he pulls free the containers of doe blood we gathered earlier and takes them into the kitchen where he stuffs them in an icebox to keep them fresh. The thrill of the hunt comes racing back to me at the sight of the bottles, and I relish again in the success of it. I caught the deer on my first try, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill her. I just… couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill something so innocent.
Something that reminded me so much of myself.
