Page 74

Rory shifts closer to me, her hand slipping into mine as if she’s offering me a silent show of support.

Nerissa’s smile slips for only a second before she says, “Some stones are better left unturned.”

“You don’t think he’ll back him?” Rory asks.

“I didn’t say that,” she says carefully, turning the full weight of her oceanic gaze on me. “He will absolutely back you, but you must remember: Riven does nothing for free.”

An hour later, Rory is lounging on top of the bed reading while I pace a trench in the wooden floor. Beneath the ink on my wrist is a raised lump, a pearl waiting for a pommel, for a hilt, for the rest of the dagger so I may free it from my flesh and drive it into Mihal’s chest.

Rory stops her perusing of whatever well-read and much-loved book she’d brought with her and glances up at me with a single raised eyebrow. “That was quite dark.”

Her voice alone sparks an aching need to devour her, but with Nerissa right next door…

“What?” I ask, forcing the image of her mouth around my cock from my mind.

“Your thought about the blade and Mihal,” she says slowly, setting the book aside and sitting up. “Did you not mean to open yourself to me?”

No. I most certainly did not mean to burden her with thoughts of Mihal and murder.

“You’re adapting so quickly to being a vampire,” I murmur.

She cocks her head to the side as if she’s studying me. “Why do you think that is?”

I stop pacing. Fuck. I don’t know. It could be any number of reasons. A nagging buzz in the back of my mind whispers it might have something to do with how close she was to dying at the rite or maybe even how prepared she was for Death⁠—

“Quill?” Rory prompts.

“I don’t know,” I say hesitantly. “But maybe it has something to do with…” I reach for her hand. “Actually, how about I show you?”

Chapter 28

RORY

Snow falls in droves. It dapples our hair and shoulders as Quill leads us away from the cottage and down the path to where we stargazed hours earlier.

“The cottage is warded,” he says, drawing to a stop and wrapping his arms around me. “But we can travel through the myst outside of the enchantments.”

I glance back at the cottage, at the warmth radiating through the windows, the plumes of lazy gray smoke drifting from the stone chimney.

He brings his lips to my ear. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back in Wynterhaven before Nerissa even knows we left.”

The ground rumbles. I latch onto Quill with both hands, a squeal gurgling up from my throat as the snow fades away into nothing, and we traverse space and time. The roaring in my ears intensifies as we become a swirl of shimmering myst. There is no telling where I begin and Quill ends. We are a hurricane of stars and darkness as glimpses of entire worlds whirl around us.

A breath later, we touch down on crisp polished stone in front of a manor overlooking the moorland. It’s gorgeous with sweeping windows nestled neatly in weathered stone colored a light shade of brown as if the property itself was steeped in tea. The air smells of lavender from the fields stretching beyond the manor, and a prickle of familiarity twists in the back of my mind.

I’ve been here before.

Not physically, but perhaps in a dream.

Quill bends in an over-exaggerated bow, a smile stretching across his far too kissable lips. “Welcome to Garden’s Gate.”

The estate with the library.

Two snarling figures made of stone shift from where they perch, weapons crossed, blocking the door.

“Are they⁠—”

“Animated statues,” Quill says before I can finish my question. “The only souls here to guard the property.” He nods at the statues. “Sleep, gentlemen.”