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Dax raised a brow, looking down at his leather-bound arm. “Mortal clothing?”

My mother looked Caspian dead in his royal blue eyes, unbothered by his terrifying aura, and offered a dry tilt of her head.

Then, turning to Dax, my mother noted dryly, “Because unless I missed a flyer, there isn’t a Renaissance festival in town this week.”

FORTY-ONE

My childhood bedroom felt like a museum dedicated to a girl who no longer existed.

The air inside smelled faintly of lavender dust, old paperback novels, and vanilla perfume. It was a jarring contrast to the sulfur, dried blood, and wet scales that had coated my skin for weeks.

I peeled off the burnt, blood-stained tunic, letting the heavy, ruined leather collapse onto the carpet. In less than two minutes, I traded the steel-laced gear for familiarity: a pair of worn, dark-wash Levi’s jeans, a fitted black cotton t-shirt, and my favorite scuffed leather jacket. I kicked off my ash-covered boots and laced up my worn black Converse high-tops, the soft canvas and rubber feeling absurdly flimsy after weeks in heavy military soles.

I reached for the glass tray on my dresser, grabbing my dead iPhone and leather wallet, shoving them into my jacket pockets.

Stepping back into the living room, I didn’t give the four males time to dissect the mortal house. I snatched the heavy set of Chevrolet keys straight from the ceramic bowl near my mom’s elbow on the counter.

“Follow me,” I commanded, throwing a quick, reassuring glance at my mother before pushing open the interior door to the garage.

The four Fae warriors filed down the two concrete steps behind me, instantly filling the cool, shadowed space. Parked in the center of the double bay sat my mother’s black Chevrolet Suburban—a massive, heavy-duty three-row SUV with tinted windows, built like an iron vault on wheels.

Dax rounded the hood of the vehicle, his eyes wide as he stared at the sleek black paint, the polished chrome trim, and the towering rubber tires. He reached out with a cautious finger, tapping the front fender.

“What in the nine hells is this metal thing?” Dax asked, his voice laced with genuine, breathless confusion. He looked around the concrete floor, his brow furrowing as he searched the empty corners. “Where are the reins? How does this transport people? Why aren’t we just using horses?”

“Because Oregon is over three hundred miles north,” I said, hitting the key fob to unlock the doors with a double chirp that made Manem’s hand instantly snap to his sword hilt. “If we took horses along mortal roads and mountain passes, it would take us five straight days of continuous riding to reach the coast. In this SUV? We’ll cross the state line in a matter of hours.”

Dax stared at the flashing amber running lights, utterly fascinated. “Hours?”

“Unless you keep standing there asking questions,” I said, pulling open the driver’s side door. “Get in.”

“I ride up front,” Dax declared instantly. He didn’t bother using the running board; he vaulted straight into the front passenger seat, slamming the door shut and pressing his face against the dash to stare at the illuminated dashboard buttons like a child eyeing a chest of stolen gold.

I turned around to face the remaining three males standing on the concrete floor.

Caspian stood six-foot-four, a wall of broad iron, dark leathers, and muscle. Mal was nearly as tall, broad-shouldered and lethal, while Manem looked like an imperial monolith waiting for an execution order.

“Back seat,” I commanded, gesturing to the wide rear doors. “All three of you. And tuck your broadswords in so you don’t puncture the leather.”

Caspian threw a flat, unyielding look at the interior, then down at me, his deep royal blue eyes burning through the dim light of the garage. “I do not sit in the rear of a mortal cart, Trouble.”

“You do if you want to get to Oregon today, Captain,” I shot back, holding his gaze without a single flinch. “Get in.”

Caspian let out a low growl that vibrated straight through the concrete floor, but he bent his massive frame, ducked his head beneath the doorframe, and hauled his heavy body into the middle leather row. Mal climbed in right behind him, ducking low, while Manem growled in disgust, squeezing his heavy frame into the remaining space.

The moment all three heavy-boned Fae warriors settled their full weight onto the leather bench, a loud, agonizing groan tore through the quiet garage.

CREEEEAK.

The heavy-duty rear suspension of the Suburban plunged four full inches toward the concrete floor, the heavy steel springs compressing under the staggering density of three broad-shouldered Fae in full gear.

Dax burst out laughing from the front seat, turning around to grin at the squeezed warriors. “Gods above! The iron beast is buckling under the Captain’s ego!”

“Shut your mouth, Dax,” Caspian growled from the back, his broad knees jammed hard against the rear of Dax’s seat, his shoulder wedged tight against Mal’s.

“Save the bickering for the highway,” I said, climbing into the driver’s seat, pulling my door shut, and shoving the key straight into the ignition.

The V8 engine turned over with a deep, throaty rumble that vibrated straight up through the steering column, making the entire dashboard hum.