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Tears spring to her eyes, and she blinks—more rapidly this time. “Rafferty?” she chokes out and reaches up to touch me. Slender fingers caress my cheek, and I freeze in place. I’ll never move again, not if it means she’ll keep touching me. “It is you.”
“Yes,” I tell her. “You know this man?”
Her gaze shifts to the older man in the corner, and I want to run him through for simply stealing her attention. Her brows draw together in confusion. “Yes. Wally? Why do you have that?”
He lowers his blade. “I apologize,” he says, raising the blade up over his shoulder and sliding it down into its sheathe.
Ember tries to sit up, so I help her, setting her up against the headboard. Her cheeks are still far too pale, but she appears to be lucid, and that in itself has relief welling up in my chest. “I don’t understand,” she questions. “I— How are you here?”
“The Veil was set back to rights so my brother was able to cross and find me,” I explain.
Her attention shifts from me to Ridley.
“Nice to meet you, Ember,” he says.
“The Veil?” the older man inquires. “What happened to it? Why did it need to get set back to rights?”
“How do you know about the Veil?” Ember demands, but he doesn’t respond.
Ridley ignores Ember’s question. “A fae warded it closed. She was recently killed, and therefore, her hold over it was severed.”
“How long was it down?” His gaze travels from me to Ridley then to Sullivan, who’s yet to speak. With a quick glance at him, I can see he’s watching Wally with scrutiny as if he, too, is trying to figure out what the hell the other man is.
“We don’t know for sure,” Ridley replies. “A few weeks on this side.”
“And Faerie time?”
“Wally, what the hell is going on?” Ember snaps.
The older man looks to her, and he casts his gaze to the ground, looking shameful. “I fear I have not been entirely honest with you.”
“I can see that,” she snaps. My woman. Strong even in moments when she is weak.
“It’s not a story that paints me in the best light,” he says nervously. When I’m prepared to cross the room and rip the words out of him, he sighs. “I am an ancient.”
Oh, fuck.
Ridley steps forward as I prepare to attack should he come for Ember. Ancients are a race of fae, far older than even we can comprehend. They were all thought to have died off. If he’s telling the truth, it certainly explains why I cannot get a read off of him. Though his protectiveness over Ember is a direct contrast to what I know of his kind.
They feel nothing.
Care for nothing.
Ancients will kill without hesitation, warning, or provocation.
“What is an ancient?” Ember questions.
“They are a type of fae,” Ridley replies before I can. “Very fucking old and incredibly dangerous. I thought you were all dead.”
The man Ember calls Wally shifts his stance. “As far as I know, I’m the only one left. The rest were imprisoned long ago.” He waves a hand over his face, and magic shimmers around him, transforming him from an elderly man to one who physically looks no older than I am.
Which pisses me off even more.
He’s here because he loves Ember. And she’smine.
Wally glares back at me. “You’ve no claim to her,” he snarls.
Ember hasn’t spoken. She simply stares at Wally, barely even breathing.
