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His voice is low when he finally says, “I was six when I was taken. Twelve when I escaped.”
“Oh, God…” My heart cries for him. “And you, Sin. How old were you when your mom disappeared?”
“I was little.” Sindri looks away, mouth tight. “I barely remember her.”
“When was she killed, Ash?” I turn to him. Red had bled into his gray eyes, and his canines seem a bit too long. “Do you remember?”
“How could I ever forget?” he says. “I was ten.”
“So Ashton was a child when your mom was killed, Sin.” I turn to the werewolf boy. “And he was little when you were captured, Jason. He says he tried to stop it all. Why is it so hard to believe?”
“You weren’t there,” Jason whispers, his green eyes haunted.
“I know,” I say, “but you know Ash. Wouldn’t he have done his best to—?”
“You don’tknowhim,” Sindri growls. “Nobody knows him. We are all strangers, pretending to fit together.” He yanks his arm free of Emrys’ hold and stalks toward the door. “I’m done here.”
Jason reaches for him. “Sin, wait—”
“Get your paws off me, wolf. If I stay, I’ll rip him apart. I—” A strange sound escapes Sindri, halfway between a cry and a moan, and he crumples to the floor. “Arawn…”
“What’s wrong with him?” Jason starts toward him and stops dead in his tracks. “Hell.”
Sindri’s hands scrabble on the floor as he bows over, his shirt splitting in two over his back, and there are …wingsunfurling—great, feathery wings, black but tipped with white.
Eagle wings.
Griffin wings.
“Oh no. Sin.” I go to my knees in front of him. “Stop it. Stop the shift. Pull it back.”
“Can’t fight… the magic any longer,” he hisses from between his teeth. “Kraish… I’ve fought it for so long…”
“You’re sad,” I whisper, remembering what he had said about elemental magic being linked to feelings. “You’re angry. You’re in shock. Push those emotions away, Sin.”
“I fucking can’t! Queen Maab… Told you that wouldn’t work for me.” His head bends forward, hair falling in his eyes, and he has golden plumes on the back of his neck. His arms tremble. “Mia…”
“I’m right here.” I scoot closer, put a hand on his cheek. “Look at me.”
He does and his eyes have turned round and golden with black flecks. A bird’s eyes. His face is changing, too, and helplessly I put both hands on his cheeks, as if that will stop the change, keep him in his human form.
“Mia,” he whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
A shudder goes through him, and then his magic breaks free.
It slams into me like a punch to the gut, making me moan. God, the amount of elemental power he’d been holding in check. It ripples off him in hot waves that make the air around us shimmer and pulse.
“All of you,” I choke out, “get down on the floor and hold him. We need to contain his magic. Now!”
Without a word, without delay, they do as I say. Thankfully. I’d expected them to flounce off and throw tantrums like little kids, but they kneel around him and put their hands on whatever part of him is closest to them—his legs, his arms, his back.
I’m the one facing him, and I can feel the bones of his face shift under my palms. “Sindri, fight it. Feel my hands on your skin. Feel their hands on you,” I whisper. “Feel us all connected, keeping together. Let go of your anger.”
“I can’t… let… go.” His wings unfold more. They’re huge, brushing the ceiling. He looks like an angel kneeling there, but this isn’t a miracle. It’s a curse.
“Then give me your anger. I’ll keep it for you until you’re safe, until you’re calm.” I breathe in time with the pulsing air, the pulsing heat. “Give it to me.”
