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The panther and the wolf come running. They reach us as I slide off the griffin’s flank to the ground. The wolf’s tongue is lolling, the panther is still, the dragon has lowered his head to the ground, and oh my God, all four of them look like they’re smiling.
Cheshire cat smiles.
“Okay, boys.” I turn in a circle to look at them all. “My beautiful ones. You’ve played enough. How about you turn back to your human selves? I’m tired and I’m not going to bed without you. I want…” I falter for the first time since the ritual ended and Ophelia lost the battle. “I want to hug you and hold you and tell you everything that happened, everything I thought and felt and feared. I want to show you how much I love you. Do you understand?”
They press closer around me. When I kneel on the ground, the panther and the wolf settle at my sides, their heads half-resting on my thighs. Facing the dragon and the griffin, I lift my hands and place them on their strong necks.
Their magic flows into mine, and mine into theirs, swirling and spinning, a perfect circle, a wheel of power and affection.
Come back, I send the thought through our link, through the magic currents binding us. Shift back. Please.
I feel the moment the shift begins through the link and I tense, bracing myself to feel their pain and confusion as they change. And it comes, a jolt of agony, a rip of muscle and bone and tendon, a sudden shift in perspective and angle on the world. I gasp, shaking and aching with them.
But it’s over much more quickly than I expected. One moment I’m on my knees—and the next I’m lying on my side, staring at an expanse of uneven ground, some trees, and a naked man.
I blink and then blink again until that broad back comes into focus and I recognize the lash scars on Jason’s back.
“My wolf,” I whisper, starting to get up, my every muscle protesting. “Are you okay? Jax—”
Four naked men. Emrys is lying on his stomach, his broad back and taut backside in full display, while Sindri is on his back, still healing bruises and cuts covering his strong chest, and Ashton is on his side facing me, black hair hiding his face, a muscular arm thrown out toward me.
And that’s not the only thing I notice.
The party-goers have apparently followed our landing and are now standing all around, gawking at the boys who are still unconscious, lying in their birthday suit on the ground.
“Percy! Anala! Elijah! Az!” I call out.
“My Queen?” Percy comes forward and sketches a small bow that might have looked mocking if he wasn’t so drunk.
“Stop that.” I wave a hand at him. “Just help me take them to my room.”
A few brows go up at that but I lift my chin and refuse to back down. If they are against me being with all four of them, well, tough. And if they insist on calling me Queen, they might as well help out. After all, these boys are their princes and their friends.
I don’t expect them to lift me up, too, in their hands, high up, chanting something about Queens and glory, silly songs, and I stare up at the night sky, tired and flooded with happiness as they carry us to the dormitories.
A procession. A parade. Glory, yes. A night of glory, and the worries can wait for tomorrow.
After most of the people are gone from the room, without prompting, Percy and Anala direct their people to bring mattresses and lay them on the floor. Sheets, pillows, blankets, everything is set and the boys are laid on them, along with me.
Yes, a large bed is definitely good when there are five people on it, especially if four of them are muscular, six-foot-something guys that tend to take up some space.
Still dressed in my muddied, torn dress, I nod at the vampires and the fae who are pulling the covers up to the boys’ waists. “Thank you, guys.”
Percy stands up and puts his hands on his hips. “They will be all right, yeah? Last time they had a really hard time coming back from the shift.”
I glance at the boys’ slack, pale faces and feel that squeeze in my chest when I remember how Ophelia abused them. “I will take care of them. I promise.”
Percy turns away, seemingly satisfied with my answer and whatever he’s read on my face. “I know.”
They close the door behind them and I just sit there for a bit, staring at my boys, laid out in a row like beautiful marble statues—grimy, battle-hardened statues of boys made into men through circumstances way too early, way too brutally.
Tomorrow I will have to talk with them and with my father about that—how to keep their families at a safe distance, to make sure there is no danger from them anymore. So much that needs to be discussed and arranged.
But now I am with them and when I close my eyes, their magic flutters against the edges of my consciousness, brushing against my power, words, colors, shapes, and scents crowding my mind.
I pull off my dress and crawl under the covers with them, in their middle, putting my arms around them, making sure I’m touching all of them. Last time they shifted, Ophelia had sucked all their magic, not letting them heal and recover. This time, I open my senses, open my magic and offer it to them.
Take, I think, take all you need and rest. You deserve the quiet and peace and the healing sleep after everything that happened.
And when you wake up, I will be here, guarding you.
Because I’m yours, and you are mine, my loves.
