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I shake off the last of the grogginess and nod. That makes sense. Sunrise is the nearest conjunction. We’ll have to wait hours to take advantage of the next one. Maddox must intend on ushering us back into the dizzy, awe-inspiring space between worlds in an effort to race time. We only have a few days before Morningstar reaches Delerood. We’ve known that’s where it will end from almost the very start. Another chosen—Goldy—had a vision that told us as much. If we’re going to undermine Morningstar, this is the way to do it.
“They’re notmyhellhounds,” I say, catching the rucksack when he tosses it underhand toward me. “If anything, you could say I’m theirs. They captured me solely to propose this deal.”
Draven’s eyes are solemn as he considers that. “How certain are you that this isn’t some kind of trick?”
I chew my lip. “I don’t know. They seem too proud to lie about the atrocities Lycaon has foisted on them. No man wants to admit that he was tortured, enslaved, assaulted, or abused, let alone males from a royal bloodline.”
Draven’s eyebrows bounce up. “Royal?”
I nod, lowering the coverlet just enough to let him see one bare shoulder, the one that Ransom marked. The odd, tribal markings are luminous in the dark, standing out like torchlight from my skin. They pulse and shift subtly if I stare at them long enough. The bite on my collarbone has finally begun to lighten to pink instead of an angry red, but I have a suspicion it will be visible, even after it heals, a raised ridge of white scar tissue.
“According to King Axion, the markings are a sign of their bloodline, and each of them has different functions in the hierarchy.”
Draven is a master at controlling his expression, from what I can tell, but even he can’t help but react to the sight of the marks. His eyes widen ever so slightly, and my cheeks color. He’s a bird shifter, not a hound, but there are probably enough similarities in their cultures that he can guess what Ransom and I have done. I bite back the desire to defend myself. It’s not like who I bed is any of his business, even if it is an enemy. Jezebel is known for it, using her powers of seduction to pry secrets from key sources, both neutral and hostile to our cause. I’m not even sure if Ransom and his companionsareour enemies. We have similar goals, even if Axion has a shitty way of showing it.
“Miss Blaze...” he begins. “Do you know what that mark means?”
“I know what it is,” I say with a sigh. “Just keep it in mind if you get the urge to bury a dirk in one of their backs. At least one of themhasto be on our side.”
My stomach still churns at the thought of what Axion intended to reduce me to, but there’s a bit of satisfaction in knowing he failed. Not only that he failed, but in ordering what he did, he gave me an ally who can’t betray me. If Ransom is telling the truth (and I believe he is) Axion and Maddox are bound by their own laws not to turn on us either.
Draven nods slowly. “I see. I need to inform Carmine before we depart. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”
I shake my head ruefully. There’s really no help for me now. He can’t sort out the confusion and betrayal of finding out your father might have bedded a hellhound female, and that it’s the only reason you exist. That the mixed heritage that my father spurned me for is what earned me an unlikely ally.
“I’m fine, Draven. I’ll be quick. Go tell Carmine if you must.”
Draven bows slightly at the waist before backing out of the room, leaving me in the luxurious chamber with only my thoughts for company. They’re not kind, and I try to stuff them down, breathing in deeply and stretching like I do before a long run. Long-distance trips have an almost meditative quality to them if I’m not being chased by something with sharp teeth and fur. There’s a peace that comes with setting a long stride, your feet thudding on the path in a metronomic rhythm as you move ceaselessly toward your next destination.
When my heart has adopted a slower pace, I dig into the rucksack and produce a bundle of clothing, all of it designed to hold up under harsh conditions. I select a sleeveless shirt and pull it over my head before shimmying into the matching pair of trousers. The shirt does nothing to conceal the swirling markings on my arm, or the fading bite mark on my collarbone. If Ransom is being truthful, it’s high time to let the others know what they stand to lose if they attack me or mine on the journey between worlds.
I square my shoulders and exit the chambers with my head held high. Dawn is coming, and we have places to be.
###
MADDOX
Impossible.
It should be impossible, but there it is, indelible proof inked into her skin. The spiraling, faintly luminescent beginnings of a mate mark. It’s fresh, clustered around his fading bite. The color will only grow stronger as their intimacy continues, deepening to the purest of golds when they find true happiness together. It’s pale now, just a flickering possibility of what they could have, but even that is nothing short of a miracle. None of us have been able to find mates in Fantasia, our reins held too tightly to allow for even a hint of normalcy. How he managed to not only rut her but claim her as his own is a mystery. She’s human, no matter how powerful she seems.
But the mark is still there. How? And why do I feel such intense envy that I want to hamstring my cousin for merely having her?
Axion notices it too but says nothing. Perhaps he’s pleased by this development. It’s a tighter binding with this chosen than he could have ever hoped for. We mate for life and feel intensely loyal to the ones we choose. She’ll defend him on instinct and Ransom will gladly lay his life on the line to preserve hers.
Or maybe Axion’s as disturbed by the development as I am, wondering what we’ve missed. Has it been possible to bond with humans all this time and we simply overlooked it? Could we have shrugged off Lycaon’s yolk sooner if we’d managed to look past the end of our own snouts for once?
“Where are we going, exactly?” the huntsman asks, tone brusque with impatience. “You’ve been stingy with the details this entire time. If you want us to place our trust in you, maybe it’s time you showed a little in return.”
I glance over my shoulder. Maintaining our human forms makes us slower, which chafes. Axion still isn’t sure how long he can keep us from Lycaon’s control, and thinks moving in these bodies is an inefficient use of our time. He conceded with poor grace when I pointed out that human forms seem to settle the Fantasians’ nerves. Thanks to Lycaon’s meddling, we’re possibly the most feared species to prowl their dimension. We’re not well-regarded in other worlds either, where Morningstar and his ilk have laid waste to the people and lands, taking what they please before leaving the place a barren husk. We’ve been a tool of oppression for so long that it’s difficult for people to see us as anything else. Staying human makes it less likely the huntsman will stick a dirk in our backs.
“Your name is... Darren, right?”
I know his name, but it gives me a petty sense of satisfaction to watch a muscle in his jaw tic. He’s been nothing but standoffish since we arrived and it rubs my pelt entirely the wrong way to let this puffed-up bird condescend to my king. I can’t blame him for his suspicion, but I resent the attitude that comes with it.
“Draven,” he corrects me, the word coming out from between clenched teeth. They’re blunt, nowhere near as impressive as mine. I can rip his throat out if he challenges me. It takes a great deal of strength to fulfill a destiny like mine.
Strength you didn’t have, my mind supplies bitterly.You got your people killed, remember?
