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Hunt tried not to be smug at the sight of the destroyed castle. The occupants and the town had been spared, but vines and trees had burst through Morven’s castle and turned it into rubble.
“A last fuck you from the land,” Bryce murmured to Hunt as the two of them arrived at a hill overlooking the ruins. At their far end, a group of Fae stood in apprehensive silence around the demolished building.
Beside him, Bryce thrummed with power—from Helena and her cursed bloodline, but also from whatever lingering soul-wound had healed the moment Ruhn had cut off their father’s head.
Hunt slid an arm around his mate’s waist, taking in the Fae who were gawking at the ruins, the island of Avallen—and the new islands surrounding it.
Bryce peered up at him. “Are you … okay?”
He was silent for a long moment, looking out at the landscape. “No.”
She pressed closer into his side.
His throat worked for a moment. “I’m some weird demonic test-tube baby.”
“Maybe that’s where you came from, Hunt,” she said, offering him a gentle smile, “but it’s not who you are—who you became.”
He glanced at her. “Earlier, you seemed to not like the person I became.”
She sighed. “Hunt, I get it—all the shit you’re feeling. I really do. But I can’t do this without you. All of you.”
His heart ached as he looked at her fully. “I know. I’m trying. It’s just …” He struggled for the words. “My worst nightmare would be to see you in the Asteri’s hands. To see you dead.”
“And avoiding that fate is worth letting them rule forever?” There was no sharpness to her question—just curiosity.
“Part of me says yes. A very, very loud part of me,” he admitted. “But another part of me says that we need to do whatever it takes to end this. So future generations, future mates … they don’t have to make the same choices, suffer the same fates, as we have.”
He would try to put his fear behind him. For her, for Midgard.
“I know,” she said gently. “If you need to talk, if you need someone to listen … I’m here.”
He scanned her face, pure love aching in his heart. Some of that lingering darkness and pain remained, yes, but he’d fight through it. And he knew she’d give him the space he needed to do so. “Thanks, Quinlan.”
She rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. A sweet, soft brush of her lips that warmed the final numbed shards of his soul.
Then she surveyed the ruins once more, taking his hand as they began walking down toward their friends gathered at the foot of the hill. “I got the last piece of Theia’s power, but what now? How do we take on the Asteri? How do we get close enough to them to use the knife and sword and toss them through that portal?”
He kissed her temple. “Give it a rest for today. For now, enjoy being leveled up.”
She snorted. “That doesn’t sound like a strategy from the Umbra Mortis.”
“I can’t tell if that’s an insult or not.” He nudged her with a wing. “We’ve got some other urgent stuff to sort out first, Bryce.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said as they came to a stop among their friends. She addressed all of them. “Since this place can hold out against the Asteri, we need to get as many people here as possible. Without tipping off imperial forces.”
“The Depth Charger could help,” Flynn suggested. Tharion grimaced but didn’t object.
Lidia asked, “But how would they pierce the mists?”
Bryce lifted a hand, and in the distance, the mists parted—then sealed. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a fancy world-walker who can do this shit innately. Plus …” She gave a crooked grin. “I’m now Queen of Avallen. Wielding the mists is a perk of the job.”
“Of course,” Hunt said, rolling his eyes and earning a jab to the ribs.
But Ruhn warned, “The Fae won’t be happy to share.”
Bryce motioned to the ruins, the damage she’d unleashed, however unknowingly. “They don’t have any choice.”
Ruhn snorted. “Long live the queen, indeed.”
