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She exhales a relieved breath. “Thank goodness. Thank, thank goodness. My fingers hurt from crossing them so hard.”
“Elsbeth is gone, too,” I say, wanting to get all the bad news out of the way before I get back to her, so we won’t have anything ugly to talk about for a while. “She tried to free Bane, to take him to Kelley, and was infected.”
Willow hums softly. “I’m actually sorry to hear that. She wasn’t all bad, I don’t think. Maybe not even half bad. Same with my sister.” She sighs. “Any word on Kelley?”
“Just that, according to Elsbeth, they completed the ritual. But Kelley was likely trapped in the Parallel when the explosives destroyed the portal, so…” I shake my head. “We may never know what happens next for her.”
“Oh, I have a feeling we will,” Willow says. “Someday. The portals may be gone, but we’ll find a way to communicate with the Parallel. Sooner or later.”
“Is that a Pathfinder vision?”
“No, just a strong feeling,” she says. “And a hope. There are good people there. They deserve better than what they’ve been getting from their leaders. And probably better than what they’ll get from Kelley if she takes power. Like I said, there’s something wrong with the spell. It isn’t going to work the way she and Elsbeth thought it would.”
“Maybe because they used a zombie as a point in the triad instead of a living man?”
“Maybe. Or maybe because Bane died for real not long after they completed the ritual?” She makes a soft, worried sound. “I don’t know, but what little I saw of Kelley’s future looked…bleak. Even if she’s a queen, she’s going to be a very unhappy one.”
“You sound sad.” I tilt my head back, watching the moon break free of the tree line and float higher in the star-scattered sky.
“I am sad,” she says. “But I’m also so grateful. Come home to me. And let’s sleep for a very, very long time. And then wake up and figure out what to do with Diana. She, strangely, doesn’t seem too upset by being an owl, but I think the less time she spends in a body that’s not her own, the better. Oh, and she was hoping…”
Willow lowers her voice before she continues, making me think Diana might be nearby. “Have you come in contact with any cat shifters? A young man about nineteen years old with bronze skin, dark hair and eyes, and an attitude to match Diana’s, in particular? Don’t freak out about it, but he was her secret boyfriend. Hopefully still is, maybe? If he’s alive? He’s a good kid, Maxim, as far as I can tell. He just got caught up with the wrong people. But he cared about Diana so much, I could tell, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t work up any anger about the news, not when I’m pretty sure the poor kid is either dead or trapped in the Parallel. “No, I haven’t seen many people that age at all. Everyone we’ve rounded up has been younger or older, the seniors and kids left behind while everyone else prepared to fight. There are a few younger women, but no young men. And no prisoners. The cells were empty when we arrived.”
Willow sighs. “That’s not great news, but I won’t tell her yet. Maybe he ran away or something. Or maybe one of the prisoners will be able to shed some light on what happened to him during their interrogation. Will you be sure to add that to the list of things to ask them? I know you’re not a fan of wolves dating cats, or cats in general, but—”
“I never said that. I’m planning on getting you a kitten for a wedding present, in fact,” I cut in. “Assuming I can find one who will let me touch it without trying to scratch my eyes out.”
“Really?” Willow says, wonder and delight mixing in her tone.
“Really,” I assure her. “I just don’t want it sleeping in our bed. I just want you in my bed. Every night and as many long afternoons as we can beg, borrow, or steal.”
“Me, too. I’ll be waiting for you in bed when you get home. Wake me up if I fall asleep. I want to hug you as soon as possible.”
“Will do,” I promise.
Three hours later,after we’ve logged the last prisoner into our database, assured our allies that the crisis has been averted, and I’ve grabbed a quick shower in the enforcer men’s locker room so I’ll be clean when I go upstairs to my fiancée, I slip under the sheets beside my future mate and pull her close.
“Oh, yes,” she murmurs, waking quickly and wrapping her arms tight around me. “You’re here. You’re finally here and you’re never leaving this bed again.”
“I might have to leave now and then, just to get some fresh air.”
“You don’t need fresh air,” she informs me, and then she rolls on top of me and proves she’s right.
I don’t fresh air or food or water or anything else.
I only need this woman—her kiss, her love, and her perfect, wild sweetness.
For now, and for always.
