Chapter 6 I’d Steal Anything For You
Chapter six
I'd Steal Anything For You
Sorren
I’m still slightly seasick from the boat ride when we reach the butterfly sanctuary.
The building is made almost entirely of glass, three stories high with its panes curving upward in graceful arches.
Through the windows I glimpse lacy ferns and vibrant flowers, winding stone paths, and fountains that bubble softly.
Its lights are dimmed so that it glows gently from within, warm and golden, like a lighthouse in a storm.
I break the lock on the back door easily. Just twist the knob right off.
Nora tenses beside me. She’d argued that we would set off an alarm. That there would be flashing lights and sirens. I told her I doubted anyone was protecting the butterflies with that degree of enthusiasm. Especially in a publicly run botanical garden.
No lights come on.
No alarms sound.
Only heat spills out to meet us when I open the door, warm and damp, thick with the scent of soil and growing things.
I step inside first, scanning the space automatically, though I sense no immediate threat. The glass walls rise overhead, trapping the day’s warmth. Moonlight filters through the ceiling in pale silver bands.
Something brushes my shoulder.
I still.
A butterfly drifts past my face, its wings slow and lazy in the heavy air.
Another settles on the back of my hand. So light I only know it’s there because I can see.
Alive.
Delicate.
Temporary.
It opens and closes its wings once, twice, the fragile motion stirring the air against my skin.
A creature that exists only to be beautiful for a brief moment before it’s gone.
My heart twinges at the thought. The truth that sometimes beauty is only supposed to last a moment.
That it can be captured in your hand but not held for a lifetime.
Behind me, Nora exhales, the tension bleeding from her body in a long rush.
“We’re safe?” she whispers.
“For now.” I wince, wishing my answer were different. That I could assure her she’d never have to know fear or pain again.
Her relief hits me through the bond, soft and bright. A loosening. A quiet awed joy at survival.
She saved us.
Not with strength.
Not with violence.
But with courage. Instinct. A willingness to leap into the unknown when I would have hesitated.
I was meant to protect her.
Instead, she carried me in a canvas bag and delivered us both from death.
My hands clench.
Tomorrow, I will face the egg, the hunters, and then my uncle. I will prove to her that I am not merely something to be hidden away when the danger grows too great.
That I am worthy of the bond we now share.
For now, I will feed her.
As if it heard me, her stomach gives a low, revealing grumble, and she slaps a hand over it. I pull her close and kiss her forehead, a little in awe that she lets me. Even more so when she smiles up at me, open and tender.
“Stay here,” I murmur. “I’ll find us something to eat.”
“Where?” She giggles, glancing around. “It’s not like there’s a McDonald’s nearby.”
I lift my nose and sniff. “There’s food all around, if you know how to find it.”
She heads deeper into the sanctuary while I step out into the cool April night. Extending my senses, I search for any trace of the hunters.
Nothing.
Not even a whisper.
They’re too far away, which is precisely what I want.
Even Nora had agreed it was clever to hide in the botanical gardens, so close to our target for tomorrow. The hunters will assume we’d run the other direction, that we wouldn’t return here until morning.
By already being on the grounds, we may yet reach the egg before they do.
I can feel it, the egg, just over the rise. Foreign magic thrumming through the night air.
Alien. Ominous.
Who built it? Where did it come from? What does it want?
I did not ask those questions of my father when I came here as a boy, and now I curse my oversight. I had no way of knowing, then, how important it would become.
Vibrations from the egg call to me, like it recognizes something in me.
How we both come from distant lands. I ignore it.
Guided by moonlight, I move deeper into the garden toward the area that’s been developed to resemble a farm.
Cows low softly from the direction of the petting zoo. A single cricket sings from the bushes.
Raised beds stretch in neat rows beneath low canvas covers meant to guard against the chill.
I pull one aside and duck beneath it. Tomatoes hang heavy from vines, protected from the night air.
I pull one free with a soft pop and put it in my mouth.
Juice explodes across my tongue when my teeth close over on it.
I eat another and then another. A cucumber snaps cleanly from its vine.
Carrots come next. Radishes. Snap peas. I eat my fill, tucking extras into my pockets, until my stomach loses its hollow feeling.
I’m always ravenous after shifting, even in my homeland.
Here I’ve done it four times in two days.
That’s a lot, even for me, and I’m guessing I’ll need to do it again tomorrow.
I emerge from under the plastic sheeting, still chewing, and my gaze drifts back toward the rise where the egg rests, its strange pulse stirring the night air.
It still sings out to me. An incessant hum. A subtle pull.
I find myself moving that way without meaning to, until the egg rises before me, luminous in the night.
Pale yellow, the same color as the moon overhead, it flickers.
From the outside, it stands nearly ten feet tall, its base as wide as a car.
Nora said they use a crane to move it to the garden every Easter.
Inside it must be much larger. Large enough to hold the treasures I’ve heard about for years.
I place my hand against its rough surface and feel a steady throb that echoes in my mind.
There is an awareness here.
It reaches for me, like a hand flattening against my own.
I wait for a click. A seam. Something.
If I could open it now and retrieve the amulet and sword without risking Nora, it would solve everything.
Please, I beg it silently. Please open.
I trace its cracks with my eyes. There are more now. Even more than in the photo Nora showed me. I wait for one of them to widen, just enough for me to slip through.
Nothing happens.
The egg sits, silent and uncaring.
I think of the sword it contains, Thornreaper. The only thing strong enough to break my uncle’s winter magic.
I think of the Amulet of Springtide. The only thing strong enough to protect Nora. She does not know what it does yet. I have not told her. Deliberately, I kept that knowledge from her. Almost from myself.
Because I hate it.
Hate what it will cost when she wears it around her neck.
Hate how it will ruin me.
I told her it washes everything clean. That it will remove all my world from her, and that’s true.
When she places it over her head and lets it rest on her chest, nestled against her heart, it will nullify all my power over her…
including the bond that binds us together.
It will break the tie so my uncle will no longer know her as mine.
My claim.
My mate.
So if I can’t defeat him, he will not be able to come back and find her. To rape and torture her in my name, which I know, without a doubt, he will do. To murder her and her mother in the most unspeakable way.
I cannot, will not, let that happen.
Once she wears the amulet, she will forget all about me.
The sound of my voice.
The way my name feels in her mouth.
Forget I ever existed.
That we spoke. That we touched.
That I loved her.
I sigh.
The vegetables are heavy in my stomach now, but they are not enough. Nora is human. She does not recover from exertion the way I do. She cannot simply consume what grows from the earth and be restored.
Tomorrow, I will require all my strength.
But tonight—
Tonight, I will see to hers.
Nora
He moves so quietly I don’t even hear him coming. He’s just suddenly there, standing beside me with his hands full.
He drops the items into my lap, and I gasp. Delighted.
I pick them up and examine them one by one.
“A burrito? Soft pretzel? Popcorn!” I stick my face into the bucket and inhale its buttery scent. “Sorren! These are all still warm. How’d you do this?”
He sits down next to me, stretches out his long legs, and shrugs like he didn’t just perform a miracle.
“I broke into the snack shack. I thought you might prefer a warm meal to this.”
He empties his pockets, revealing an assortment of vegetables. A tomato rolls across the floor, only stopping when it bumps into the wall and settles back with a wobble. A butterfly lands on it immediately, as if claiming it for herself.
“Wow.” I eye him as I unwrap the burrito and shove it into my mouth. I hum happily, then mumble around the food, “You’re becoming quite the little thief, aren’t you?”
He frowns at the word little and glances down at himself. “I do not think I am too small, do you?” he asks, looking honestly concerned.
I laugh, hiding my mouth behind my hand. “No, not too little.”
That appears to mollify him. He leans back against the wall and gives me a slow smile.
“Besides,” he adds, “I would steal anything for you.”
My heart trips at that, the easy, honest way he says it. Like it’s no big deal. A rabbit prince breaking and entering to bring me snacks.
He doesn’t know it’s a big deal to me.
Huge, really.
I swallow the burrito with some effort, choked up by his admission. He hands over a bottle of water without my asking, its sides slick with condensation. I take several big gulps.
I eat the rest of the food in silence, my eyes on Sorren and the butterflies that dance around him like they’re begging for his attention. They land on his shoulder, his hair, in his hand. He smiles at each one, a gentle giant holding carefully still for them.
I’m almost jealous of them for taking his focus away from me.