Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Dyfri
As I move towards the wall that conceals the portal I need, my mind is already racing through the conversations I’ll need to have.
Silas first, then Cai, then somehow finding a way to reach Ninian without terrifying him completely.
Each will require a different approach, different arguments, different persuasion tactics.
“Wait! Can I come with you?”
I stop and turn around, genuinely surprised. Jack is standing by a chair, looking uncertain but determined, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s offering but knows he wants to offer it anyway.
“Come with me?” I repeat, confused by the request. “Jack, I’m going to the Paranormal Council chambers. It’s not exactly a pleasure trip.”
He shrugs, that endearing gesture that somehow manages to convey both casualness and deep sincerity. “I thought you might like someone having your back.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Someone having my back. It is what I have started to hope he might become, but the concept is still so foreign, so utterly outside my experience, that for a moment I can’t quite process what he’s said.
In a lifetime of political manoeuvring, of careful alliances and strategic partnerships, no one has ever offered to simply stand with me. To be present not for what they could gain, but because they thought I might need support.
I stare at him, this remarkable man who continues to surprise me with his capacity for kindness.
After last night, after I fell apart so completely in his arms, after he saw me at my most broken and vulnerable, he’s still here.
Still offering comfort and support as if my weakness hasn’t changed how he sees me.
The memory of last night makes heat crawl up my neck.
I cried. Actually cried, for hours, while he held me and whispered gentle reassurances.
The mortification should be crushing. I’ve spent my entire adult life perfecting my composure, my masks, my carefully constructed defences.
And I let them all crumble in front of this man.
But when I look into Jack’s eyes now, I see only that same steady kindness. No pity, no disgust, no calculation about how to use my moment of vulnerability against me. Just genuine concern and the sort of loyalty I’ve never inspired in anyone.
It makes me want to swoon like some ridiculously vapid maiden.
“You don’t need to,” I begin, but the words die in my throat. Because the truth is, I would like someone having my back. I would like not to face Silas’s anger and Cai’s suspicion and Ninian’s terror alone.
“I know I don’t need to,” Jack says gently. “But I want to. If you’ll let me.”
The simple honesty of it undoes something in my chest. After everything, he still wants to stand by me.
“Very well,” I manage, my voice rougher than I intended. “But I should warn you, where we’re going is different.”
“Different how?”
“You’ll see.”
I extend my hand to him, and he steps forward and takes it without hesitation. His fingers are warm and strong, and the trust implicit in the gesture makes my heart do something ridiculous and fluttery.
Together, we step through the wall that isn’t quite a wall, through a shimmering portal that connects our flat to wherever I wish.
The transition is seamless for me, as familiar as breathing.
But I feel Jack tense beside me as we emerge into the vast stone cathedral that serves as the Paranormal Council’s main gathering space.
Massive columns stretch up into shadows, and the air hums with barely contained magic from a dozen different supernatural traditions.
A small selkie, barely knee-high and covered in sleek grey fur, yelps at our sudden appearance and nearly drops the armload of scrolls she’s carrying.
“Terribly sorry,” I say politely. “I need to speak with the Grand Master. Urgently.”
The selkie bobs her head rapidly, scoops up her scattered scrolls, and scurries away between the columns with flipper-feet slapping against the ancient stone.
“Are we still on Earth?” Jack asks in a slightly strangled voice, his head tilted back to stare at the impossible architecture.
“Yes,” I assure him, squeezing his hand gently.
Bless his little heart. In such a short space of time, his entire understanding of reality has been completely overturned. Fey invasions, political marriages, interdimensional portals, and now underground magical councils. He’s coping remarkably well, all things considered.
Footsteps echo across the stone floor, and I turn to see a young man approaching us.
He has silver hair that catches the magical lighting and purple eyes that mark him as having significant fey ancestry, though he’s clearly been raised in the human world.
His clothes are modern, jeans and a simple jumper, but he moves with the sort of otherworldly grace that speaks to non-human bloodlines.
When he reaches us, he pauses, studying my face with something that looks almost like awe. I suspect I might be the first full-blooded fey he’s ever encountered in person.
“Prince Dyfri,” he says, his voice carrying just a hint of Welsh accent. “The Grand Master will see you immediately. Please, follow me.”
He leads us through a maze of corridors carved from living rock, past chambers where I can hear the murmur of voices discussing various supernatural concerns. The bureaucracy of the hidden world, carrying on its essential work of keeping the supernatural community safe and secret.
Finally, he stops at a small meeting room and gestures us inside. “The Grand Master will be with you momentarily.”
The room is simple but elegant, carved from the same stone as everything else but warmed by tapestries and comfortable chairs. We’ve barely settled when the door opens again and Silas strides in.
He looks exactly as dangerous as always. Sharp-featured, with the sort of predatory grace that marks him as far more than human. His black hair is pulled back, and those night-dark eyes fix on me with laser intensity.
“This had better be important,” he says without preamble, settling into the chair across from us. “I was in the middle of negotiations with the Greater London vampire coven, and they get tetchy when interrupted.”
“It’s important,” I assure him. “MI5 wants full operational integration with our Resistance efforts.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. Silas’s expression doesn’t change, but I can feel the dangerous stillness that settles over him like a predator preparing to strike.
“They what?”
“Full partnership. Joint planning sessions. Access to all parties and resources.” I keep my voice calm and professional, laying out the facts without editorial comment.
“They’re offering technical support, intelligence resources, manpower, and protection in exchange for complete transparency about our operations. ”
“They hunt and experiment on my people,” Silas says, his voice deadly quiet.
“Yes, they do. But they also want the fey gone, and they have resources we need.” I lean forward slightly. “We need them, Silas. You know we do.”
His scowl deepens, and I can see the stubborn set to his shoulders that tells me rational arguments aren’t going to be enough.
Silas has spent decades protecting supernatural beings from exactly this sort of government interference.
He’s not going to be easily convinced to invite MI5 into his carefully guarded world.
Time for a different approach.
“I can sweeten the deal for you,” I say carefully. “I can teach you how to properly use your fey powers.”
Silas goes very still, his pale eyes narrowing to slits. “What fucking fey powers?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out by now.
You know you’re far more powerful than any other shifter.
The magic you command, the way other supernatural beings respond to you.
” I study his face, watching for any sign of recognition.
“You have fey blood in your veins, Silas Darkstar. Unseelie, to be precise.”
“Like fuck I do!”
But I can see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the pieces clicking together in ways he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“Why do you think the dagger called to you?” I press gently. “It wanted you to open the portals and allow us to return. It recognised what you are.”
The mention of the dagger hits home. I can see it in the way Silas’s jaw tightens, the flash of something that might be pain or anger or old grief in his expression. The role the dagger played in his life is still a source of significant trauma.
“Where do you think your magic comes from?” I continue. “The burial mound, where your gifts were bestowed, was an old unseelie place, imbued with their power.”
Almost faster than I can track, Silas moves. One moment he’s sitting across from me, the next there’s a wickedly sharp dagger pressed against my throat, his face inches from mine, dark eyes blazing with fury.
I hear Jack move, feel him preparing to intervene, and the gesture touches something deep in my chest. But this is delicate, and violence will only make things worse.
“Jack, it’s fine,” I say calmly, not taking my eyes off Silas.
Jack hovers, clearly anxious and uncertain, but he listens to me. He trusts my judgment even in this dangerous moment, and that trust is more precious than any alliance or political advantage.
Silas is glaring at me with a fury that could melt stone, but I can see past the anger to the hurt and fear underneath.
I’ve struck at something fundamental, something he’s spent years trying to ignore or deny, or at the very least, forget entirely.
Something I can relate to deeply and far too well.
“I give you my deepest apologies for mentioning that night,” I say quietly. “I know it’s a painful subject.”
He knows about my past, as much as I know about his. He would have done his research, I’ve no doubt about that. So I allow him to see in my eyes everything he needs to see. Let him see how we are very much kindred spirits.
My sincerity must reach him, because after a long, tense moment, he steps back and sheathes the dagger with sharp, angry movements.
He shakes his head as if trying to clear it, running his hands through his dark hair. “You think I’m going to betray my people for personal gain?”
I blink, taken aback by the question. Because yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. It’s how politics works, how negotiations function. Everyone has a price, everyone can be bought with the right incentive. Personal power, knowledge, advantage. These are the currencies that drive most decisions.
The notion that someone would find such an offer abhorrent is genuinely foreign to me.
Silas must see something in my expression, because his smile turns rueful. “That’s how your people think, isn’t it? Fey boy, you have a lot to learn about this world.”
I look at him, then at Jack, who’s still watching our interaction with worried eyes. Then back at Silas, who’s regarding me with something that might be pity.
“I’m beginning to realise that,” I admit quietly.
“Good. That’s the first step.” Silas leans back in his chair, some of the dangerous tension leaving his posture. “You want to learn? Here’s lesson one. Not everyone operates on self-interest. Some people actually give a damn about others.”
“I would be grateful if you would teach me,” I say, and I mean it completely.
Silas raises an eyebrow. “That people aren’t always arseholes?” He sighs, glancing at Jack. “I’m the wrong person for that lesson. That’s your man there. The one who can show you what genuine goodness looks like.”
I follow his gaze to Jack, who smiles sheepishly when he realises we’re both looking at him. My heart does that ridiculous fluttering thing again, and I think, truer words have never been spoken.
Jack has been trying to show me exactly this from the beginning. Kindness without calculation, loyalty without conditions, support offered simply because someone you care about needs it.
“Right then,” Silas says, his voice taking on a more businesslike tone. “About MI5. I still think they’re dangerous bastards who’ll sell us out the moment it’s convenient.”
“Probably,” I agree. “But they’re dangerous bastards with resources we need. And right now, our mutual hatred of the fey occupation outweighs their distrust of supernatural beings.”
“Temporarily.”
“Yes. But temporarily might be long enough.”
Silas studies me for a long moment, those dark eyes calculating. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“Limited cooperation. Controlled access. We give them enough to make them useful while keeping our most sensitive operations separate.” I lean forward. “And we make it clear that the protection they’re offering has to be real. Binding. With consequences if they betray that trust.”
“And if they refuse those terms?”
“Then we proceed without them and accept the increased risk of failure.” I meet his gaze steadily. “But I’d rather have them as reluctant allies than active enemies.”
Silas nods slowly. “Fair enough. But I want guarantees. And if they try to use this as an opportunity to catalog and control supernatural beings, they’ll find out exactly why crossing a necromancer is a poor life choice.”
I’m sure my answering smile is sharp and entirely predatory. “Exactly.”
As we begin discussing the specific terms and conditions that might make this partnership viable, I can’t help but steal glances at Jack.
He’s listening intently, occasionally asking thoughtful questions, contributing insights that reveal a deep understanding of both human nature and political realities.
This man, who offered to have my back without expecting anything in return. Who’s standing with me through every impossible challenge this Resistance faces.
Perhaps Silas is right. Perhaps Jack is exactly the teacher I need to learn that not everyone operates on calculation and self-interest.
Perhaps it’s time I started believing that some things, some people, are worth trusting completely.