Chapter 31 #2
Then, her mother—the most renowned healer of her time—had doubled over, clutching her stomach as she tried to stifle her weeping.
At her tender age, Lunara hadn’t understood that her mother was painting a perfect picture of the age-old Nachthellian tragedy—the inability to save themselves or their own, unborn children.
She later learned the loss had been weeks prior to that moment, and she’d been witnessing her mother’s continued grief.
It was her father though, barging in with wild eyes, that she thought of now.
How he’d dashed across the room, scooped her mother into his arms, and held her in one of the plush window alcoves for what had seemed like hours.
Never speaking a word, but being so connected that even Lunara had felt the power of it.
Her father had known. Had sensed his mate’s distress and come running.
She’d forgotten, over the years, that such a thing existed. That a bond could run so deep that two creatures became one, every part of them merely an extension of the other.
The others were making decisions, conversing in low tones, but she didn’t absorb any of it.
Lunara was struck silent as she acknowledged the part of her that had been experiencing whispers and inklings of that very thing. Dozens of pulls and tugs and cracks that didn’t belong to her, but had been given into her care nonetheless.
The first meal they’d shared. The mountaintop.
The river. Even his greater half had brought something out of her in the chasm she’d thought long gone, a power that had nothing to do with magic as they’d soared through the air.
Freedom, even as they’d thought themselves hurtling towards their own doom.
It had been him. His longing across the supper table. His disquiet and determination battling under the stars. His calm as he’d bathed her. His lightness as they’d flown. His sadness in the deep. His guilt over Faldir.
At every turn, he’d fought for her. Soothed her. Lifted her. All in spite of his own struggles.
Brand had known. Had sensed his mate’s distress.
The bond was already there. Ephemeral as mist over a forest lake, it came and went—this tiny, fragile thing that hadn’t yet found its purchase. But surely something even half as beautiful as what her parents had shared was more precious than any of her worries, wasn’t it?
Too much. It’s too much.
“Are you well, little moon?” Brand said under his breath, drawing a single finger down the line of her arm, both comfort and concern in the touch.
Lunara froze as she tried to accept that her mind was no longer only her own. Hazel eyes stared back, glittering and searching beneath furrowed brows—a solace of fire and earth that begged the ice in her to melt away. Begged her to give in.
Don’t be rash. You’re just tired. You’ll realize this is folly just as soon as you—
“Yes, I…” I think I might love you. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but they stuck there, held back by the shard of fear that lingered. By the part of her that knew it wasn’t the time or the place for such confessions. “I want to go home. Please.”
Damned if she could settle on where that actually was, though.
After tending to the Fae and tethering her with magic, Luna hadn’t made it ten steps from their makeshift camp before stumbling, pain in every pinched line of her face. Hedda hadn’t fared much better.
The rage had come easy, giving Brand a boost of strength—along with renewed ire that his mate refused to feed in mixed company. Ire that had quickly swelled into concern when he’d scooped her up and she hadn’t even tried to argue.
The Fae was worse than they’d thought, and Luna was hurting because of it. Badly.
He hated it.
Mag and Thad had shifted with him, and it had been the work of a moment to tie the sleeping Fae around Pet’s neck in a makeshift hammock. Convincing Hedda to mount Thad—Sorcha—had been another story, but she’d finally given in when Brand had threatened to carry her instead.
Apparently, it was far more dignified to ride on a Wolflord’s back than in the arms of another Demon when she was unable to make the change herself.
Brand didn’t give a fuck how they made it home, so long as they did. His mate needed blood and rest. Warm food and walls surrounding her. Safety.
“Not long now,” he murmured. “Two more hills, and the meadow between them.”
Solyrian beat down on Brand’s bare shoulders. With the soft brushing of verdant leaves in the breeze, the sweet smell of wildflowers in its wake, he could almost convince himself the last few days had been nothing more than a nightmare slowly settling into a dream.
Luna gifted him with half a smile, though she still didn’t speak.
“We’ll find you the biggest bowl of strawberries in Straelon.”
Only a soft laugh in return, when what he really wanted was to hear the melodic husk of her voice. Wanted the anchor of it as the Montrealm loomed closer. To distract both of them until the last possible second.
Maybe he could shock her into responding.
He hiked her up and ran his nose along her jaw. “I’m hungry too,” he whispered, brushing the shell of her ear. “Starving. Perhaps I’ll eat some of those strawberries myself, right out of your—”
“Brand!” she hissed, clapping both hands over his mouth. Her eyes were wide, cheeks flushed. “The others will hear you.”
“—hand,” he finished, nipping at her fingers. “What did you think I was going to say?”
Hand had been the last thing on his mind, and they both knew it.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she darted a quick look towards their companions. Answer enough.
“Hmm. Noted.”
She managed an even deeper blush, the color stark against the paleness of her iridescent skin.
“Tell me, little moon, how do you feel about—”
Sorcha whimpered, and the high, keening sound had Brand’s head snapping in her direction.
His cousin’s wolf was writhing beneath Hedda’s white-knuckled grip, fangs gnashing at thin air and trying to buck her off. Hedda was ashen, heaving, violently shaking her head as if to clear it.
Before Brand could reach them, the ground rumbled beneath his feet and a familiar chorus of roars sounded in the distance. His heart lurched at hearing it, resignation seeping in.
“What was that?” Luna struggled to sit up in his hold, looking all around them.
“Demons,” he answered. “Here, for some bloody reason.”
His most trusted, no less—a company of warriors from the First Legion. He’d know that war cry anywhere.
“Why won’t this fucking dog move?” Hedda shrieked. “Ugh!”
She threw herself from Sorcha’s back and rolled, popping up onto her feet with only slightly less grace than he’d come to expect from her.
“What is it?”
Hedda speared him with an astonished look, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “It’s Faldir,” she breathed. “I can feel it.”
Then she was off, sprinting up the next hill.
“Oh no,” Luna whispered.
Brand took off after her with a curse, mindful of Luna in his arms as he hit the slope.
He was torn between stopping Hedda before she could be wrecked all over again, and letting her see for herself it was nothing more than a group of their brethren—probably sent to check on them at Lyriat’s insistence.
He absolutely refused to acknowledge his own, tiny spark of hope.
Hedda froze on the peak, clutching her chest and desperately searching whoever lay beyond.
Fuck.
Holding her as she’d sobbed, drowning in his own guilt… Doing it once had been bad enough. He wasn’t sure his lesser self would survive it a second time.
Just as he reached her, Hedda fell to her knees and doubled over, clutching her middle. The sounds coming out of her… Stuck somewhere between wails and cackling, she gasped between each manic peal.
He ignored the Demons racing across the meadow to meet them, sending up mixed shouts of greeting and alarm. Facing them would have to fucking wait.
Brand set Luna down and knelt in front of Hedda, engulfing her back with one hand and trying to hide her from their brethren below. They didn’t need to witness their Second Commander in this state. “Hedda?”
Her head jerked up and she clutched his shoulders, a mix of tears and snot on her blotchy face. “Tell me I’m not insane. That it’s really him down there.”
Burning Solyrian. Even his rage couldn’t protect him from a fresh wave of sorrow, like a knife slowly sliding in between his ribs.
A howl sounded behind him, followed by another, and pounding footsteps shook the grass around them as the Demons hit the hill and closed the final distance.
Shite. Hedda would be mortified if they saw her like this. “Stay back,” he called, thrusting out a hand and hoping they heard him. “It’s fine. We’re just—”
“Brand…” Utter disbelief colored that single syllable, Luna backing into his side.
“What happened? Bloody fuck. Is she actually crying?”
Everything tunneled at the sound of that gritty voice.
Impossible.
A thump and whoosh of air. A knee brushing his own. Scarred hands reaching out.
On a cry, Hedda launched herself away and right into Faldir’s waiting arms.
Faldir. Alive. Raging. Kneeling right fucking beside him.
“How are you here?” Brand rasped. He reached out, swaying, afraid his friend would disappear if he made the mistake of touching him. “How are you here?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Faldir batted his hand away, the sting real enough. “And why are you—oof!”
Brand pulled Faldir into a crushing embrace with something between a laugh and a sob, careful of Hedda between them.
“Your Highness, I will murder you in your sleep if you don’t let go of me right now, the consequences be damned.”
Brand only squeezed harder.