Chapter 19 Gideon
nineteen
Gideon
When I hear that small but subtle snap of her bones, I break—
I’m in my human form, pushing the fae male down the hole with my songbird. It’s the only way. We aren’t pulling her up without hurting her, so that means we are going in after her.
Once Rivern’s body is through the hole, I jump feet first into the shimmering depths. I don’t even spare the moment it would take to look at the Silver Sands princess.
I don’t care if she comes or not. My job isn’t to protect her—it’s to safeguard Dove. If that means I have to jump into strange pits of questionable origins, that is what I will do.
Nothing surprises or scares me anymore.
However, that is not entirely true, now, is it?
No.
She scares me.
Now, fully immersed in the water, I resist the urge to shift, my wolf form eager to rip whatever has taken her from us to shreds. Looking up, I notice, for the first time, just how many puddles are connected to the large underground lake of water I now find myself in.
If Moyrie has brought us to some trap, or Fury has led us astray, there will be nothing that will contain my wrath.
My songbird. I cannot think of her being hurt.
Instead, I remember Dove looking up at me, her endless springtime green eyes gripping my soul, always with a hint of mischief floating behind the depths.
Dove is a constant surprise, like when she pushed Moyrie away from me with her God powers, or when she made me watch her and Rivern.
I have no words for what her small claims do to me.
Who am I kidding? The very first rhythm I looked into her eyes as I placed her white-robed figure in front of me in the temple receiving room—the utter defiance I saw, the sweet curve of her lips, the crinkle of her nose—I was gone to her.
She blew me away, and all I wanted was for her to fight …
for her to spread her rebellion around the Forgotten Lands.
The more rhythm I spend with Dove, the more I begin to wonder if it has nothing to do with the song and if it has everything to do with her.
She is the key, the treasure hiding in plain sight.
The rest of us are just too blind to see.
And now I have one thing I’m scared of—her.
Losing her.
Wanting her.
Needing her.
Falling for her.
Sinking deeper into the water, I follow the trail of bubbles. One thing is for sure: I’m not losing her—ever.