Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAM
Esme’s hand is warm in mine, and that’s exactly where it should be.
Her fingers intertwine with a perfect fit that sends a calming pulse through my agitated nerves.
Right at this moment I need her close. I need to feel the solid reality of her beside me.
My wolf is losing his mind, pacing restlessly beneath my skin, eager to claim his mate, to shield her from all the threats lurking in these shadowed halls.
The urge to shift, to bare my teeth at every perceived danger, thrums through my veins like a war drum.
I have to consciously loosen my hold on her hand, my grip tightening involuntarily with how hard it is to maintain my composure.
Locke walks a few paces ahead of us, silent and stiff, like he’s carved from the same dark stone as the castle walls.
His shoulders are set in a rigid line, every movement controlled and deliberate.
His steps are clipped, measured, his back straight as a blade, his black leathers creaking just slightly with every calculated stride.
The sound echoes off the vaulted ceiling, a rhythmic reminder of his presence that grates against my already frayed nerves.
I want to hate him, every fiber of my being screams that I should, but I can’t deny that when Lucelle tried to strike out at Esme, we both moved as one.
His lightning-quick reflexes, the way he positioned himself as a shield without hesitation, the protective instinct that mirrored my own so perfectly, it was unsettling.
That alone makes my wolf bristle, hackles rising in territorial warning.
Esme is mine. My mate. The other half of my soul.
I don’t want to have to share her with yet another protector, another male who might stake a claim.
Because it’s not just me anymore. There’s someone else who seems willing to throw himself into harm’s way for her without a second thought.
Someone else who might be edging into the part of her life that I want to keep sacred, protected, as mine alone.
The part of her heart that still feels like it belongs to me and, yes, to Micah, but no one else.
Not this stoic fae warrior with his piercing eyes and unreadable expression.
We follow him down a corridor that looks medieval at first glance, soaring arched ceilings that disappear into shadow, ancient stone tiles worn smooth underfoot by centuries of passage, iron torch brackets lining the walls like silent sentinels.
The deeper we venture into the castle’s depths, the more I see the uncanny strangeness of Vanir revealed.
Flickers of magic pulse behind crystal sconces like captured lightning, the illumination shifting between warm gold and cool silver.
The light is soft, otherworldly, humming faintly with an energy that makes my skin prickle.
Modern, but not. Ancient, but evolved. This whole place is a contradiction wrapped in glamour and menace.
Glorious and grotesque. Opulent and ominous.
A realm where beauty and danger dance together in perfect, terrifying harmony.
I glance sideways at Esme, studying her profile in the shifting magical light.
She’s quiet, but I can see her cataloging every detail, just like she did during our journey here through the mystical landscape.
Always observing. Always learning. Her shoulders are drawn tight with tension, but she keeps her chin lifted with that regal bearing that seems to come so naturally to her.
No hint of the unease I know must be churning beneath the surface.
The lost princess of the Night Court, returned home at last. Her father confirmed it with words that still echo in my mind, and each syllable made my stomach churn with dread.
She’s not just mine anymore. Now she belongs to this place, to this world of intricate court politics and ancient royal bloodlines, co-ruled by a queen who I’m certain now wants my Angel dead.
The thought makes my hands clench into fists.
I would give anything, my life, my soul, everything I am to pull her back through that shimmering portal and disappear into the Mortal Realm.
Back to the Academy, back to Micah and the others who know her worth.
Back to where I wasn’t the only one standing guard over her precious life, where the threats were clearer and the enemies didn’t hide behind silk smiles and honeyed words.
Even as I think it, the bitter truth settles in my chest like a stone. I know I’m not the only one anymore. Not the only one who would die for her.
Locke stops abruptly in front of a massive door, its surface gleaming with gilded designs that spiral and twist like living vines.
He doesn’t bother to knock, just gestures toward it with casual indifference, like I’m supposed to be grateful for his magnanimous guidance.
“This one’s yours,” he says, voice like gravel scraped over stone, arms folded across his broad chest in a pose that screams authority. “Enjoy the accommodations, dog.”
The word hits me like a slap. I square my shoulders and step forward, meeting his challenging gaze with every ounce of alpha authority I possess. “Call me that again.”
Esme moves between us with fluid grace before I can advance further, her presence immediately diffusing the tension crackling in the air. “It’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice low and soothing, the tone she uses when she’s trying to prevent bloodshed. “Let’s just go in.”
She reaches for the ornate handle, but Locke’s hand flashes out with supernatural speed and catches her slender arm. His fingers wrap around her wrist like iron bands.
I don’t think. The growl that tears from my throat is pure wolf, low and warning and deadly.
I step forward, every muscle in my body coiled for violence.
“Let go of her.” The words come out as more snarl than speech.
I don’t want him touching any part of what’s mine, not her skin, not her hand, not even the fabric of her dress.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even acknowledge my threatening posture. His gray-green eyes remain fixed on Esme as if I’m nothing more than an annoying gnat. “Sorry, Starlight. This isn’t your room.”
The endearment, spoken in that low, rough voice, makes something ugly and possessive rear up in my chest. “She’s my mate,” I snap, the words carrying the weight of sacred vows and unbreakable bonds. “She stays with me.”
Locke finally turns, and I can see the smug satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth.
“That’s not how it works here. Mated or not, you’re not married.
No union ceremony. No official recognition.
The courtiers will tear her reputation to shreds if word spreads that the king’s newly discovered heir is sharing a bed with her wolf before they’ve even claimed each other publicly. ”
“That’s none of their business.” I reply, incredulous at the archaic rules governing this supposedly advanced realm. What kind of backwards thinking have we been thrust into?
“This is the Night Court,” he replies, each word dripping with saccharine sarcasm. “Everything is their business. Every whisper, every glance, every perceived impropriety becomes ammunition for their political games.”
Esme pulls her arm free with more force than necessary. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s absolutely ridiculous.”
“Welcome to Vanir,” Locke says, his tone suggesting he’s already growing bored with our provincial shock. “Don’t worry. I’m sure your daddy will wave his royal hand and you’ll be playing house with your mutt in no time.”
The casual cruelty of his words ignites something feral in my chest. I take a deliberate step forward, my hands clenching into fists. I’m fucking done with the dog references. I’m a wolf, goddamn it. An alpha. I deserve basic respect, even in this twisted fairy tale realm.
Esme’s hand flies to my chest, her palm pressed flat against my thundering heart. “Sam,” she warns, her voice carrying that particular note that always cuts through my rage. “It’s not worth it.”
She turns to face Locke, her spine straight and her chin lifted with unmistakable authority. “Where’s my room, then?”
He gestures down the shadowed corridor to another elaborate door, this one adorned with silver instead of gold. “That one. Right across the hall. Close enough to hear each other breathing. You’ll survive the separation.”
“Come on, Sam,” she says, her voice softening as she addresses me. “Just settle in for now. Get cleaned up. Then come see me, okay?”
Every instinct I possess screams against leaving her side. My wolf paces frantically, whining at the thought of even temporary separation. But I force myself to nod, just once, the movement sharp and reluctant. “Fine.”
She squeezes my hand before she slips away, her touch lingering like a promise.
Her footsteps echo down the hall, each one pulling at something vital in my chest, and Locke maintains his stoic silence as she passes.
Good. Because I honestly don’t think I could bear hearing his voice mock her again without breaking something, preferably his perfectly sculpted face.
I enter my assigned room without giving him the satisfaction of slamming the door, though it takes considerable restraint. What greets me inside makes me stop dead in my tracks, gaping in shock at the ridiculous opulence sprawled before me.