Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
PRESENT DAY
Kerak
Wylder gripped the doorknob and twisted. There was a pop in the air—inaudible but undeniable. The air shifted and changed as the door opened, Fae magic rushing back into a space it’d long been denied.
Kerak took a deep breath, feeling the power of the Fae wash over him.
Since he’d turned his back to Wylder, keeping an eye on Silva’s approach, Kerak saw the exact moment the magic of Silva’s homeland hit him.
He stopped in his tracks, body tensing before all the air seemed to rush out of him, and he sagged.
Longing—clear as anything—flashed across Silva’s face, and he started forward again.
Silva had needed this, Kerak realized. He hadn’t truly considered how being cut off from the Fae realm would affect the Fae here beyond homesickness. But it was there in Silva’s face. A light he hadn’t seen in years shone from Silva’s eyes.
“I forgot,” Silva said when he reached them. “I forgot what it felt like.”
Wylder turned from the open doorway and went to his mate. “You okay? I’m sorry, but I had to.”
Silva took Wylder’s face between his hands. “It’s okay, and so am I.” He kissed Wylder quickly before looking at Kerak. “Sig and the others are on their way.” He lowered his hands from Wylder’s face only to grip one of Wylder’s with his own. “Let’s go.”
Kerak moved to the open door, knowing Silva and Wylder would follow.
At first glance, the Fae realm didn’t appear so different from the mortal one.
The sky above was light blue and filled with puffy white clouds, and it could’ve been the sky over Solston or South Dakota or any other patch of land on the mortal side.
Wilderness spread from the door in every direction, which, on the Fae side, was a worn wooden door in a stone archway standing in the middle of a clearing.
There was no building or structure. Only open air on either side.
Flowers, the same electric turquoise of Wylder’s eyes, sprang from deep green grass, making a path toward a shadowed forest.
In the distance above the trees, the sky darkened. The wind picked up, flowing over and around them while swirling gray clouds danced in the sky.
“The Hunt,” Silva said, stepping in front of Wylder.
“Who did you call?” Kerak asked. He wanted to know who’d be coming through the door behind them. He had no doubt that he could keep the Hunt on this side, but he feared Wylder and Silva would need help getting to Maren.
“Sigurd and Lenette.” Silva looked at Kerak. “Derek was doing some rallying of his own, as well. The mages, I think.”
Kerak nodded and started toward the treeline. “Good. Let’s go.”
Dark gray bark covered large, twisty bodies leading up to thin branches covered in vibrant green leaves. The wind still moved beneath the dense canopy, and it was darker there. Cooler.
Kerak reached out with his senses—searching noise and scent—for a clue about what lay ahead.
The deep ache in his chest that was a constant reminder of Reid’s predicament flared into a piercing stab.
He took a deep breath and gripped the shirt he was wearing, bunching the material in his fist until the seams protested.
Reid was getting worse. Kerak could feel it. Feel his mate being torn from him, the bond they shared stretched to the limit.
“What is it?” Silva asked, stopping beside him, swords at the ready.
“It’s Reid. He doesn’t have much time left. Come on.”