Chapter Seventy-Six
Shaw Black
“Where the fuck did they go?” I roared.
“Do you really want to be a spectator to what they’re likely doing?” Castor taunted in his annoying sing-song voice. I was beginning to tolerate his flamboyant facade, but it was still far from my liking. “How scandalous of you, Shaw. I didn’t know you liked to watch.”
“She’s my alpha—”
“And he is my king,” Castor shot back, emphasizing the final word as he released his hold on his mate.
My eyes widened with shock. “Excuse me, king?”
“The memories Minaeve stole,” Castor began. “Daxton united the three realms against the onslaught of humans and mages. He’s not just our high prince. He is High King of the Inner Kingdom.”
“Their pairing unites Valdor.”
“And the plot of the Gods becomes clear,” Castor said with a huff of a laugh. “Can you believe it?”
I could. I did.
“Gods be damned,” I cursed to myself, ignoring the questions following my abrupt departure from Castor and Nyssa.
Unable to do anything, I turned and marched across the clearing toward the healers’ tents. To where the ever-present pull and feel of a thundering drum beat echoed in my chest, growing the closer I got to her.
My panther knew immediately.
The second I saw her and detected her scent, she consumed my world. I was as anchored to her as the moon was to the sun.
The High Fae were occupied with regrouping, and I was a lone shifter in these lands with my alpha currently occupied with her mate. I was angry at first that they vanished, but then again, if the roles were reversed, I would’ve done the same.
Skylar is a phoenix.
I still couldn’t believe she returned from the dead, let alone shifted into the mythical firebird of legend. She was also larger than Gilen’s roc, a fact that I knew Rhea would never tire of pointing out to anyone who asked.
“Shifter,” a High Fae warrior in red whispered as I passed, giving me a nod of respect, which I returned.
Well, at least Skylar isn’t the only one gaining ground with the fae.
My wounds from the battle were already healing thanks to my magic. The gashes along my back and shoulder added to the array of battle wounds I carried with a unique sense of pride. I had to. Otherwise, my scars would have led to my demise years ago.
I glanced at my hands, flexing them as the scars on my forearms gleamed in the morning sun against my skin. I steadied my breathing as I continued forward, forcing the familiar rising feelings of dread and hopelessness back down into the pit from which they came.
“Hurry up!” a female voice commanded.
I froze along the canvas tents aligned across the outskirts of the camp, a handful of paces in front of me.
“Move it. He’s not dying. I refuse to inform Idris that she’s lost a son today.”
“Easy, Z,” a male replied in a comforting tone. “He’ll live. Let the healers work on him. I’ll sit with you until he comes around.”
Zola. I swallowed, hesitating at the level of concern in her voice for the fallen High Fae. Did she already love another? I huffed a laugh as I kicked at the grass beneath my feet.
Of course she did.
“I never asked for this,” Zola told me the night after our bond first appeared.
She didn’t outright refuse me, which gave me hope—but perhaps I was wrong.
Crossing my arms, I leaned against a wooden post near another branch of tents.
My eyes scanned the commotion of fae healers tirelessly working to tend to those in need.
I should be helping, but I selfishly needed a moment to clear my head.
My panther’s roaring demands toward Zola weren’t making things easy.
Off to the side, a healer with dark hair in a braid over her shoulder stumbled with a large bucket of water, losing her footing on a small rock along the path. I surged forward to grasp the handle, helping the High Fae keep the water from spilling over.
“Thanks,” she said, looking me over, her dark eyes shimmering with flecks of gold. “Care to help me bring this inside?”
“Of course,” I answered, easily lifting the load.
“Impressive.” She sighed, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her dress. “Are all shifters this strong?”
“Most are, yes,” I answered, thinking nothing of it.
“I see,” she said, stepping to my side. “Are you injured?” She motioned to the bleeding wound on my shoulder.
“I’ll survive.” It was nothing I hadn’t handled before.
“Perhaps, but not from the infection that will likely set in if you don’t clean it properly,” she scolded, reminding me of Latte back in Solace. “After you carry that in, you’re my next patient. No arguing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
She chuckled sweetly and flashed me a smile as she pushed open the canvas to the healer’s tent.
Once inside, I set the cauldron down, and my eyes shot toward the corner. Zola sat next to Finn with Gunnar, the fearsome general of Daxton’s armies, splattered with the blood of those he had slain.
I watched as Gunnar tenderly cradled Zola’s hands in his own, focusing her attention on him. “It’s going to be all right, Z.”
My magic flared in response to another male touching her.
I knocked over a tray table and fisted the sheet of the bed.
My panther roared so loudly inside my head that it made me stop and physically brace myself.
I felt the overwhelming instinct to eradicate the male who held my mate’s hands, calling for blood and the right to challenge anyone who dared even look her way.
Calm the fuck down.
Now I understood why Talon was a gods-damned lunatic for months before he was able to claim Rhea.
“You all right?” the healer asked, placing her hand on my chest.
All eyes, including Zola’s and Gunnar’s, darted toward me and the female healer.
Great, I’ve officially made a scene now.
“I’m fine,” I said in a low growl, picking up the side table. “Where do you want me to sit?”
“Over here,” she said, gliding her touch along my uninjured shoulder to lead me toward an open cot on the far side of the tent. And as luck would have it, it was the cot directly opposite Zola.
“Sit here, and I’ll fetch the ointment for your wound.”
“If others need it more than me, please give it to—”
“Did you fight in the battle?” the female cut in.
“Yes.” I swallowed.
“Then you deserve care,” she said plainly as she slipped toward the back to gather her supplies.
I didn’t dare look Zola’s way, although I could feel her stare burning into the side of my head.
“Remove your shirt so I can inspect your wounds closer.”
I obliged the healer’s request and reached down to remove the base layer gifted by Idris, which I was thoroughly impressed with during the battle. I would’ve had more wounds than just this gash on my shoulder if I hadn’t been wearing it.
“Do you need help? If you’d like, we can attach a screen for privacy.”
“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m used to it. I’ll be fine.” I tugged at the bottom of the shirt, wondering how much trouble it would be to fix the tear. It was impenetrable to most weapons, but not all strikes.
“By the way, I’m Kaia,” the female said as she fronted me.
“Shaw,” I replied. “Beta of the Solace pack.”
“Beta?” Kaia repeated.
“Second in command,” I answered, settling on the cot.
“Ah, right.” Kaia’s touch was gentle. Her hands delicate, just like the comely contours of her face.
Flecks of gold in her eyes shimmered as she focused on the gash along my shoulder, a strand of chestnut hair falling across her brow. I reached up to tuck it behind her pointed ear, which caused her to still.
I swallowed heavily. My hand slowly returned to my lap as I sat up straight, clearing my throat.
“Thanks,” Kaia whispered, a flush of pink on her cheeks as her gaze wandered down my chest and toward my stomach. “Are there any other wounds you need tending or looked at?”
A pit of dread surged through my center as a large crashing sound caught my attention. I peered past Kaia to see Zola standing at attention, her darkened stare barreling into me like the wrath of the wilt itself.
“Outside, now,” Zola commanded.
Gunnar crossed his arms and chuckled, raising his brows with a half-grin, mouthing, “Good luck.”
I gritted my teeth. Why does she believe she can command me like this?
“Shaw?” Zola’s voice echoed outside the tent.
I stilled, sensing the pleading tone in her voice, understanding the deeper emotion threaded beneath the hard bite of her command only seconds before.
Instinct to run to her overtook me as I abruptly stood from the healer’s cot, my eyes transfixed on the opening she stormed out of, the need to answer her call driving me forward.
And yet… Gods, I needed to be smart about this.
Without a word to Kaia, I marched outside the tent, fists clenched, as I prepared myself for only the Gods knew what.
I hadn’t known my mate long, but I knew, like me, nothing was as it seemed.
She was a spymaster with centuries of life experience, yet somehow, we were bonded.
I admired the complex layers of her character.
She intrigued me, and I would be lying if I denied my eagerness to learn everything and anything about her.
But did she feel the same?
The mate bond was not a guarantee.
I pushed past the canvas to see Zola waiting with crossed arms and a firm scowl.
Her darkened eyes met mine, and I froze in place.
But, instead of the cowardly fear she was accustomed to conjuring with her hardened stare, I met her with the same unwavering ferocity.
My panther fueled me with a wave of power as my magic flowed around me, the green aura dancing in a faint light, highlighted by the morning sun.
Zola’s expression remained stoic, but her eyes widened. She felt it. Uncrossing her arms, she inclined her head for me to follow her, a silent request this time, not a command.
I’d take it.