11
Take her to her room, Sin,” the Wolf Queen orders. “She will need her rest before the First Rite.”
“I can walk,” I argue, not wanting his hands on me for another second.
The Wolf Queen glares. “You could barely stand moments ago. The first shift into wolf rattles your very soul. Until you complete the First Rite, you are as delicate as glass, not yet filled with the whole of the universe’s gifts.
We are lucky your little fight with Evelyn did not permanently scar you.
You will let the Crown Prince carry you, and you will not do anything else reckless before the rite. ”
I swallow. This is clearly a test, but my bones do feel weak. Loathe as I am to admit it, I’m not sure I could walk right now—not sure my legs would do anything but break or flee, or perhaps both simultaneously. My muscles feel liquefied, my lungs aching, and pain rumbles through me like thunder.
I incline my head, and her eyes sparkle. “Very good, Bitten one. Sinclair?”
“Yes, Mother.” Sin bows slightly and carries me out of the throne room into the magical hallways beyond. I don’t fight his grasp as he pulls me closer into his arms, making sure the tapestry is tight around me as we pass under the first archway.
The castle is like nowhere I’ve been before—nothing I’ve seen before.
Whorls of purple and blue glitter dazzle in the air, seemingly spread from the flowers blooming in the cracks of the walls.
High arches give way to towering stained-glass windows depicting…
depicting moving silhouettes. Of wolves running through forests and meteors crashing to earth.
There are faeries too, tall and strong and hidden behind shadowy oaks, and sirens moving through dazzling, cerulean waves.
I stare at them, at the rugs that follow us, extending beneath our feet with Sin’s every step, at the torches that burn in an ombre of indigo to ebony flames down the hall.
I gape at the boy carrying me, lost in thought. In observation.
Sin.
Freckles dust his nose and cheeks, a mole above his lip the same brown as the veins that shoot through his burgundy eyes.
He looks my age, like a teenage boy who would have a modeling contract in Paris, but his muscles ripple beneath me.
His height challenges the arches. The beauty makes him deadlier. Just like this castle.
“Where are we?” I finally ask.
He glances down, his brows rising as though he’s surprised I’ve spoken. His heart beats into my side, a soothing, easy pace interrupted by a sudden jolt. Definitely surprise. “Castle Severi.”
“I’ve never heard—”
“You would know it better by its human name, Castillo de San Marcos.” His words are short. Stilted. He’d rather be doing anything but discussing this.
But—my eyes widen. Castillo de San Marcos is the oldest masonry fort in the United States, sitting in the historical downtown part of St. Augustine.
Which means I’m… minutes from home. Ten or fifteen at most. Dad patrols outside the fort often.
Celeste and I have spent so many days walking past it, so many field trips exploring the grounds.
“No,” I say quickly. “The fort is used for tourism. It’s not an actual castle.
It’s not this .” I raise a feeble hand, gesturing to the flickering blue flames beside us.
They shouldn’t be possible. None of this should be possible.
I’ve only been inside Castillo de San Marcos once, during a fourth-grade field trip, and the only sight to see was stone.
So much stone and dirt and a few fake cots piled side by side to fill the empty space.
Overhead, the silhouette of a wolf lunges across an open meadow of misty emerald glass and rends the head from a vampire’s neck. The beauty makes it deadlier.
“That’s because it’s here, but it’s also not.
” Sin ducks under another arch, and we enter a new hallway bedecked with flags.
Crests embroidered in those favored metallics onto teal and midnight blues billow with a supernaturally chilling breeze.
One matches the sigil hanging on a gold chain from Sin’s neck.
A seven-pointed star entwined with snakes.
“It’s a portal,” he explains quickly. “The wardrobe into Narnia? The rabbit hole down to Wonderland? What my mother forgot to mention about our Superior ancestors is that they did not quite live on the earth as we know it. Rather, they lived in the pockets of Earth that only they could see and touch. It’s how they came to evolve differently than humans. ”
Before I can ask any of the million questions rolling around in my head, he continues.
“There are pockets—portals—everywhere into the Realm of Superiority, and while most of the realm is depleted of magic from whatever occurred when the faeries vanished, enough can be accessed to maintain the established Seven Courts and their many packs within. Each portal opens to our kind, according to Instructor Alvarez, in the places where an inhuman amount of bloodshed and gore have rotted human land. North America’s court has been housed in this particular pocket since 1740.
The siege exposed an ancient stronghold of the faeries.
And thus, we live here, with the remainders of their magic tangling with our own. ”
Sin reaches out and strokes the small stone statue of a wolf. It wriggles under his touch. “We’ve managed to hide our opulence ever since. The human masses aren’t to know of our existence. Those who do, die.”
The spectacle of magic, the awe of it and the fright of it, hardens in my chest instantly. I curl my hands into his white tunic. “B-but my father … He was there. He would know—”
“Your fear is palpable,” he says simply. “I can taste it, like red wine to a parched man. You won’t survive long if you don’t learn to control it.”
I stiffen in his arms. He’s too close. He’s everywhere. And I don’t want to risk my current state by throwing myself onto the ground. So instead, I dig a nail into his arm. He curses but doesn’t drop me. “He’s my father . Just because… because you’ve been raised in a den of monsters—”
“Your father is an officer of the human law,” he says under his breath.
Almost imperceptible. “The sheriff of St. Augustine is well aware of Castle Severi. It’s the only way to make sure humans aren’t lingering where they shouldn’t.
As such, your father will be safe. Promoted probably, so long as he doesn’t tell anyone what he saw that night. We look after those who look after us.”
I shake my head. “So did he know? My father—did he know before ?”
Sin scoffs. “No. He wouldn’t have known.”
Relief washes through me. Short-lived. Bittersweet. Dad didn’t know. Not until the attack. But… he still abandoned me. For a second—just a horrible, cruel moment—I hope Sin’s lying about my father’s safety. I swallow roughly, and Sin’s grip tightens on my waist.
“Your emotions are volatile right now,” he says. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not real.”
It feels real, though. I can picture my father perfectly, stocky and uniformed, driving up to the crime scene with his lights flickering and siren blasting. Imagine him appearing before the wolves ran off. I wonder if he’d have stayed and fought. For me. For Celeste.
A day ago, I’d have said yes. Without a doubt. But I’m not so sure anymore. The memory of my father feels strange now, warped like a photograph folded and unfolded too many times to be comprehensible anymore.
Dad abandoned me. He left me to these monsters. And I—I hate him for it. That rage I’d felt earlier, it hasn’t gone away. Only nestled into my bones like a pet curled up and napping. It’s dormant, and I… I could wake it at any time.
I stare at Sin, trying desperately to even out my breathing, but I can’t. I can’t seem to control it at all. “You’re saying that to appease me.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter to me what you believe.”
I watch the rugs vanish into stone as we move farther inside the castle and search for something—anything—to say that isn’t violent or cruel.
I should fear Sin; I should stutter and stumble as if I’m talking to Max Cayden in the sand, but there’s too much I still don’t understand.
And Sin seems like the only way I’ll find out.
“How do you know about Wonderland and Narnia?”
He glances at me, his expression furrowed once more in surprise. “What?”
“You mentioned them, but I’m assuming being raised here—”
“You should not assume, Vanessa. Ever.” His fingers curl into my skin, and his gaze hardens imperceptibly. “Especially not when it comes to werewolves.”
Instincts, anxieties slam through me: stop talking, look away, don’t push him . But I ignore each and every one. The worst has already happened to me.
So instead of repeating my question about storybooks, I say, “You were at the beach.”
His pulse remains steady as ever. “Yes.”
“You saw me there.”
“Yes.”
“Where were you when I was attacked?”
He pauses. Just past us, through a clear, round window, soft pigeon grays color the sky. Dawn. It’s been days, then. Days since Celeste… I bite down. Try to trap those horrible feelings inside where he won’t see them again. If he does, he gives no indication.
“I told you twice already: I did not kill your friend.”
“And you think that’s enough for me to let this go?”