Chapter Five
Lark
The car journey to the Guardians’ location is, for want of a better word, unpleasant. Paxton and Sam argue briefly over who is to drive, but Sam has the keys and a more volatile temper, which means that he wins, but Paxton sits in the passenger seat next to him.
I do not mind that. I harbour no ill-will towards Sam, but I cannot pretend mages do not make me wary.
No, what matters is that I am in this iron-laden death trap, sitting behind Sam rather than Paxton, as I am the tallest of the three of us crushed into the back, and that Grant has taken the middle seat, chattering away the entire drive.
I stare out the window, but the motion makes my stomach churn. I dare not turn my head to the left and look at Dante, mostly because I believe he will not look at me at all.
I do not want him to come. I understand the urge, which is why I did not approach the pack in the first place.
That, and this needs to be an expedited process.
Despite our long lives, we fae are not known for our patience, and we hold soulbonds in reverence, but not the way the wolves do.
The fae who have taken Ophelia will not hesitate to harm her if they believe it will sway me into doing their bidding.
“…I keep telling him we can just watch whatever, but he absolutely refuses to let me move the TV into his room, and it’s not like I’m going back to my own every night, so it’s just a bit of a stalemate, really.”
I tune back into the animated sound of Grant’s voice. Sam flicks his eyes up to the mirror, meeting my gaze in the reflection. I did not plan to say anything, but I swallow down any notion of it. He is angry with me, and I believe I am the last person he wants to send over there to get her back.
Dante says nothing. I dare a brief look at him, only to find he is staring out the window, expression impassive. I stare down at my lap again. I wish I knew words that would make him feel better, but even if I did, I doubt they would be welcome.
Did I come here for nothing? Are we doomed—three fae princes with three human soulbonds—to never realise those bonds at all?
The thought pricks at the back of my mind until Sam pulls off the main road and begins following sharp, winding ones.
Night is creeping up and the trees are tall and dark, but that only makes me breathe a little easier.
My head is pounding from being in the car for too long, and I clasp my hands together, willing the nausea to subside.
Eventually, he stops the car and looks ahead. I can see nothing, but I feel the faint pull of magic beyond the trees. Grant’s eyes are wide next to me; whatever is there, he has a far better sense for it.
“Vlad rang ahead,” Paxton says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “C’mon. Let’s get going.”
We all pile out of the car, but I sway a little as I take a step away. Dante has rounded the vehicle, and he looks at me sharply.
“Are you okay?”
Is there concern in his voice? I do not hear it. I nod, unable to meet his eyes, and he merely sighs and passes me, joining Sam and Paxton up ahead.
Grant leans against the car, watching me. Now that he is silent, he seems much more formidable, and I think maybe that is rather the point. Three hours in that car… Without him, things would have been tense.
More tense.
“You should’ve said something on the way,” he says.
“There was no other way to get here.”
He shrugs. “I know. You still should’ve said. You’re not going to make him care about you by pushing him even further away.”
I swallow a growl. My glamour quakes, and maybe Grant sees that too because he tips his head to one side like he did earlier, when he was thinking.
After a moment, he sighs. “Whatever. Come on. Can’t let them have all the fun.”
We follow the others through trees and foliage that become increasingly thick the farther we travel. All things considered, I like it. Breathing in the earthy scent has my headache subsiding quickly, and I keep my eyes pinned on Dante’s form ahead.
He will not accompany me through the veil.
Not that I believe Sam intends to allow that.
No. Sam will come, probably Paxton, and it will take us half a day to reach the witch’s lair if she is feeling particularly cooperative.
I frown and feel the faint reach of an old sycamore nearby.
It probably wonders why I am not reaching back.
“Sorry that we laid it all out like that,” Grant says after around fifteen minutes of walking.
I glance at him sideways. He has no need to remain with me.
He is a vampire. It is no effort at all for him to keep up with the others.
“Well, kind of. I mean, you definitely should have told him. Why didn’t you tell him? ”
He blinks up at me with nothing but guileless curiosity. He is not as soft or innocent as Drew—for all that Drew is a grown wolf—but I can imagine him worming under my skin in the same way.
“Why did your sire not tell you about your bond?”
“Because he was s—” Grant snaps his mouth shut. “Oh.”
“Fear has nothing to do with it,” I say.
“Yeah, okay.”
I bare my teeth, my glamour flickering. I was wrong a moment ago. Grant is still irritating, but at least crossing the veil means I will not have to put up with him for long.
It is an hour before Paxton stops. Magic pulses up ahead. Sam frowns as though he can see it, but then, as a mage, perhaps he can.
Dante hardly seems to notice it at all. He smiles faintly at Grant when we catch up, and his gaze flicks over me, but it does not linger.
“They know we’re coming,” Paxton says. He is looking at his phone. “Vlad said he just got off the phone with them again.”
“The wards are…” Sam trails off. His frown only deepens, and my skin prickles. Is there something he knows that we do not?
It matters little. A few minutes pass before a slender figure appears. He wears no glamour, his coral-pink hair pulled back into a high ponytail that reveals pointed ears. Grant gasps when he sees him, eyes wide, though I know he has seen fae before.
“Soren told me to hurry, but I didn’t think you’d be here so fast!” The fae reaches out a hand and the wards shudder, a hole growing right where he is standing. “Said it was an emergency, but I can’t imagine—”
His eyes land on me and he goes silent. Only for a second. Then a wide, not-at-all-friendly grin spreads across his face.
“We’re just here to cross,” Paxton says. He ducks through the opening first, and the fae waves the rest of us through.
He holds out a hand when I move toward him. My skin prickles with heat. “Seems like the Hunt should have dealt with you a long time ago, Your Highness.”
Seelie. The hostility is a giveaway. It does not matter, I suppose, that the Guardians are supposed to be neutral, to hold the crossing between worlds fast so that this realm is not overrun. There is a reason both a Seelie and Unseelie fae count among their number.
“They took my friend,” Dante says. “Please. He’s going to get her back.”
I hear no doubt in his voice, but that does not mean he believes it. Still, he is right. That is what I am going to do.
The fae sniffs. “Fine. But you’d better have some way of juicing yourself up when you get on the other side because you know what those court fae are like.”
I nod. I know far better than he does, being as I do not recognise him at all. He steps aside to let me pass and the wards shiver shut behind me. We are now in a very elaborate cage, but I do not know if the others know that.
“I’m Isidore,” the fae says as he leads us up an overgrown path. We are forced to walk single-file and, desperate to learn more about the fae, Grant has jumped ahead, leaving Dante at the back with me.
I swallow and tune out their chatter. “I will do it,” I say.
Dante stumbles a step. He glances back at me, but his expression is pained, as though he does not want to look at all.
Eventually, he says, “I know.”
We are silent the rest of the way. A large house comes into view, what might have once been a human dwelling, but now changed by the creatures who dwell within. The garden is not overgrown due to neglect. This Seelie fae has teased and tempered it that way, making it yet another form of defence.
He darts up the steps that lead to the front door, which swings easily open at his touch.
“Come in, come in.”
“The crossing is in here?” Paxton asks. He glances around as though he expects to see it.
We all pile into the entryway, and I look up the sweeping staircase that leads to the first floor. It is a large space, but not at all elegant.
No. This is a home. It is a little messy and cluttered, and so far from my own sad, silent flat, that feeling rises in my throat and threatens to choke me.
“He should be—Ah, Soren!”
Another fae sweeps in from a side room. Unlike Isidore, Soren is wearing his glamour, but from his rigid posture and quick, dark look, I know that he is not only an Unseelie fae, but likely was a member of the court before he was sent here.
I do not let my trepidation show on my face.
That was a long time ago. If I ever met him back then, I do not remember it.
“Isidore.” Is there warmth in that word? There is in the way that Isidore looks at Soren, even if I cannot be certain the feeling is returned. “Who is to cross?”
Grant turns in a slow circle, staring up at the ceiling. “Is it just the two of you who live here?”
When Soren and Isidore stare at him, nonplussed, he merely shrugs. Paxton sighs. Sam looks to be at his limit, but Isidore speaks first.
“No, little vampire. We have a vampire of our own, but he’s not quite as special as you. And our werewolf, but he’s off visiting packs and spreading the word about the fae.”
Sam scowls. “And you’ve got—”
Steps sound on the stairs. We all turn to look, and Sam’s power flares as he pulls magic tight around the five of us.
The man on the stairs pauses. His eyes go wide when they land on Sam.
They do not look alike, aside from the fact that they are both young, white men.
The man on the stairs is taller, with dark hair that curls around his face.
Sam’s face reflects shock, but only for a moment, until his expression twists in anger.
“Cassian.”
“Sam,” the man, Cassian, breathes. “Fuck, I never thought I’d see you again.”