Chapter 13
Zadriel
Before Dother’s Death
Zadriel paced through the shadows at the back of the alley, cursing the small space.
He’d already counted the stones decorating the building’s facade until his eyes glazed over, driven to near madness.
A restlessness sparked under his skin. Pushing him to move.
To fidget. To run his fingers along the seam of his hood, wishing he could rip the damned thing off.
There was this odd sensation in his chest. A heat blooming around his heart. It curled over the organ until it pressed against his ribs, the feeling so intense, as if it wanted him to move. To follow that push blindly, straight into the tavern.
What would Cillian think if he did?
Weeks on the road had been long for them both. It was the freest Zadriel had felt in ages, the fresh air full of promise. When he ignored their mission, pretending he wasn’t about to help Cillian kidnap an innocent woman, Zadriel almost felt... happy.
Except when they stopped to make camp and Cillian worked with the parts of the Mother Tree he’d stolen from Brennan. Zadriel did his best to ignore it. Made it known he had no interest in whatever Cillian scribbled in his red journal while he experimented.
Zadriel hoped Cillian would find a way to free him before returning to Eden. Otherwise...
He raised his arm, the soft material of his black cloak slipping over his skin until moonlight bled over his scars. They burned. A pulsing pain never far from the surface. Brennan would flay the flesh from his bones and bleed him for weeks for allowing Cillian to take so much.
May he find himself safe in Arcadia instead.
That warm pulse in his chest throbbed again and Zadriel groaned.
“Mother spare me.” Pressing his palm against his heart, he rubbed at the ache. It almost felt right. If not for the near-maddening, ever-present need that came with it, demanding he... do something.
Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the hard wall and exhaled deeply.
The rhythmic hum of the fiddle on the other side calmed his nerves.
Until shouts sliced through the melody. Chairs slid over hardwood, cheers erupting among the crowd.
It was muffled, trapped on the other side of the stone facade, but his Fae hearing picked up enough—there was a fight in the tavern.
Pebbles scraped against cobblestone at the mouth of the alley and Zadriel straightened, stepping back until darkness consumed him. He traced the hilt of his dagger, body tensing. Would a drunk wander near, looking for someone else to pummel?
His breathing stalled when the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen ran toward him, her eyes wide.
They were a bright, glittering amber, the color reminding him of precious gems. Of honey.
His lips parted, the most pleasant feeling wrapping itself around his heart.
He could get lost in that stare. Would gladly drown in it.
Without thought he took a step forward, his dark eyes trailing over her face until they settled on full lips. Lips he needed to taste. Lips he wanted to feel against his throat. He nearly groaned as he imagined the bite of her teeth sinking into his flesh, coaxing his blood to the surface.
The air around him danced in his dark hair, and he swore he heard music. Akin to a siren’s call. A slow, steady cadence so enrapturing, the one thing he wanted to hear more was the sound of her voice.
Tracing her curves with his eyes, he imagined following that trail with his tongue, a blush darkening her luminous, brown skin. Dreamed of stripping her out of her gray dress and finding out exactly what noises she’d make when he worshiped her.
What was happening to him?
The warm feeling beneath his sternum bloomed further, the tug at his center growing more urgent.
He was frozen, consumed by awe. Wondering if he’d lost his mind.
It was as if someone plucked an invisible tether woven around his heart.
His soul. Though, the feeling was pleasant.
Wanted. Nothing like Brennan’s curse. When he rested his hand on his chest, she did the same, as if she felt it too.
Their brows furrowed in unison.
Was this...?
Zadriel’s mother’s voice sang in his memory.
Your father’s soul was bound to mine, our beings woven together so intricately I hardly knew where he ended and I began.
It was the most incredible feeling. To know his heart as well as I knew my own.
To feel the warmth of our bond blooming in my chest whenever he neared. Whenever I thought of him, or he of me.
As he watched the woman catch her breath, rubbing that spot above her heart, two things became horrifically clear.
She was his mate.
But the Fates were playing a cruel game.
According to Cillian, Mora, the Crowned Princess of Berwick, had long, dark curls, warm, brown skin, and the most stunning amber eyes.
This was the woman who held Zadriel’s freedom in her hands. The one he’d come to kidnap.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, muscles feathering in his jaw. Why did it have to be this way?
She’s the princess, he reminded himself. The plight of the Halflings rests on her family’s shoulders.
Though... Mora had to be a Halfling herself to be bound to him. Fae didn’t have human mates—the sap running through their veins, a gift from the Mother, played a role in their binding.
What did this mean? Was she the reason the Laws were overturned?
A rich, floral scent flooded his lungs, the aroma so enticing a pleased growl threatened to rumble in his chest. It was delicate and sweet, soft like those lush lips he longed to sink his teeth into.
Lavender.
His mate smelled like lavender.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Zadriel reasoned with himself.
I can’t have this. Can’t want this.
How would he survive it?
His pulse thrummed so strongly, he could feel the blood rushing through his veins. The intensity of his Fae instincts demanding he claim her impossible to ignore.
Yet, what choice did he have?
Baring his teeth at nothing—at the damned Fates for all he cared—Zadriel cursed his life. Cursed Brennan. Cursed the Mother, all while knowing he deserved this.
Perhaps he was right to deny her. What kind of Halfling watched what happened to their people and did nothing? All while living the most comfortable life the island could offer, the political power to create change at their fingertips.
That knowledge had to be enough. There was no reality where she could be his.
Zadriel clutched those thoughts like a lifeline and forced himself to do as Cillian bid.
He took a single, silent step—she stands against everything you care about—another—she’s done nothing for Halflings—then another—she isn’t a worthy mate.
It did nothing to convince his baser instincts to quiet.
When he stood before her, his breath came in soft, hurried pants, jaw clenched so tightly he wondered if he’d ever dislodge it.
The moment he reached for her, her eyes flew open. He paused, fingers outstretched, wincing when she stared at his scars. Did she see a monster come to collect her and drag her into the darkness?
When she murmured, “Oh gods,” and shrank away, he had his answer.
Zadriel didn’t give himself a moment to think—gripping her dress, the fabric stiffer than he anticipated, he tugged her close...
where she belonged. His nostrils flared, her scent sinking deeper into his lungs, a soothing boon pulling the tension from his body.
Dragging his tongue over one of his sharp canines, he tilted his head to better marvel at his mate’s perfect features. One word repeating in his mind.
Mine.
No!
Panic swam through his heart and erupted in his veins. He shoved her away, her back slamming against the wall.
Air whooshed from her lungs, a soft cry on her lips.
Gods be damned! He hadn’t meant to hurt her.
His grip tightened on the simple, gray fabric of her dress, his free hand hovering over his dagger while a war raged within. If he walked away, Cillian would collect her himself, or... Brennan would come. There was nothing he could do to stop them. But could he make himself do this?
Cillian’s voice cut through the noise.
This is about setting you free.
For a moment, he was back in his room, his pulse hammering in his chest while he packed his things. This was his one chance. Everything needed to go as planned.
Then Zadriel could return home.
...leaving half of his heart behind.
At least Brennan would never know Mora was meant to be his. He hated to imagine what that man would do to her if he knew.
Pressing his blade against her throat, he leaned closer, careful not to push too hard. Though, it needed to feel real. Tears filled her eyes, and Zadriel nearly sank to his knees, begging forgiveness.
“Hello, Princess,” he said instead, deep voice rumbling. He couldn’t decide if it was a pleased growl, or one born of fury.
Her nostrils flared when she finally took a deep breath, her body swaying ever so slightly in his direction.
It shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did.
Mora’s sweet scent wrapped around him and he inhaled it greedily, certain he could get drunk on her. Almost happy to lose himself in it. This was his only chance, after all.
“What do you want?” she hissed.
Zadriel smirked, though he doubted she saw—the shadows of his black hood hid him well.
“What do you have to offer?”
Fear gleamed in those amber eyes. He braced himself, wondering if she’d reveal whatever magic she possessed.
It was possible her gift was weak, the Mother granting her a small well.
When she did nothing, their chests rising and falling in unison while their breaths intertwined, he wondered if she knew how to use it at all.
Perhaps the Mother hadn’t blessed her with power.
Where the hell was Cillian? The quiet hum of the fiddle had faded, but he could still hear the ravenous crowd falling under the thrall of violence within the tavern walls. Was his brother among them?
Zadriel wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this.
How would he survive their travels together?