Chapter 18
Zadriel
Curse the Mother, Zadriel thought, drinking Mora’s lavender scent like wine.
The too-pleasant floral aroma had haunted him since they’d met, though crackling embers saturated the air with it.
Eliciting memories of his sins. No surprise, given where they were and how Zadriel had ruined this sacred place.
The gnarled skeleton of what was once the great Mother Tree stared down at them, Her shadows stretching through the dry blades of dying grass.
She reached for them, pushing through the darkness as if She longed to hold the pair in Her rotting arms. Zadriel shuddered, gently rocking Mora when she flinched with him.
The Little Witch nuzzled deeper into his hold, her tears soaking the fabric of his dark cloak.
It felt so real...
“She’s not yours,” a familiar voice breathed, so quiet Zadriel nearly missed it.
It was his brother, a low command etched into his tone.
Zadriel’s eyes darted around the clearing, slipping over the once great meadow, now empty of gold, save for a single glimmer between the decaying weeds.
His focus moved past it, crawling up the wall of bramble.
Slipping over thorny leaves until he found the shadowy Forest at its back.
Azure pierced through the darkness. Watching. Fury burning in its depths.
Cillian dared a single step closer and Zadriel clutched Mora more firmly against his chest, a growl rumbling in his throat.
Baring his sharp teeth, he nearly sagged with relief when Cillian stopped, slinking back into the shadows.
Mora’s hands slipped to Zadriel’s sides, clutching him so tightly she pinched his skin.
Pain bloomed beneath her unrelenting grip, but he remained still, holding her while he stared into the darkness looming between the trees.
Part of him wanted to roar. To declare she was his. To lift her into his arms and escape so deeply into Arcadia, Cillian would never find them.
Yet, somehow, he also longed to run to his brother. To fall to his knees and pray this was indeed real, and Cillian lived. To beg his forgiveness for allowing his Fae instincts to get the best of him.
But this was a dream, so Zadriel stood, frozen, clinging to his mate while he stared after his brother.
Mora sobbed, her nails digging into his ribs. “I hate you,” she said against him, voice muffled by his cloak.
He chuckled quietly, wrapping his arms more tightly around her and resting his chin on her crown. All the while watching for signs of Cillian. “That’s fitting, Little Witch,” he breathed. “I’m not overly fond of myself, either.”
She hesitated, then said softly, “Please don’t let go,” her thunderous heart beating so loudly he could hear it. “Take me somewhere safe.”
Her fear felt so potent, Zadriel’s own pulse fluttered like a war drum. After one final sweep of the woods looming outside the empty meadow, Zadriel lifted Mora into his arms and cradled her against his chest.
Cillian was gone, but that didn’t make turning away easy.
Though, every fiber of his being would rather tend to his mate than find his brother—he couldn’t decide if that made him vile.
Nor if he should care. It felt right, holding Mora close and carrying her toward the Mother Tree—in a different life, a different world, they would have made vows beneath Her once-gilded leaves.
Zadriel took a deep breath, savoring her floral aroma emanating among crackling embers. Lowering himself to the ground, he kept Mora in his lap and settled against the Mother’s remains, hoping this dream would last a long while.
“I’ve got you, Little Witch.”