Chapter 44 #2
He brushes sweat-slicked hair from my forehead, his own black locks damp. “Princess, I—” He pauses as he fumbles for the words.
I reach up and cup his face. “I know.”
There isn’t a word for what’s between us. Love isn’t enough. So all I can say is I know, because I know exactly what he’s trying—and failing—to say. He places his hand on the mating tattoo on my chest, my heart thumping against his hand.
“Mine,” he says.
“Yours,” I whisper into his lips before sealing the promise with a kiss.
We lay there as our hearts return to normal and the sweat dries from our flushed skin. My eyes begin to drift shut, and I force them open. “We need to go. The ball could end at any moment.”
He rises with a groan. “You’re right. These things usually go until the dawn, but with what happened tonight…” He shoves his legs into his pants and tosses me my clothes. We dress quickly, and he grabs the mirror from the nightstand, tucking it into an interior pocket of his coat.
Asmo funnels us away, and my shoulders relax as we step into Squall’s End again. We manage to run into Rain on the way back to my private quarters, and she assures us that she’ll notify Etta and the Herd of our return.
Once inside the privacy and darkness of our own room, Asmo extracts the mirror and sits on the bed. He extends his fangs, pricking his wrist and drawing a bright drop of red blood. He smears it on the scalloped edges and grips it with both hands. “Show me Marik.”
The mirror goes from a smooth, reflective surface to a foggy image of…a living room. Marik sits on a pile of blankets, watching Elle sleeping beside him on the floor. I do a double-take at the tenderness in his eyes.
Holy shit. It has to be true, then. He never looked at me that way. The only person who’s ever looked at me that way is Asmo. My mate.
Asmo doesn’t seem to notice, gaze flicking all over the mirror as he tracks every detail.
Marik rises, Elle shifting as he walks from the room.
The mirror darkens, then shifts to a new view, still foggy.
Marik walks down a hallway. He disappears, then the image changes again, and he walks onto a front porch, then down a set of stairs into a forest, the soaring trees as familiar to me as the back of my hand.
His footsteps are quiet, but the sounds surrounding him are not.
Songbirds tweeting, owls hooting, and the rustling of animals traveling over the forest floor are the only things I need to hear.
They’re still in the Deer Court.
It only takes three days to find them. Etta and Basil spread the word to all their scouts and dispatched extras to scour the forests in the Deer Court.
A squirrel shifter races into Squall’s End one frosty morning.
One second, a squirrel is flying down the hallway; the next, Etta and Basil are sprinting in the opposite direction, brown-haired male in tow.
They pass Asmo and me on our way to the training room.
“What’s going on?” Asmo demands.
Etta rushes to me, her eyes shining. She grabs my forearms. “She’s safe.”
There can only be one person she’s talking about. Our sister. Elle.
Etta’s smile is shaky, like she can’t believe Elle’s okay.
Like she’s relieved. It surprises me. She hasn’t seemed to show any interest in her long-lost sister.
Come to think of it, she hasn’t shown much interest in getting to know me either since I’ve been at Squall’s End.
But her palpable relief at finding Elle tells me maybe there’s more to Etta than meets the eye.
“Where?” I ask. “Where is she?”
Etta releases my arms and joins Basil’s side once more. The scout stands behind them, shifting on his feet and stealing glances of Asmo and me when we’re not looking.
“An abandoned house. You were right,” Basil says. “Deer Court.”
I reach for Asmo’s hand. “Let’s go.”
She crosses her arms, her mouth an angry slash. “We need to assemble a team. You can’t go alone.”
I turn to the shifter. “Who’s at the house?”
“Just the two of them, Your Highness. The girl and the traitor,” he says, casting a nervous glance at Asmo, then promptly looking at his feet.
“Good. Take us there, please,” I say.
The shifter looks to Etta, seemingly for her permission.
“We don’t have time for this,” Asmo mutters. “As your H—”
I jab him with my elbow to shut him up. “What’s your name?”
“Joel, Your Highness.”
I smile, hoping I’m coming across as sweet, yet slightly intimidating, if there ever was such a combination.
“Joel, it is imperative that we get there as quickly as possible. Would you mind funneling us to them?” I turn my gaze to Etta.
“Once we are there, Joel can funnel back. If we do not return within…fifteen minutes, send Joel back with reinforcements. How does that work?”
Etta’s jaw ticks, but she nods. “Fine.”
I motion toward the direction of Squall’s End’s only entry and exit point. “After you, Joel.” He throws one last nervous glance back to Etta, then sets off down the hall.
Outside, the sun is starting to dip behind the trees. We were right not to wait—a rescue mission in the dark would have been idiotic. Joel places his hands on my forearm—right after shooting another nervous look at Asmo—and then one on Asmo’s forearm.
The forest is eerily silent as we step from the funnel.
I turn to look back and thank Joel, but he’s already gone.
Asmo and I stand back-to-back as we take in the surroundings.
Bare trees tower above, leaves fallen to the ground long ago left to rot on the forest floor.
The air is fresh, a soft breeze passing through the trees.
A tiny tornado of dead leaves flits past, leaves spinning in the funnel.
Like the forest, the house is also dying, wood rot spreading along the gray siding, moss and ivy creeping up its sides, taking back what belongs to them. The front porch sags and holes pepper the stairs while window shutters hang crooked.
But a light flickers from a window on the first floor.
And then a flame appears.
A flame of crimson pierced by two bone-white antlers.
As quickly as it appeared, it disappears.
And then the front door is thrown open, and Elle is running, she’s sprinting, she’s crying and I can’t see anything anymore because I’m crying, too.
She crashes into me and I wrap my arms around a frame that has grown too bony, too sharp, too different from the version of her from before.
But she’s here.
Two sisters. Together again.
Over her shoulder, Marik descends the staircase. His movements are slow and awkward. I close my eyes. Elle pulls back and wipes her tears away with the heels of her palms.
“Holy shit,” she says. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
I can’t help it. I laugh through my tears. “Me either.” I study every inch of her exposed skin, but there aren’t any visible wounds. Her dress is slashed, right in the center of her stomach, revealing the echo of a hidden sigil. But otherwise, she’s unharmed. “You’re okay?”
She gives me some combination of a shake and a nod. I know what that means. Physically, she’s fine. Emotionally, mentally…Of course she’s not okay.
The sound of fist striking flesh registers, followed by the smell of blood.
Asmo has Marik on the ground. Blood spurts from Marik’s nose—which currently hangs at a crooked angle—and flows down his neck.
Marik doesn’t make any attempt to defend himself.
His hands lay palm down on the floor, limp and unmoving.
His head jerks to the side as Asmo’s fist strikes his cheek.
Asmo pulls back again, and Elle lurches away from me.
She reaches for him, but his fist catches her in the jaw, and she falls to the ground with a curse.
Asmo turns, eyes wide in pure panic. “Shit,” he swears as he reaches for her, but Marik shoves Asmo away.
He pushes himself to his feet and rushes to Elle.
He bends down, blood dripping from his crooked nose.
“Elle,” he whispers, hands reaching for her, landing on skin so pale it’s nearly translucent.
Even from here, I can tell Marik’s touch is gentle.
She looks up at him, eyes softening for a whisper of a second, before pushing him away.
“I’m fine,” she says as she rises to her feet. She rubs her jaw, at the pink mark that’s now blossomed.
Asmo stands and assesses her. “I’m so sorry, Elle. I didn’t mean to.”
She waves the apology away. “Good to see you, too, Asmo,” she says with a smirk.
Something warm unfurls in my chest. I have no idea what Elle has been through. I’m assuming it was some version of hell. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to erase her. Not all of it, at least.
She pulls Asmo in for a hug. He wraps tentative arms around her. Marik watches them with a sad expression.
“If there are no more punches to be thrown,” I say, “We need to get back.” Elle looks at me quizzically. “You’ll see. It’s safe.”
She walks toward me and grabs my hand, then reaches for Asmo’s. “Let’s go.” Her voice is steel, as if she’s preparing herself for whatever is thrown at her next.
“Er—Elle,” I say, “Marik has to come with us.”
He stands watching us, face still dripping with blood from a gash on his cheek and what I’m assuming is a broken nose. Elle refuses to look at him.
She shakes her head firmly, her gaze locked on something over my shoulder. “No. Come on, let’s go.”
I close my eyes. I would love to say You’re right. Let’s leave him! But I can’t. We can’t. I breathe through my hatred for him and for the Mother and for everything that’s led us here. “We need him.”
She drops my hand and stares at me with hardened eyes.
I soften mine. “I know,” I say gently, “But it’s the only way. There’s so much you don’t know. But we need him if we have a chance at winning this thing. At beating Cora.”
Her jaw flexes. “Fine.” She turns that angry gaze to Marik, to the mate she knows nothing about. “Let’s go.”
He follows her orders, hangs his head. I can’t help but wonder if he knows already. Elle grabs my hand once more. I reach for Marik’s arm, everything in me revolting at the touch.
Asmo funnels us away.
But something is wrong.
The kiss of the chilly night air is absent, replaced by smothering heat instead.
Squall’s End is on fire.