2. Willow
Chapter 2
Willow
M y gaze involuntarily drops to Styx’s groin. An unbidden image flashes in my mind—my hand wrapping around his stone penis to steady myself. Heat floods my cheeks. Please, Well, don’t let me broadcast these thoughts. The last thing I need is for him to know about my accidental statue-groping.
He looks at me, one eyebrow raised.
Shit.
Averting my eyes, I mumble, “Could you put on pants? You’re distracting.”
“Am I making you nervous, tiny fangs?”
“You wish. I just prefer my men fully dressed.”
“Liar. Your heartbeat says otherwise.”
“Just do it.” My tone is strained. I can’t look at him. An extended silence follows.
“I don’t take orders from you, mortal, or anyone outside my hive,” he growls, his voice a dark velvet that sends shivers down my spine.
I swallow hard, willing my voice to remain steady. “It’s snowing outside. Unless you fancy your penis becoming an icicle or for you to be punished for breaking the Old Code again, I suggest you cover up.”
“Is that a threat?” he purrs as he draws closer behind me.
The hairs on my neck stand at attention, my body hyper-aware of his proximity. I keep my gaze fixed on the far wall, raising the seal above my shoulder.
“Do you remember how you broke this?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “The others are still blocked from using their full powers. If you know how to break the seals, stop messing around and do it.”
He plucks it from my hand, his touch sending an electric current through my arm. I wait for a heartbeat, then gather Fox’s discarded clothing. I bring the fabric to my nose, inhaling deeply. Fox’s scent—a mix of spice and mischief—clings to the clothes, offering a moment of bittersweet comfort. The enchanted spectacles weigh heavily in my pocket. Fox said the choice was mine, but is Styx the right one? Maybe it’s meant for one of the others in his hive.
“Titania,” he snarls at the seal, venom dripping from each syllable. “Where is she?”
“Still sleeping, I think. The Gentle Interlude has begun.” I toss Fox’s clothing at him, reluctant to part with the comforting scent. “Here. Put these on.”
He catches them with a grimace, shooting me a glare that could melt steel. As he dresses, I scan the temple for anything worth pocketing. My last attempt at pilfering ended with a jar of wisps and a close call. This time, I’ll be more discreet.
“Once you’re decent,” I say, fingering a small, intricately carved figurine, “we’ll leave, and you can flicker us back to Shadowfall Keep.”
A derisive snort punctuates his struggle with Fox’s too-small breeches. “I do what I want, tiny fangs.”
“Are you always this stub—” The words die in my throat as I face Styx.
Fox’s breeches strain against his muscular thighs, the waistband gaping to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his chiseled abdomen. My gaze lingers as he unfurls Fox’s shirt with disdain. Each flex and pop of his muscles sends a wave of heat through my body. I was stupid to think he’d be less attractive with more clothes on.
“He dressed like a fucking Radiant,” Styx scoffs. “When did he become so ostentatious?”
I bristle at his tone. “He did what he needed to blend in.” Privately, I think Fox enjoyed the ornate fashion, but there’s no need to fuel Styx’s derision.
“If it didn’t reek of him, I’d doubt he wore it,” Styx mutters, his words laced with suspicion.
His every syllable drips with distrust. It feels like he’s waiting for me to say something incriminating, which confirms my suspicion he can’t access my thoughts. A flicker of hope ignites in my chest—perhaps the queen-hive bond is still half-triggered, as Fox theorized.
“Well, he did,” I retort, unable to keep the defensive edge from my voice.
Discarding the shirt, Styx prowls the temple half-naked, inspecting trinkets and treasures with feigned nonchalance. For a few minutes, I do the same. We fall into an almost companionable silence. While he’s not looking, I slip the acorn into my pants pocket, then cover the bulge with my cape. He doesn’t seem to notice, so I keep hunting for curious items that are smaller and easier to hide than a jar of wisps.
A delicate silver bell sits on a velvet cushion, its surface etched with runes. I can almost hear whispers emanating from it, promising desire and doom to anyone who dares ring it. When I poke it, no tinkling sound comes out. Interesting. Oops. Into my pocket, it goes. So do a pair of gossamer-thin gloves that seemed to ripple with an unseen wind, their fingers occasionally twitching as if longing to wrap around an unsuspecting throat.
“How long was I gone?” he asks, startling me. I pivot and find him turning over a bejeweled chest the size of his palm.
I gnaw my lower lip, dreading his reaction. “I’m not entirely sure. Fox said you were meant to be stone for only a year, but it’s been . . . longer.”
His gaze sharpens. “How much longer?”
“Um . . . maybe a few years?”
His visage flickers, and then he is suddenly before me, snarling. “Years?”
“I think so.”
“Years?” This time, the word is a guttural growl, his face contorting with rage and disbelief.
“I’m sorry. I know it must be a shock.” If only he knew about the others forgetting him entirely.
His head dips, body coiling with tension. Then, with a speed that startles me, he snatches a jar of wisps and hurls it against the wall. Glass shatters, releasing hundreds of buzzing energy orbs into the cavern. I duck, narrowly avoiding a collision.
He exhales, the act seemingly cathartic, and throws another jar.
“Styx!” I shriek, dodging a rogue wisp. “Stop! If the queen finds out?—”
“Fuck the queen.” His eyes lock with mine as he deliberately smashes another jar.
“If one of them hits us—eek!” I dive beneath a table. “We don’t know who they belonged to. What if they’re from some deranged Nightmare? Do you really want those memories hitting you right now?”
He plucks a wisp from the air and pops it into his mouth like candy. “Tastes boring. Like . . . a happy mortal.”
From my hiding spot, I ponder. Perhaps the wisps don’t affect him because they’re a part of his natural diet. When Tinger’s wisp entered my bloodstream, I felt dizzy, but then the hive’s chaotic magic purged my system. Now I’m empty again. I might not be so lucky if one hits me now.
Styx’s feet appear before my table refuge.
“Why can’t I access your thoughts?” he asks, his voice unnervingly soft.
“Because I’m your mate,” I repeat, my hand swiping out from beneath the table, gesturing toward Fox. “His too. And Legion’s, Bodin’s, Emrys’s, and Varen’s. I’m fated to be . . . your skin or something weird like that. Your”—my mouth twists in distaste at the next word—“queen.”
He scoffs. “A fantasy. We will never accept enslavement to a queen.”
“Good. I don’t want to be one.” I rub my aching forehead, wincing at my injured palm. Stupid move, breaking that pendant. I’ll need to clean the wound before it festers. “Look, I can’t control you any more than you can control me. I’m exhausted. I just want to go home.”
“You are powerless.”
“Because Titania stole my magic!” I crawl out, glaring up at him from my hands and knees. “She ruined my life, stole my magic, and now I’m mortal. Happy?”
“No.” A wayward curl falls across his forehead as he meets my gaze. “You could be anyone. You could be the reason Fox is encased in stone.”
The wisps have gathered on the ceiling, drawn to the stars beyond. I should be safe now. Pushing past him, I clamber to my feet. “I’m your only way out of this temple. If I’m high on wisps, I can’t control the wards.”
“How convenient,” he drawls, skepticism etched in every line of his face.
Helplessness clogs my throat. We’re going in circles. How can I make him trust me? The spectacles burn a hole in my pocket—amongst the other stolen items—but something holds me back from giving them to him. This choice feels monumental, and I can’t afford to be wrong.
A dragon’s roar shakes the walls, showering us with dust and debris. Oh Shit. Time’s up.
“The Baleful Hunt,” I gasp, shielding my eyes from falling sand. “Goodfellow must be here.”
Styx’s accusing gaze whips to me, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. I grab his wrist, tugging him toward the warded exit.
“The instant we’re out,” I hiss, “ flicker us to the keep. Understand? The instant .”
The stubborn bastard resists, and I feel the weight of my failure. I should have forced the spectacles on his face while he was still disoriented. I screwed up again because I can’t trust my own judgment.
The shuffle of boots alerts us to Puck’s arrival. The auburn-haired Radiant materializes through the temple wall. His lumpy, hairless eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me, then Styx. Instinctively, I step in front of my mate, a futile attempt at protection. More sand falls as the Hunt moves about on his rooftop nest. The dragon is still outside—not hosted within Puck. Probably because the wards only allow humans inside. He was once human, wasn’t he?
And if Fox couldn’t breech the wards when we were in here last, then it’s likely Puck can’t communicate with his dragon to warn it we’re here. We still might stand a chance of escaping if Styx flickers us to the keep when we step outside.
A snarl is my only warning before Styx pushes me out of the way. I stumble, blinking in confusion. By some miracle, his otherworldly features remain hidden, but his hand is wrapped around Puck’s throat.
“If you kill me,” Puck warns, his voice strained but steady, “he’ll be forever imprisoned in stone.”
Styx’s fingers flex as he regards the Radiant with eerie calm. “You’re bonded to the Baleful Hunt?”
“And he’s right outside. Killing me will set him free, then who will release Lord Fox then?”
“How are you , a mortal, bonded to the Baleful Hunt?” Styx’s incredulous eyes narrow.
Thoughts churn behind Puck’s emerald eyes before he manages a haughty scoff. “I am not mortal.”
Styx’s grip tightens, but no dragon appears, and no stony power flashes in Puck’s eyes. The dragon remains outside. My theory must be correct. He can’t call on the Hunt’s power from in here.
“Is he right?” I project my thoughts to Styx. “If we kill him, is the dragon released?”
The muscle ticking in Styx’s jaw is the only sign he heard me. He’s too enthralled with whatever he sees in Puck’s eyes . . . or thoughts. If Cait can’t find Medusa’s Mirror for us, then the Baleful Hunt reversing this condition could be the only way we get Fox out. I refuse to sacrifice another soul to take Fox’s place.
“We have to go now,” I project my thoughts at Styx. “ If we can knock Puck out, you might be able to flicker us away before the Baleful Hunt spots us.”
Styx’s voice invades my mind, darker and richer than Fox’s gentle purr. “Why should I trust you?”
“Because Fox did.” I inch closer, adding, “Puck doesn’t know your seal is broken. You haven’t revealed your powers, which makes me wonder why he’s not attacking. I think he’s trying to bait you into exposing yourself.”
“I know that,” he snaps. “The dragon cannot protect his thoughts in here.”
Ah. So that long look into his eyes was Styx searching his mind.
“Then you know Puck’s right. He’s our only hope of freeing Fox. Well, he thinks he is. We have a backup plan back at the keep.” Aloud, I say, “We should leave. There’s nothing more to do here. Fox fulfilled the bargain to turn himself in. You’re free to go, Styx.”
Puck glares at me, and whatever thought passes through his mind makes Styx’s lip curl in disgust. His fingers tighten around Puck’s throat until his eyes roll. He’s losing oxygen. Sensing our window of opportunity closing, I slap my hand against the warded wall, inviting the crawling, itching magic over my skin. I transfer it to Styx and then bolt outside, dragging the reluctant Sluagh with me.
We step into fresh air for a split second, and then the dragon roars. My pulse leaps, I lock eyes with Styx, and I plead in my mind. Relief washes over me as my equilibrium shifts, the familiar sensation of being pulled through space and time enveloping us. He flickers us. But when my feet touch wet, coppery-smelling stone, I realize with growing horror that we’re nowhere near the keep. Or if we are, I’ve never seen this blood-spattered chamber of horrors before.
Cruel instruments of torture dangle from hooks along every wall. A limp, skinless form is nailed to a wooden chair. Its innards spilled like a butchered animal, but I’m not sure this thing is human. A rotten stench lurks in the blood. My stomach roils as the grotesque reality sinks in.
The Knight Inquisitor strides into the room, wiping blood from his leather-gloved hands. Short, white hair. Black brows. A pale, cruelly beautiful face. Emrys lifts his attention to us, and his eyes widen in shock.