9. Bodin
Chapter 9
Bodin
T he bastard guard dared touch what is ours.
My blood boils with fury. I want to rip out his heart, suck the marrow from his bones, and obliterate the space he takes up in this world. A rage like no other infests my soul . . . and it’s all because of her, our Shadow.
I glance at my brothers, noting the growing distance between us. We’re hiding secrets when once we were so in tune that we melded our minds, our hearts beating with one desire. Now, with Puck’s machinations threatening to tear apart the very fabric of Avorlorna, we should be united. But she’s here, and I can’t focus.
Keeping secrets is pointless if this intrinsic part of me hasn’t changed despite Titania’s curse. Legion will always be driven by the need to control. Emrys will always let pain rule his mind. Varen—even caught in madness—will always play with his puzzles. Fox will poke and lay traps to test our affections. Styx will always be restless, always hungering for the warmth we cannot give him.
I am the Knight Protector of the Queen’s Hive. I should be dependable, lethal, loyal, and adaptable. I should blend into society’s vital surface and never reveal my true nature. I should be forgettable, not this loud, boisterous, hungry nonsense infecting me whenever she is close.
But the clouds in my mind make it hard to remember why I must be these things. The political machinations blur and fade while she remains in sharp focus. A distraction. A danger. Just like . . .
The thought eludes me. My nostrils flare as I inhale to steel my patience at this infuriating state of mind, but Willow’s scent lingers like the sun’s warmth after dusk. It refuses to allow me a moment’s peace. Always there. Always around the corner of the night, whispering a promise of its return.
You’ll never escape your true nature.
A flash of memory: golden feathers crushed in my fist, blood on my hands. A little canary silenced forever. But it wasn’t a canary, was it? The truth slips away like sand through my fingers, leaving only guilt and the overwhelming need to protect.
The Earl’s words echo in my mind: “One more vote and Puck controls everything.” The weight of our responsibility crashes down upon me. I should be strategizing and planning our defense. Instead, my eyes are drawn to her wild silver hair, her bare feet.
I remind myself I am the quiet ebb of water. I am dismissed until I perceive a threat. Then, and only then, will I rise like a wave and crush the danger, dragging it beneath the surface before our society’s joyful mien and manner are indistinguishable from the beasts.
My rage stills for only seconds while I stare at our Shadow. The wildling flaps its wings and circles her legs. Her existence shatters Titania’s illusion of decorum.
Look at her—wild silver hair unkempt and akimbo from her tussle with the dragon. Varen’s jacket buttoned unevenly. She strolls around the castle without undergarments, sleeps in Fox’s stolen shirt, and invites herself into beds other than hers. She leaves a piece of herself wherever she goes. She is the picture of chaos, of flames flickering brightly, and she couldn’t give a fuck.
She is the wildest creature I know. When I stumbled into her unguarded dreamscape and found her in Varen’s bed, petty jealousy overwhelmed me. Ever since, my cold, hard body has craved her soft warmth.
Darkness cannot understand sunshine.
I have forgotten much but know I cannot hold back when taking what I want. This intrinsic hunger is carved into my being. Sometimes, fractured memories bubble past the seals binding us and pop into my mind. I’ve caught enough to know I cherish possession more than any other war prize.
I hunt. I chase. I keep . . . and . . .
“Ignore my warnings all you want,” a faceless queen hisses at us, at me, at the crushed sunshiney feathers in my fists, “but you’ll never escape your true nature. The result will be the same. You will always be drawn to bright, sparkling, warm things because you wish to possess, study, and be like them.” Blood spatters on my skin. Drips onto the floor. “Darkness cannot understand sunshine. It can only consume it the way night swallows day.”
The memory fades, leaving me shaken.
I am the Second, the Knight Protector, and I have allowed this hive to fall apart. It feels like I have held dusk’s breath within my lungs for eternity, hoping and hungering for the sun’s return.
It never came.
Not until Fox planted his pussy-wet lips on my own and breathed scalding, sweet life into me.
She is a calamity, ripping apart five years of stability and control in five days. She is a natural disaster, a force of destruction, and a danger in my world.
I will always ache to possess the wild, untamable thing with the brightly burning soul. I will always hunger to learn what makes it so appealing. I will pick it apart and flay it with my passion and need. And I will always, always consume it until nothing is left but my grief and regret.
Crushed golden feathers in my bloody fist.
The wildling curls around Willow’s ankles, snarling at me as if it knows what I’m thinking: Snuff out her brilliance or bathe in it?
Either way, she won’t survive me. I killed something bright once, something I was meant to protect.
The thought leaves me unsettled.
As does the realization that I’ve let my guard down in my fixation on her. Puck could be moving his pieces while I stand here, distracted. I am the Knight Protector. I must protect. But from what? From whom? The curse clouds my mind, leaving only the certainty that she is the key to everything.
And she has distracted me once more.