50. Willow
Chapter 50
Willow
T he blistering cold bites through my cape as we return to the camp outside Heliodor’s gates, making my cake gift seem inadequate. My friends nod along, feigning interest as I recount tales of the palace and the impending duel, but their eyes betray their weariness. When Bodin barks orders to pack up for the journey home, they spring into action with renewed vigor.
Bodin’s gruff demeanor toward me initially seems part of the ruse, mirroring Legion’s public stance. It suits me fine, considering the full moon’s impending rise along with my temperature. Going into heat during this journey might even be a blessing. The crisp mountain air should mask most of my scent from Legion, preserving his vow. Bodin and Styx will sleep in a separate tent, and the exhausted mortals—even Alfie, far ahead with his troop—should pay me no mind.
As twilight paints the sky in muted purples, confidence swells within me. No accidental acts of calamity tonight. But as we huddle around the crackling campfire, steam rising from our bowls, Bodin’s announcement shatters my peace.
“We’ll salvage this pointless expedition by elevating your dreamscape training tonight.” A chorus of groans ripples through the camp. Colin’s hand shoots up, his voice tinged with fatigue, “Won’t we be too tired to dream?”
“There are ways of inducing dreamscapes,” Bodin replies, his tone brooking no argument.
Maggie scoffs, “Better not be me. I don’t want you all seeing what I dream about.”
Bodin’s glare silences her instantly, a reminder of who’s in charge. His eyes never meet mine as he outlines the evening’s plan—we’ll take turns jumping into each other’s dreamscapes, finding exits without harm.
Panic claws at my throat. Nobody should see what I dream about. I could inadvertently reveal everything. What is he thinking? Glancing down the line of troops, I notice other Radiants issuing similar directives. We’re not alone in this exercise.
When Bodin dismisses us and retreats to his tent, I count two thundering heartbeats before following. I find him rummaging through his pack, pulling out—of all things—rations of human food.
“Bodin,” I say, struggling to keep desperation from my voice.
He straightens, fixing me with the same withering glare he gave Maggie. “Did you just enter my tent without permission, Shadow?”
I blink, mind reeling. What’s happening here?
My eyes dart between his face and the food he’s unwrapping as if he intends to eat it. My heart plummets. He’s forgotten. All day, I thought he was simply maintaining the ruse, but Titania’s spell has ensnared his mind once more.
Didn’t Styx reveal his Sluagh form to Bodin overnight? Is that method of combatting the spell not working anymore?
He stalks towards me, nostrils flaring. Frustration and something darker tighten his features when I fail to avert my gaze respectfully. Panic engulfs me. I stammer an apology, fleeing the tent to my bedroll, mind whirling. I need to find Styx. Legion needs to know, too.
“Hey, Willow.” Miguel’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He holds out a steaming bowl. “I brought you seconds. I know you like my cooking, so . . . yeah.”
“Um, thanks, Miguel, but I’m not that hu?—”
“Take it,” he insists, thrusting the bowl forward. Soup sloshes onto my fingers, leaving me no choice but to accept.
“Okay.” I force a tight smile.
He doesn’t leave, staring at me with a crooked grin. Is he waiting for me to eat?
Oh no. It’s happening. I’m in heat. No, no, no.
“I’m just going to set this down for a moment. Is that okay?”
He scowls. “But I made it, especially for you.”
“I need to see to my . . . female needs.” I grimace, slowly collecting my cape while keeping a wary eye on him. It’s not exactly a lie.
“Oh, sure.” He nods, looking lost. “I’ll just . . . wait over here.”
I pull my cape tight around my shoulders, praying it blocks the pheromones radiating from my body. Geraldine sidles up, concern etched on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Smell me,” I demand, fanning air from my neck towards her.
Her face scrunches in disgust, and then realization dawns. “Oh, you smell kind of . . . nice. In a weird way. Did you get perfume in Heliodor?”
“No,” I groan. “It’s my heat.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s my, um, cycle.” I wince. “It only happens every other month. Unlike pureblooded humans, I get really . . . hot”—yeah, that’s one way of putting it, Willow—“and smell kind of . . . attractive.”
She presses the back of her hand to my forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up. How bad is it going to get?”
“Bad enough that I shouldn’t be around anyone. It’s not just them. I also get very . . . turned on.” I bite my lip, humiliation burning through me. “I might dream things I shouldn’t. Actually, I’ll definitely dream things I shouldn’t.”
“Oh no. Did you tell Bodin?” she whispers.
“He’s lost his memory again,” I reply quietly.
“Damn,” she says. “That’s not good. He’ll get it back, though, right?”
“Probably,” I mutter. “But I need to find one of the others.”
Shit. Miguel’s looking. He’s noticed I haven’t left.
“I gotta go,” I mumble. “Cover for me?”
She nods. “Go.”
I duck away, walking as fast as possible in the brisk twilight air. I make a beeline for the front of the long line of campsites. Why does Legion’s tent have to be at the beginning? Anxiety knots my stomach. I’d hoped to avoid dumping this problem on him. He has enough to worry about without me adding to it.
Interested looks follow me as I pass, and I hug my cape tighter. It will be fine. I’m overthinking things. Miguel was just being friendly. They’re all just wondering why I’m rushing. My scent isn’t that powerful, surely. Bodin all but kicked me out.
I’m overreacting and underestimating the male ability to control their hormones. But as my fingers curl around the flap of Legion’s tent, a memory flashes unbidden.
Alfie and I, on a bench in Nero’s garden weeks before my eighteenth birthday—days before the big battle. Sick of suppressing my heat, desperate for attention, for touch. Alfie insisted we wait until marriage, and he was so rigid in that belief that he grew angry when I brought it up. But that night, when I decided I’d had enough of denying my need, I made my move. His control snapped. He became so aggressively aroused that it frightened me. I punched him, then fled. We apologized later, agreeing to wait until we were ready. He’s always known about my fae biology.
The flap suddenly opens, revealing me standing there, horror painted across my face. Styx holds the tent open, Legion further inside at his desk, poring over reports, tension evident in his shoulders.
“Are you coming inside?” Styx asks. “Or are you going to loiter all night?”
Chagrinned, I mutter something respectful, catch the smile tugging at his lips, and rush inside. He drops the flap, blocking the exit, eyes raking over me with dark appreciation. Shit. My heightened senses make him smell ten times more alluring than usual. It’s making my head spin. I fight the urge to bury my face in his neck.
“We have a problem,” I say, voice tight. “They’re?—”
“You have a charm for this occasion, Willow.” Legion’s brows arch.
“Sorry.” I slip my hand beneath my cape, brushing my fingertip over the stone they gifted me. I wait until magic flares outward, creating an itching silencing shield. Its range isn’t great, so I ask Styx to stand beside Legion’s desk with me. The change in them is immediate. Their eyes darken. Faces slacken with desire. Styx might even growl.
“I’m about to go into heat,” I mumble, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Legion says, “I thought that elixir?—”
“Is birth control. Not a heat thing.”
Legion swallows hard. Styx’s eyes have gone wholly black—Sluagh black—staring at me as if I’m his next meal.
“Did you know Bodin’s lost his memories again?” I blabber to fill the silence. “I caught him about to eat actual food.”
With visible effort, Legion tears his gaze from me and asks Styx, “When was the last time you revealed your Sluagh form to him?”
“Don’t know,” Styx replies vaguely, still staring at me in an entirely predatory way.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Legion presses, alarm coloring his voice.
Oh shit. Has Styx lost his memory, too? This is bad. This is so bad.
“Stop panicking,” he sends into my mind. “You’re ruining the vibe.”
“Are you messing with us?” I say. “Because I’m not in the mood right now.”
He gives Legion a disgruntled look. “I’ll shift before him tonight.”
“You should be doing it multiple times a day.” Anger flares in Legion’s eyes. “You know how important this is to combat Titania’s memory enchantment.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Not too busy to visit Willow three times while she slept.”
My brows shoot skyward. Wait. What? Has he been spying on me in his wraith form? Only when I sleep or—an intense wave of hot need washes over me, and I barely stifle a groan. The scent of my pheromones spikes in the air, and I see my mates’ nostrils flare. Styx steps towards me, but Legion’s hand flattens against his chest, holding him back.
“Enough,” Legion growls, his voice strained.
I need to get out of here. My wild eyes dart around, searching for escape. I can’t be like this around so many people; it will cause chaos.
“Return to your camp,” Legion tells me. “Styx will see to Bodin. We’ll isolate you and tell everyone you’re unwell.”
My eyes sting with relief. Legion places his hands on my shoulders. His touch sends a jolt through me, igniting nerve endings I didn't know existed. I see the struggle in his eyes—duty warring with desire.
“I might have my memories,” he murmurs, eyes searching mine, “but there’s still so much about you we don’t know. You need to tell us about these things, Willow.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
His jaw clenches, and I feel his desire thickening the air. “Is there anything else?”
Mortified, I shake my head. “I’ll go. Thank you.”
I let the silencing shield drop before he can question me further and stride back to camp, feeling like my skin is too tight. I want to rip my clothes off and roll in the snow, but it’s still green here. Maybe we’ll be lucky with rain tonight. It drizzled for half the day. I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t hear someone calling until they grab my arm, “Where are you going so fast?”
On instinct, I shove him.
“What the hell, Willow?” Alfie stumbles back.
“Sorry,” I mumble and keep walking. “Didn’t realize it was you.”
His footsteps follow. “Wait.”
“Not the time, Alfie.” I wave him off over my shoulder.
The cold air balms my flushed skin as I break into a jog, providing momentary relief from the inferno inside me. The scents of the camp—woodsmoke, unwashed male bodies, and the crisp winter air—assault my heightened senses, making me dizzy.
My feet pound against the damp ground, each impact jolting my overheated body. I’m aware of eyes on me as I sprint past other campsites, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I hate this. I hate this feeling so much.
The heat pulses through me, reminding me how different I am—not quite human, not fully fae. In moments like these, I feel like I belong nowhere. I haven’t felt this different since Crystal City. Freak , they used to call me.
As I weave through the camp, I notice heads turning and nostrils flaring. A young soldier stumbles as I pass, his eyes widening. An older woman pulls her partner close, whispering furiously. The air feels charged as if a lightning strike is imminent.
What if people start asking questions? Most have kept to themselves, but our troop has been opening up the past few nights. I’ve seen Becky look at my ears on more than one occasion. Now that I know her secret, she might feel confident enough to ask about mine. If I tell them where I’m from, then I’ll have to explain why I have no magic, and then—a hand lands on my shoulder and wrenches me around.
Miguel.
It all happens so fast. One minute, he’s about to offer me the bowl I left, and the next, Alfie’s fist meets his face. Blood spurts from a nose. Soup flies.
“Miguel!” I gasp, trying to help him, but Alfie steps in my way.
“You okay?” he asks me with a wild look.
“You hit Miguel!”
“He attacked you.”
“He was giving me soup!”
Behind him, groaning on the ground, Miguel clutches his nose. I try to push past Alfie, but he crushes me to his body, hand cupping the back of my head, fingers fisting in my hair. He buries his nose in my neck and drags in a deep inhale. “Fuck, Willow. I forgot how good you smell. I’ve been dreaming about this for years.”
I freeze.
I’m not afraid. This is my warning system, telling me it’s time to fight. But I can’t add to the drama unfolding. This can be salvaged.
“Alfie,” I grind out, face still smooshed against his chest. “You need to let go of me and walk away right now.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” he growls. “Enough with the lies.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Curl my fingers into fists.
“When are you going to admit it?” His fist tightens in my hair, ripping strands at my scalp. “Ever since we were young, you’ve been flirting with me like this. Give me a little, and then change your mind. You’re mine.”
He’s roughly jerked to the side—hit. But I’m tangled up with him. I fall, too. Another body is there, large and powerful, dominating Alfie. It takes me a moment to roll free and realize what happened. Bodin happened. His eyes are dark and murderous as he straddles Alfie, fisting his shirt, snarling in his face, “She’s ours .”
Multiple sets of eyes watch us: Styx, standing to the side with an amused look; Lord Ignarius striding over, his dragon’s red eyes flashing as his own; Dahlia; Becky; Geraldine; and Max. Styx must have flickered to Bodin’s tent and shifted, restoring some of his sense, but now Bodin’s gone and done this—because of me.
He pins Alfie by the throat and repetitively punches him in the face. A snarled word punctuates each hit. “Touch. Our. Mate. Again. I. Dare. You.”
“Bodin,” I gasp. “People are watching.”
He shoves off. Alfie flops back, but he’s laughing despite his rapidly swelling face.
“You just broke the Old Code,” he gurgles through blood. “Twice.”
Bodin advances on him, jaw working. Every muscle in his body is tense, twitching, and ready to unleash. Instead, he rips Alfie’s charms from his chain and tosses them into the darkness. Every glamour, illusion, and magic trick disappears. The perfect symmetry of Alfie’s face, the virility, the godlike physique—gone. Even beneath the new wounds, it’s obvious. He ages in an instant. Not old, but not obscenely perfect. Dark circles under his eyes. A jagged scar runs under his chin. He should have been classed as a Nothing, but he found a charm to hide his imperfections. That’s why he was so convinced I could do the same.
Shock ripples around the spectators.
Ignarius arrives with Legion, demanding to know what’s happening. All the while, Styx’s eyes glimmer with humor.
“Inside the tent. Now.” Bodin’s voice rumbles low, a predator’s growl. His eyes, dark as the night, never leave mine. “Before I forget we have an audience, Calamity.”