by Eva Chase
The fae man’s nostrils flare. His eyes flash, a sheen of magic taking them from a deep indigo to crystalline sapphire in an instant. “You’ve brought a human with you. What could have possessed you to haul a wretched dung-body all this way? Are your pack-kin so inept you don’t trust them to wait on you?”
Sylas’s lips curl back over his teeth, his sharp canines glinting where they’ve protruded just a fraction into fangs. “She isn’t a servant. She’s my cadre-chosen’s companion.”
The squadron leader glances at August, whose shoulders twitch, the muscles coiled all through his body. I can tell it’s taking all his self-control to hold himself in place.
The other man’s eyes flick back to Sylas. “You brought a dust-destined whore then. Somehow I question whether you truly are taking this fight as seriously as you claim.”
August starts forward with a growl low in his throat, but he only makes it one step before the jerk of Sylas’s hand stops him. Sylas’s mismatched gaze stays fixed on the squadron leader. Somehow he manages to draw his already substantial frame even taller. He’s got to have at least fifty pounds of brawn on the other man.
There are five of them—seven if we count Cole and his lackey—and only three fae in this house on our side, one of whom is upstairs still sleeping. And how quickly will they call Sylas a traitor if he lays so much as a hand on them?
“If we didn’t take it seriously, we wouldn’t be here,” he says, a growl laced through his own steady voice. “You’ve had a good look. I’ve had enough of your insults and insinuations. Let me show you out.”
“You’re not in your own domain, you forget, Lord Sylas,” the squadron leader replies. He ambles around the table toward the kitchen. “And technically all domains fall under our arch-lords’ rule. I say this runt is an unnecessary distraction. How much can one frail human girl be worth? Consider how easily she could be removed.”
A chill washes over my skin. The threat is barely implicit—he’s talking about how easily he could kill me. My hand drops to the pouch of salt, fingers looping through the string so I can jerk it open in an instant. He’s only pointing out my fragility, but that doesn’t mean he won’t decide to act on the threat.
“You keep your paws off her,” August snaps.
Sylas moves to form a barricade with him. “We’re well aware of the mortal nature of humans. I’m sure you wouldn’t make an unnecessary demonstration that destroys a being under my care.”
The squadron leader lets out a cold laugh. “If I wanted to, would you challenge the authority of—”
He’s cut off by a cheerily melodic voice that carries from the stairs with the thumping of careless feet. “Why, look at this! A whole horde of guests. My lord, you should have told me we’d have company.”
Whitt saunters into the room with a feral grin and a wild glint in his eyes. My pulse hiccups at the thought of how one of his insults might take this from a standoff into a full-out brawl. But Sylas’s spymaster takes in the crowded room and the plates on the table with a chuckle, as if we’re all in on some joke together.
“Heard about my cadre-fellow’s excellent cooking, did you, lads?” he says, clapping August on the back. “It looks like we don’t have quite enough for you. Next time you’ll have to make an advance order.”
The squadron leader blinks at him, completely diverted from his previous goal, whatever exactly that was. With his eyes off me, I shrink back against the counter, my hand lingering on the pouch of salt.
“What are you talking about?” the intruder asks.
Whitt tsks at him. “I suppose if you’re so desperate for breakfast, we might make an exception. But it would come at a price. We wouldn’t ask you to sing for your supper, but perhaps a little dance would allow you to dine.”
The squadron leader simply stares, all of his followers wearing matching expressions of confusion. Cole’s mouth has twisted at a sour angle, apparently disappointed that the potential for violence has faded.
Whitt sighs in mild exasperation. “I’m sure you must know how to dance, with all the balls the arch-lords host. Just give it a little whirl, and we’ll see what we can do to fill your bellies.” As if he thinks they need an illustration, he makes a few graceful steps to some internal rhythm, with a flourish of his arm and a spin to finish.
As he turns, his gaze catches mine, and he shoots me a swift wink. Despite the fear churning inside me, a giggle tickles up my throat. All these fearsome warriors with their blades and their posturing, and he’s disarmed them with a few wry remarks.
Whitt looks at the squadron leader expectantly, his eyes gleaming with restrained amusement, utterly in his element. I can’t tear my gaze away from him. A different sensation is fizzing through my chest now, one as heady as faerie wine.
That dream last night didn’t come out of nowhere. I’m falling for him too. I don’t know how long I have been or how far I’ll fall, but I recognize this feeling.
How could anyone not find themselves overwhelmed with affection, watching him turn this hostile situation around so brilliantly?
The woman with Cole lets out a rough laugh, and that sound shatters whatever remains of the tension. The squadron leader shakes his head, looking a touch embarrassed but not aggressive anymore.
“Have your breakfast,” he says, waving his hand toward the table. “We’ve got plenty of our own. Just make sure your attention is on defending our people, not the dung-body, when the next attack comes.”
His ego apparently satisfied, he turns on his heel and stalks out, the other warriors hustling after him. Cole slinks out behind them with one more disdainful glance our way.
As soon as the door has closed behind them, Sylas gives Whitt a baleful look, but his lips have twitched into a smile. “You do choose your moments, don’t you?”
“It seemed like the right time to make an entrance,” Whitt says breezily, so unconcerned that most of the anxiety melts out of me. He drops into his chair at the table. “I just hope those pissants haven’t soured the food.”
“I’m sure it’s still edible,” August replies, his shoulders coming down. He gives himself a little shake as if shedding the defensive energy the intruders provoked and gives me a onceover to confirm I’m okay. When I manage a smile, he returns it and holds out his hands for the apples I’d gathered. I offer them up, gratified to see my arms don’t even tremble.
Ambrose’s warriors were only throwing their weight around, but I’m awfully glad it didn’t have to come to a fight after all, with whatever fallout would have resulted.
Sylas touches my arm, studying me for a longer span than August did. He’s relaxed some too, but his face is grim. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought—clearly I overestimated how well we could shelter you from that kind of aggression here. I don’t believe he intended to truly harm you, but you shouldn’t have had to hear any of that.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I mean—it’s not okay that they came and talked like that, but I know it’s not your fault.” I hesitate. “Do you think they’ll keep badgering us?”
“I wouldn’t expect so now that they’ve had their look around and come up with no reason to accuse us of anything, but we can’t be sure. I’ll create an enchantment you can use to signal me if you need help while I’m away—I should have done that to begin with.”
I exhale slowly. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” My gaze slides past him to where Whitt is tossing the apple August passed him in the air with a flick of his wrist, and my smile comes back. “At least this time it ended without any disasters.”
“It did.” Sylas follows my glance, and his expression lightens just a little. His voice drops. “Perhaps I could see about giving you something that might make your day more pleasant sooner than we discussed… if you’d like?”
A current of warmth ripples over my skin, merging with the pang that echoes through my chest. There’s nothing I want more right now than to feel secure in the embrace of my protectors—all three of them, if the third w
ill have me too. Especially when that third is the one who did the most to protect me just now, if not in a traditional way.
My answer slips out in barely a whisper. “I would.”
Sylas considers the scene for a moment and then ushers me over to the table by August’s chair. “I think our lady might enjoy some special attention after that unsettling encounter,” he says to the younger man, lightly and steadily. “Remind her how devoted we are to her wellbeing… among other things.”
August looks at both of us, his gaze uncertain and then sparking with interest. He glances across the table at Whitt, who’s paused with his fork in midair, and then back at me. At my nod, he eases his chair back and opens his arms to welcome me onto his lap.
I sink onto his thighs, instinctively tucking myself against his chest and soaking up his warmth. My heart thumps faster, but this time with eager anticipation rather than nerves.
Yes, I did need this. To wipe away the awful things the other fae said. To ground myself in August’s love.
And to discover whether the man on the other side of the table takes any interest in me like this at all.
“What would you like, Sweetness?” August murmurs into my hair.
I tip my head against his shoulder, offering him my neck. With a pleased hum, he lowers his mouth to kiss me there. Heat floods my skin with the press of his lips and the stroke of his fingers across my torso, just below my breasts.
Right now, I want that heat everywhere. I want to burn so fiercely I can believe I’d sear right through any enemies who ever threaten me again.
Chair legs rasp against the floor, and my eyelids flutter open. Whitt stands up, holding his plate. His voice comes out as flippant as always but with a note of strain. “Well, I’m clearly not needed here. I suppose I’ll dine upstairs.”
My chest hitches at the thought that I’ve made him feel even more an outsider from his family than before, but Sylas must have observed more than I can. He rests his hand on the table and tilts his head toward August and me. “Or you could take part. That’s what you’d like to do, isn’t it?”
Whitt goes completely still, looking as taken aback as the squadron leader did faced with his antics not that long ago. His jaw tightens. “I’m perfectly capable of controlling my—”
“But we’re not asking you to rein in your desires,” Sylas interrupts in the same measured tone. “It was never our intention to exclude you. We simply didn’t realize—but I should have been more aware, and I apologize for that. I think August and I have already shown we’re capable of sharing.”
Whitt looks at me then, for the first time since he got up. There’s a wildness in his eyes again, but much stormier than his earlier playfulness. It’s desire, yes, but anger and confusion too, and a starker yearning that shines through all the rest, so raw it makes my heart ache.
“Shouldn’t Talia be the one who makes that decision?” he says tartly, but his voice has thickened. I don’t know where the anger and confusion are coming from or who they’re aimed at, but in that moment, I can feel that yearning for me all the way down to my bones.
Even as a flush creeps over my cheeks, I hold his gaze. My words come out soft but clear. “I have.”
Whitt doesn’t look relieved by the admission. If anything, his stance goes more rigid, the muscles of his face twitching in shock.
Sylas teases his fingers over my hair with a fond smile. “Talia’s been the one calling the shots in this arrangement from the start. If cadres of four or five can form a balanced relationship around one lover, I’m sure we’ll—”
Whitt smacks his plate down on the table with a clatter of the silverware. “Did you ever think that maybe I wouldn’t want to share with you?” he snaps, and spins on his heel. He stalks across the room and out of the front door so quickly and resolutely it leaves no doubt that he means to be gone for quite a while.
I stare after him, my throat constricting. How did this go so wrong?
Sylas frowns, but he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but given space, he’ll sort himself out. At least now you have your answer about his interest, whether he decides he’s going to act on it or not.”
I do. Whitt wants me, with a greater force of feeling than I’d ever have guessed. Only he doesn’t seem at all happy about that fact.
I thought reaching out to him would be a chance to bring the three men who’ve watched over me back into harmony, but what if I’ve wrenched them apart instead?
Chapter Twenty-One
Talia
“Fee-doom-ace-own,” I murmur, channeling all the protective energy that rises in me at the thought of Sylas or August meeting a bunch of attackers’ blades. As I center all my concentration on it, the bronze chink in the battered chainmail vest closes in a loop to connect it to the one above.
For once, I’m using my smidgeon of magical power to defend someone other than myself. Better that I use my copious amounts of spare time to mend armor damaged in past battles than any of the actual fae waste their own when they have so many other responsibilities outside this house.
A rustle carries through the open window next to me. I pause where I’m perched on one of the living room cushions, a slightly lumpy construction that seems to be made out of overgrown leaves melded together and stuffed with I’m not sure what. When I’m alone in the house, I can’t help freezing at every sound from outside.
Three days after we arrived, the Unseelie still haven’t launched an attack, but that only means that with each passing hour it feels more imminent. I can’t even see the border from here other than a vague shimmering haze August pointed out to me far in the distance, but even if I’m safe here, Sylas and his cadre won’t be.
For a few seconds, all I hear is the whisper of the breeze passing through the tall grass, its crisp, hay-like scent drifting in to me. I’ve just resumed my work when more rustling reaches my ears. It solidifies into the more definite sound of footsteps.
The steps could simply be someone from Oakmeet returning or dropping in. Of course, if it’s anyone other than Sylas or August, I won’t feel that much more at ease. I’ve exchanged a little conversation with the warriors stationed here, but they don’t linger for very long unless it’s to sleep. They’re still essentially strangers to me. I definitely can’t continue this work in front of them. And Whitt…
Whitt hasn’t said more than the briefest of polite greetings to me since that awkward breakfast yesterday morning. He’s barely been around to. Somehow he’s always coming or going when we end up in the common areas together, and most of the time he manages to avoid that altogether.
He hasn’t been cold or cruel about it, but every time I sit down to a meal without him or watch his retreating back vanish through a doorway, my stomach knots tighter.
Maybe he really is busy—but he wasn’t quite that busy before we pushed him to admit he felt some attraction toward me. For whatever reason, Sylas’s suggestion about joining our arrangement upset him, even with my clear approval. I don’t know how to mend the bridge between us, especially while so many other tensions are running high by the border.
I have to figure out something. Even if he doesn’t want anything more with me than we already have, I miss his smirks and his wry remarks and the cheerful gleam in his fathomless eyes.
I set my hands in my lap, my ears pricked to the sounds from outside. The rustling footsteps become louder, moving toward and then past the window—away from the front door rather than toward it. Just someone passing by?
Then a voice that sends a spear of ice down my spine breaks the quiet. “I told you they were all occupied elsewhere.”
It’s Cole—I’d know that sharply sneering tone anywhere.
The voice that answers I don’t recognize at all, but it might be the woman I saw with him the other morning. “What are we trying to accomplish here?”
A third voice, gruff and male but equally unfamiliar, speaks up. “The mutts of the Oakmeet pack are a
bunch of treacherous bastards. Now Sylas comes out here and acts like he’s better than every other lord because he turned up personally? He deserves to be put in his place.”
Cole chuckles. “Exactly. I’m glad someone understands. Now are we going to get on with this, or are you disobeying orders from cadre?”
“No, no, I’m on board,” the woman mutters.
I don’t like the sound of their conversation at all. Skin prickling, I set down the vest as quietly as I can and ease toward the kitchen. After the intrusion yesterday, Sylas shaped a little wooden bird for me and showed me how to work the markings he etched in it to activate its magic. It’s sitting on the counter.
No other sound except the occasional murmuring travels through the window as I cross the room. Reaching the sculpted bird, I hesitate.
Sylas looked so somber when he left after our hasty lunch a couple of hours ago. He said he was going to demand an audience with the arch-lords’ cadres and make whatever case he could appealing to them directly. There was some specific strategy he planned to propose. That meeting might already be over, but if it isn’t—if I interrupt him at a moment that could make a difference in them finally accepting his offer of help…
A harsh snicker filters through the wall. My pulse stutters. I hold still and silent. Cole’s command is just loud enough to carry to me. “Shatter it all, every bit of it.”
If he breaks something important to our cause, that could be worse than any interruption. I balk for a second longer, wishing I could drive away the monsters outside myself, but my little dagger and my salt will only get me so far against three fae. From what I understand, the salt’s toxic effect will only ward off the fae for a minute or two, and I have no idea when any of the pack-kin will return. These weapons are meant as a last line of defense, not for me to start a fight.