Silence. I didn’t dare glance sideways for his reaction.
Dimitri turned to Hunter and tutted. “You want to be more careful. You serve the Solar Court—you serve Queen Morgan. We can’t have your judgment compromised, can we?”
Hunter blurted out, cold and defiant. “We’re friends. That’s all.”
Dimitri looked triumphant. Oh. You stupid, stupid—
“A member of the Hunt friends with a human. I wonder how that came about?”
I’d had enough. “Is there a point to this? Or can we go?”
I took a step. Just one. And Dimitri closed the gap, blocking me with an arm, settling in close to my ear. “My point is that to entice so many notoriously difficult fae to stick their cocks into you, means you must have hidden talents,” he said, little spittles hitting the side of my face. “And if you’ve gained their loyalty, or gods forbid, their love, then that’s a source of great concern to me. There are many others who share my beliefs. You would be advised to stick to your own kind. I won’t do you the courtesy of warning you again.”
His soft tones sent my skin into spasms of disgust. “Consider me warned.”
He drew away, his dark eyes glinting maliciously. “Be under no delusions; our kind can fuck and enjoy yours. But love, respect, loyalty? Those things cannot exist.”
I wanted to bite and claw and shred him to pieces. “Why not?” I challenged.
His eyes bulged, livid. “Because, you are not our equals. We cannot mate with you, nor marry you, nor make children. The monsters of such unions are well-known for being unstable. Do you understand now?” he asked with fervor.
My lips parted; to say what, I didn’t know.
“I think she gets it, Dimitri.”
Dimitri whirled. Wilder was striding toward us, a grim look on his face.
“Here was me thinking you’d grown bored with her,” Dimitri cawed, cruel laughter ringing in every note. “But you’re still willing to play her rescuer. Wasn’t the time in the woods enough?”
Wilder came to rest by Dimitri’s shoulder. He peered down his nose and replied, “I wasn’t aware she needed rescuing. I came here to get you, not her. Goldwyn’s looking for you,” he said, pointing with his chin.
Goldwyn had landed behind us and was now chatting to Cassandra. She caught sight of us staring and waved Dimitri over. With a face like soured milk, he threw me a curled lip and stalked off.
“I believe you’re also needed,” Wilder said, looking to Hunter.
He looked baffled. “I am?”
Wilder was stone. “Don’t you have a prisoner to transport?”
I risked a glance over at Hunter; his shoulders were stiffening, and his wings were tightening against his back. “We don’t call them ‘prisoners.’”
That. That was the breaking point. One stupid, defiant expression. I couldn’t bear to look at him.
Wilder barked, “It doesn’t matter what you call her. That’s what she is. Now, leave.”
“Serena?”
Oh, Hunter. There was such a plea in his voice. A plea to look at him, to say goodbye. I wasn’t going to give in, but then …
My eyes snagged on Cassandra. So I tossed my pride aside and spun, moving in to hug him. He responded more eagerly than he should have, considering Dimitri’s watchful gaze would still be on us. I squeezed him; a vicious, ruthless part of me wanted to hurt him. Instead, I whispered so very, very low, “Try, Hunter—for me. Don’t lie to her. She deserves more. Humans deserve more.”
I felt his chest expand, swelling with emotion. I was about to step away, but he held on. “You should know, I didn’t forget my promise. I got word to them in the Gauntlet.”
Oh, stars. John and Viola.
My heart was breaking.
That’s when he let me go. The smile I gave wasn’t fake. It was my way of thanking him. “Goodbye, then.”
He gave me a nod. As if to say we’ll see each other again. I watched as he walked over to Cassandra’s side; Dimitri and Goldwyn had already disappeared.
Hunter was talking to Cassandra in hurried whispers, then, slap.
Cassandra hit Hunter across the face. He said and did nothing in retaliation, just hoisted her into his arms. She didn’t struggle. Why didn’t she? Had he told her the truth? Did she think it was hopeless to fight back?
Hunter shot into the sky. This time I refused to feel his loss as before. A child had felt those things. A child who had believed we could be friends. No more.
Chapter 25
Tea and Whiskey
I watched until Hunter and Cassandra had become a speck, and the mist had drifted down from the hills. The clear cerulean sky, now masked by ash-gilded clouds and rainy showers, matched my feelings exactly.
That could’ve so easily been me in his arms.
But it isn’t, Auntie said gently.
I loosened a savage breath, breathing his name. Hunter. You stupid, sweet, cruel headache. How could you?
Wilder hadn’t moved a muscle; he’d stayed by my side. Eventually, with my heart still heavy, my head lowered to discover him watching me. There was a slight incline of his head to the left, and then he was striding away. I followed a little way behind, my heart skipping as he led me to his living quarters. He shut the door behind us and swiveled around, asking, “Are you all right?”
“Define ‘all right.’”
Wilder didn’t bat an eyelash. “Sit. I’ll make us some tea.”
Something in me softened and warmed at that. “Actually, that stuff you were drinking the other day looked like it did the trick.’”
A terse nod. “I’ll bring both.”
He departed for an annex room, presumably the kitchen. I walked over to the cold fireplace, choosing to sit on the frayed rug. Strangely, it now steadied me to be here, close to him, among the scents of wood and the parchment within his books. Those tomes were spread about me, surrounding me. Some large and bound in leather, others palm-sized in covers of leaf; a few were written in the elegant Kaeli script, but most were in the common tongue, shared by fae and human alike. I wondered whether he’d noticed or even cared that I hadn’t returned the book he’d lent me: The Darkest Song. I’d taken just one peek through its pages and become engrossed. The content had been familiar and disturbing—legends from the gods and the three mythical courts.
There was the famed light court among the stars, where good souls feasted on light and music and art. And of course, the dark court that was nestled beneath the unnamed volcano. Evil doers, demons, and all manner of twisted creatures found their home there. The third realm was the moon, or “mirror” court, where fate herself resided.
Every child in the Gauntlet knew the descriptions of the gods and their courts. We grew up hearing about them through song and story. That’s where it ended in Tunnock; fervent worship had fallen from favor. Viola had told me that most of the population were too busy surviving to pray for help that never came.
But a fae had written The Darkest Song as if the gods and courts were real. It was a written history, not a religious tome. None of my studies with Viola had revealed half as much. Of course, humans in the Gauntlet had always known that our lingering religious beliefs had been shared by the fae. If the book was to be believed, then humans had lost so much. Our spirituality was ash and vagaries compared to the rich tapestry presented in The Darkest Song.
Curiosity got the better of me. Perhaps there were similar books among the heaps. I picked one with a gold-embossed cover and rifled through its pages, running my fingertips over dry parchment and ink, drinking in the tactile sensation. I even raised the book up to my nose to breathe in that comforting, musty smell.
My eyes scanned the page. It was exactly the type of book I expected Wilder to own: battle strategies and tactics.
Discarding it, I grabbed another that turned out to be a little more interesting. A hero with a quest. A beautiful maiden. Nothing original, but I imagined still quite thrilling.