Slowly, I stand, eyes on the glowing bow.
The Nightingale cocks her head. “That weapon doesn’t belong to you, human.”
Except it does. It isn’t the magic of thorns I wield, but that of roses, like the Queen planted in this realm. The magic of change, of object to element, or fae to animal. And the magic of realms.
Twenty-five years ago, my mother left. Twenty-five years ago, the Enchantress came to Castletree.
Or the disguised Queen returned to Castletree.
Words and images play through the hushed corridors of my memory; moments insignificant on their own now converging into a tapestry as clear as the one that hangs here in the monastery.
The Queen was fascinated with humans.
This magic inside of me is no mere coincidence.
It is my legacy.
You welcomed me home, Cas. You called me Princess because you knew. You always knew who I was.
I reach for the bow.
“Rosalina, no!” Ezryn calls.
“Touch that without the Queen’s token, and it’ll burn you up!” the Nightingale hisses.
“I don’t need her token,” I snarl and grab the bow. “I have her blood.”
Power rushes through me, lighting me from within. The bow ripples and changes, golden vines growing along the staff. And as I hold it, my skin lights, glowing white-gold.
The Nightingale freezes, horror erupting over her features. Shock and reverence ripple in the wolf’s eyes.
A string of glimmering gold appears as I draw my hand back, and an arrow of starlight rests on my sight. This may be a magic bow, but the aim is all my own.
And I aim at the Nightingale’s heart.
“You don’t need the token,” she says, eyes widening. “Give me that bow.”
I’m half-tempted to, just so I can watch her burn up.
I adjust my aim, and the arrow flies into the thorns. They writhe in golden light before shivering away in black dust. The wolf falls to the ground.
“Leave,” I say, drawing another arrow and pointing it at her.
“Why would you spare my life?” she growls, almost cowering beneath the light of the bow.
For Caspian and the affection he holds for her. For another reason, I can’t name. For the simple fact that I do not wish more blood on my hands. In answer, I only draw the arrow back further.
She hisses, then a tangle of new thorns start to rise. This I allow. Just enough to swallow her up and take her back to the Below.
The moment she’s gone, all the energy leaves my body, and the bow drops. I fall.
Arms catch me, and I tumble against Ezryn’s bare skin. We collapse together to the ground.
“Ez,” I say weakly.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’ve got you, my Queen.”
98
Rosalina
Ezryn holds me fiercely. Shaking, I run my fingers up his bare arms, then clutch his face. The face that is new and familiar all at once. Dried blood splatters his cheeks, his nose, his neck.
It covers me, too.
My skin feels different, different even than when I transformed into fae. The glow hasn’t entirely faded. I place my hands over my belly, where the prongs of the trident had gouged my skin.
It’s healed.
I look up. Ezryn keeps me rooted with the deep brown of his eyes. My racing heart still refuses to settle beneath my breast. “How did you know I was here?”
A large hand gently cups my cheek. “I’ll always find you.”
Our bond alights between us, warm and welcoming. “How did you get to me?”
“There is nothing—nothing—that could keep me from you. No blood nor blade nor judgment cast upon me. I would tear my bones from the grips of death and offer a thousand more in my stead if it means you await me at the end of it all.”
A desperate urgency simmers within me. A fire not yet put out. As if he can sense it as well, he passionately presses his lips against mine, fists curl in my hair. I clamber over him. He’s still naked from his transformation from the wolf. We fall to the floor, stone covered with blood, bodies, and thorns.
“Nothing will take you from me,” he growls. A darkness shines over his eyes as he makes quick work of my tattered dress. I need his hands over me, need them to replace every unwanted touch.
My fingernails rake across his chest, following the dark line of hair until it dips beneath the V of his hip bones. I grasp his cock before positioning it near my entrance and letting him slide inside. The sound that comes out of me is animalistic.
“Rosalina.” He rises, keeping me in his lap, teeth scraping along my collarbone to my neck. He bites the sensitive skin, and I cry out, pushing down harder, moving frantically on his length.
Our mouths collide, messy, wet. I bite his lip, and the heat in me grows and grows and grows.
There is a fire in me that cannot be put out.
Ezryn spins us, gently laying my head on the ground. But that’s the only gentle thing about it. His hands grip my hips, lifting them, as he sinks into me to the root.
We don’t need words, our unspoken passion alive between us. This is completely visceral. He kisses me as we begin to move, long, powerful strokes. A wild, unfettered claiming.
The pulse of our bodies is rhythmic. The pleasure of my mate blocks out everything else. This is all I need right now. Him.
Without slowing his pace, he reaches between my legs and rubs my clit. A broken, guttural sound escapes me, and I claw at his hair. I need him closer, closer, closer.
“Ezryn, I’m … Oh god, I’m—”
He clasps his hand over my mouth, and I bite down on his palm. He’s not finished with me.
He drives deeper, harder, hands sweeping from my face, over my breasts, finally gripping my hips. His fingertips dig into my flesh as he slams into me again and again and again. I lose all sense of myself, becoming nothing but a wild thing. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I clutch him with everything I am.
Needing to become his. Needing to scream out the fear, the confusion, the power that radiates through me.
His head tilts, powerful muscles in his neck straining, dark brown hair wild. And I cannot hold back this wave anymore. I feel his crest within me.
My inner muscles clench tightly, then ripple in a wave of blazing heat against his pounding cock.
“Rosalina.” He groans my name long and loud as he feels me pulse around him. Then he slams hard, releasing himself. I gasp, feeling his warmth fill me deep.
His weight collapses over me. I wrap my arms around him, vowing to never let him go.
I didn’t want to put on my tattered gown, so I opted instead for an undershift from one of the robes we found in a closet. Ezryn, his own clothes tattered, wears the white long-sleeve shirt and dark gray pants of the acolytes.
“How are your injuries?” he asks.