RADIANT
SHADOWS

melissa marr

To Asia and Dylan, my amazing beasties. It’s a privilege to be your mother. (And, really? I do so love you more, most, and always. *grin* How’s that for getting the last word?)

Contents

Cover

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Also by Melissa Marr

Copyright

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE
LATE 1800s

Devlin stood immobile as the spectral girl approached. The plume of her hat and the dark ringlets that framed her face were motionless, despite the breeze that swept over the field. The air did not touch her; consequently, he was unsure if he could.

“I seem to be dreaming or, mayhaps, lost,” she murmured.

“Indeed.”

“I was resting over”—she gestured behind her, frowned, and gave him a shaky smile—“in the cave that seems to have vanished. Am I still resting?”

The girl presented Devlin with a dilemma. All those uninvited to Faerie were to be brought before the High Queen—or dispatched if he deemed them threats. His function was to assure order, to do what best served the good of Faerie.

“In a cave?” he prompted.

“My guardian and I had a quarrel.” She shivered and folded her arms over her chest. The dress she wore was not this season’s fashionable attire, but it wasn’t horribly outdated.

When he didn’t reply, she added, “You look like a gentleman. I don’t suppose your manor is near here? Your mother or sisters? Not that my aunt expects me to make much of a match, but she would be … displeased if I were to be found unchaperoned in the company of a gentleman.”

“I am not a gentleman.”

She blanched.

“And meeting my mother-sisters is not something I’d wish on the innocent,” he added. “You should turn back. Call this a bad dream. Go away from here.”

The girl looked around at the field; her gaze took in the landscape of Faerie—the spider-silk hammocks that hung in the trees, the pink-and-gold-tinted sky that the queen had fashioned for the day—and then settled on him.

Devlin did not move as she observed him. She did not falter at the sight of his opalescent hair or inhuman eyes; she did not flinch at his angular features or otherworldly stillness. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected: he’d never been viewed as he truly was by a mortal. Over in their world, he wore a glamour to appear like them. Here, he was known for what he was, the Queen’s Bloodied Hands. The girl’s assessment was a singular event.

Her cheeks became pink as she boldly stared at him. “You certainly look like a kind man.”

“I am not.” He stepped toward her. “I exist to keep order for the queen of Faerie. I am neither kind nor a man.”

The girl fainted.

Devlin leaped forward to catch her and knelt on the ground, arms empty—as her form settled inside of his skin. He couldn’t hold the insubstantial, but she apparently could take residence in his body as if it were her own.

Her voice was in his head. Sir?

He couldn’t move: his body wasn’t his to control. He was still inside of himself, but he was not animating his body. The girl’s spectral form had filled his skin as if it were her own body.

Can you move? he asked.

Of course! She sat up and, in doing so, left his body.

He swallowed against the burst of peculiar emotions coursing through him. He felt free and excited and a number of the things that were unlike the restraint of the High Court—and he liked it.

She lifted a hand as if to touch him, but it passed through him. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“No.” He felt unexpectedly protective of her, this foundling mortal. “What is your name?”

“Katherine Rae O’Flaherty,” she whispered. “If I am awake now, that means you are an ethereal creature.“

“An ethere—”

“I have three wishes!” She clapped her hands and widened her eyes. “Oh, what do I wish for? True love? Eternal life? Certainly, nothing frivolous like gowns! Oh, perhaps I just want to save my wishes!”

“Wishes?”

“You cannot force me to make my wishes now.” She squared her shoulders and looked at him. “I’ve read texts. I know there is dispute over the goodness of your kind, but I do not believe for a moment that you could be other than kind. Why, just look at you!”

Devlin frowned. He did not idle away his time with foolishness; he did only that which his queen required. Except for those stolen moments of pleasure in the mortal world. His queen knew of his indulgences, looked the other way even. What harm an indulgence here? She was a specter of a mortal girl, no threat to the queen of Faerie. Sheltering her violates no order. He tried to smile at the girl. “Katherine Rae O’Flaherty, if you’re going to stay in our world, the term you will want is sidhe, faery, or fey.”

“I will use those … since I am staying.” She scrambled to her feet. “I have read Reverend Kirk, in fact. My uncle’s library has quite a few books of your people. I have read Mr. Lang’s fairy tales as well. The sweet—”

“Books are not the same as reality.” Devlin stared at her. “My world is not always kind to mortals.”

The look in her eyes was no longer guileless. “Nor is the mortal world.”

“Indeed.” He looked at her with a pleasant burst of curiosity.

She stepped closer. “If I return to my body, would I still be alive? If I return there, how long will have passed?”

“Time passes differently, and I’ve no idea how long you’ve wandered. If you stay, you might die as well. The High Queen does not allow uninvited guests in Faerie.” Devlin tried his gentlest smile, one he’d not had much use for in his life. “If she learns of your presence—”

“Do I get my three wishes?” Katherine Rae interrupted.

“You may.” It wasn’t traditional to grant wishes, but he found himself wanting to please her.

She tilted her chin. “Then, my first wish is that you keep me safe from harm … what is your name?”

Devlin bowed. “I am Devlin, brother and advisor to the High Queen, assassin, and keeper of order.”

“Oh.” She swayed as if she might faint again.

“And now, protector of Katherine Rae O’Flaherty,” he quickly added.

He’d never had anyone in his life who was truly his, never had a friend or confidante, never had a lover or partner. He wasn’t entirely sure he could have any of those. His first duty was to his queen, his court, to Faerie itself. He had been created to serve, and it was his honor to do so.

It was also very lonely.

He glanced at Katherine Rae. She had no body, no power, no allegiances.

What harm can taking in a spectral girl do?

LATE 1900s

When Devlin entered the banquet hall, the room was empty—save for the queen herself. In the center of the hall, out of place among the stone pillars and woven tapestries, a waterfall splashed down. The spray formed misty shapes in the air, and then the water washed away and vanished into one of the far walls. The High Queen stared at the falling water, at the threads of possibility she saw there. The filament-fine images of what could be weren’t certainties, but Sorcha kept order by monitoring potential futures. She’d realign them if the disorder was within the boundaries of Faerie, but if the aberration was in the mortal world, she’d dispatch him to correct it.

He approached the dais upon which her throne sat. For all of eternity, he had served as her Bloodied Hands. He was made for violence, but he served the court of order.

Without taking her gaze from the water, she stood and extended a hand, knowing he would be where she reached.

None other has been in her trust for all of eternity.

That didn’t mean she should trust him, though.

Devlin released her hand, and she crossed the room.

He followed.

“Look at them.” Sorcha gestured toward the air, bringing a woman’s image into focus. The mortal was pretty: a heart-shaped face, light brown hair, and olive-green eyes. In the room with her were two small children, one of whom tackled the other. They giggled as they rolled around on the floor together.

“The youngest whelp is a problem.” The High Queen paused, her features softening into what looked like longing. Then her expression stilled as the image dissolved into mist, and the temperature plummeted. “It needs to be remedied.”

“Shall I retrieve it?” Devlin washed his hands in the now-frigid water that ran through his mother-sister-queen’s hall. He’d collected squalling infants and silent artists; he’d brought musicians and madmen to his queen at her command. Retrieving mortals or halflings was common—but not as pleasurable as some tasks.

“No.” She glanced at him for a long moment. “This one should not enter Faerie. Ever.”

Sorcha stepped forward so the edge of her skirts touched the water. Her ever-bare feet were exposed in the icy water, and for a brief second, he saw her as she was: a candle with a dim flame surrounded by the darkness of chaos. Her flame-toned hair shifted in a breeze that only existed because she willed it. Around her, the room changed from a chilly hall to a fecund jungle to a desert and back again to the hall, reflecting her briefest thought—as all things in Faerie did. She was their source, his creator. She was order and life. Without Sorcha’s will, only she and her antithesis, her twin Bananach, would exist.

“What would you have of me?” he asked.

Sorcha didn’t look at him. “Sometimes death is required to keep order.”

“The child?”

“Yes.” Her voice was emotionless even as she ordered the death of a child. She was reason personified, sure of her place, certain of her righteousness. “It is born of the Dark Court, daughter of the Wild Hunt, of Gabriel himself. It will cause unacceptable complications if it lives.”

She stepped farther into the water. The waterfall paused mid-flow, so her words were the only sound in the suddenly silent room. “Correct this, Brother.”

He bowed, but she didn’t turn her gaze from the suspended flow of water, didn’t turn her attention to him as he left. She knew, though, where he was. The water crashed down louder than before as he exited the hall.

She knows even when she does not look. Devlin wondered sometimes just how much of his life Sorcha did see. He lived for her, at her will, and by her side. But I am not solely hers. She never forgot that truth. Out of earth and magic, will and need, the twins—Sorcha and Bananach—had made him, the first male faery. They’d needed both male and female to exist within their world, a balance in that, as in all things, was required.

Not son, but brother, she had told him. Like me, you are parentless.

Order and Discord made him as if carved of stone, a sculpture crafted by two who would never work together again. They gave him too many angular features and too many softened spots: his lips were too-full and his eyes too-cold. He was their best traits compromised. Where Bananach had hair of the purest black and Sorcha had multitoned hair of living flame, his was opalescent white: all colors shifting in and out of existence. They gave him purest-black eyes and strength not unlike Bananach’s, but none of her madness. They gave him tall stature and Sorcha’s love of art, but none of her physical restraint. Together, they’d made him a thing of extreme cruelty and extreme beauty.

And then they’d fought over his loyalty.

CHAPTER 1
PRESENT DAY

Ani pulled open a side door to the stable. It was as much a garage as a true stable, and as she walked through the cavernous building she drew in the mingled scents of diesel and straw, exhaust and sweat. Most of the creatures kept the illusion of vehicles when they were outside the building, but here, in their safe haven, the beasts roamed in whatever form they chose. One of the steeds crouched on a ledge under the skylight. It was something between an eagle and a lion; both feathers and fur covered a massive body. Several other steeds were lined up in a row of various motorcycles, cars, and trucks. One anomalous steed was a camel.

A Hound looked up from polishing a matte black Harley with plenty of chrome. The cloth in his hand was one of the many swaths of fabric imported from Faerie specifically for their steeds. “You looking for Chela?”

“No.” She stayed in the walkway, not invading his space or the steed’s yet. “Not Chela.”

Her father’s semiregular mate was a source of comfort, but Chela wanted to be more maternal than Ani could accept from her. Similarly, her father’s attempts at fatherhood veered toward something akin to mortal pretenses. She didn’t want a facsimile of a mortal family. She had a family, with Rabbit and Tish, her half-mortal siblings. During the past year when she had been brought to live in the Dark Court, she had hoped for something else: she wanted to be a true part of the Wild Hunt, a full member of her father’s pack. That hadn’t happened.

The Hound paused his steady motions only long enough to glance at her. “Gabriel’s not here either.”

“I know. I’m not looking for anyone in particular.” Ani came to the stall. “I just like it here.”

The Hound looked up and down the open aisle. This early no other Hound was in sight, but there were more than a score of steeds close enough to see them. “Do you need something?”

“Sure.” Ani leaned against the wall. It would be an insult not to flirt, even though they both knew action wasn’t possible. “A little fun. A little trouble. A ride …”

“Get the boss to agree”—the Hound’s eyes flashed a vibrant green—“and I’ll gladly take you.”

She knew her own eyes were shimmering with the same energy that she saw in his. They were both born of the Wild Hunt. They were the creatures that rode the earth, drawing out terror, exacting vengeance, unrestrained by order. They were the teeth and claws of Faerie, living now in the mortal world, bound to the Dark Court by their Gabriel.

A Gabriel who would chew up anyone who touched his daughter.

“You know he won’t give permission,” she admitted.

Her father was in charge. His rules meant that only one who could stand against him in a fight was allowed to date her.

Or anything else.

“Hey?”

She looked at the Hound.

“If you weren’t his daughter, I’d risk it, but crossing Gabe isn’t something I’m going to do.”

Ani sighed, not in disappointment, but at the futility of ever getting a different answer. “I know.”

“Convince him that you’re not going to get broken by a little fun, and I’ll be in front of the line. Promise.” The Hound leaned forward to drop a quick kiss on her lips.

It was no more than a second of affection, but he was ripped away and hurled across the aisle toward the opposite stall. The thud of his body hitting the wooden slats covered most of the curses he was yelling.

“Don’t touch my pup.” Gabriel stood in the middle of the aisle. He was grinning, but his posture was one of menace. Of course, he was the Hound that controlled the Wild Hunt, so menace was as natural as breathing for him.

The Hound on the floor felt the back of his head as he leaned on one partition of the wooden stall. “Damn, Gabriel. I didn’t touch her.”

“Your lips were on hers. That’s touching,” Gabriel growled.

Ani stepped in front of her father and poked him in the chest. “Don’t act like it’s wrong for them to respond to me.”

He glared at her but didn’t lift a hand. “I am the Gabriel. I run this pack, and if any of them”—he looked past her to the Hound on the floor—“want to challenge me over you, all they need to do is say the word.”

The Hound on the floor spoke up. “I turned her down.”

“Not because she lacks anything,” Gabriel growled.

“No, no.” The Hound held up his hands. “She’s perfect, Gabe … but you said she was off-limits.”

Gabriel held a hand out to the Hound on the floor without looking at him.

The Hound glanced at her. “Sorry … I, umm, touched you.”

Ani rolled her eyes. “You’re a peach.”

“Sorry, Gabriel. It won’t happen again.” The Hound straddled his bike and left with a roar that was more growl than a real Harley’s engine could mimic.

For a heartbeat, it was perfectly quiet in the stable. The steeds stayed silent and motionless.

“My perfect pup.” Gabriel stepped up and ruffled her hair. “He doesn’t deserve you. None of them do.”

She shoved him away. “So, you’d rather I’m skin starved?”

Gabriel snorted. “You’re not starved.”

“I would be if I followed all of your rules,” she muttered.

“And I wouldn’t have so many rules if I thought you’d follow them all.” He threw a punch, which she dodged. It was nice, but not backed by the full force of his strength or weight. He always held back. That was insulting. If she were truly a part of the Hunt, he’d fight with her the way he fought with all the rest. He’d train her. He’d accept me in the pack.

“You suck at fatherhood, Gabe.” She turned away and started down the aisle.

He couldn’t taste her feelings, not like most of the Dark Court. Hounds weren’t nourished on the same things, so her emotions were hidden to them. The peculiarity of the Hunt’s inability to taste emotions while everyone around them could made them very blunt in their own expressions. It worked out well: Dark Court faeries were nourished by swallowing dark emotions; Hounds required physical touch for sustenance. So the Hunt caused the fear and terror that fed the court, and the court provided the touch the Hounds required. Ani was abnormal in that she needed both.

Which sucks.

“Ani?”

She didn’t stop walking. There was no way she was going to let him see the tears building in her eyes. Just another proof of my weakness. She gestured over her shoulder. “I get it, Daddy. I’m not welcome.”

“Ani.”

Tears leaked onto her cheeks as she stopped in the doorway, but she didn’t turn back.

“Promise to follow the rules while we’re out, and you could probably borrow Che’s steed again tonight.” His voice held the hope he wouldn’t say aloud. “If she agrees.”

Ani turned then and smiled at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t move, didn’t comment on the tears on her cheeks, but his voice softened and he added, “And I’m not an awful father.”

“Maybe.”

“I just don’t want to think about you wanting … things … or getting hurt.” Gabriel folded the cloth that the Hound had dropped, looking at it rather than at her. “Irial says you’re okay though. I ask. I do try.”

“I know.” She shook her hair back and struggled to be reasonable. That was the worst part sometimes; she did know that Gabriel tried. She knew he trusted Irial’s judgment, trusted Chela, trusted his pack. He’d never raised a daughter—these past few months that he’d had her around were the sum total of his father-daughter parenting experience. But, she’d never had pack hungers before either. It was a new experience all around.

Later, after she’d secured Chela’s consent, gone over the regular stay-close-to-Gabriel rules, and promised to stick with the pack, Ani was back in the stable with her father.

“If Che’s steed has anything to say, it’ll tell me, and I’ll tell you.” Gabriel’s reminder that she couldn’t hear Chela’s steed—that I’ll never hear one—was delivered with an ominous rumble in his voice. He was already feeling the heightened connection to the Hounds who were filling the aisles.

Somewhere in the distance, a howl rose like the scream of wind. Ani knew that only the Hunt heard it, but both mortal and faery felt it in the shivers that raced over suddenly chilled skin. To some, it was as if sirens came toward them, as if ambulances and police sped to them carrying words of sudden deaths or horrific accidents.

The Wild Hunt rides.

As Ani looked over the assembling Hounds, the green of their eyes and the clouds of their breath were clear. Wolves filled the room where the steeds were not. They would run between the hooves of the steeds, a roil of fur and teeth. Steed and wolf all waited for their Gabriel’s word to begin, to run, to chase those foolish enough to attract their attention. Terror built and filled the air with a prestorm charge. Those not belonging to the Hunt would have to struggle to breathe. Mortals on the nearby streets would cringe, scurry into their dens, or turn into other alleys. If they stayed, they’d not see the true face of the Hunt, but explain it away—earthquake? trains? storms? street fights?—with the willful ignorance mortals clung to so fiercely. They didn’t often stay; they ran. It was the order of things: prey runs, and predators pursue.

Her father, her Gabriel, strode through the room assessing them.

Ani felt the stroke of icy fingers on her skin as they prepared to ride. She bit down on her lip to keep from urging her father to sound the call. Her knuckles whitened as she clenched the edge of the wooden wall beside her. She looked at their horrible beauty and shivered.

If they were mine … I’d belong.

Then Gabriel was beside her.

“You are my pup, Ani.” Gabriel cupped her cheek in his massive hand. “To be worthy of you, any Hound would have to be willing to face me. He’d need to be strong enough to lead them.”

“I want to lead them,” she whispered. “I want to be their Gabrielle.”

“You’re too mortal to hold control of them.” Gabriel’s eyes were monstrous. His skin was the touch of terror, of death, of nightmares that were Un-Named. “And too much mine to not be with the Hunt. I’m sorry.”

She held his gaze. Something feral inside of her understood that this was why she couldn’t live with Rabbit: her brother wasn’t as fierce as her father was. Tish wasn’t. Ani desperately wanted to be. Like the rest of the Hounds mounting their steeds, Ani knew that Gabriel could kill her if she disobeyed. It was a restraint she needed: it kept her closer to following rules.

“I can’t take the Hunt from you”—she flashed her teeth at her father—“yet. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“Makes me proud that you want to,” he said.

For a moment, the pride in her father’s eyes was the sum of her world. She belonged. For tonight, she was included in the pack. He made it so.

If only I always was.

But there were no unclaimed steeds, and her mortal blood meant she’d never be strong enough to become Gabriel’s successor, never be truly Pack.

A taste of belonging …

It wasn’t enough, not truly, but it was something.

Then a howl unlike anything else in this world or the next came to his lips, and the rest of the pack echoed it. She echoed it.

Gabriel tossed her atop Chela’s steed and growled, “We ride.”

CHAPTER 2

Devlin stepped into the High Queen’s private gardens. The ground under his sandals hummed when his foot touched it. Sometimes, he considered telling Sorcha that he noticed the barely perceptible alarms she’d set. With rare exceptions, he’d devoted eternity to Sorcha, but she was a creature of logic and order. She knew—and Bananach did—that he made the choice to serve Faerie every day, every hour, every moment. The only thing that kept him from choosing to align himself with Sorcha’s antithesis was his own willpower.

And affection.

For all of her adherence to logic, the Unchanging Queen cared for him. Of that, he was certain.

“My Queen?” He walked toward her, waiting a heartbeat between steps to see if she’d let vines tangle his path or if she’d remake a passageway for him.

She glanced his way, and the undergrowth vanished in a narrow corridor. Briars reached from plants that were typically without thorns, tracing dozens of thin scratches on his arms and feet. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious strike at him: the world around them bent to her will, but Sorcha had long since stopped noticing. It was like noticing that her heart beat. It simply did, and if her will injured others, so be it.

It’s not personal.

“I can’t see him,” Sorcha whispered. “He’s out there in the world. What if he’s hurt? What if he’s in danger?”

“You’d know,” Devlin assured, as he had every day since Seth left. “You’d know if he was hurt.”

“How? How would I know? I’m blind.” The Queen of Order looked far from reasonable. Her skirt had tears in the hem. Her hair, usually as vibrant as liquid fire, was pale and snarled at the ends. Since Seth, the newly made faery, had gone back to the mortal world, Sorcha was increasingly not herself.

“I need to know that Seth is safe.” She folded her arms over her chest. Her voice steadied. “I see her, the Summer Queen, and he is not with her. That’s why he went back. Her. She should treat him better.”

Misty figures formed in front of Sorcha. Somewhere in the mortal world, faeries were unaware that she was watching them. In the haze of the garden, Devlin stood near his queen and watched the faeries who were the focus of Sorcha’s attention. Unless the faeries’ or mortals’ threads twined too closely with her own thread, Sorcha could see into their lives.

The Summer Queen, Aislinn, stood in front of a fountain, talking to one of the water fey, Aobheall. In the background, the land flourished even though fall had come. In the patch of earth the Summer regents had claimed, Winter wouldn’t ever reign again. Shrubs bloomed out of season, and faeries danced over green earth. Aislinn laughed and sat down on the edge of the fountain. One hand idly traced patterns on the surface of the water, and in its wake, water lilies blossomed.

Aobheall lazed in the fountain like a half-bared Grecian statue come to life. The water streamed around her in a small waterfall. “I think that dress is the one you wore just a few moons ago. We could shop, or”—Aobheall leaned forward—“get a dress made for you.”

“I don’t know.” The Summer Queen glanced behind her to where several members of her Summer Court were weaving flowers into garlands. “Does it really matter what I wear?”

Aobheall frowned. “It should matter, Aislinn.”

“I know … and … choose happiness, right?” A too-bright smile lit the Summer Queen’s face. The Summer Queen had reigned for barely more than a mortal year, but during that time she’d had to deal with intercourt conflicts, being stabbed, losing a friend to the Dark Court, and trying to make sense of centuries of rivalry, allegiances, and old angers. An illogical urge to send her good advisors flared to life in Devlin, but he quashed it: the Summer Queen was not his priority.

Sorcha jabbed a finger toward the misty tableau, sending ripples through the image. “How can she be happy if he’s not?”

“She chooses to pursue happiness for the good of her court,” he pointed out. “It’s not the same as true happiness. You can’t fault her for trying to keep her court strong.”

Sorcha obviously disagreed: thorns continued to grow, weaving together like threads on a loom until they formed a daunting barrier between Sorcha and Devlin.

“Tell me, Brother.” She sounded fragile, not at all like the confident queen she’d been since the moment Devlin had first drawn breath.

“Summer is happy by nature,” he reminded, but even as he said it, he watched the Summer Queen. Her eyes were shadowed as if she wasn’t sleeping, and her mannerisms were out of synch with the frolicking around her. Aislinn was doing what Sorcha should be doing: making the best of whatever sorrows plagued her. Of course, the difference was that the High Queen shouldn’t be lost in sorrows at all. Emotional flux was not a High Court trait: it was out of order.

“I want him home,” Sorcha whispered. “Their world is unsafe. Bananach grows stronger. The courts are in discord. If there is true war there, the mortal world will suffer. Do you remember the times she has been strong, Brother? The mortals die so easily. He will not stay out of her path.… He is too recently mortal. He needs to be here where he is safe.”

“Soon.” Devlin didn’t try to reach through the thorns that now twisted around his queen like a cloak. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that he was there, but such displays of untoward emotion had always offended her. He’d made a life of hiding the emotions that proved that he was not truly High Court, not truly hers, not worthy to advise the Queen of Reason. The rest of the court might not realize that he was filled with illogical emotions, but she knew. She’d always known—and found it abhorrent.

Sorcha watched the translucent figures silently. In the hazy images, the Summer Queen startled and looked up. She smiled, looking hopeful. Whatever or whomever she saw was invisible to them, and in a blink, Aislinn vanished as well.

“He’s there,” Sorcha murmured, “with her.”

“Perhaps.” Devlin suspected that it was Seth, but there were others whose presence was invisible to Sorcha—some of whom Devlin had hidden from her.

“Do you think he is well?” Sorcha caught and held Devlin’s gaze. “What if he needs to talk or … art supplies … or … to come home? Maybe he wants to come home. Maybe he is unhappy. How am I to know?”

“I will visit him again.” Devlin would rather bring Seth back to Faerie, but Sorcha had given Seth a choice, and he had chosen to return to the mortal world where his beloved Summer Queen lived. Devlin had objected. Killing Seth or keeping him in Faerie would be better for Sorcha—and therefore for all of them.

“Perhaps you should stay there.” The High Queen’s voice didn’t sound noticeably different as she said this, but Devlin felt increasingly uneasy. In all of eternity, Sorcha had never sent him away for more than a quick trip.

“Stay there?” Devlin had traveled back and forth to the mortal world too often of late, and, as a day in Faerie was almost a full week in the mortal world, the disconnect of such travel was beginning to wear on him. His own emotions, more easily contained when he stayed in Faerie with his queen, were becoming increasingly present. His sleep was restless, leaving him tired—and prone to emotions.

“You would have me stay in the mortal world?” He spoke the words slowly.

“Yes. In case he needs you. I’m … I need you more there than here.” She stared at him, as if daring him to question her.

He wanted to: there was more to this than Seth’s protection, but Devlin didn’t know what his queen was hiding. “He’s with Irial and Niall, my queen. Cloistered safely in the Dark Court but for when he’s with the Summer Queen. Surely—”

“Do you refuse my orders? Have you finally decided to disobey me?”

He knelt. “Have I ever refused your orders?”

“You have acted without direct orders; but refused? I don’t know, Devlin.” She sighed softly, a whisper of air that made the garden seem to hold its breath. “You could, though. I know that.”

“I am not refusing your order,” he said. It was not a real answer. Truth would lead them into a discussion he had avoided for fourteen mortal years: it would mean admitting that he had disobeyed her direct order to kill one half-mortal child.

An offense for which I could be executed, abandoned, cast out of Faerie … and rightly so. A feeling that he recognized as guilt twisted inside him. I am High Court. I am Sorcha’s to command. I will not fail my queen ever again, he repeated his daily reminders silently to himself. Aloud, he added, “I am not refusing, but I am your advisor, my Queen, and I do not recommend leaving you alone when you seem …”

“Seem what?”

Devlin’s position was one of obeisance, but he caught and held her gaze with a boldness none other in Faerie would dare. “When you seem to be developing emotions.”

She ignored the reality he’d spoken and said only, “Tell him I wish he would come home. You will stay there … for as long as he needs you.”

“I am yours to command, my Queen.”

“Are you?” Sorcha leaned into the veil of thorns that had grown around her, and just as the jagged edges would pierce her, they vanished. Then, thorns sprouted from the earth at his knees, around her feet. The vines climbed her body, and crept over her arm to her fingers. She raised her hand and pressed it to his cheek, so that the sharp edges pierced them both. “Are you truly mine, Brother?”

“I am.” He did not move away.

“You will see her.” Sorcha’s blood dripped onto his skin, mingling with his own.

His body absorbed the blood she offered. As with the twins who’d created him, Devlin needed the nourishment of blood. Unlike them, he needed the blood of both Order and Discord.

“I will see Bananach,” Devlin admitted, “but she does not command me. Only you. I serve the Unchanging Queen, the High Court, Faerie.”

The vine crawled from her flesh onto his, where the nourishment she’d filled it with was his to take.

“For now.” Sorcha brushed her hand across his cheek. “But nothing lasts forever. Things change. We change.”

Devlin couldn’t speak. This was the closet to open affection his mother-sister had ever shown him. He wasn’t sure whether to be happy or alarmed. Reason wasn’t to act thusly, but in some hidden part of his mind, he’d wondered if she felt tempestuous emotions, if she merely hid them away better, if she’d chosen to let logic reign over her.

“Everything changes in time, Brother,” Sorcha whispered. “Go to Seth, and … be wary of War. I would rather you were not injured.”

He opened his mouth to question her, but she turned away, leaving him silent in her gardens.

CHAPTER 3

Ani had gone to the Dark Kings’ home knowing it would be another painful experience—and not the fun kind of pain.

Irial held one of her hands in his. It was a comfort of sorts. “Are you ready?”

“Take it.” Ani extended her other arm toward the former Dark King. She stared at the fleur-de-lis wallpaper, at the flickering candles, at anything other than the faery sitting beside her. “Take all of it if that’s what you need.”

“Not all, Ani.” He squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “If there was another way—”

“You’re my king. I will give whatever you ask of me. Do it.” She watched as he jabbed a thin tube into her skin. Bruises from the last several tubes decorated her skin like love bites.

“Not your king now. Niall’s the Dark King.”

“Whatever.” Ani didn’t resume the argument she’d lost too often: Irial might be king-no-more, but he had her loyalty. Truth be told, he had the loyalty of many of the denizens of the Dark Court. He might not rule them, but he still looked after them. He still handled those matters too disquieting for the new Dark King. Irial cosseted Niall.

Ani, however, wasn’t sheltered. Not anymore. When Irial learned that Ani could—that I need to—feed from both touch and emotion, he’d begun trying to find out how to use that for the Dark Court. According to Irial, as a halfling, she shouldn’t have either appetite. She certainly shouldn’t have both; and she definitely shouldn’t be able to find nourishment from mortals. Irial believed that Ani’s blood might hold the key to strengthening their court, so she’d become the subject of his experimentation.

Which is fine. For my court. For Irial.

“More?” she asked.

“Just a bit.” Irial bit the cork that sealed the next vial and tugged it out. He spoke around the cork held between his teeth and added, “Tilt down.”

She lowered her arm, clenching and unclenching her fist to pump the blood faster. She wasn’t sure if it actually helped the flow of blood, but it did give her the illusion that she was doing something. Bloodletting hadn’t become easier despite the number of times she’d done it.

With her free hand, she took the cork from his mouth. “I have it. Grab the next one.”

As the vial filled, Irial took another empty one from the rack and lifted it to his lips. Once it was uncorked, he switched the empty vial with the now full one. “Take this?”

Silently, she accepted the glass container with the same hand that held the cork. She sat it beside the other vials, all recorked, all filled with her blood. Then, she pushed the cork into the top of it.

“Last one,” Irial murmured. “You’re doing great.”

Ani stared at the empty space in the sixth rack; the others were all filled with vials of her blood. “Good.”

Irial handed her the last tube of blood and pressed a kiss to the inflamed extraction site. Neither of them spoke as he took the final container, settled it with the others, and carried all of it to the doorway and handed it off to a faery she didn’t see.

Their experimentation was a secret that neither Niall nor Gabriel knew of, but it was one of the myriad things Ani would do if Irial so much as hinted that he wished it of her. Not as painful as what I have done. At Irial’s request, she had let a trusted thistle-fey embrace her on one particularly unpleasant evening. Her hair and skin were collected by his touch. Should the court at large know of Irial’s experiments on her blood and flesh, should they learn why he sent samples to be tested and hopefully copied, she’d be at risk.

As would Iri.

Few faeries knew of her abnormalities—and she was grateful for that—and while Niall did know that she was unlike other faeries, he did not know of the experiments. He thought her ability to feed on the emotions of both faery and mortal was hidden from those who would kill, use, or champion her. Niall was a humane king. He allowed their faeries to do as they must, but he kept the court on a leash.

In a time when Bananach—the carrion crow, the bringer of war—grew stronger, leashes were dangerous. The faery courts, at least those on the mortal side of the veil, were on the verge of violence. The growing conflict nourished the Dark Court, who fed on the chaotic emotions, but it was also a threat to those Ani held dear. Upheavals between courts, whispers of deaths to come, these were all well and good—up to the point at which her own court was in jeopardy.

And Bananach will not spare the Dark Court. Or the mortal world my family lives in.

Irial did as he had done when he was king: moving pieces behind the scenes, making bargains, bending rules. This time, though, Ani’s safety was one of the rules he bent.

With my consent.

When Irial came back into the room, she watched him warily. For all of her adoration of him, she knew that he was rarely influenced by weakness or tenderness. He hadn’t held the throne of the court of nightmares for centuries by being easily swayed.

“You know I wouldn’t do this if there were better options.” His words weren’t a lie; they weren’t fully true either. Unless there was one clear option that would assure his court’s safety, he would do this—and much worse.

Yet, the former Dark King still thought of her as a child, as one foolish enough to accept the misdirection in his words. She wasn’t a child.

Perhaps foolish, but not naive, not innocent, not easily misled.

She leaned on the wall. The room was out of focus. “You’ve kept me safe my whole life. Kept Tish safe … and Rab … and … we’re good. It’s fine.”

The world around her spun. Tonight’s experiment had begun with her being as hungry as she could stand before the bloodletting. It wasn’t the least pleasant of the experiments, but it wasn’t pleasurable either.

Irial walked over to feed the fire—away from her so she could have the privacy to pull herself together—and asked, “You okay?”

“Sure.” She sat down, not feeling exactly well. Most days, she was only barely above starved. During the first few months of her hunger, she’d had humans and a few halflings. Since she’d moved to Gabriel’s care, she’d been restricted to the point that her hunger was hurting her physically. She’d been barely nourished by the emotion Irial shared and the scant contact that Gabriel grudgingly allowed her to pursue in court. Hugs and feather touches weren’t anywhere near enough.

Irial ran one hand absently over the side of the marble fireplace. Like everything in his house, it was carved with an appreciation of textures. The sharp edges and smooth curves drew her attention, but she didn’t approach the fireplace or the faery in front of it. Instead, she moved to one of the white leather chairs and traced a finger over the raised gray fleurs-de-lis barely visible on the walls.

“I know this is … difficult for you, pup.” Irial kept his distance, but he let her taste all of his emotions, giving her nourishment to make up for what she’d lost.

Ani caught his gaze. “Do you apologize to Gabriel when he punishes faeries who need it?”

The play of firelight and shadows made the former Dark King appear ominous, but his temper was not stirred. “No.”

“Then drop it. I’ll do what’s necessary for my court.” She fought the urge to fold her arms, forced herself to be calm, even though he knew exactly how unsettled she was. Dark Court faeries couldn’t feed on mortal emotions, but Ani wasn’t entirely mortal.

If Irial had not been there for her when she’d come to live with the Hounds, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done. He helped her cope with her changes, nourished her enough to keep true starvation at bay. In truth, if not for him she might have died forever ago. He’d protected her—and Tish and Rabbit—for almost all of their lives.

She let him feel the surge of gratitude and whispered, “I serve the will of the Dark Court. I know you have reasons.”

“If we can find a way to filter out your blood, our court will be unstoppable; Niall will be safe; and …” His words faded, but the hope was undeniable. Unlike many faeries, Irial was comfortable with modern science. If they could identify the anomalous component within her, replicate it, and introduce it to others, Dark Court faeries would be able to feed on both faery and mortal emotions. They’d be sated. They’d tried another plan, binding mortal to faery as conduits with tattoos, but those ink exchanges had presented unexpected complications.

“Right.” Ani stood. She’d heard his theories before; there was little Irial could say that would be new.

“You can save us,” he said yet again.

Ani wasn’t sure if his words were truth. Faeries couldn’t lie, but belief was a tricky thing. If Irial believed the words, they were utterable, and he did believe that her blood was the solution they needed to save the Dark Court.

“I’ll be back later. You’ll tell me”—she folded her arms over her chest as if it would still the shivering—“when you need me?”

“Your court needs you every day, Ani. No one else can feed on both touch and emotion; no one else can feed on both faery and mortal. You are the key.” Irial wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. It wasn’t much, but small touches from such a strong faery fed her skin hunger more than a lot of touch from a weak faery or a mortal would.

Ani stayed still, grateful for even the scant contact.

Irial stroked her hair. “You let me keep my promises to stop the ink exchanges, to protect my king.… We do need you, pup.”

She looked up at him. “As long as Gabriel and Niall don’t find out, right?”

“For now.” Irial stepped away, his hands still on her shoulders, and then he unfolded her arms and took her hands in his as he repeated the same assurances he had the past few months. “Just for now. Once we figure out what’s in your blood, they’ll understand why we did this.”

She nodded.

He led her to the door. “Do you need anything else?”

All sorts of things no one will give me.

Ani said nothing. Instead, she hugged him, knowing from other rejections that his offer didn’t include the other things she needed. Irial—for all of his love for court and king, for all his protection for family and beloved—didn’t want to hear what she truly needed. He wouldn’t share his bed with her or force her father to let her run free with the Hounds.

“I need to go,” Ani murmured, and then she turned her back on him before she gave in to the temptation to beg. He gave her enough to keep her from starvation, but the former Dark King wouldn’t help her fully sate her hungers. She would have to find a few tastes here and there to silence the gnawing inside her.

Again.

CHAPTER 4

Rae walked into the image of a tiny kitchen. Ani stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. A memory played out in the adjoining room. The tableau was set in a different era than the one where Rae had lived. It was familiar though: it was a memory that Ani replayed over and over in her dreams. So, Rae waited for the memory to run its course.

“Tell me about her?” Ani asked her sister.

“Who?” Tish paused mid-math, pencil held in the air.

“You know. Her.” Ani practiced cartwheels on the sofa. Until Rabbit came up from the shop to remind her she wasn’t to do it, she’d cartwheel and flip in their tiny living room.

“I was six. How would I know?” Tish rolled her eyes. “I remember she was nice. She read books. There was a blanket Dad gave her. Her hair was light brown like yours.”

“Dad visited her?”

“Uh-huh. “Tish was done talking. She was filled with sadness that she was trying to hide. “Go read or something, Ani.”

Tish’s pencil was making scratching noises on the paper, like the sounds cockroaches made when all of their feet brushed the floor or walls. It was one of the many reasons Ani hated schoolwork. Tish never heard how loud her pencil was though. Her ears didn’t work right.

Ani flipped over and snatched the pencil.

“Tag.”

“Give it back.”

“Sure … if you catch me.”

Tish looked at the clock, just a little glance. Then she snorted. “Like you could ever outrun me.”

And Ani was off, not as fast as she could run because that would make Tish sad, and making Tish sad was the one thing Ani never ever did on purpose.

Ani’s thinking of Tish so protectively wasn’t unusual, but more and more often, the memories of difference, of awareness of the sisters’ dissimilarities, had become central in Ani’s dreams.

“She is well? Your sister?” Rae asked, drawing Ani’s attention away from the memory.

Ani turned to face Rae. “Yeah, Tish is good. I miss her.”

“And you? Are you well?” Rae materialized a sofa that was reminiscent of one from her own long-gone sitting room.

Ani sat on the arm of the sofa, balanced there with no effort. Even in dreams, Ani had innate animal grace.

“I’m mostly okay.” Ani’s gaze skittered away from Rae.

Her words weren’t a lie; if they were, the Hound wouldn’t be able to speak them. Even here. They were together in a dream, but because Rae was a dreamwalker, this, too, was a sort of reality. And some rules, faery rules, are inescapable in every reality.

“Mostly okay?” Rae envisioned a nice cup of tea and a tray of finger sandwiches, pastries, and other assorted treats. In dreams, she could adjust the world around her, so the imagined treats appeared as quickly as the thought had. “Scone?”

Absently, Ani took one. “It’s weird to dream about eating.”

“You needed comfort, so you dreamed of food,” Rae said. Unlike faeries, Rae could lie at will. “You were stressed over thinking about your sister. It makes sense.”

The Hound slid from the arm of the sofa into the seat. “I guess.”

As Ani sat silently and ate, Rae enjoyed the semblance of normalcy. If Ani realized Rae wasn’t a figment of her imagination, they’d stop talking, but Rae had been visiting her dreams since Ani was a child. Ani rationalized Rae’s presence.

“I think I’m lonely.” Ani pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her. “Plus, being apart from Tish is … wrong. What if she needs me? What if—”

“Is she alone?”

“No, but still …” Ani’s voice drifted off as distorted images from her fears formed around them.

A faceless faery reached for Tish.

Hands covered in blood swung at Rabbit.

Ani’s mother, Jillian, lay dead outside a cupboard.

Ani was trapped behind a too-small barrier as a faceless faery reached for her.

Unlike the tea and food, these weren’t things Rae created. They were the terrors of Ani’s imaginings. Here, where Ani felt safe, she envisioned a mix of memories and fears. Rae could alter reality, but the dreamer’s mind also held sway.

“These aren’t real memories,” Rae reminded. “This is not what happened. You don’t even know—”

“She was there, and then she was gone.” Ani glared at Rae. “There was a monster. There had to be. He took her and … did something. Hurt her. Killed her. He had to have. If she was alive, she’d have come home. She wouldn’t have left us. She loved us.”

“You’re a creature that creates fear in others, not one who should dwell in it.” Rae concentrated on remaking the landscape around her. She removed the faceless faery, the dead mother, and the trembling girls. She wiped it all away, and—hopefully—Ani’s fear with it. “Tell me about your court. Think about that. Tell me how things go with the Hunt.”

“I rode again. The wolves were at our feet; the steeds were like shadows.… It’s perfect when it happens. I want it always like that.… I want a steed; I want to be stronger; I want … oh … I want everything.” Ani’s eyes glimmered the strange green of the Hunt’s beasts. Despite her mixed parentage, she was meant to be among faeries; it had been obvious to Rae since she first met the girl.

Ani had no awareness of the vows they’d made and broken so Ani could live. Rae did. She remembered it each time Devlin refused to talk about the Hound, each time he refused to go check on her. They’d spared Ani. The time was coming when they’d have to deal with the inevitable consequences.

Rae reached out and squeezed Ani’s hand. In the dream-scape where Rae walked, she could do that, touch another body. “You’re too impatient.”

Ani pointed at herself. “Hound. What do you expect?”

“Exactly what you are,” Rae said.

Ani wandered into the dreamscape. To her, this was just another dream where her mind worked through fears and worries. And, just then, Ani didn’t want to work through them—so she walked away.

Rae followed in what was now a vast shadowed forest.

Time was running out, and neither Devlin nor Ani was any closer to finding their rightful places. And I can’t tell them without undoing everything.

From the depths of the forest, wolves’ songs rose. A space between the trees opened up, and as Rae walked she could hear the pad of their feet on the needle-covered trail. Rae shuddered as the wolves drew near. Beside her, Ani sighed: the wolves were a comfort to her.

Ani spun to face Rae and blurted, “Do you think the monster was High Court? They hate my court. They steal halflings. They are monsters.”

“Monsters are called such by those who are doing the naming.” Rae tensed as a sulfurous green glow illuminated all of the wolves’ eyes in the forest. “Mortals write stories of the beauty of Faerie, of the delicate fey creatures of other courts, and your court’s creatures are the fiends.”

“He wasn’t my court. That’s for sure.” Ani crouched on the path and the wolves began to slip from among the woods. Their muzzles butted against Ani and Rae. Furred sides brushed against them. Howls rose into a cacophony.

Ani opened her arms to the wolves. The creatures began circling them in a blur of white teeth and green eyes, musky fur and growling throats. They ran faster and faster, pressing against Ani.

Rae visualized herself outside the circle, at a far distance up the path.

One by one, each wolf dove into the center of Ani and disappeared there. They were a part of her, the part that would wake and change the world.

If. That was the worst part of knowing: the knowledge that the future Rae so desperately wanted was only an

“if.” She didn’t know what the other possibilities were, but she did know that the future she had glimpsed was one she wanted, one where she would have autonomy for the first time. Please, Ani.

“I hope you are able to forgive him,” Rae whispered. “He’s not a monster. Neither are you.”

And then she was gone from Ani’s mind.

After being in the dream forest, her cave felt even more restrictive. Rae paced around the perimeter, counting out steps as if the murmuring of numbers would make the small space seem somehow larger. It didn’t work.

Darkness, the time of dreams, was Rae’s rightful place, but the past few weeks, Sorcha had insisted that there were but a few dark hours in Faerie. The moon did not go through normal phases; instead, it almost always stayed full in the sky, casting silvered light over them as if they were caught in one endless day. And without the dark, Rae was caught, trapped in the small cave that was her prison.

“Rae?” Devlin was in the doorway of the cave. The light from outside shone around him, illuminating him and adding to his otherworldly appearance. His coarse white hair, loosened from restraints, offset the harshness of his features a little, but not so much that the sharp angles of his cheeks looked human.

“You’re here.” Rae shifted her attire to match Devlin’s more formal garb. Her dress was pale rose with a hem that swept the ground, and although the waist was narrow, the bodice

was demure. Her almost floor-length hair was swept up with gilt combs. The only ornament beyond her combs was a black band around her throat that held a cameo. If Devlin looked closely, he’d see that it was his image in the ivory.

The stern set of his mouth softened. “You need not change for me.”

“I know,” she lied. She did need to change if it brought her the smile she’d sought. His stress was heavy enough that his straightened shoulders were rigid with it.

“I must go over to the mortal world again.”

Rae stilled. “Again?”

Devlin stepped farther into the shadows of the cave. “I am not sure how long I’ll be gone this time.”

“Something is wrong with the High Queen. She barely lowers the light.” Rae couldn’t see beyond the crevice where Devlin had entered. The brightness that seeped through the small fissure was painful to her. Facing it full on would be blinding.

“Light soothes her; darkness reminds her of her twin.” He was out of the light now, comforting in his presence as none other had ever been. The High Court’s assassin was her friend, her companion, her only solace in a world that—even after decades—still made little sense to her.

Rae leaned against a flat stone on one side of the cave. “I could come with you.”

Devlin kept his distance. “And if you were drawn back to your body by being in the mortal world?”

“If I was drawn into my body, which I don’t think I would be, I suspect I’d die.” She stepped a little closer to him.

Devlin didn’t move away. “Which I do not want.”

For a moment, they stood in silence. She hated being left alone in Faerie, feared the High Queen, worried about Devlin, and wished she could go to the mortal world.

With careful deliberation, Rae stepped closer to him again. Were she solid, her skirt would be atop his feet. “Will you check on her? Ani is important. Just once go seek her out.”

“Don’t do this.” Devlin’s voice held the edge that it always did when Rae broached forbidden topics.

“You’re making a mistake,” she whispered. “You saved her. You ought to—”

“Don’t.” Devlin turned his back to her and walked away, retreating almost to the sunlight at the mouth of the cave. “I did as you wished. She lives. Nothing more is required.”

Rae lifted one hand, but didn’t follow. It wouldn’t matter: she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t force him to face her. Without his help, she had no physical substance.

Without him, I have nothing.

“Can I take a walk? Before you go?” Rae tried to make her invitation sound casual. It was one of the things she’d realized early on: she couldn’t act like it was important.

To either of us.

He turned. A flash of relief, so brief that it barely registered before vanishing, slid across Devlin’s impassive face. “If it would calm you …”

“It would,” Rae assured him. She didn’t give voice to the fact that it would calm both of them. Devlin wouldn’t have stood so pensively if he didn’t seek the reprieve. He needed an excuse, and he needed an invitation. Unless it was for political maneuvers, for the ability to lie, Devlin never admitted wanting the respite that Rae’s possession allowed them both. Letting her close to him, letting her possess him, gave him freedom from the stifling rules of Faerie. It gave him an excuse to enjoy his other sister’s heritage without consequences.

“Fine.” Devlin stood still, motionless as only a faery could be.

She walked across the cave as if she could touch the stone floor. She measured each step as she’d been doing earlier for peace, counting them out as if at one of the long-ago dances she’d attended when she still had a body. Her skirts swayed, and the illusion made her feel closer to being tangible.

Devlin’s lips parted enough that a sigh could escape as Rae stood face-to-face with him. His body tensed in anticipation. His pupils dilated in the flood of adrenaline released by fear and excitement.

She slipped into his body, pushing Devlin to the back of his own mind and animating the body as if it were her own. She could feel him, talk to him inside their body, but he didn’t control the movements. Not now. After so many times inside Devlin, it felt as familiar as her own body had. More perhaps.

She didn’t ask where he wanted to go. If she did, he would pretend not to have any interest in what she did with his body, but she felt him, watching and riding out the emotions they both felt during their shared occupation. It was the only time within Faerie that he could revel in passions—because he was not the one choosing to indulge.

“In the mortal world, you are not so cautious,” she whispered. “I know your secrets, Devlin. I’ve seen the memories. The indulgences …”

What I do there is of no consequence, he muttered. I do as my queen bids first. I serve my—

“I’m not chastising. I think you should take pleasure for yourself.” Rae stretched, enjoying the heaviness of wearing bone and muscle again. She reached her hands out and touched the rocks that jutted unevenly in the cave. It was within the side of a mountain, not visible to the High Queen or perhaps simply not worthy of her notice. Devlin had made the cave where Rae hid. Like the queen, Devlin could bend reality in Faerie if he wanted to, but no one—save Rae—knew that Devlin could remake the world at his will. Out of respect for his queen, he’d hidden that truth from everyone.

“Oh, the things we could do if you weren’t so obstinate, Dev,” she said. “The world could be ours. No limits. Think about the freedom, the pleasures.…”

I’m not going to spend all day like this, Rae, he said. Or discussing that again.

“Only because you know I’m right, and you’re going to have to admit it or lie to me … which you can’t do.” Rae grinned and kicked off the sandals that Devlin had worn. They were too utilitarian, too restrictive. Feet bare,

Rae stepped out the doorway into the brightness of Faerie. It felt deliciously scandalous to have her feet naked. Such a thing would’ve shocked everyone she’d known in the mortal world.

I serve the High Queen. It’s the choice I made, he repeated as usual.

“Some choices can be traps. Do you honestly think that staying the course just because you once thought it was right is wise? There are other choices.”

Enough, Rae. He raised his voice inside their body. Can we not … argue? Take the body where you will, Rae. Devlin sounded both wearied and hopeful.

Rae heard the hope in his voice. It was small progress, but it was progress.

CHAPTER 5

Ani and Tish flung themselves down the street toward the Crow’s Nest. It wasn’t quite running, but it was far faster than walking. Ani had to pace herself, force her feet to move slower to keep beside Tish. It didn’t used to be like that, but over the last year, Ani had changed more every month. Tish hadn’t.

Ani had always been a little different, but not enough to matter. She was just part of Ani-and-Tish, the “Trouble Twins”—even though Tish was really almost three years older. They had a difficult time being apart, so Tish stayed home a couple years extra before starting school. She helped Ani with book stuff and following mortal world rules, and Ani kept Tish safe from dangers and boredom. That was how it worked. And it did work—until Ani had changed too much.

“Ani?” Tish’s voice was breathless. “Slower?”

“Sorry.” Ani slowed down, looking up ahead at the cluster of people outside the Crow’s Nest. Mortals. Almost everyone there was mortal, but that was fine by Ani. All the delectable faeries were afraid of Gabriel and of Irial, but mortals weren’t aware of the Dark Court. Most weren’t aware of the existence of faeries—which made them the best game in town.

“… Rabbit’s worried about money.” Tish was breathing heavily, despite Ani slowing down even more.

“Money?”

“Things are tight, but he’s still talking like I should”—Tish sent a pleading look at Ani—“go to college next year. Not far away or anything, but just … away.”

Ani kept her face as expressionless as she could. “Oh … so you want to … I mean … if that’s what you want, good.”

“I do, but I don’t like being far from you or Rab or Iri or Dad, especially lately. I hated when Winter was constant, but at least then you knew what to expect. With the courts all snarling at one another … I’m not sure I want to be away.” Tish looked down briefly, not saying the things they couldn’t, not admitting that she was too weak to defend herself.

Ani slowed to a casual stroll. Tish being out of reach scared Ani, but Tish being out of the growing conflict in Huntsdale was appealing. Ani didn’t voice that. No one—least of all Ani—was going to let Tish go where she was unprotected.

“I could come,” Ani suggested. “Not to school, but I could get a job or something. We can get an apartment.

Oooh, maybe in Pittsburgh near Leslie? Or in Atlanta? You could totally pass there if you wanted.”

“You couldn’t.” Tish said it softly. “Not anymore.”

“Whatever.” Ani didn’t want to talk about that. She wasn’t able to pass as mortal: any faery seeing her would know, but she was also under the protection of the strongest of the Dark Court faeries. Outside Huntsdale, she’d be vulnerable.

“Maybe in a few years I could go.” Tish hugged her. “You’ll get better at being what you are, Ani. I know you will. It’ll get easier.”

“Whichever is best for you is what we’ll do.” Ani forced a smile to her lips.

It was a matter of time until they’d end up apart. Halflings were sometimes strong, but strong Dark Court halflings were often targeted by solitaries or kidnapped by the High Court. Not strong enough to be truly in the Dark Court, but too threatening to live outside it. Irial’s protection had kept them safe—and well hidden—for most of her life. Then Ani had changed and had to move away from her family. Rabbit and Tish were not fey enough to need to be within the court, and Ani was too fey to live outside it. Rabbit was able to pass; Tish was able to pass; and now that Ani lived with the Hounds, Rabbit could relocate to somewhere away from Huntsdale. So Tish is safe.

Ani wasn’t book smart, but she understood a few things she hadn’t when they were pups: Tish was almost mortal, and Rabbit had known how different the two girls were from each other long before they did. He didn’t talk about those things, and Ani didn’t do anything that demonstrated how different she was from Tish. She’d kept that as secret as she could, for as long as she could. Life was about secrets and pretending. It had been that way since Jillian died.

Jillian wasn’t even a face in Ani’s memories; she was hands and too-fast words trying to get Ani-and-Tish—their names were already just one word then—to hide and “stay quiet, please quiet like you’re bunnies. For Mama?”

And after, when it was just Ani and Tish, when Jillian never came back to open the cupboard where the girls stayed still and waiting, Ani remembered that part too. Tish was sad, broken somewhere inside that Ani couldn’t fix. She pretended though, for Ani. Tish held on to Ani, and late that night Tish pushed the buttons they had on the phone to the “special number for trouble.” That was when Irial came and took them to Rabbit; that was when Irial made them safe in a new home.

Tish didn’t remember that day. She’d erased it from her memory, locked it away somewhere. The before and the after was what Tish remembered: Irial, Rabbit, and a new home. Tish never remembered the other parts.

Ani did.

Remembering Jillian not coming back made Ani feel raw inside. The day when Jillian was gone and Tish was sad was the first complete memory that Ani had. Life, as she remembered it, began for Ani in that moment.

“Hey, you okay?” Tish grabbed Ani’s hand and pulled her to the side of a group of guys headed into the club. “You weren’t listening to a thing I said, were you?”

“Sorry, Sis.” Ani flashed a fake smile. “The whole nonsense with Gabr—”

“Dad,” Tish corrected.

“With Gabriel not letting me relax with any of the Hounds has me all out of sorts.” Ani had found lying increasingly impossible the older she got, but she’d picked up the importance of misdirection years ago. She was out of sorts with Gabriel. That might not be what she’d just been thinking, but it was a true statement.

“He’s a good person. Give him a chance.”

“He’s never been a father, not like Rabbit.” Ani didn’t want to admit that being in the Dark Court wasn’t everything she dreamed of, not even to Tish. Being surrounded by the Hounds and the Dark Court should make her feel less alone, but the exact opposite had happened. “It’s not like I’m a pup. And his not letting you and me live in the same place, keeping me away from you and Rab, is no good.”

“I miss you too.” Tish always gave voice to the stuff Ani couldn’t deal with or even admit she needed to deal with.

Ani leaned her shoulder against the wall, enjoying the way the rough edges of brick felt against her bare back. It anchored her in the now—which was where she needed to be, not dwelling on memories best kept boxed up.

“Are you coping?” Tish gestured vaguely. They never really talked about the way Ani craved contact—or the consequences of her getting too much of it.

“Sure.” Ani watched a group of guys head toward the door. They weren’t faery-pretty or emotional feasts, but they were on the prowl. For her, right then, that was good enough. It has to be. She could take a taste from each of them, a touch here and an emotion there, to keep the hungers at bay.

Not both. Never both from the same person.

She linked her arm through Tish’s. “Come on.”

Glenn was working the door. He winced as they approached. “And here it was looking like such a good night.”

“Jerk.” Tish cuddled into his open arms. “You’d miss me if I didn’t stop in.”

“Sure, but when you have your partner in chaos …” He wrapped an arm familiarly around Tish’s waist and lifted her into his lap.

Ani tilted her head inquiringly. This is new. And Ani hadn’t seen it because living with the Hounds meant not seeing her sister but once or so every other week.

Tish smiled contently as Glenn held her.

“Hey.” Glenn kissed Tish’s forehead, and then swept his gaze around the people and shadows in the lot. He didn’t get involved in whatever business people took out of sight, but dealing inside was banned.

“Aren’t you going to give Glenn a hug?” Tish played coy and silly, slipping into her role as easily as if their outings were still a daily thing. “It’s been, like, weeks.”

“You heard her. C’mere.” Glenn held out the other arm.

Ani leaned in close, enjoying the feel of bare arm and partly bare chest. Glenn had a sleeveless shirt on, fastened with only one button. He’d taken to the surprising return of Summer like most mortals—exposing a good amount of skin.

Glenn released Ani, but held on to Tish. “You be careful in there. Both of you.” He stared at Ani. “I mean it.”

Tish kissed him. “We’ll do our best.”

“That’s what I worry about,” Glenn muttered.

“Just dancing, Glenn.” Ani took her sister’s hand and pushed open the door. “I promise she’ll be fine.”

“You too,” Glenn said.

But the door was open and the crowd of bodies was right there, and all Ani could do was call back, “Sure.”

The band was old-school punk, and there was a pit. Perfect. With a gleeful squeal, Tish shoved Ani forward into the mass.

CHAPTER 6

Devlin watched for Seth as he walked through the crush of mortals in the Crow’s Nest. It was less complicated to await Seth here; the alternative was going to the Dark Court, and dealing with the Dark King could be fraught with difficulties. Niall, the Gancanagh who’d once lived in Faerie and now ruled the Dark Court, had changed. His years with Irial, his centuries advising the Summer King, and his recent ascension to the Dark Court’s throne all combined to create a faery monarch who should not be trusted.

Not that Seth should be trusted either.

Seth was loved by the Summer Queen, had been gifted with Sight by the Winter Queen, and had been declared “brother” to the Dark King. Rather than nullify the threat of a mortal walking among all the courts—as Sorcha should’ve done—the High Queen had remade Seth as a

faery and invited him into her court. Devlin couldn’t help but wonder at the logic in some of the decisions she was making of late.

Mortals pushed against Devlin, and he had to remind himself that physically relocating them was considered aggressive in the mortal realm—and that aggression was not a quality he was supposed to embrace. He threaded his way through the crowd.

With the noise and blaring music, the shadows and flashing lights, the Crow’s Nest called to the discordant side of his ancestry.

“I am looking for Seth,” he told the barmaid.

“Not here yet.” She glanced at his wrist, seeking the age band that would indicate whether or not he was allowed to order alcoholic drinks.

Devlin shifted his appearance so that she saw a glowing strip of plastic, white under the black lights hanging over the bar.

“Wine. White.” He dropped a bill on the bar.

“Change?”

He shook his head. Exchanging funds for alcohol was odd; in Faerie such transactions were unnecessary. What one required was simply provided.

The barmaid grabbed a bottle of chardonnay, filled a cocktail glass, and set it on the bar. It was the wrong glass and cheap wine, but he didn’t expect much else from the Crow’s Nest. Her hand was still cradling the short glass

when Devlin wrapped his hand around the other side, interlacing his fingers with hers, holding her attention. “I’m Devlin.”

She paused. “I remember you.”

“Good. You’ll tell him I’m here,” Devlin said.

She nodded and turned to the next customer.

Neither the doorman nor the barmaid had seen Seth, but between the two, Devlin was assured that Seth would know Devlin was looking for him the moment he arrived.

Drink in hand, Devlin retreated to the periphery. Something in the club was making Devlin want the release of a fight.

He looked over the crowd, but it wasn’t Niall or Seth that he saw on the floor: Bananach stood in the shadows across the room. Her presence explained the extra urge to violence. Just as being near Sorcha made him feel calmer, being near Bananach made him feel disorderly urges.

If Sorcha knew that her mad twin was in the club favored by Seth, the illogical anxiety the High Queen had experienced of late would worsen. If Bananach injured Seth, Sorcha would be … He couldn’t fathom what she would be. However, he was certain that he needed to convince Bananach to leave before Seth arrived. It would be preferable if Seth returned to Faerie—at least until the likelihood of true war in the mortal world was past. If Seth were injured, Sorcha might very well involve herself in battle with Bananach, and that could not end well for anyone.

Devlin didn’t observe social niceties as he went toward Bananach. Instead, he pulled his glamour around him like a shadow to hide his presence and shoved mortals from his path.

Necessary logical aggression.

“Brother!” Bananach smiled at him and casually knocked a mortal to the ground.

A small fight broke out as two guys both blamed the other. One threw a punch. The one on the floor came up swinging.

“How are you, Sister?”

“I am well.” She flicked her wrist out and cut a thin line on a mortal who wasn’t in the squabble yet. It wasn’t much of an injury, but her talon-tipped fingers were bloodied. Neither her presence nor the quarrel were random, but he wasn’t yet sure what her agenda was just then, only that she had one. War might start in madness, but to flourish it must be calculating—and Bananach was the embodiment of war.

Her intermittent madness was increasingly absent as she became more powerful. The visible presence of her strength was in her shadowed wings—which were shadows no more. They’d been made manifest. Bananach drew strength from the growing intercourt conflicts and mistrusts, and her strength enabled her to increase the conflicts. It was a deadly cycle—one he didn’t know how to end. Bananach had manipulated the courts, inner-court factions, and her sister until they were on the precipice of war. He’d seen her do so over the centuries, but this time he was afraid that they wouldn’t escape without more deaths than he could comfortably sanction. The last time she’d been so effective was when the now-dead Winter Queen, Beira, had killed the last Summer King, Miach. Miach had been Beira’s opposition, her lover, and father to her child. The consequences of his death had set the courts off balance for nine centuries.

Devlin pulled out a chair for his sister. Once she sat, he dragged another chair over and sat beside her. “Had you wanted to quarrel?”

“Not with you, dear.” She patted his hand absently as she watched the mortals fighting. “If the Dark Court could feed from mortals’ emotions and faeries’ emotions … that would change things, wouldn’t it? Imagine if I could make it so.”

“They can’t. You can’t,” Devlin pointed out. The Dark Court thrived in times of discord, but they were denied access to the throngs of emotional mortals all around them.

“Perhaps.” She traced a jagged line down her forearm with one talon-tipped finger. “Or perhaps I just need the right sacrifice.” She stretched her arm out, turning it so the blood dripped into his glass. “Blood makes Faerie stronger. She forgets, pretends she’s not like us.”

Devlin wrapped his hand around the glass of wine and blood now swirling together. “Sorcha is not like you, and you”—Devlin lifted his glass in a toast—“are not like her.”

War stabbed a passing mortal. “We are all—faeries, mortals, and other creatures—alike.” She stood and stabbed the mortal a second time. “We fight. We bleed.” She looked across the room at someone and smiled. “And some of us will die.”

The mortal pressed a hand to his side, but the blood wasn’t slowed.

“Stop by for dinner soon, precious one.” Bananach leaned over and cupped Devlin’s cheek with her bloody hand. She straightened. “Hello, my pretty lamb.”

Seth came up to them, glaring at Bananach. “Get out now.”

Devlin stepped in front of Seth, blocking his access to Bananach. He pointed to the mortal on the floor. “That one is injured.”

Seth raised a fist. “Because of her.”

“You can help him or argue with War,” Devlin said. “You cannot do both.”

Seth scowled. “And you won’t do either.”

“That is not my function.” For an unexpected moment, Devlin wondered if the sometimes-mortal-sometimes-fey boy would fight Bananach or save the injured mortal. He hoped that he’d not have to try to wrest Seth from Bananach’s grasp tonight.

Is he logical enough to sacrifice one mortal to strike Bananach or compassionate enough to save the mortal and plan to confront Bananach later?

After a lingering disdainful look at Devlin, Seth lifted the injured mortal. “At least help me get him to the door.”

Bananach stood to the side and watched, a bemused smile on her lips. She, undoubtedly, had weighed the possibilities too. The knowledge of Seth’s actions would be factored into her next maneuver. The strategy behind maximizing conflict required skill and patience.

Devlin cleared a path so they weren’t jostled. It wasn’t quite the way he’d hoped the evening would proceed, but his primary goal was met: Seth was uninjured. All things considered, everything was as fine as it could be.

Then he saw her.

Seth stepped past Devlin, blocking the sight of everything else for a moment.

“Wait here?” Seth shifted his hold on the injured mortal. “I’m going to get him to the …”

But the rest of the words he said were lost on Devlin: the girl laughed, joyous and unfettered. Absently, he nodded and stepped closer to the crowd, closer to her.

Ani.

She had shorter hair: close-cropped in the back so that it framed her face, longer toward the front so the pink-tinted tips brushed the edge of her jawline. Her features were too common to be truly beautiful, yet too faery to be truly common. If he hadn’t already known she was a halfling, a look at her overlarge eyes and angular bone structure would be sufficient reason to suspect faery ancestry.

Ani. Here.

Beside her stood her brother, the tattooist who’d bound mortals to faeries in the ill-fated ink exchanges and raised his halfling sisters as if they were his own children.

“Rabbit! Where did you come from?” Ani grinned at him.

“You were to call an hour ago.”

“Really?” She tilted her head and widened her eyes beseechingly. “Maybe I forgot.”

“Ani.” Rabbit glared at his sister. “We talked about this. You need to check in with me when Tish is with you.”

“I know.” She was completely unapologetic. Her chin lifted; her shoulders squared. In a pack, she’d be an obvious alpha. Even with her older brother, she was trying to challenge the dominance order. “I wanted you to come out with us though, and if I didn’t call, I knew you—”

“I ought to drag you out of here,” Rabbit growled at her.

She went up on her toes to kiss his chin. “I miss you. Stay and dance?”

Rabbit’s expression softened. “One song. I have work yet tonight.”

“'Kay.” Ani grabbed the hands of her sister, Tish. They shoved another girl toward Rabbit, and then pulled several mortals toward themselves, and they all writhed like fire burned in their skin. Their dancing was joyous and free in a way that Devlin admired.

I want to join her. He realized it with a start. The Hound was Dark Court, mortal, predator, any variety of things he should not find tempting. Or beautiful. He did, though. Her freedom and her aggression made her seem like the most beautiful faery he’d ever glimpsed. If only for a moment, Devlin wished he could step into her world. It was a deviant urge: Ani shouldn’t hold his attention as she did in that instant. No one should. It is illogical.

When the song ended, a mortal girl whispered in Rabbit’s ear. He dropped an arm around her shoulders, but before he left, he paused to tell his sisters, “Be good. I mean it.”

They both nodded.

“Call if you need me,” Rabbit added. Then, he led the mortal into the crowd.

The music resumed, and Tish bumped into Ani’s shoulder and said, “Dance, silly.”

Ani mock-growled, and they both giggled.

Devlin watched Ani, transfixed as he’d never been before. She shouldn’t even be alive. If he’d obeyed his queen, she’d be long dead. But here she was, alive and vibrant.

After the first time, he’d never sought her out. He’d seen her in passing, but he’d kept away from her. His only intentional encounter with her had been when he was sent to kill her—and didn’t—but as he watched her just then, he wondered if he should correct his oversight.

The request Rae made was to spare Ani, not to let her live for always.

The loophole was there; it had always been there. Ani was the proof of Devlin’s deceit, the evidence of his failure, and the most captivating faery he’d ever seen.

CHAPTER 7

Ani lost herself in the music and the thrashing sea of bodies for hours. Club nights were essential as her hungers grew more intense. When Gabriel had taken her away from her home with Rabbit, her family and court acted like her ability to feed on mortals’ emotions was a secret she’d hidden away. It wasn’t: it was new. A matching hunger for touch had risen up over the last few months, and she couldn’t reliably control both of them. She’d been trying—and failing—since she first noticed them.

“Do you mind if we step out again?” Tish yelled into Ani’s ear.

Tish pointed to the edge of the crowd. Glenn was on another break, and as he had for every other break, he’d unerringly sought out Tish. Every time he headed their way, Tish asked, and every time, Ani shook her head. She’d never stand in the way of anything that made her family happy.

Before Tish could reach Glenn’s hand, some guy with punk-for-the-night clothes grabbed Tish by the hips.

Ani snarled loud enough that Tish looked alarmed. “Ani!”

Forcing back her temper, Ani turned her gaze to her sister. The guy said something crass and moved on.

“Eyes!” Tish hissed. “Eyes. Now.”

“Sorry.” Ani closed her eyes, willing away the sulfurous green that she knew Tish suddenly saw there.

“I’m okay, NiNi,” Tish assured. She leaned close and suggested, “But you should eat.”

Here, in the crowd and surrounded by bodies, Ani could let go of her appetite control a little. She was Dark Court enough to ride the surge of emotions, Hound enough to swallow the sensation of touch, and peculiar enough to do so with mortal and faery both. The Crow’s Nest offered her all of it.

Ani opened her once-more brown eyes.

“You okay?” Tish asked. “I can stay with you. Rab’s going home now that he knows we’re okay, and …”

Ani shook her head. “I’m good. Go on.”

“If you—”

“Go.” Ani shoved her sister gently into Glenn’s embrace.

He gave her a questioning look. He might not know what she was or what she needed, but he’d known her long enough to recognize that she was on the verge of trouble.

How do any of the Hounds stand it? Gabriel dealt with his through fighting; Rabbit dealt through tattooing; and Tish didn’t seem to have a skin hunger. Maybe it was easier with just one appetite to suppress. Maybe it was easier with a pack to embrace. Instead of being alone all the time.

Ani moved farther into the crowd, hoping for enough of a crush that she would be able to lose herself again.

As she slid through the outstretched arms and gyrating hips, she saw him: a faery stood on the periphery of the crowd, just close enough that she could tell that he was someone altogether new. Solitaries passed through Huntsdale regularly. Having several regents in one place was an anomaly, and faeries were ever intrigued by anomalies.

The faery on the edge of the crowd was oblivious to the appraising looks he was getting, but he would’ve stood out even if they were at a faery club like the Rath and Ruins. His hair was so pale that it looked white, and Ani suspected that the shimmers of color weren’t just the reflection of the club lights but a little bit of his true appearance. He was eye candy. And he’s staring at me.

She stopped moving and asked, “Are you coming over or just looking?”

No one around her would hear her ask, but the eye candy in question was a faery. He heard her and answered, “I really don’t think that’s wise.”

Ani laughed. “Who cares?”

Like many faeries she knew, he was sculpture-perfect, but instead of being wrought of shadows like those in her court, this faery had a tangled feel to him. Shadow and radiance. He didn’t look much older than her, until she saw the arrogance in his posture. Then, he reminded her of Irial, of Bananach, of Keenan, of the faeries who walked through courts and crowds confident that they could slaughter everyone in the room. Like chaos in a glass cage.

“Come dance.” She turned her back then and let herself be swept into the crowd. Hands and emotions were all around her; it was like drowning in euphoria and need.

And he’s watching.

She glanced toward the shadows where he stood. He hadn’t moved. So she held his gaze while she danced, not for the mortals in the room, not for the feelings that every brush of skin brought to the surface.

“Come dance with me,” she whispered.

He stared at her, not even glancing at anyone else, even when they spoke to him or stood in his path. No one else in the room was there for him. Just me.

Twenty minutes later, the band took a break, and the floor cleared enough that there was more room to dance.

He was still in the same spot.

She considered going over to him, but she wasn’t a pet to be summoned. She was a Hound. He could come to her.

“Hey!” Tish said.

Glenn had an arm protectively around Tish.

“You coming out with us?” Tish couldn’t stand still. She might be more mortal than faery, but she had the Hound tendency to be always in motion.

Behind her, Glenn was immobile.

The club music came on to fill the silence while the band was on break.

Ani took her sister’s hands, and they danced near Glenn as they always had. It was different now. Before, Glenn had always looked at them like they were about to consume everyone’s good sense. Now, he watched Tish like she was his own personal heaven.

“I’m fine here,” Ani said as she swung Tish around so that Glenn had her back in his arms. “Go on.”

“Do you need my glasses?” Tish reached into the little bag she had slung over her shoulder. Emergency sunglasses had become a necessity since Ani started changing. The moment of green eyes earlier had been too close for Tish.

“Honest, I’m good.” Ani kissed her sister on the tip of the nose. “Go”—she caught Glenn’s gaze then—“and you take care of her, or else.”

Glenn snorted.

Tish stepped between them. She pursed her lips as she looked back at Ani. “You be good. Glenn’s our friend.”

“If she’s not treated like she’s made of china, if she gets even the teeniest bit hurt”—Ani reached out and caught Tish’s hand without looking—“it would be bad. That’s all I’m saying. You don’t want to meet my relatives.”

“I’ve been watching her back—and yours—for years.” Glenn’s demeanor changed to something softer. “I’d sooner step in front of a fist or knife or whatever than let Tish get hurt. You gotta know that by now.”

“Cool.” Ani hugged him. “Get off my dance floor then.”

Tish hesitated, so Ani grabbed the hand of a guy who was passing. “Dance?”

He nodded, and Ani led him into the center of the remaining crowd. She didn’t need to look to know that he was still watching—or that he’d heard every word she’d said. The admonition had been for him as much as for Glenn.

Fair warning. Fair chance to flee.

If not for the gnawing ache inside of her, she might wonder why he was staring at her all night. If not for the fact that she had the former king of the Dark Court as her personal knight in shining armor, she might worry a little more. Tonight she wasn’t sure she could worry. She needed to be lost in the music.

As the band took the stage again, her dance partner moved away, but she didn’t follow.

“Come dance,” she said again. “I know you’re watching. Come out and play.”

A few moments later, he came to stand—motionless—on the dance floor.

“About time.” She spun so she was chest-to-chest with him and slid her hands up his chest slowly enough that she could feel the muscles under his shirt.

“I thought you were going to make me chase after you.” She let her hands slip over his shoulders and around the back of his neck.

He stayed immobile as she did so. “You’re a foolish one, aren’t you?

“Nope.” She tilted her head so she could stare up at him.

All around, bodies crashed into them. The music was deafening, and if he’d been anything other than faery, she’d have had to yell over the noise.

“I could be anyone.” He had his arms around her protectively in the writhing mass. “You’re vulnerable here.”

A faery she didn’t know, a faery who wasn’t being torn out of reach, had her in his arms—and the aching hunger inside her lessened. He was a strong faery, stronger perhaps than any she’d met, and bits of his energy were sinking into her skin where they touched. I could die happy right now … or he could. She tried not to think about the danger she would put him in if she fully gave in to her urges.

“You look dangerous … feel like it too,” she answered both his question and her own musings.

He moved so they were closer to the edge of the crowd, maneuvering her toward the shadows along the wall. “So tell me: why are you holding on to me?” he asked.

“Because I’m dangerous too,” she admitted.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t run either.

She went up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. A prism of energy flooded over her as he dropped whatever control he’d been using to hold his emotions at bay. Need. Regret. Awe. Hunger. Confusion. Ani let it all sink into her skin. She drew his breath and life into her body. She tensed like she was about to race something feral, like this was the only moment between her and starvation.

Despite the energy she took from him, he was steady as he held on to her. He slid an arm around her waist.

Her arms were still around his neck, and her fingers were clutching his hair. Her lips tingled. Her entire body pulsed with the energy she was stealing.

He broke the kiss. “You’re … what are you doing, Ani?”

“Kissing you.” She heard her voice as she said it. There wasn’t anything mortal in those sounds. She was the Daughter of the Hunt, and he was her quarry.

I shouldn’t.

She could hear every heartbeat in the room, feel the waves of sound pounding through the air, taste the breath of time itself escaping.

He stared at her. “This isn’t why I came here.”

“Is it reason to stay?”

When he didn’t reply, she put her hands behind her and clasped them together so she couldn’t touch him. “You can stop,” she whispered. “When you want … you can just stop … or … not.…”

He took one step backward. His emotions were locked up now behind a wall she couldn’t breach. Both his touch and his emotions were denied to her.

Ani bit her lip to keep her sob inside. To be so close to the energy that swirled inside him and be stopped felt criminal. She could taste blood, feel it welling up on her bottom lip.

He reached out one finger and took the drop of blood. She felt his breath warm on her face as she stared at him. He kept his hand raised between them.

Too many faeries could track with blood. She could. All Hounds could.

Can he?

She stared at her blood on his fingertip. “It’s yours,” she said, “for one more kiss.”

He could be anyone. What am I doing?

But the wall he’d built vanished, and his emotions crashed down into her. He was excited, afraid, hungry. He leaned closer.

“Step away from her,” a voice interrupted. Someone was pulling him out of reach. “Let her go.”

“Let her go?” The faery Ani had been kissing slammed his walls back into place, denying her access to his emotions, cutting her off from the banquet again.

Ani blinked, trying to focus around the rainbows clouding her vision. Kissing him had made her hungers vanish. It made everything right.

“You need to take a walk, Ani.” Her would-be rescuer had her arm in his hand and was stepping backward, propelling her away from the yummy kissable faery.

She focused her attention on the interruption. “Seth. What are you doing?”

Seth frowned at her and then directed his words at the faery. “He needs to leave. Now.”

The faery watched the two of them with a bemused expression. “As you will.”

And he vanished into the crowd.

“You are a pain in the ass, Seth.” Ani shoved him. If it wouldn’t end up causing her far more complications than she could afford, she’d give in to the urge to bloody his nose. Instead, she pursued the pale faery across the club. She pushed her way through the crowd.

He paused at the door, and watching her as he did it, he lifted his finger to his lips.

Oh shit.

Ani froze—and he left.

With the taste of my blood.

CHAPTER 8

Devlin stood shivering in the alley outside the Crow’s Nest. Much like his mother-sisters, he required blood, and none but his mother-sisters’ blood had ever been truly sustaining.

Until now.

With one taste, he knew: Ani’s blood was different. She was different.

He’d bled every species of fey there was; he’d bled mortals and halflings. Eternity had given him more than enough time to do so. He hated his need for blood, but he was made, not birthed, and that was the cost. His life wasn’t natural, and being made of the twins had brought an unpleasant side effect: without absorbing blood, he would weaken. He took what he could in the violence that was his role in Faerie; it wasn’t truly sustaining. Only the combination of the blood of both Order and Discord kept him strong—and getting their blood always had costs and complications.

As if bleeding Ani wouldn’t present complications? How did one start that conversation? Hello, I almost murdered you once, but I noticed that your blood—just a bit here or there—would be really useful. Devlin shook his head. The shock of the cold rain that had begun while he was in the club helped him feel more alert, but his thoughts still felt muddled.

He tried to focus on the logical details: perhaps sparing Ani was going to change his life in positive ways—instead of the disastrous way he’d expected should his treachery be exposed to the High Queen. Until tonight, he’d thought Ani’s was a brief mortal life. Considering the time difference between the mortal and faery worlds, such a span was easy enough to hide. As a mortal, Ani—the living proof of Devlin’s disobedience to his queen—would exist for only a blink: Sorcha would not know he’d failed her.

Now, however, Devlin knew that the girl he’d not-killed was only barely mortal and becoming less so by the moment. He could taste it in the single droplet of blood she’d shed. Ani was something new, something unlike any other faery he’d met in all of eternity. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or alarmed. He couldn’t hide her from Sorcha forever, but he could be sustained by whatever irregularity her blood held.

Is she my salvation or damnation?

Seth suddenly stood across from him. Seth wasn’t calm as he was within Faerie. Instead he looked ready to lash out at Devlin. “Do you have any idea who that girl was?”

I have all sorts of ideas.

Devlin didn’t raise his voice or his hand—although the temptation was very much there. All he said was, “It is not your concern.”

“It is, actually. Ani belongs to the Dark Court.” Seth stepped closer and lowered his voice. “If Niall or Irial saw you with her, they would have questions about our queen’s intentions and—”

“I know.” Devlin’s voice revealed his ire then. “Your tone is unappreciated nonetheless.”

Seth stopped and took a deep breath.

“Sorry. It’s been a long night.” He wiped the raindrops from his face and smiled wryly. “Actually, it’s been a long year. The guy from earlier is doing okay, I think.”

Devlin nodded. He had no care over the injured mortal’s state. He hadn’t stabbed the mortal, hadn’t done anything untoward. It mattered to Seth though. He was too recently mortal to understand that the deaths of mortals at Bananach’s hands were merely a fact of being. Over the centuries to come—if Seth lived—he would grow used to it. War brought death and pain. It was who she was.

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