Page 33 of The Veil of Blood and Magic

Happily ever afters aren’t meant for monsters.

I flash Sirius a smile I know he can see through, forcing myself to turn around and follow my drifter captors out of the tavern.

The second we’re clear of the doors, walking down the long alleyway toward the street where Zev secured Rain, I’m hit with a sadness that threatens to crush the breath from my lungs. I could’ve been happy here, could’ve been safe here, but it would’ve put Sirius and Quest in direct danger.

I have more important things to do than wallow incould be. I need to focus on whatis. And that’s the one goal that’s been driving me since I was six years old. Kill the Collector for what he did to my family. For what he continues to do to countless innocent creatures across the continent. Nothing can get in the way of that.

Not even the more-than-tempting offer at a real life here.

Rain whinnies as we approach, and I smooth a hand over his wide nose, relishing the velvety softness beneath my fingers. It’s grounding, the steadiness of the majestic horse, and I savor it as I take a few breaths to right myself. No way will I ever let Zev see my sadness and use it to his advantage.

“Ride or walk?” Zev asks, and the question is enough to shock me firmly in the present.

“I get a choice?”

His lips form a harsh line, like he’s regretting giving me options. “I’ll just shackle you?—"

“Ride,” I say quickly, before he can rescind the choice. “Please,” I add for good measure. I may want to throat punch him, but I also love riding. I miss it, and I haven’t had a horse of my own in so many years. Not that Rain is mine, but I can pretend for the next few weeks at least, can’t I?

Zev dips his head in what I’m guessing is an approving nod, and I pat Rain a few more times before sliding my boot into the stirrup and swinging one leg over his back. The saddle is firm beneath me, the reins a familiar comfort in my hands.

Goddess, I’ve missed this. The cold night air kisses my cheeks as we slowly make our way down the main road, the steady clop of Rain’s hooves on the cobblestones a soothing sound that washes over me. I should be terrified as Zev and Jagger take positions on either side of me, keeping step with Rain as we make our way down the path, but I’m not.

I can’t help it, it’s hard to be anything but joyful when I’m on the back of a horse. My father taught me how to ride before my legs were even steady. We used to take our horses out before the sun came up, exploring the wooded area around our home until dawn broke across the sky in a smear of orange and pink and yellow.

Sometimes Papa would pack us breakfast—cups of deer blood that we’d share while marveling at the beauty of the awakening sky. Back then it’s all I needed to survive, the desire needs not kicking in until I reached sixteen and my body went through the change. Things were so much simpler then. Safer. Kinder.

I swallow hard, reaching down to smooth my hand across Rain’s neck in a silent thank you for conjuring the memory for me. If I can help it, I try not to think of my father or mother, try to quash any memories because they sit so heavy when they surface. But, the closer we get to Lingate, the closer I get to sealing my fate, I suppose it’s useful to let them consume me now. After all, they remind me why I’m doing this in the first place.

For what I lost.

For what so many have lost.

The streets of Destowne clear of foot traffic the farther along we go down the main road, the grand glass and stone buildings settling into a sweet sort of hushed quiet that begs of sleep with promises of delightful dreams. The mortals are given curfews by the Collector, and they obey him without question, especially when he tells them only monsters are out after a certain time, even though it’s him they should be afraid of, not creatures like me, or even Jagger and Zev. Ridiculous how?—

Rain rears back, his front legs lifting off the cobblestone road like he’s spotted a viper. I have to grip the reins and squeeze my thighs to stay atop him before he crashes back to the stone again.

A blast of magic pops right before us, a white burst of light that has Rain moving backward as he whinnies.

“Fuck,” Zev growls, drawing his longsword from behind his back.

“Hey there, Zev,” an unfamiliar masculine voice calls out in the night before a burly man steps out from the alleyway just ahead.

Five more men follow him, each as thickly built and wearing equally smug looks on their faces.

“Balan ,” Zev answers, lowering his sword an inch.

Balan raises his brows, looking past where Jagger has moved to stand on Zev’s right, both not so casually positioned in front of me and the horse.

From this position, I have a great advantage, able to spot each of the men’s weapons strapped to their thighs, backs, and forearms. They’re heavily armed, each one wearing a chain around their necks?—

Drifters.

More fucking drifters.

Flavors burst on my tongue—lemon and chalk and something sour. They want me, but not for anything good.

“What brings you to Destowne?” Jagger asks, his tone light and friendly.

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