Page 89 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

They were both speechless. Every attempt to locate Alora returned with nothing. Not a single trace. As if she had never existed.

How the fuck is this possible?

Itwasn’t—and that terrified him.

She had been gone for nearly four hours, and he did not know what to do. His body felt like it would shatter like delicate ice shards hanging onto the fading winter air. Or perhaps her absence would rip his heart into thousands of broken pieces.

There he stood, the Lord of Darkness, Lord of Minds… Unimaginable power surging through him, and he could not do a thing.

Worthless, the breeze seemed to hiss.

Smokeshadows roared around Garrik’s shoulders, sinking deep into the skin of his back, forming incredible wings of darkness. Prepared to take flight—to do something—anything.He would turn into a starsdamned shadow-dragon again if it helped. The choking rage and all-consuming terror warring within him were enough to transform into one. He would cover the entire world in a veil of night to find a speck of her starlight.

Thalon stepped forward, eyes locked on Garrik as he flexed his back. His shadow began to brighten to something pearlescent, awaiting orders. A heavy sigh mixed with the roaring in Garrik’s mind before Thalon turned to speak?—

Garrik snapped his head to the stars as if they had spoken to him.

Thalon’s searched the skies as if he had heard it, too.

For somewhere in the distance … the white-hot glow of starfire exploded.

Flaring and rattling every star before the valley became empty. Before the High Prince and his Guardian took to the skies.

“Didn’t thinkshe’d make it that far.”

Alora didn’t move from where they had thrown her. Then again, she couldn't move if she wanted to. Face down in the middle of their camp near the roaring fire that illuminated the entire clearing. He hadn’t bothered to bind her. She couldn’t fight him, anyway.

By the time her rider had carried her limp body back over his shoulder, the entire camp was alive.

She saw them now. Saw their four faces.

Ravens.

Two lanky faeries, Ayeleteans, with long blond hair and white branch-like antlers climbing from the top of their heads, sat on a downed tree by the flames. Bone-white skin was visible under Raven’s silver armor, and their purple cloaks looked like death against the flicker.

Across from them and near one of the five tents sat a young High Fae male with black hair. Much leaner under the same armor, he appeared to have only trained for a short time.

The last, her High Fae rider, was comparable to a bear. Monstrous muscles framed his entire body. Mahogany hair waved down to his shoulders with an even longer bushy beard. He was the only one who wore all black but still retained the purple cloak.

She knew the High King’s armies were despicable, but she guessed this group was rogue. Going outside their duties to sell whomever they entrapped for quick coin.

“She’s proven herself to be resourceful for the Hunt,” one of the blonds said. His voice shallow, as quiet as the forest. “Silas might pay more for that.”

The other blond shrugged in way of agreement.

Then footsteps disturbed their conversation.

Alora hardly lifted her gaze and found a lean-built figure breaking the darkness. Her eyes narrowed as he stalked forward. Narrowed on his ice-blue skin under a slick leather jacket, the hood settled over silver hair that fell to his glowing gray eyes and down his shoulders.

His presence commanded total authority. A mantle of raw power in his visage alone, like Garrik’s authority. Almost as if this male was the High Prince himself—he certainly carried himself that way. The onlookers fell silent as he prowled across the dirt, eventually standing over Alora with a frown.

That voice carried a thousand realms of shattering ice as he stared down at her. And she felt that ice, cold and viciously uncaring, as if he’d sent slivers into her skin before uttering a single word. “What a shame.” Those glowing gray eyes speared her without any remorse.

Without uttering a single word, the sound of creaking leather filled the air as he forcefully flipped her onto her back, surveying her from her head to the stab wound in her side.

Alora let out an agonized groan. Any movement … the pain. She couldn’t breathe.

The male sighed and twisted away, speaking to the monstrous bearded male. “These injuries are coming from your cut, Kyr.” And said nothing more before he sat beneath a nearby tree, cloaked in the shadow of the fire, and plucked a knife from his belt.

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