Page 222 of Gift from the Wing

“It is closed. But while you verify, Adored, I’ll check the vampires and see if there’re any changes to the nonmagical portal,” Keeper says grimly as we cross the threshold of the opening before zooming away.

I’m positive he’s right based on the same low frequency of energy pulsing in the air, but just as the others, I check anyway.

The cool and damp wall at the back of the cave is cold against my hand, chilling the heat I’ve been feeling since being spat out of the vision. The energy is dejected here as though it’s absorbing the emotions on the other side and pushing them out this way.

It makes my heart hurt thinking about an entire realm so saddened by the loss of their heir, but it pains me even more thinking about how we’re going to have to let him go. One day soon, I’ll have to open this portal so he and all the others trapped can go home.

I don’t know what that will mean for us and our new blossoming relationships.

After fifty or so feet away from the cave entrance, Keeper reappears, joining us in stride as we give ourselves some distance to quickly regroup and get ready to track my blood. The anticipation is starting to kick up now and everyone feels it.

“The portal is still open as it has been, but the Summum-Master is in Elementra. The vampires haven’t seen him since he brought Drin in,” he informs us and we all nod.

“Put what we just learned as far out of your mind as possible, little warrior. We succeed in this, we won’t have to fear him getting to that realm, and their problems will stay their own. Breathe. Focus on Oakly’s and your task at hand. Stick to the plan. You’ll be pulling our Nexus, Keeper, Codi, and Trex. Oakly will be taking her Nexus and Lyker’s. Only focus on that,” Tillman says confidently, gripping the back of my neck before laying his forehead to mine.

When he releases me, I can’t help but cut a glance at my brother. I hate that he isn’t coming through my imprint and transport, but at the same time, I’m humble enough to admit when someone is better at something than me, and Oakly most certainly is. I’d feel safer with him going with her, while I take the smaller group.

Each of my men gives me quick, passionate kisses, none too distracting but enough that their confidence in me blooms in my chest and relaxes the nerves I’ve finally started to feel.

“When we get wherever we’re going, we’ll observe and analyze before making a move. We’ll decide from there on backup. Willow and Oakly, stay as close as possible if there’s a delay in our arrival with you,” Tillman orders once more and everyone moves in.

“Ready?”I ask Oakly.

“Yeah, you?”

“Nervous now.”

“Oh, thank fuck, me too. I didn’t know if we were still pretending not to be.”

I smirk, thanking her for that recess from the seriousness as I shift my finger back into a claw. Her left hand stretches out, cupped, waiting for me to pool enough of my blood for her to use.

Once my palm is full, I carefully pour half into hers, the warmth of the liquid lingering between us as I hold the rest in my own. Our clean fingers interlace, and we squeeze tightly, grounding each other before tilting our heads back toward the sky.

“Track.”

The command echoes in my mind as my blood surges back into my palm. I count down the seconds, tension building with every heartbeat, waiting for the signal. When it finally hits me—faint but undeniable—I grasp for it, wrapping my energy tightly around the line, refusing to let it slip away.

“Got it,”I say.

“Got it.”

We snatch—pulling ourselves through the fabric of the realm once more as our imprints pass to the others.

The phantom feel of Oakly’s hand in mine seems to tighten as we tumble through existence. The strain on my skin sends panic rippling through me because it feels as though we’ve just transported through a ward that didn’t want us to pass through.

I fear we’ve imprinted on the exact location of my blood, rather than close enough to know where but far enough away to get ourselves together again.

I prepare myself mentally for a fight as soon as we step out of this never-ending darkness, knowing we’re going to be face-to-face with someone in enemy territory. But all those thoughts flee me when we’re shoved out of the transport, hitting our knees with a bone-jarring thud.

As soon as I hit the ground my stomach bottoms out, and the sounds of my sickness echo loudly, mingling with Oakly’s.

“What the fuck?” she groans, gripping her head in one hand, stomach in the other.

My vision blurs as tears from throwing up so forcefully blind me, but I reach my hand over, rubbing her back.

“The others?” I choke out.

The words pass my lips as a loud pop booms in front of us. Instead of the faint, almost undetectable sound of a transport, this one is deafening as our entire group is spat out unceremoniously.

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