Page 24 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“I don’t doubt my servants. I was careful with whom I invited here.” Rubbing circles in his forehead wasn’t working to calm himself. He ran a hand through his messy hair, bumping the base of his antlers. “I was ordered to confine you by my king, and one blasted night later, I’ve already failed him andyouby extension.”

Hrafn scoffed. “Feel sorry for yourself another time. War is upon you, lordling. Your land is under siege by a monster with more power than my clan ever realized, and none can save it but the god of shadows.”

The corpse at his feet moaned. All eyes snapped to the body on the ground. For a moment Malcolm assumed Hrafn’s snide comment had come to fruition, but the dead man’s eyes remained glazed and pale. The mouth fell open and black pooled inside it.

Shadows billowed from the lifeless lips, the glittery glamour fleeing the body. More darkness bled from the other corpses, merging together in the corridor before the shocked onlookers.

Stop them!Solis shouted, and the marquess remembered himself.

Hewas the god of shadows now. His father would not be coming to save them, for that same mad darkness had consumed the old lord in these very walls, robbing him of life.

“Stop,” Malcolm shouted, grief for the one who’d raised him fueling the command. This corridor had once held such pleasant memories: the booming sound of Father’s laughter, the clatter of wood on wood as young Malcolm received his first lessons in swordcraft . . . But that was gone now.

The ethereal essence attempted to evaporate into the walls, but it slowed under Malcolm’s orders, resisting him. The Mad Marquess lowered his center of gravity and breathed deep, collecting himself. Solis dove for the essences, grabbing the shadows by the wispy tendrils and dragging them toward Malcolm.

The power, the marquess’s natural glamour burning through his chest, was not an ability he trusted. His father had been too gracious with the shadows that betrayed him. But even after all these years, commanding them felt as surprisingly right as the air filling his lungs or the blood pumping through his veins, even if it did burn hotter than he remembered and strain his muscles more deeply.

Malcolm had vowed never to dabble again with such magic, but duty called. He could not let these wicked apparitions return to the phantom who’d sent them. They needed a new master.

“Break,” Malcolm whispered, and Solis echoed the command in the same breath. The retreating shadows hardened before him. He and his soul set to work, tearing off pieces of the ethereal essences, turning them into bumpy littles masses that rolled amongst the tiles.

The first mass looked like tiny clumps of storm clouds smushed together. The little storm cloud opened its slit for a mouth and wailed, a noise like the cry of a dying rabbit.

The demon hawk squawked in shock and took to the rafters.

“It’s all right, Ezra,” Hrafn told her familiar. She crossed to the wailing one and bent at the waist, investigating it. Her braids fell over her shoulders, hanging just above the ground. Intrigued by her hair, the storm cloud immediately stopped crying. It chomped toothlessly on the ends of her plait. “They look like lumpy little shadow babies.”

“They’re not babies,” Malcolm scolded. “Shadows cannot be destroyed. I’ve broken them down into this base form. When they come together again, they’ll recognize me as master and no longer serve the monster.”

Solis tended to the rest, ripping them into mounds no bigger than a fist, then tucking them into the crook of his arm or scooping them up with his dark tail. Malcolm lowered his hand, allowing a fluffy gray mass to roll into his offered palm. Its slit for a mouth opened wide, then clamped down around his thumb, gumming it.

“Not a baby?” Hrafn said, lifting a brow archly. “Then what’s that one doing to your hand?”

“It’s . . . sucking on my thumb.” The puff of coal gray in his palm gnawed at the digit, its mouth icy cold but otherwise harmless. “You,” he grumped, pointing at his mate with his free hand, ignoring the slurping sounds coming from the other. “You aren’t to leave my godsdamned sight. We’ll tend to the shadows—”

“Babies,” she said drolly.

“—first, then I’m dealing with you!”

The creases near her velvety brown eyes crinkled. “Why do I like the sound of that?”

“You shouldn’t,” he groused.

Then why dowelike the sound of that?Solis asked unhelpfully, duty warring with desire inside them. Despising the position he was in—captor and mate—Malcolm made an angry sound in his throat.

The amusement at his expense in her near-smile made his blood run hot.

Hrafn can’t roam free, he reminded Solis.She’s still under arrest. The king ordered her confined.

But we know she’s innocent,Solis fussed.She saved us, and we believe her words. The evidence of a powerful rogue phantom is right there, sucking on your—

Shut up.This was hard enough as it was. He didn’t need his own soul second-guessing him.

Malcolm made a stern gesture for Hrafn to lead the way into the great hall.

She complied with her nose in the air. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I go where I please, lordling. Where I please just so happens to be in this same direction.”

The fortress had been fitted with enough tables to feed a large regiment. Hrafn picked the one nearest the archway and sat down. Her demon joined her, perching on the decorative fixtures of her high-backed chair.

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