Page 209 of Bane of the Wild Hunt

But I was distracted by Serafin who darted around the room with frantic whines that wrenched on my heart.

“Serafin,” I whispered, one hand on Pyrope’s head to placate her while I held out the other to Sage’s vargr with his nose to the ground to find his rider. “Serafin,” I called him more firmly, and he finally looked up with haunted purple eyes because he already knew…

Carrick barged into the tent next, breathless as if he’d been running for some time, and my heart cracked anew when I saw the relief in his eyes when he found us.

“Oh, thank the gods! The vargr have been tearing the camp apart looking for all of you! It was all I could do just to stop… Where is Sage?” he asked, his eyes running over all of us again and again as if confirming his son was absent from among us. “Sage?” he called more loudly.

“He is gone,” I whispered, and Carrick blinked.

“What do you mean he isgone?” he demanded as he looked to Rian for an explanation. “Where ismy son?”

Rian wanted to answer. He opened his mouth over and over again, but the words would not come out.

“The Griffin King had a Sylvan blade he used to call the Sylvan to the Vale,” Darragh began to explain softly. “They almost killedRian and took Sage. We do not know what they want with him yet, but he is still alive.”

Carrick was silent, swaying on his feet like he might fall over as he processed this news.

“His Light,” he realized with dread.

I got up, still feeling numb as I walked by Carrick with Pyrope and Serafin slinking behind me.

“Where are you going?” asked Nuala nervously.

“Home,” I told her simply, because I did not have the strength to comfort anyone else or bear witness to their grief when it felt like I was still bleeding out.

It occurred to me that Darragh was following us at a safe distance, but I didn’t attempt to lose him as I returned to the place where I had last been close to Sage. Where just that morning, I’d awoken perfectly nestled up against his warmth and felt like my world was complete. When I’d looked up at him and realized that he was still asleep and was unable to help touching him.

I passed into the tent, and the sound of the camp faded beyond the ward as the scent of him hit me like a physical blow that nearly brought me to my knees. I almost could not make myself step forward, but I did, walking into the main room where our plates from breakfast were sitting on the floor. Where I had left a pile of crumpled paper while trying to write the perfect letter to Amira.

Amira who had a hand in what happened to Sage.

I could not think about it as I walked across the tent to the bedchamber, drawn there like a magnet, like a puppet on a string. I began stripping out of his armour and my clothing until I was naked as I parted the curtains.

Only to be confronted by the mirror and the reflection of a body that was covered in Sage. His teeth. His kisses. His proxy claiming that would all fade far too fast.

A sob tore out of me. It wrenched free with a force that had me doubling over immediately, clenching my gut as it twisted with the anguish. I hit my knees and slumped over my thighs as my forehead smacked against the floor.

And I cried. Allowing the pain to bleed out of me so hard it felt like I turned inside out. Raw and painful.

The vargr were blissfully quiet, curling up on either side of me once I finally managed to crawl into the bed. Wrapping his blanket around me and cocooning myself in his scent, I closed my eyes and tried hard to pretend it was his bulk behind me. Anything to stop this crushing sense that my world was fractured and incomplete.

I could pretend. At least for long enough to cry myself to sleep. To find a blissful dream where my mate really was still in the bed with me.

He was not gone. He promised. Hepromisedme.

EPILOGUE

Brogan Lann a’Chridhe, the King of the Rowan Wood, leaned forward on his stone throne that stood beneath a canopy of red leaves. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the dense foliage and illuminated parts of the forest floor. Including the way the tree roots seemed to be clawing up through the stone dais from under the throne as if they were straining for freedom.

The Dryad King perched his elbows on his widely spread knees, his hands clasped together between them as he watched two younger males approaching. He was sure they must have what he wanted by the confident way that they strode across the earthen floor of his throne room. Though they did not bring it now.

Arren Lann a’Chridhe and his younger brother Finn both stopped at the same time at the foot of the dais upon which their uncle’s throne stood and bowed. They looked alike and similar to their uncle with their finely braided, auburn hair, brown skin marked faintly in places by white spots and stripes, and vividly green eyes. They were nude but covered by foliage and animal components that grew from their skin to house their weaponsand shield their most vulnerable anatomy. All of them had similar brown-and-white ears and sported full and proud racks of antlers that were covered in vibrant Summer foliage. Only the king wore beetle-shell armour on his shoulders and chest. And a crown. One that had been crafted from the antlers he’d taken from the previous king when he defeated him. The crown was wreathed in vines, moss, leaves, and white yarrow blossoms.

“Speak,” commanded the Dryad King impatiently.

“We found her, Uncle. Frolicking among an elfin folk once more,” said Arren, the elder of the brothers.

“If you have found her, then why do you stand there before me empty-handed?” demanded Brogan sharply.

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