Page 5 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Sheneedshis magic before she goes on, since what she’d stored in her bracelet is already used up, and she can hardly run around in her witch form. She could bind the shifter’s magic to an object, but that would take up more time she doesn’t have. Easier to decant it into a vessel.

That the bastard deserves every second of it, and far worse, sure makes it much more enjoyable.

But now she’s got the flacon, she doesn’t need to play with her food much longer.

“In case you were wondering what Lyrian does with all the people you bring him, there is your answer,” Blair purrs while sheruns her nails over the assortment of carefully selected knives, laid out before her on a table.

Better to bring across the truth, because there’s a good chance this prick, like most fae, still has no idea how black magic works, despite the fact he collected fae for Lyrian. Judging from his stubbornness, this dimwit has no inkling what she’s been working up to so far and how exactly this is going to end for him.

“This is exactly what I’m doing here—I’m harvesting your magic, just as Lyrian did. Draining or harvesting magic is a slow, excruciating procedure. You have to carefully drain the magic out of every fiber of a fae. It takes a long time and a lot of patience. It’s all about carefully placed cuts and peeled-back layers, or the magic would just dissolve, you see. It’s easily considered the peak of the dark arts of magic. Because magic, once freed, is a terribly fleeting thing. Prone to bind itself to the strongest fae around. You have to be quick to gather it up before it dissipates.”

Blair smacks her lips as she picks up a crescent-shaped knife. “But you’re lucky. Since I’m Gatilla’s heir, I know very well how to harvest it.”

It is satisfying to watch pure, undiluted fear enter the wolf shifter’s eyes as the penny drops.

She laughs. “Uh, just as I figured—you, moron, had no clue, right? You probably thought I’d just play around a little bit and then finish you. But no, the best part is yet to come.” She leans over him, the knife catching the light. “Just so you know, we’re getting to my favorite part—your organs. I have to take them out while you’re still alive.”

“Wait, witch! Wait! I’ll tell you where I think Lyrian is.”

He tells her everything. Of course he does. And all the while, Blair watches him with a cruel smile plastered on her face.

When he’s done, she asks, crooning, “Was that really so hard?”

He pants, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Will you let me go now?”

“Let you go? Oh, boy. Did I forget to mention? We’re playing my game now.”

“But youpromisedyou would let me off the hook.”

“Yeah, I did. And I will. I didn’t specify when though, did I? And whether you would still be alive. I’m afraid I do indeed need your organs first. They won’t work for my purposes once you’re dead.”

Blair makes a show of glancing up at the metal hook in the ceiling holding his chains. Then she puts the knife away.

Fenrir lets out a sigh of relief.

She turns back to him. “That was just for show. Do you know what I found to be the fastest way into a man’s heart?”

She pouts her lips and reaches for a crowbar.

“Tearing a hole through his ribcage.”

2

Blair

Blair once again camouflages her sharply pointed ears and silver canines with the magic she’s taken from the wolf shifter. It’s now contained in a tiny crystal flacon on a chain around her neck. It will last for a few more days before she will have to refill it with someone else’s essence. There’s no natural magic in the human world that fae can draw from, leaving them more or less vulnerable. The only side effect of the human world Blair doesn’t like. Shifters, like Fenrir, are still able to change forms, but they are not able to wield or summon or the like. Only angels can take their inherent magic with them when they jump from world to world.

But Fenrir’s essence will last until she finds Lyrian and ends him. And should she still need magic after that to stay a while longer for whatever reason, she can just harvest Lyrian himself.

Her pink Porsche Panamera flies over the rain-slicked street. She left the desert shortly after midnight, heading north, cabin door wide open. Let some desert scavengers feed on the body.

At some point in between, the rain kicked in, and instead of seizing, it only got worse the further up north she pushed. Now dusk is already approaching, although the monotonous storm gray of this area barely suggests it. It’s as if, up here, there’s no sun at all.

A strange place on Earth. Depressing. It reminds her of the Blacklands, the wastelands the witches call their kingdom. Fitting for Lyrian.

The whole drive, Blair’s been pondering how best to proceed. There is no denying that Lyrian poses a threat, even to her, and that there will be some of his henchmen around she will have to deal with in order to get to him. Lyrianisdangerous and obviously in possession of so much magic he can hide from evenhersenses. It’s been almost a year since Blair climbed out of the waters of the fae gap, and she has not felt a trace of him, not even a bristle of incongruous power, though one of her talents is just that—sensing accumulations of power in a range of hundreds of miles.

She’s attracted to it, like a moth to a flame.

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