Page 28 of Gua rdian of Blood and Shadow

“No,” I said, sickened by the truth. “Bas, I—I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s not your fault, Soph.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “She could have stopped. Could’ve stayed in her human form, and she would’ve been fine.”

My brow furrowed. A shifternotshifting sounded about as healthy as a vampirenotdrinking blood, and having been the latter out of necessity for far too long, I knew firsthand that she wouldn’t have beenfine.She would have been there for Bastian, but she would have lost herself in other ways.

“I’ve always been scared of ending up like her—of losing myself to the shift.” He skimmed his claws lightly over my back, sending goosebumps cascading over my skin. “But what happened in the ritual chamber, and just now… I think that was different. Something else.”

“How so?” I asked. In the Selenarium, he had seemed more wild, more at risk of losing himself, but maybe that had been mywillpulling his fear to the surface.Maybethe beast that had come forth was thissomething else. Something that stepped in during the ritual, not to take him over but to protect him. Moments ago, when he had let the beast out to play, he certainly hadn’t lost himself. If anything, he had seemed more himself than ever.

“Letting go felt…right,” he said, echoing my thoughts. “Like finding myself.”

I frowned, tracing the curved line of a tattoo, watching the gold beneath the black rise to meet my touch. “Any idea what it means?”

“Not a fucking clue.”

16

Ilayinbed,myheart hammering as the last fragments of a nightmare faded. Predawn light streamed through the windows, casting unfamiliar furniture in pale light. For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was or who I was supposed to be.

Sophie Matthews, librarian with a tragic past? Luna Sofia Teresi Athanasiou, High Queen of the House of the Moon? The line between those identities felt worn thin in places where my past bled into my present.

I slipped from beneath the sheets, careful not to wake Bastian. His face looked younger in sleep, the burden of fearing what we had unleashed within him absent. Part of me wanted to curl back against his warmth, to pretend we were just two people who’d found each other amid the chaos of our lives.

The aged wooden floors creaked beneath my bare feet as I crossed to the dresser to retrieve undies and a fresh oversized sleep shirt. I never slept well when naked, feeling too vulnerable, too exposed. I headed into the bathroom to pee, and as I washed my hands, I studied my reflection. The face in the ornate mirror was both foreign and familiar—eyes brighter, skin luminous from regular feeding, but with fatigue lingering beneath. I looked like my mother. The realization made my heart ache, squeezed between a vice of grief and anger.

“Is this what you wanted?” I whispered to her ghost, though I knew she couldn’t hear me. Veris had made sure of that when he burned her remains and scattered her ashes. She had known. About the attack. About her death, and Amaya’s. That I would flee, that Javier would be my protector, my Prime Consort. But had she known more? Had she known the extent of the suffering she was perhaps not causing directly, but allowing? “Was it worth it?”

Huffing a silent, bitter laugh, I turned my back on my reflection and crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back against the edge of the counter. “I hope you’re happy,” I muttered, tapping one finger against my arm.

After standing there for minutes, silently fuming at my dead mother, I released a heavy sigh. There was no way I was getting back to sleep now. I reached for the long silken robe hanging on the back of the door and tossed it on over my sleep shirt before sliding my feet into slippers. I needed air. To walk. To think alone. A rarity for me these days.

Including this morning, it turned out. Micah was already in the herb garden when I reached it, reading on the stone bench beneath an ancient rowan tree, its branches laden with clusters of bright red berries that seemed to glow in the early morning. The predawn light cast weak shadows across the ancient stone paths, making everything look slightly washed out and just a little ancient. He looked up at my approach.

“Shouldn’t you be resting up for your important meeting with the elementals?” he asked, closing the leather-bound book on his lap, its pages yellowed with age.

“That’s tomorrow,” I said automatically.

Micah glanced at the brightening sky to the east. “Itistomorrow.”

I froze, mentally tallying days and nights and events, and my eyes widened when I realized he was right. Ambassadors from the House of the Stars would be arriving today, and I hadnoidea what to say to them or what to do for them or how to be around them. At least Isador had taken care of Marie’sconfession, clearing the Moon Sanctuary’s resident elemental after Gavin locked her up under suspicion of betrayal. When they asked me if I was holding any of their people prisoner, I could honestly say I wasnot. So that was a plus.

“You’re making that face again,” Micah said.

I pressed my lips together and tucked my chin. “What face?”

Micah coughed a laugh. “The someone-shoot-me face, though now you just look constipated.”

I guffawed and closed the distance between us, but I hesitated before sitting. “Can I?”

“It’s a free country,” he said, setting the book on the bench beside him and scooting closer to the edge. “I suppose…wherever we are.” He gestured to the empty space, his lips twisting into a wry smirk. “Unless you want to become a vampire.”

Groaning dramatically, I settled beside him. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The early morning felt unnaturally still and quiet, though maybe that was just because the silence between us was so incredibly loud.

I sucked in a breath. Held it. Mentally debated what to say. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I began, spinning the moonstone ring on my finger—this remnant of my mother, this symbol of the legacy I was still learning to bear. “About wanting the First Rite.”

“You don’t have to explain why you said no,” Micah replied, his voice carefully neutral. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his knee. “I get it. I’m too young. Too human. Too—”

“Too important to risk,” I interrupted softly.

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