Page 68 of Cursed Shadows 3

Dare isn’t with us; we are one down as we all splinter off in the foyer of Hemlock House.

No one utters a word. The weariness of the trip has all our shoulders slumped, our faces slack, and our lashes heavy.

Daxeel takes Aleana to her room, slung over his shoulder like sack of grain. Eamon climbs the stairs with Ridge who is releasing too many yawns—but I fight through my fatigue and stumble my way to the kitchens for a snack.

Time speeds by in the human lands, so in Hemlock House, we must have only been gone for I guess around two hours. I’m grateful that the house seems to be fast asleep as I duck through the stone archway to the kitchens. Even the slaves are nowhere to be seen this Quiet.

I pin my night’s hopes on a plate of assorted snacks, a warm tea and then to be rugged up in the blankets of my bed. I mightfinish the book I’m working through, the one about Mother and her stirs from slumber.

But Daxeel comes to interrupt my brewing schemes of relaxation.

I’m plating up some strips of cured ham, a sugar cube, apple slices, and buttered bread when I sense him.

Without looking over my shoulder at the archway, I know it’s him.

Daxeel’s scent creeps into the kitchens and alerts me to his presence.

But it’s more than that now— Ifeelhim. It’s in the sudden icy chill creeping through my gut,hissensations flooding me.

I feel him, but only when we’re in the same room, it seems. And they are only flickering senses, moments quick to pass.

If Daxeel has figured out this connection between us, then he doesn’t think I have caught on yet. Always underestimating me. So as he comes into the kitchens, he ensures his bootsteps are firm enough that I hear them.

Standing at the bench, I sprinkle some cinnamon over the apple slices. I say nothing. I just wait for his wrath.

I know it’s coming.

The ice-grip his feelings have on my insides is more than enough to warn me of his mood.

Back when he first came out to the human lands with me, it was different. Times when he was so intent on keeping me comfortable with him, to ensure I felt as safe with him as possible.

Now, those days are phases of darkness, and he’s not so kind to me anymore.

I’ll be punished for the adventure through the human lands.

That’s what I expect.

That’s what the icy lashings in my gut warn me of.

But instead, he makes his way to the bench.

As his wandering steps—still punched with purpose—draw closer to me, he pauses only to scoop out a spoon from a mason jar. Freshly whipped caramel clings to the copper spoon and glistens amber under the glow of the fireplace.

He advances on me.

Reaching out for a cloth, I wipe the cinnamon dust from my fingers.

Daxeel hands me the spoon.

I look at him.

His glamour has been stripped back, his shadows returned. Wisps of them curl over his shoulder, as though sleepy themselves; some tendrils lick at the sharp cut of his jaw. Flickers of shadows darken the dimples carved into his cheeks and burn his cobalt eyes brighter than the moons in the clearest of skies.

I reach out, and for a moment, I don’t know if I’m going to take the spoon from him or sweep aside the stray tendril that grazes his brow.

I take the spoon.

Exhaustion quietens his gravelly voice, “Get to bed, Nari.”

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