Page 44 of Flight of Fate

A wry smile graces his mouth. “I remember you wearing my shirts at the palace in the Seeing Forest.”

“I remember you staring at me the same way.” That brings his gaze back to mine, not because I caught him studying my form the way he didn’t even do when I was naked but because of words unspoken. Words he must have been working up the courage to speak.

But his throat bobs above the unbuttoned collar of his black shirt as if he’s swallowing away his thoughts. I can’t help noticing the revealed sliver of skin, a hint of those muscles honed over centuries and centuries. Shoving his hands into the pockets in his leather pants, the same ones he wore to battle, but the dirt and blood have been cleared away, Myron leans againstthe door, keeping a few feet distance between us. “You slept a full day and night. Samuin is over. If the God of Darkness is still around, he can’t do much.”

The space between us makes my stomach fold into itself, unacceptable, yet I can’t bring myself to move from the white porcelain behind me even when my gaze doesn’t fail to follow the powerful lines of his body before landing back on those handsome features.

Not yet. I will allow myself to leap at him, but not before I know what we’re dealing with, if the danger is over, what happened to the others.

“He spoke to me before Samuin. Vala did, too,” I remind him of the countless times the two deities whispered to me their encouragement and their warnings, their demands and their displeasure. “How come they speak to me and no one else? How come they do so outside of that one night of the year? Herinor said it’s only Samuin when we can summon Shaelak, yet I summoned him before when I visited the temple.”

A long silence fills the room as Myron ponders my questions. From the flasks propped on the edge of the bathtub, the scent of lavender and orange coils into the air, and through the small windows high up in the room, the first rays of sun are pouring across the tiles covering the walls and floor.

“It should have been a hint that you’re different.” Myron stops himself as if reconsidering his answer. “Vala spoke to you as my Crow bride; you’re not related to her. I’ve heard of brides hearing her before during my father’s days, even when nothing ever came of it. But Shaelak… It must be because you descend from his child. His blood flows through your veins—if gods even have blood.”

I chuckle at the thought of crimson liquid pulsing through the body of that mighty creature of darkness, feathers, and stars, but the amusement is short-lived.

“I tried to summon him to beg him to shift you back,” Myron admits without apology.

“I know.” I’ve known since I found his blood on the altar in the temple.

“He never answered me because it wasn’t Samuin, but I couldn’t wait, not that long, without at least trying.”

“He responded to Ephegos,” I muse. “On Samuin, but he responded.” I’m not ready to discuss the bargain Ephegos proposed or Shaelak’s response to it, so I roll on. “Ephegos must have been in Aceleau that day. He knew when to come and where to find the temple. He knew that we were in Aceleau, that we had been for a while.”

Myron pulls his hands from his pockets, folding his arms over his chest, one of his sleeves sliding up a few inches, exposing part of his forearm, the cords of muscle flexing with each movement. “Crows are good at unweaving wards. He likely snuck a spy or two into the city. Perhaps he had Crows witness the battle against the Flames.” His brows crease as he finally sheds his unreadable expression, true worry crossing his features. “I wouldn’t put it past him to order them to stand down and watch an army being slaughtered just so he can gain information on our whereabouts and plans.”

I don’t want to imagine what else Ephegos is capable of, but somehow, I’m not surprised he’d do such a despicable thing. A deep sigh escapes my lungs. “We need to find a way to best him before he makes good on his bargain.” It doesn’t matter whether I’m ready to talk about it or not.

Pursing his lips, Myron studies me, eyes creeping along my features as if he can’t believe I’m truly here in this body, that my voice sounds on the air instead of in his mind through Kaira’s help. After a long, thick silence, he shakes his head. “Not a chance in Hel’s realm Ephegos will succeed.” Determination shines clear beyond the ocean depths of his irises.

I want to believe him, and it’s enough for now, for the determination turns to heat as the sun bathes the room in the pale pink-and-gold light of a new day, and a spool of power tugs on my chest that has nothing to do with my new body but with the promise I made. The promise Ifulfilledby shifting into this body.

Twenty-Seven

Myron

It’s an echo at first,a light tug at the center of my chest that could have been the mating bond.

It isn’t, though. Too many times have I felt this very sensation throughout the endless years of my existence. Too often have I made promises and bargains and followed the call of them to whatever end. It’s the moment dawn yields to thistomorrowthat all thoughts fall away from me, making space for only one tightly woven thread—that of my last promise to her before we went into battle against the Flames, before we ambushed them and she got stuck in her bird form.

Sunlight gilds the frame of the mirror behind Ayna, bouncing off her near-silver hair, her pale skin becoming luminescent once more as if in answer to the warm touch of a new day.

We survived. Damn Ephegos and Erina and the war. They all can wait for a little while longer. Ephegos made his bargain with Shaelak, the god has disappeared, and Recienne promised I’ll be the first he’ll let know if they find any spies in the now-even-more-heavily-patrolled city or at the palace. I can’t even think of Herinor, whom I’ve ordered locked in the dungeon but properly fed and taken care of. I have yet to decide what I’ll do with him in this mess of only partially his own making.

For now, Ayna is all I can see. So beautiful. Even more so than she was as a human. And I don’t mean her long legs sticking out from under the hem of my shirt hanging loosely on her frame, or the swell of her breasts where the collar cleaves open. It’s the spark of who she is that radiates like a newborn star.

Her lips part, sucking in a breath as the thread spills across the room, demanding I fulfill my promise. Because she has fulfilled hers.

The magic of promises and bargains writhes inside of me, demanding I stand by my word. Ayna’s fae body allows it to recognize thistomorrowas the tomorrow that counts.

I secure my arms more tightly over my chest, locking my body in place by the door, because I can’t push her. Not after everything she’s gone through. Not if she’s not ready.

Ayna tilts her head, her fae ears peeking through her hair, and for a moment, all I can do is marvel at my beautiful mate. When I dare meet her gaze, the predatory focus in her gray eyes tells me she feels it, too, the calling of the promise.

Slowly, she pushes away from the sink, bare feet padding across the room silently as only a true Crow can. Like pitch-black liquid, the fabric of my shirt moves along her body with every step, with every breath, and I’m not proud to admit the satisfaction it brings me, seeing her in my clothes.

I don’t dare as much as breathe as Ayna stops a foot from me, lifting her slender hand to my chest, placing it over my heart. “Ephegos can wait.”

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