Page 123 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“Probably,” I mutter. “But I need to find one of the others.”
Shit. Miguel’s looking. He’s noticed I haven’t left.
“I gotta go,” I mumble. “Cover for me?”
She nods. “Go.”
I duck away, walking as fast as possible in the brisk twilight air. I make a beeline for the front of the long line of campsites. Why does Legion’s tent have to be at the beginning? Anxiety knots my stomach. I’d hoped to avoid dumping this problem on him. He has enough to worry about without me adding to it.
Interested looks follow me as I pass, and I hug my cape tighter. It will be fine. I’m overthinking things. Miguel was just being friendly. They’re all just wondering why I’m rushing. My scent isn’t that powerful, surely. Bodin all but kicked me out.
I’m overreacting and underestimating the male ability to control their hormones. But as my fingers curl around the flap of Legion’s tent, a memory flashes unbidden.
Alfie and I, on a bench in Nero’s garden weeks before my eighteenth birthday—days before the big battle. Sick of suppressing my heat, desperate for attention, for touch. Alfie insisted we wait until marriage, and he was so rigid in that belief that he grew angry when I brought it up. But that night, when I decided I’d had enough of denying my need, I made my move. His control snapped. He became so aggressively aroused that itfrightened me. I punched him, then fled. We apologized later, agreeing to wait until we were ready. He’s always known about my fae biology.
The flap suddenly opens, revealing me standing there, horror painted across my face. Styx holds the tent open, Legion further inside at his desk, poring over reports, tension evident in his shoulders.
“Are you coming inside?” Styx asks. “Or are you going to loiter all night?”
Chagrinned, I mutter something respectful, catch the smile tugging at his lips, and rush inside. He drops the flap, blocking the exit, eyes raking over me with dark appreciation. Shit. My heightened senses make him smell ten times more alluring than usual. It’s making my head spin. I fight the urge to bury my face in his neck.
“We have a problem,” I say, voice tight. “They’re?—”
“You have a charm for this occasion, Willow.” Legion’s brows arch.
“Sorry.” I slip my hand beneath my cape, brushing my fingertip over the stone they gifted me. I wait until magic flares outward, creating an itching silencing shield. Its range isn’t great, so I ask Styx to stand beside Legion’s desk with me. The change in them is immediate. Their eyes darken. Faces slacken with desire. Styx might even growl.
“I’m about to go into heat,” I mumble, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Legion says, “I thought that elixir?—”
“Is birth control. Not a heat thing.”
Legion swallows hard. Styx’s eyes have gone wholly black—Sluagh black—staring at me as if I’m his next meal.
“Did you know Bodin’s lost his memories again?” I blabber to fill the silence. “I caught him about to eat actual food.”
With visible effort, Legion tears his gaze from me and asks Styx, “When was the last time you revealed your Sluagh form to him?”
“Don’t know,” Styx replies vaguely, still staring at me in an entirely predatory way.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Legion presses, alarm coloring his voice.
Oh shit. Has Styx lost his memory, too? This is bad. This is so bad.
“Stop panicking,”he sends into my mind.“You’re ruining the vibe.”
“Are you messing with us?” I say. “Because I’m not in the mood right now.”
He gives Legion a disgruntled look. “I’ll shift before him tonight.”
“You should be doing it multiple times a day.” Anger flares in Legion’s eyes. “You know how important this is to combat Titania’s memory enchantment.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Not too busy to visit Willow three times while she slept.”
My brows shoot skyward. Wait. What? Has he been spying on me in his wraith form? Only when I sleep or—an intense wave of hot need washes over me, and I barely stifle a groan. The scent of my pheromones spikes in the air, and I see my mates’ nostrils flare. Styx steps towards me, but Legion’s hand flattens against his chest, holding him back.
