Page 82 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“Puck.”
“No wonder the Baleful Hunt no longer guards it,” Styx drawls, his voice tinged with dark amusement. “There’s nothing to guard.”
At first, I try to help push Fox toward the exit, but I’m more of a hindrance. The two take over, but it’s slow going. I occasionally poke my head outside the warded exit to check, but it remains empty. Eventually, Bodin orders Styx to shift.
Styx’s wings erupt from his back, tearing his shirt to shreds.
“Fuck!” he barks, scowling down at his exposed chest with embarrassment. He plucks fabric scraps from his skin, discarding them carelessly, but can’t seem to reach the trapped shreds at his back.
Bodin sighs. “Pick up your trash. Leave no traces of our visit.”
I quickly volunteer to help, kneeling to collect the discarded pieces. When I offer to untangle the remaining shirt from his wings, Styx refuses, a blush darkening his cheeks.
“Let me do it,” I insist softly. “It’ll be easier for me.”
He doesn’t stop me from stepping closer. I set to work, hyperaware of his gaze on my face. His hand, warm and large, curves around my waist, anchoring me.
“Done,” I murmur, our eyes locking.
“I’m still getting used to shifting,”he says in my mind.
I give him an understanding smile and reply, “My claws used to catch and rip things before I was used to it.”
Bodin clears his throat, breaking the moment. “Willow, you touch both Styx and myself as we push. Styx?—”
“I know, I know,” Styx interrupts, his voice still intimate.
He gently moves me aside, plucks buttons on his breeches and slings them low on his hips, then fully transforms. Horns, spikes, blue-tinted skin, tail. His skull briefly illuminates, andthen his wraith exits his body with a rush of wind against our faces. Bracing his hands on Fox’s middle, he quickly flaps his taloned, silken wings, creating a buzzing sound. He pushes the statue with casual ease toward the exit.
He is a sight to behold. A force of strength, muscle, and, dare I think it, divine.
I help them exit through the wards. Outside, Styx’s otherness fades, leaving him almost vulnerable as he buttons his pants.
Bodin stares at him, annoyed. “You could have saved us a lot of trouble if you did that at the start.”
Styx shrugs and swipes his hair from his eyes. He won’t look at me, leaving me wondering if he’s embarrassed, ashamed, or angry to show me his true form. The portraits he sketched of himself in Elphyne had a sense of self-disparagement. The name Spike had been scratched out and replaced with Styx. The other night, he went to great lengths to convince me he’s unashamed of this form, but I’m not convinced.
“Everyone needs to touch me for this to work,” he grinds out, his earlier playfulness replaced by intensity. “Get close.”
I step forward, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on Fox’s cold, stone chest. Bodin moves to the other side, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill of the statue. He tries to encircle me and Fox but can only cover so much surface area.
“You sure this will work?” Bodin checks.
Styx’s response is a glare cut from steel.
Before weflickeraway, I lean in closer to Fox. The rough texture scrapes against my cheek as I press close.
“I miss you,” I whisper. “We’re going to fix this, I promise.”
I press my ear to his chest, amazed to hear a faint, slow heartbeat, like a distant drum. My eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Ready?” Styx asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I nod, tightening my grip. “Ready.”
The world blurs, colors and shapes melding in a dizzying swirl. When everything solidifies, we’re standing in the dining room at Shadowfall Keep, Fox’s statue still cold and immobile between us.
“We did it,” I breathe, relief and determination mingling in my voice. “We brought you home.”
