Page 46 of Lera of Lunos
“Xane.” My jaw tightens, fury that’s more than just my own rushing through my blood.
Autumn touches my shoulder. “Xane told me what he did to Tye. He is—”
“A manipulative, cowardly, highborn bastard who little hesitates to step on anyone of convenience,” I finish for Autumn.
“Quite a concise description.” Dressed in a well-cut white shirt and billowing blue trousers, Xane bows to me as he approaches, the small crown atop his pale hair catching the evening light. “Pardon the interruption. I just wished to thank Leralynn for what she did for Blaze and Lunos.”
I stare at Xane, saying nothing.
The prince nods his acceptance. “I’ll be out of your way.” He hesitates only long enough to pull a book out of his satchel and extend the leather-bound tome to Autumn. “The Concise History of Wards and Runes from the Early Separation Period,by Victoria Stasse,as you asked. Keep it as long as you like.”
“Thank you. Except I’m not returning it to you at all.” Autumn grins. “I collect author copies.”
Xane frowns.
“The Blaze prince has authored some of my favorite reference texts,” Autumn explains to me, happily ignoring the sudden frightened widening of Xane’s eyes. “He has a whole library of interesting things concealed behind covers on military strategy and weapon making.”
“Writing as Victoria?” My brows rise. “Why?”
“I’d imagined it would conceal my identity,” Xane says dryly, then glares at Autumn. “I should never have left you alone in the sitting room.”
“No, you really shouldn’t have.” Autumn’s smile softens. “Why the secrecy, Xane?”
The male glances at the black mourning flag flying above the palace, his gaze filled with a mixture of resentment and shame. His answer, when it finally comes, is quiet. “When your father wants a warrior like Tyelor for a son and instead sires one who gets dizzy at the sight of blood, it’s best not to bring weak pastimes to his attention. Excuse me, I see said paragon of maleness approaching and would prefer to be elsewhere.”
My head still spinning from Xane’s words, I turn my attention to the path below, feeling the truth of Tye’s proximity. But I find the path empty. Farther down, none of the figures revealed by the flames have the large, lithe silhouette of my redheaded warrior. “Bloody liar,” I mutter.
“Tyewasover there, last I saw him.” Autumn points in the same fruitless direction. “Arguing with his sister, I believe. Saritta seems to hold several strong opinions.”
“Maybe—oomph.” Wind leaves my lungs as a pair of paws hits my chest, pinning me to the cold ground. Above me, a tiger’s muzzle blocks my view of the twilit sky, his rough tongue licking my neck with feline self-satisfaction. I try to squirm away from the wet, gritty welcome. “Ah. Stop it, cat.”
He ignores me.
Right up until the moment a wolf’s warning growl pierces the air around us and two of the mysterious new tethers inside me vibrate with tension.
The wolf growls again, the sight of his black muzzle peeled back over great, dripping canines sending a small shiver across my skin. “Shade?” I say, between the tiger’s licks—which have, if anything, turned more possessive. “You are jesting, aren’t you?”
Grrrr.The wolf prowls closer, gray fur rippling over muscled shoulders.
Lifting his head, the tiger swipes with one giant paw, sending Shade’s wolf flying to the side.
Landing in a furry gray heap, Shade yips once then rises, his yellow eyes flashing murder. Hackles raised, the wolf circles the tiger, crossing his paws in a nimble fighting step that would make Coal proud. Likely looking for a hamstring to sever.
Tye leaps off of me, meeting Shade’s challenge head-on, the cat’s tail swaying rhythmically in the firelight.
No. They aren’t jesting. I curse, accepting Coal’s offered hand and allowing the conveniently arrived warrior to pull me away from the circling predators. With my new fae body, I can smell the sharp tang of possession raging around me. Need. Dominance. Territory.
“What do we do now?” I ask Coal.
The warrior grimly picks up a large club, eyeing the two males. “Now we knock sense back into them.”
“Oh, put that down before you hurt someone.” A petite green-eyed female who’d be in her late forties if she were human strides up to us, nothing about her thick, practical dress explaining the source of the authority she projects. Stopping before Coal, the female puts one hand on her hip, the other gesturing for the club.
Autumn chokes on her cider, spraying the grass. Saritta, also here now, cringes. They both seem to know something I don’t. I look at the female more closely.
Paying Autumn no mind, the female raises a brow, waiting for Coal to surrender his weapon.
“Their mate is here,” Coal explains with impressive patience. “If—”
