Page 45 of A Reign of Malice
She watches the three of us swaying into each other like a wobbly wall of chaos. “Gods.I’mgoing to regret this in the morning.”
Still, she steps in front of us like a general leading a haphazard army into battle. The world’s best advisor, even when babysitting queens and their drunken new besties.
“I love you, Clara,” I whisper conspiratorially. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I couldn’t do any of this without you. You’re the best. The best advisor, the best friend. My wolf loves you. We both do.”
She glances back, her expression conflicted. “You’re buttering me up after I already agreed to this nonsense.”
Estee waggles a finger between us. “She tells no lies, Miss Clara. Our new beastie here wouldn’t shut up about you all night. Sister from another mister, ride-or-die kind of stuff.”
“I don’t even want to know.” Clara raises a hand, cutting off any further drunken declarations. “If you three think you’re getting near that painting tonight, you need to shut the hell up.”
Isla moves her pinched pointer finger and thumb over her mouth then flicks her hand away. Estee does the same, and even though I have no idea what the action means, I follow suit. That’s just what a good beastie does.
We creep through the castle’s lower levels—or stumble, if I’m being honest. The air is thick, the shadows pressing in closer than usual. Still, somehow, we make it to the alcove.
“There’s my mate!” I announce, pointing dramatically at the painting like it’s the crown jewel of my life.
Estee drapes herself across my back, squinting at the artwork. “He’s very…colorful.”
“I don’t think she means the picture,” Isla says with exaggerated seriousness. “But if she does, we support you, Beastie. No judgment.”
“I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself,” Clara grumbles. “Why do you two keep calling herBeastie?”
“Duh.” Isla taps her on the forehead. “She’s a beast. A wolf queen beast. And our new bestie. Our Beastie.”
Clara shakes her head. “Just don’t touch anything.” She moves to lower the painting from the wall, and when the runes appear, my heart starts beating frantically in my chest.
“Julian.” I whisper his name and step forward, but Clara shoves me back.
“No touching,” Clara barks, her arm flung across my chest like a brace. “In your current state, we have no idea…”
Her words trail off, and I think I’m passing out, but then I’m pretty sure I’m going to vomit as my stomach roils. I try to breathe through the nausea but then panic because mybody is missing. When I scream, the noise only echoes around me.
“Sloane!” Julian’s voice booms so loudly I cover my ears.
Hey, I have arms again. Wait, not really. I mean sort of.I’m spirit-walking!
I stumble out of the shadows and chuckle to myself. Apparently, being tipsy doesn’t discriminate between spirit form and my actual body.
“I’m okay,” I say. “Mostly. I didn’t actually think that was going to work.”
“What happened to you?” His snarl rumbles deep, and for a split second, his eyes gleam too much like Aeson’s.
I step back instinctively, raising a finger. “Nope. Don’t do that. You look likehimwhen you do, and that’s a no from me.”
His expression softens immediately. “Are you…are you drunk?”
I hold up my thumb and forefinger, squinting at the tiny gap between them. “Maybe just a smidge.”
“That’s not good, Sloane.” His sigh is long and pained, almost identical to Clara’s when I’ve pushed her patience to its limit. “You need to be able to protect yourself.”
“Oh, I did.” I smile proudly. “I’ve got backup now. Besties. New besties. They’re amazing. My own personal warriors.”
His brow lifts, but I don’t give him time to ask. “I probably need a plan for tomorrow though,” I continue, the thought smacking me in the face like an afterthought. “Aeson’s mad. Like, really mad. I told him I’d do what I damn well please, and surprise—he didn’t like that.”
The low, warning growl that echoes from Julian makes me shiver, even in spirit form. It’s less threatening and more…protective, like a wolf ready to rip out the throat of anyone who dares to touch what’s his.
“Does he know you found me?” His voice is all gravel and heat, but the question feels like a blade to my heart.
