Page 13 of Beyond the Mountain (Fae's Captive 4)

I should scold him, should reinforce the notions of discipline, restraint, and caution. But I find I can’t say anything at all. Not after I made love to Taylor instead of making our escape. I rub my temples. Foolish.

“You were only just mated. It’s normal for the instinct to take over sometimes.” Gray, as always, seems to read my mind. “It was a trap either way. At least you got to be with Taylor.”

“It was stupid.” I give him a nod all the same.

“How did she change so much?” Valen plops down on the stone floor.

I’ve been asking myself the same question. “Selene said it was her feral fae.”

“Whoa.” Valen leans back on his elbows. “That’s pretty much unheard of. Her feral fae manifesting like that, with her so young?”

“We don’t know how old she is.” Gray paces one side of the cramped cage. “She could be older than Leander for all we know. And on top of that, she’s a necromancer.”

“A powerful one,” Valen adds. “She’s only just come into her magic, but she wields it like, like …”

“Like her father.” I grit my teeth.

“Pretty much.” Valen points to my wasted hand. “That’s not healing fast enough.”

“Save your power for—”

He closes his eyes and summons healing magic, green energy swirling around my hand until it’s repaired.

I flex my healed fingers. “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “That’s my job.”

Gray continues to pace as Valen lies back and uses his interlaced fingers for a pillow. I keep scanning the room, looking for a way out of this. But I can’t leave without Taylor. Will she come with me? Or stay here with Shathinor? The thought of her turning her back on me has me gripping the cage and yanking as hard as I can. The metal bends but doesn’t break.

“Too strong for you, traitor.” Shathinor strides in, his familiar smirk like a bad dream.

“I will get out.” I release the bars and let my hands hang at my sides, the iron keeping bits of my sizzling skin.

“You will.” He stops and peruses me with the same cold eyes that watched thousands of his own people fight and die, perish from starvation, and serve as nothing more than pawns in his war against the summer realm. “But only for your execution.”

“You think Taylor will allow that?”

He laughs low and slimy. “I’ve given her plenty of leash, but it’s almost time to yank it back. You think I don’t know she plans on my overthrow? She’s my daughter after all. It only makes sense that she wants the throne for herself. I don’t mind that. I truly don’t. And it will be easy enough to pull her into line.”

“You don’t know her.”

“Neither do you.” He cocks his head to the side. “You think she’s the same foolish changeling who followed you through the Greenvelde and the Red Plains? One look at her tells you that’s not the case. She has my wings, my darkness, my thirst for conquest. She is the greatest weapon in all of Arin, and I intend to use her until there’s nothing left.”

“You won’t touch her.” I pound the bars, the iron giving way but still not bursting free.

Shathinor doesn’t move. “Your time is almost up. Prepare your betrayer’s heart for the Spires. Tonight—” He turns toward a ruckus in the hallway. “What in the name of the Ancestors is—”

Thorn comes flying through the double doors and skids across the polished black floor. He flops onto his back, his face a bloody mess, as Shathinor gapes at him. “Shathinor. Long time, no see. How’s that whole being dead thing treating you?”

“Thorn.” Shathinor spits. “I think I’ll have you change to a bear before I kill you. I’d like your hide on my bed.”

Thorn nods appreciatively. “That is, by far, the creepiest invite to someone’s bed I’ve ever gotten.”

Shathinor kicks him in the stomach, and Thorn flies across the room, his back cracking against the rock wall. He coughs blood and heaves in a pained breath.

“I told you I’d bring you a gift, my king.”

We all turn toward the door.

“Traitor!” Valen rushes the iron cage, but Gray holds him back.

“Ah, the apprentice has returned.” Shathinor smiles as Brannon drops to his knee before him.

13

Taylor

Cecile knocks and enters, a new gown draped across her arms.

“What’s this?” I’ve been lying on my bed, staring at nothing, and thinking about Leander. But the interruptions are nonstop. The other voice in my head grows louder, telling me that we are in this together, that I’m her feral form, that we both survive or neither of us do. That doesn’t even make sense. I run this body. These are my wings. My magic.

“Taylor?” Cecile hesitates by the bed.

“What?”

She proffers the dress. “You asked what this was. I told you it’s for tonight. But you ignored me and zoned out.”

“How’s your human?” Where did that come from? I don’t care about her human.

“She’s fine.” Cecile lays the dress on the bed. “Mostly. Your death curse almost killed her, of course.” She clamps her mouth closed.

There’s that feeling again. The one that doesn’t belong. Guilt. It’s as if seeing Leander has unlocked the part of me that I keep trying to squelch.

The door opens, this time without a knock, and Selene glides in and drops onto my bed.

“Hey, watch the dress!” Cecile snatches it up. “I had to iron this myself.”

I laugh. The Taylor inside me joins for a moment, then sobers.

Cecile raises a brow at me but doesn’t respond.

“Afraid of you, this one is.” Selene clacks her teeth at Cecile. “Meat always tastes better when it dies afraid.”

Cecile shifts from one foot to the other, and part of me revels in her discomfort. The other part, the one I can’t seem to get rid of, pities her.

“You spit out my pea.” Selene lies back.

Cecile gags.

“P-e-a not p-e-e.” I point to the chair at my dressing table. “Put it there and go.” I wave her away. “It was time for me to shine, I suppose.”

“Have you decided who you’re going to be?” Selene rolls over to face me and rests her head on her hand, the obsidian crackling.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m personally rooting for death incarnate, the destroyer of Arin, the bringer of war, the—”

“I get it.”

“That would be glorious. Just imagine

all the bones.” She sighs contentedly. “So many bits, parts lying around, pools of blood, guts, and ooohh, think of all the teeth!”

“I could skip the gore. But I will crush the summer realm.” I pull a small orb of death into my palm and play with it. “Killing only makes me stronger.”

“You killed one in the Red Plains. How many have you killed here?” She turns those too-knowing eyes on me.

“Shathinor’s had me using all my magic to reanimate.” I roll my eyes. “He says that’s the hard part, the most important part.”

“He’s right. More soldiers that way.” She presses one finger into the black orb and pulls it back, staring at the pale skin revealed as the obsidian dies from the surface of her skin.

“Did you know that would happen?” I stare at her finger, the nail just like a regular fae’s, no more claw, no more black obsidian.

“No.” She shakes it, and the obsidian creeps back into place. “Interesting.”

“Maybe I could—”

She harrumphs. “I am obsidian. I do not break.”

“Okay then.” I chew my lip. “You said this is my feral form. Is that true?”

“Yes. Your feral was locked away for so long by that soulstone, that once it was set free, it took over. You are feral.”

“Right now? I’m feral right this second?”

“Don’t you feel feral?” She raises her white brows. “You’re power drunk, homicidal, and full of rage.” Her tone turns dreamy. “A deadly treat you are, wearing your darkness on the outside.”

“So, I can change back?”

“Can you?” She cackles, and I realize I’m not getting any more straight answers from her. I glance at the dress and try another avenue. “What sort of stupid ceremony is he planning for tonight? Gloating over Leander and his pals?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Who will you be? Death? Or, you could go back to being that little waif in the woods. The girl I met, the one who wanted to go home.”

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