Page 31 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
“The wolfie is trying to eat your Fomorian.”
My heart thumps in my chest, and I let out a low groan. “He’s not my Fomorian. He’s just…”
I turn back to Bree to find him studying me intently. If he’s trying to figure out how I feel about Caed, I wish him luck. I don’t even know where we stand right now.
He came for me,a traitorous part of my mind whispers as Bree releases me. I trudge up the bank, grab the pile of clothes from Lore, and jerk the leggings and tunic over my dripping skin.
“It’s time we all had a talk,” I mutter. “Come on.”
Eight
Rhoswyn
When we make it back to the clearing, the camp is in chaos, and the snarling wolf in the centre is mostly to blame—though I wouldn’t be surprised to find the smirking, blue-skinned Fomorian said something to set him off. Neither of them can score a hit, thanks to the charm I put on them, but I don’t think that matters to the beast with its fur on end. It certainly hasn’t spared the camp from their destruction.
There are claw marks gouged into the dirt everywhere, and I swear that tree wasn’t uprooted earlier.
Prae is sitting to one side, ignoring them, and Drystan is trying his best to reason with the wolf while Lore goads them both on.
Swallowing, I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly.
Time to act like a Nicnevin.
“Enough!” I snarl, stepping between them as I draw sharply on Danu’s power, reaching for Mab as I do so.
My grandmother appears without me even needing to ask, her hand clasping my shoulder. Sparks of lightning fly from my fingers, zapping both of the culprits so hard that they’re forced backwards.
“Don’t get between fighting males!” Drystan snarls, but I level him with a look that pins him in place.
“Shift back,” I tell the wolf, not bothering to layer my voice with charm. “We are having a talk—no.Iam going to talk, and you five are going to listen to me.”
Goddess, I don’t need this right now. My eyes are burning, but I tell myself that the smoke from the fire is to blame.
The wolf shakes its head, stunned, then meets my eyes with a whine. I sense Drystan tensing behind me, but the wolf shocks us both when he rolls onto his back and bares his neck.
Melting just a fraction, I bend down and pet the soft fur of his belly. “I need Jaro back.”
He yips, rolling onto his front and shaking out his fur. His bones crunch as they break and reform, the furry face of the wolf retreating to present my mate, who pushes to his knees with shaky limbs.
“Caed is travelling with us,” I declare. “I won’t hear any arguments against it. The Goddess gave him until Beltaine to convince you to trust him, and I think he’s earned a fair chance by rescuing your asses from Siabetha and saving me from iron poisoning.” I pin the Fomorian in question with a look that halts the grin creeping across his cheeks in its tracks. “This is the last time I’ll interfere. Danu made it clear; this isn’t for me to decide.”
“I understand.” Caed dips his head, surprisingly solemn. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Truly. I regret everything that happened in Fellgotha. I thought about what you said in Pavellen, and I understand why you won’t trust me, but I swear on my mother’s soul, I’ll prove myself.”
Sighing, I let my defensive posture slip the barest fraction.
“I am not in the right place to have this discussion,” I admit, releasing Mab and my hold on the Goddess’s magic. “I am tired, scared, aching, and my brother isdead.” I feel more than see each of them flinch with every blow. “And my Guard is behaving like a bunch of angry teenagers.” I meet all of them in the eyes, letting them see the naked pain there before settling on Jaro, who looks away.
I flinch, taking his rejection like a physical blow.
“You may not want to talk about it,” I begin, approaching him slowly. “But I need you.” I hate the way my voice wobbles. “I know I’m responsible for whatever you’re going through right now, and I’m sorry that I let Aiyana get away with everything she did. I’m sorry she hurt your wolf, and you’re right to resent me for it. But I can’t do this without you.”
I pause, stopping when I’m close enough to breathe in the scent of woodsmoke, leather, and wildness that’s uniquely his. He’s turned so his back is to me, and I raise a hand, needing to turn him, to see his face.
He growls, and the sub-vocal sound makes the hairs on my arms rise. My hand hovers an inch from his shoulder, and when I make contact, he jerks like a current has passed through him.
“My lady.”
The official address cuts, and I bite my lip, dropping my hand and breaking the contact.
