Page 67 of King of Death

I was too stunned to react. The solitary fae thought I was the one who wanted to do that?

When the only fucking reason I was here was because the other fae monarch wanted to do that?

The idea that there were Folk accusing me of that was so acutely unfair that I almost laughed at the infuriating absurdity of it.

Then Brahm continued, and that swell of furious frustration quickly turned into fear.

“They say that they will not leave until you stop killing off everything in the forest, Luad,” he told me solemnly. “They are… they are saying that the Higher Spirits will punish you if you don’t stop.”

I swallowed. “I’m not doing it on—” Forcing myself to stop, I nodded quickly. “I’ll—I’ll deal with it in a little while. Okay? Maybe… maybe get Morrin. Send for him. He can…”

I had no idea how to handle this, especially not when all I wanted was to be with Lonan and make sure he was alright. My head started to throb, so I rubbed my temples and scrubbed a hand over my face.

“I’ll sort it out later,” I told Brahm, already turning to follow the others. I didn’t want to think about it right now. I couldn’t.

They had made it to our bedroom by the time I caught up with them. After a few attempts, Lonan managed to clamber up onto our bed before collapsing there, panting heavily. Nua and Gillie were already busy grabbing clean cloths and setting out bandages and fresh water.

Because we had no idea if Lonan’s leg would once again be a jagged, torn-open stump when he shifted back.

I perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing my fingers through the coarse fur on his side. “Are you okay?” I whispered.

Lonan’s black eye flickered toward me, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth, his teeth deadly sharp as he panted. I looked back at his missing leg and tried to keep all the emotion off my face.

“We’ll deal with whatever happens, okay?” I told him quietly, lifting my hand to gently smooth my thumb over one of his pointed ears.

Lonan whined. I could see the fear in his eyes. He jumped when Gillie approached with a stack of cloths, which he efficiently tucked under Lonan’s lower half without a word. But we all knew what they were for.

I let out a breath, then slowly removed my hand from Lonan’s side. “Whenever you’re ready. We’ll stay here as long as you need.”

He whined again, black eyes darting to Nua and Gillie, then back to me.

I turned to them with an apologetic smile. “I think he might…”

“Understood, lad.” Gillie wrapped his arm around Nua, who was watching us anxiously.

“Call us if…”

“I will.” I gave my brother another tiny smile, but I was already looking back down at Lonan before I heard the door click shut behind them. “It’s just us now, okay? But they’re ready if… if you need them.”

It took a few minutes for Lonan to work up the courage. I waited, still perched on the edge of the bed, trying to hide how tense I was. But I couldn’t stop myself from stiffening up in fear when that oily black smoke finally appeared, enveloping the wolf as it suddenly vanished.

“Oh thank fuck,” I breathed in relief when Lonan appeared in the wolf’s place, dressed in a loose untucked shirt and a pair of trousers, the wooden foot of his branch leg poking out the end.

Lonan was drenched in sweat and still breathing hard, and at first, his black eyes refused to leave mine as I rested a hand on the centre of his chest to try and soothe him.

“It’s okay,” I whispered as he stared at me in wild panic.

His throat bobbed. Slowly, he shifted to lean back against the headboard, then let his gaze dip down his frame. A hoarse sound left him.

“Fuck.” He sagged in visible relief, his hand shaking when he pressed it to the join in his leg through the thin fabric of his trousers.

I was shaky with relief when I stood and hurried to the door, poking my head out to tell Nua and Gillie that he was fine. When I made my way back over to the bed, Lonan was still breathing unsteadily, his hands trembling as he shoved his damp hair back from his face.

I hurried to pour him a glass of water, and he gulped it down greedily as I sat back down on the edge of the bed. He drained it, so I poured him another and watched in silence as he drank.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

He pulled the glass away and wiped his mouth, then set it down on the bedside table. Twining our fingers together, he squeezed my hand. “I still have my leg, and I can shift. This was the best possible outcome.”

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