Radiant Shadows (Wicked Lovely 4)

Seth told her the words and she repeated, “Blood to blood, I am yours. Bone to bone. Breath to breath. My hungers yours to feed, and yours mine to feed.”

The world shifted to shades of gray all around her as her blood flowed into Devlin’s wounded arm. Her wolves, the feral things she’d dreamed so often, lay alongside them in the grass. Their eyes were no longer green but red. No longer of the mortal world. The part of the Hunt that she carried was different here. Ours.

From the earth beside them, a hazel tree burst forth. It stretched to the sky, shading them with twisted boughs from which flowers hung. As she watched, a copse of smaller hazel trees surrounded them.

“And I am yours,” Devlin said.

She looked at him.

He had opened his eyes and was staring at her with the same eyes as their wolves. “Blood to blood. Bone to bone. Breath to breath. My hungers yours to feed, and yours mine to feed.”

He kissed her, swallowing her energy as she’d taken his, but it did not drain her—or him.

The growling of wolves pulled her attention. The creatures she’d dreamt of weren’t merely dream now: they were alive and snarling at the silver-eyed faery who approached.

Sorcha.

Her dress was that of some long-gone era; everything about her bespoke a more formal time. She was corseted and coiffed, and as she walked, veiled attendants accompanied her. This is the faery I’ve feared? She was utterly unlike the mad raven-faery.

Seth stood, placing himself between them and the High Queen. “Mother.”

For a moment, it felt that the world held its breath. Sorcha extended her hand to Seth.

He quirked a brow at her, before taking her hand and pulling her in for a hug. “I missed you.”

She pursed her lips as if she was debating chastising him. “Seth. That is not how one greets a queen.”

He laughed and kissed her cheek. His voice was low as he murmured, “It’s okay to hug your son.”

The High Queen nodded, but her gaze drifted over him like the most overprotective of parents seeking minute scratches or bruises. “Who injured you? I couldn’t see you the past few hours.”

“I’m fine.”

“It was Bananach, wasn’t it? Or”—she turned her gaze to Devlin—“you? Did you harm him?”

“No.” Seth stayed between them, drawing her gaze back to him. “My brother and I stood together against her.”

Sorcha opened and closed her mouth as she looked from Devlin to Seth and back to Devlin. Holding Devlin’s gaze, she said only, “I have one son.”

Devlin sat up. “I know that, Sister.”

Gingerly he came to his feet; as he did so, he kept Ani’s hand in his.

The High Queen took in the change in her world. Her expression was not one of pleasure as she looked at the copse of trees. “These are not of my will. Why are they not vanishing?”

No one spoke. Ani didn’t know the answer, and if anyone else did, they weren’t speaking.

The High Queen stepped toward Rabbit. “You, half- ling—”

The wolves growled. Rabbit was leaning against one of the trees, clearly under the watch of wolves.

“You are welcome here,” she continued. “You may stay and heal. There is now a cottage for you in the artists’ section. It will have what you require. Be welcome in Faerie.”

Rabbit bowed his head.

“But you”—Sorcha glared at Ani—“are supposed to be dead, yet you appear not to be. Why is that?”

“Sister, my Queen—” Devlin started.