Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae 1)

In a moment and an eternity both, his ears popped. His heart rate settled down. Alder shifted his stance and took a breath. The carnival ride of the cosmos was complete.

Ms. Bristol nodded and held up her martini glass. “I need another one of these, please.”

Alder moved to refill it immediately.

She pushed the ball away and, her eyes a little hazy now, refocused on Devon.

“Sometimes, the things we love the most do us the most harm.” She entwined her fingers. “And you do love her.” Her brow furrowed. “Or you will. It’s hard to tell which from the mists. But the time will come when you need to make a choice. A choice that concerns the rest of your life and, more importantly, her life.”

Devon’s gut pinched.

“I cannot see when this choice will come, but you will know when it is before you. The choice you must make will be against your heart. Against everything you’ve always wanted. Against your very being. To save Charity’s life—to give her a life—you must take the hard road, sacrifice your heart, and let her go.”

He shook his head and stood, his middle aching.

Ms. Bristol looked up at him as Alder rounded the corner with a refreshed martini. Her gaze was focused and dominant. Her conviction was unassailable. “When the time comes, Devon, if you truly love her, you must walk away.”

Devon shook his head. “She relies on me to have her back. We’re a team. We look out for each other. How can walking away from her, leaving her vulnerable, be the best possible plan?”

Ms. Bristol took the martini glass and sipped. She leaned back in her chair. “I have no idea.”

Devon tilted his head. “What?”

She shrugged. “I can’t see that part. I can only see your crossroads, and the choice you must make. Everything else is hazy and unformed. I don’t put images in the ball, kid. I just read what it gives me.”

“That’s bullshit,” Devon spat.

“Watch yourself,” Alder said quietly, like a whip to Devon’s wolf.

Devon’s muscles tensed and his body bristled. He stared into Alder’s eyes.

Alder returned his stare, and Devon prepared for the older, harder wolf to force him to submit. Instead, Alder said, “She’s out back. She could probably use your company.”

Devon was moving before he consciously thought to. After a quick detour, he found Charity sitting on the edge of the porch, looking out at the trees. Quietly, he sat down beside her, his gut churning.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She glanced his way, and worry crinkled her eyes. She forced a smile. The effort was obvious, and his heart twisted painfully.

“Tarot? Really?” She went back to looking at the trees. “I’m sorry, Devon, but is that really magic? I’ve had my fortune read plenty of times, and it was all cockamamie. None of it came true.”

She stood in a rush and turned his way, her magic rising.

“The Brink is my home. This is my home”—she gestured around her—“as long as you’ll have me. Finishing school is my dream. Making something of myself is my dream. This is my choice, not…” She flung her hand, indicating something in the distance.

He stood with her, wondering what had happened to her sword.

“The woman is a fraud.”

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to him. She looked into his eyes, opening herself to him in a way no other woman had, in a way he cherished, and was eager to reciprocate.

“I love you,” he said, feeling it with every ounce of his person. “I will always protect you. This will always be your home.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she pulled his head down, her kiss sweet but fervent. She clung to him and whispered against his lips, “I love you too. I will always choose you. Over everything.”

“I got you something.” He grabbed the package off the porch where he’d set it down earlier.

She peeled back the plain brown wrapping, pausing to wipe a tear from her cheek, and then gasped at the picture on the box. A silver frame, simple yet elegant.

“It’s engraved.” He pointed awkwardly at the top of the box.

Another tear slipped down her cheek from her shining eyes. She opened the flap and pulled out the inscribed frame: A mother’s happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

“The quote is by Honore de Balzac. I thought it fit. We can order a different one, though, if you have something else in mind.”

“No.” She shook with silent sobs. “It’s perfect, Devon.” She ran her thumb across the inscription. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“That’s what I ordered in that shop you saw me in with Yasmine,” he explained, resting a hand on her waist so he could touch her. “I thought you might like a nice frame for your mother’s picture.”