Warrior Fae Princess (Warrior Fae 2)

“I did this,” he whispered. He hadn’t intended to say it out loud, but it was true—he’d pushed his pack to guard Charity at all costs. If he hadn’t taken up this detail, Dillon would still be alive.

Devon felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Steve knelt by his side.

“I heard Roger say that once,” Steve said for Devon’s ears alone. “And only once. You are a leader. You are responsible for your pack. But you can’t protect them all the time. There are losses in every battle. You need to be the guy that leads his pack through the bad times. You need to internalize your guilt and pain and be strong for your people. Be their hope, or their vengeance. Every good alpha has been in your shoes multiple times. It comes with the job.”

Devon stared down at his friend’s crushed body, his limbs numb, his heart aching. He wanted to crawl into a hole and shut his eyes against this day.

“It’s a helluva job,” Steve murmured, looking down at Dillon. “And he was a helluva wolf.”

Devon nodded, steeling himself, knowing that Steve was right. It was the job, and right now, he hated this job with a passion he couldn’t explain.

“How are the rest of you?” Devon lifted his head and turned to the others. He needed to take care of the living before he could mourn the loss of the dead.

“A few of us hurt like hell, but we’ll heal,” said Andy, who sat in a pool of blood from a wound on his leg. Judging from that and the deep score down the side of his chest, he needed to pass out.

“Barbara is barely breathing,” Dale said, and nodded to the blackened and bloody wolf who lay at his feet. “She’s hanging on, though. She’s had worse and bounced back. She’ll be all right.”

“She needs time,” Cole said.

“She needed better leadership,” Dale said, looking up at Devon. The glare didn’t stick for more than a moment before the defiant shifter pulled his gaze away.

A fire crackled to life not far away, the fae working on that potion or whatever it was for Charity. A hush fell over the pack. Devon’s power flared in his middle as he stared the larger, older, more experienced wolf down. He wanted with everything he had to answer the other shifter’s challenge. To finally put to rest what Dale had started when they’d first met.

But now wasn’t the time. His pack was grieving. He was grieving. Dale needed a pass, and everyone needed to see Devon grant it.

So he let the hard stare linger for a moment longer, letting everyone see that he registered the offense, and looked down at his friend one last time.

“Dillon always said that he wanted to go out like a hero,” Devon said, using everything he had to keep his voice steady. “That if he should die in battle, he wanted it to happen with honor. Well…” Heat prickled his eyes. Devon paused for a moment, collecting himself. “He did do it with honor. No one could’ve done better. He has been my best asset, and my best friend, and I will miss him.”

Macy cried harder, hugging herself. Rod and Andy both stared at the ground, their faces ashen.

“Let’s look after ourselves and the wounded, and let’s see if we can use the fae’s fire to send Dillon to his final resting place.”

“We’ll deliver his ashes to his family,” Macy said between her sobs.

“Charity?” Rod asked, sorrow creasing the skin around his eyes.

“She’s being looked after. One of them seems to know what is happening.” Devon gritted his teeth. “Let’s hope they can bring her around.”

Devon didn’t know what he’d do if he lost them both.Chapter Twenty-Three“Second, they are bringing her in.”

Romulus glanced up from his plans, which he’d been staring at all day without making progress. Halvor stood at the door of his work shed, straight and proper. Not bad news, then, thank the bounty.

Romulus stood quickly, walking from around his desk.

He’d received news yesterday evening that a girl of about twenty had been recovered, with inverted magic and eyes of an unnatural blue. According to the healer who’d treated her, she should’ve died months ago. She’d only survived thanks to a band of shifters and mages.

The report sounded far-fetched, but given the accounts he’d heard of her magic, the elves’ interest in her, and the fact that she possessed a picture of Romulus himself, something that could’ve only been taken from the Brink… Well, waiting hadn’t been easy.

“What news?” Romulus asked.

“She has been kept under a sleeping draught. Magic seeps from her in great waves, and she tenses whenever it surges. They believe she is trying to subdue it.”

Romulus frowned. “That must be causing her great pain.”

“Yes, and it pains those around her.”

“Why keep her under? Why not guide her magic until she can be brought here and properly trained?”