Page 24

Moonlight bathes the gardens, and the teal moss covering the Hawthorn is fluorescent under its silvery rays. The air is warm and still, filled with sweet hints of dew and honeysuckle.

Breathing in the beauty of the night, I climb the stairs to the balcony to grab an apple from the evergreen buffet. I’m a little hungry after my evening in the library, and I love to gaze down at the empty gardens at this hour.

It’s the middle of the night, and I’m wandering the halls of a Fae castle with no escort…

My heart skips a beat when I spot One sitting alone at a table. The moon reflects off the white claw marks scarring his mask. His back is hunched as he eats, the slouch so different from his usual posture that I pause.

Is it really him? He looks so…beaten down.

I clear my throat loudly to make my presence known, and his fists clench for a moment, but he quickly melts back to his earlier posture.

I rush over to him with a verve that surprises me. “You’re back.”

He doesn’t answer or glance up from his food, but his shadowy aura thickens around him like a thundercloud.

A torrent of questions threatens to pour out of me as I slide into the seat in front of him and suppress the anger in my voice. “Why am I the only one left to her own devices? The others have lessons with your brothers almost every day, but you just left without so much as an explanation.”

He leans back in his chair. “I figured I’d leave you a bit of space to acclimate. And you needed to put on a bit of muscle first. I didn’t want you to faint at the first sight of a nightmare.”

“Oh.” To be honest, he’s the one who looks about to faint right now, not me. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders…”

He reaches for his wine glass and takes a careful sip. “Is it that obvious?”

I offer him a compassionate smile and wait for him to elaborate.

“There’s so much to do. So little time to do it.” He gulps down another mouthful of wine. “Nightmares need hunting, hunters need guidance, and seedlings come last, I’m afraid.”

It’s not exactly an apology, but I appreciate the sentiment.

“Is it because of the summer celebration? Lori told me that it gets quite busy for you around holidays.”

“Holiday is certainly a misleading word for it.” A dark chuckle escapes him before his voice rises a little. “I’m not decking the halls or carving pumpkins, I’m trying to save lives. Trying to keep the world as we know it from fucking ending.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

He opens his mouth to speak but ends up biting his bottom lip instead, and the silence stretches on.

The slight hitch in his breath brings goosebumps to my neck. “Have I said the wrong thing?” I ask.

“Not at all. You’re the first person to ask me if I need help since…forever, really. I don’t usually share the weight of my workload with anyone.” He rubs the top of his mask. “There’s just something about you…”

The pressure of his unseen gaze is almost too intense for me to bear at this point, and I try to think of something to defuse the tension, but he beats me to it with an awkward cough.

“You spent a lot of time with Lori while I was away?” he says.

I blink one too many times, still wrecked by his blunt admission. “Lori’s great.”

He leans forward, the strange energy dissipating. “I agree. Don’t tell her, because it’ll go straight to her head, but she’s my favorite hunter.” With an elusive grin, he lifts a thick piece of meat from his plate and brings it to his mouth.

“Really? How did she manage that?” I ask in jest, my eyes never leaving his mask, yearning to see what lies underneath.

For whatever reason, I crave his attention. Maybe denying me a mentor was meant to spark this weird, misplaced feeling inside of me, and if so, well played. Reverse psychology works.

One chews slowly at my obvious flirtation, his fork suddenly hesitant to grab the next bite, and a faint, high-pitched chime tinkles through the gardens.

We both turn toward the source of the eerie noise, the air now several degrees colder. An unnatural breeze blows through the thick vegetation, the leaves of the Hawthorn in a twist, revealing their silvery underside.

One’s fork bumps the rim of his plate with a loud clink, and he stands abruptly, tossing his napkin over his unfinished meal.