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“How do you feel?” Wick continued.

Slate rotated his shoulders. He still felt weak. It was fading fast, but there was a noticeable heaviness to his bones that wasn’t fading. He wondered if it was permanent.

“Diminished,” he replied honestly. “But it will be worth it.”

He started toward the castle. His mind was so consumed with thoughts of Ruby he didn’t realize he had forgotten something until Wick called, “Brother.”

Slate turned to find Wick standing uncomfortably among his trees. He opened his mouth to tell Wick to stop standing there and open a portal already, only to remember that his brother was useless with magic.

Slate headed back, claw raised. “Where do you wish to be?”

“The mortal realm,” Wick replied. “Where you summoned me from.”

Slate’s nose wrinkled behind his skull mask as he cut a circle into the air. “Every time I visit, the air feels more stale. It does not want us there. I don’t know why you prefer it.”

“Some do,” Wick said softly.

Slate’s claw paused in midair, a mere inch away from completing the portal. He thought back to Ruby speaking of her town with such fondness, even if there was sadness in it. Of her delight whenever he brought her something from that realm that his barren void could never provide.

He finished the circle. The portal sealed and started to glow, pulsing in wait.

Wick stepped toward it and paused. “Good luck, brother.”

Slate watched him step into the portal. His wings were still drooping, his fiery eyes dull with disappointment. Slate did not understand why his brother was so upset about his blood frenzy, but he sympathized. It must be a heavy burden, carrying something inside you that you hated.

“Brother,” he said. He waited until Wick looked back, half of him shimmering beyond the portal.

Slate inclined his head. “May your fangs be dull.”

Wick huffed, tail swishing sadly. “We can only hope.”

Then he vanished through the portal, leaving Slate to seal it behind him.

He scratched at the oil drying on his face. He would have to wash it off. And then…

He looked into the forest. His nest wasn’t far. He had time.

Seventeen

Ruby woke up to something warm and wet touching her cheek.

She opened her eyes. Slate was bending over the bed, his tongue pulling away from her face.

She squinted at him. “Did you just…lickme?”

“You were taking a very long time to wake up,” Slate replied. “I was worried. So was the dog.”

The dog spirit scratched at the door with a mournful whine.

“You will not be let in,” Slate called. “Shoo.”

There was another sad bark, followed by the sound of the spirit slinking away.

Ruby laughed. It quickly trailed off as she realized what was surrounding them.

It wasn’t bedsheets like she thought. It was fur.

Fur and feathers. But no dirt, like she was used to smelling when she was in his forest nest. This nest was full of sweetness and softness; literal sweetness, she realized as she spotted wrapped chocolate tucked next to a shadowy feather.