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Awkwardness settles over the forest. Cerulean and Elixir hesitate to show pity, knowing how I’ll take it. Cove moves to go after her sister, but Lark snatches the female’s arm to stop her, then Lark shakes her head wordlessly.

It’s the right move, because this is my battle. Mine and Juniper’s.

Also, my woman should know by now that I don’t go down easily. And I don’t give up easily.

This isn’t over yet. It’ll never be over with us.

“Fuck,” I mutter, then drive my fingers through my hair and stalk after her.

13

Candlelight spills across the wild as I stride through condensed shrubbery. This route is more cramped, but it’s quicker. She moves fast when she wants to, although she’s never been one to retreat. No, she’s always been the type to either stand her guard or step into the fire with her chin nocked high.

This is different. This is so fucking different, I barely register the tempo of Juniper’s movements or her lingering scent—the hefty aroma of a campfire. Those familiar signs usually lead me to her. This time, my senses are too jumbled by a bunch of shit at once—elation, fear, more elation, more fear—it’s hard to focus.

Only two reinforcements point me in the right direction. One, experience. I know where Juniper goes whenever she’s upset, which isn’t far from our cabin. And two, her boot prints. They stomp through the soil, marking the way for anyone who has a knack for hunting.

I scan the environment, but there’s nothing to worry about. The enemy might be lurking on the borders of The Herd of Deer, but the fuckheads haven’t crossed that line, haven’t reached this turf yet. Otherwise, Juniper wouldn’t have ventured this way weaponless. Not to mention I’d sure as shit be manifesting in her wake, flopping her cute ass over my shoulder, and returning her to safety.

I pace myself, giving her time. Nonetheless, I smack a wooly creeper out of the way, and the miserable thing snaps in half. A pinecone crunches beneath my weight, likely brought here by a woodland critter from some farther area of the forest.

By now, I know why she’s pissed. Juniper hates when guarantees fail to stay guarantees. She despises being proven wrong.

My ribcage clenches, as if it might crack open. It’s a brittle feeling, like my bones have been worn down. And it takes me a moment to recognize the emotion. To say the least, it’s not a feeling my woodland kin deal with often. We’re too busy having fun, having revenge, or having orgasms to experience anguish.

So this is what it’s like to be hurt. This is what it’s like to be wounded by someone who means everything to me.

Even shittier? It’s a lot harder than being furious.

My brothers and Cypress have never had this effect. Fae bed partners haven’t, either. I guess it comes with the territory of loving someone. It gives them the power to smash your heart to a pulp.

She’s not doing it on purpose. I understand why she took off, but that doesn’t get rid of the ache.

I just…wish she was as fucking ecstatic as I am.

My limbs pick up speed, cutting through bushes and patches of foliage. The momentum keeps my fist from denting the nearest trunk. Putting it mildly, the trees would take offense.

At last, I break through the crush of greenery and step into a glade. One of the oldest trees in the forest towers overhead, its wizened branches splaying wide like an umbrella. Spastic candle flames line its boughs and throw orange light onto the acorn-scattered grass.

When I first introduced Juniper to this landmark, her quizzical eyes had glowed with enthusiasm, for obvious Juniper reasons. Outside the cabin’s library, it’s become her favorite place to read and study the Fables.

Tonight, she idles beneath the proud tree and contemplates the grass with her back facing me. Her suede skirt is the color of currants, a fetching shade that always brings out her blushes.

Sylvan is with her. Candles sketch the deer’s majestic form, her antler crown strewn with shamrocks.

My companion bumps her muzzle against Juniper’s shoulder, and my woman responds by stroking the creature’s russet fur. She twists enough to lower her forehead against Sylvan’s, and the picture is so poignant, it stalls my tongue.

That’s my family. Soon, a new member will be added to it.

Now that her profile’s more visible, my gaze skims Juniper’s face and then staggers across her stomach. Her free palm rests there, either shielding it or bracing what’s inside. I have a strong feeling she’s been doing that since before I’d barged in here.

Just like that, my breath is gone. My fucking heart isn’t far behind, that volatile organ having a tantrum inside my chest. She’s never looked more stunning—or more livid.

Her spine goes rigid, and her jaw sets, those huntress instincts kicking in. She knows she and her companion aren’t alone.

Sylvan’s head swings my way. As recognition floods the animal’s orbs, she pulls away from Juniper and trots on spindle limbs toward me. My palm glides across the deer’s back in greeting, the fur under my skin cropped but soft.

“Skijari,”I joke quietly. “Traitor.”