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THANE

The door creakedon its hinges. Thane stepped inside his room with his palm flat against his chest as if the pressure could ease the ache. Head pressed back against the wall, he shut his eyes and took deep breaths. She was gone. He sent her away. He sent the one he’d loved for millennia away with her—mate. Nausea burned the back of his throat.

“You truly are a fool.” Varlett rose up from the chair in the corner of his room. The red liquid in her wine glass swirled as she stepped. “How could you let them leave together?”

The pain he’d nearly given himself over to vanished, replaced by a mask of placid. “I told them to go.”

“I know.” She stopped and popped out her hip, bringing the lip of her glass to her mouth. “Are you holding out hope she’ll come back and still choose you?”

“Look, if you’re not going to help then leave.”

“And let the only thing that might possibly stand between them die? Besides, if you die, Hel will blame me. And as much as he says he doesn’t care about you, he does.”

“Why doyoucare so much?”

“If it isn’t obvious then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”

Thane clenched his teeth. “He will choose her over you every single time. Who’s the fool now?”

Her hand flashed out to strike him and he caught her wrist. “If you ever attempt to hit me again, I’ll snap your neck.” He shoved her into his dresser, rattling the candle sticks and other various items on top. “I am not the clueless elf I was six months ago. I am the god of war.”

Varlett shrunk away from him, leaning farther onto the dresser but a smile slowly crept at the corners of her mouth. “Welcome back, War.”

Chapter33

LAYALA

Layala was numb. The muted chatter, clinking drinks, and raunchy comments barely registered. The dim lighting coming from the candlesticks hanging from cheap metal chandeliers at least made her feel like she could sink into the shadows. This place was completely different and exactly the same as every other pub she’d ever been to. The patrons had horns and membranous wings and scales, or fuzzy cat ears and markings on their skin. There was even a male with golden feathers along the back of his neck that went under his collar. At another time she might marvel at the many new races and languages she heard but she didn’t feel anything. She heard Thane’s words, telling her to leave, that it was over, but it almost felt like a dream, one she was still trapped in. Gripping the metal handle of her mug, she closed her eyes then took a drink of ale. After only a few sips, it made her feel warm and fuzzy.

The walk here from the portal wasn’t more than fifteen minutes. She’d been in such a haze she didn’t even remember what anything looked like outside, and it was dark anyway.

A giant of a male, a dragon shifter by the horns and talons, slid into the booth opposite her. She inspected him only for a moment to assess a threat but by the time she looked away she couldn’t even tell someone what his hair color was if they asked. He said something completely foreign; words that rolled and others that sounded clicky.

Her heart was broken and left in another world. She didn’t feel like talking until his talon slid across the topside of her wrist. “Don’t touch me.”

“Ah, Murlian tongue. No wonder you looked confused. How long have you been in Torp?”

“Is that the town we’re in?”

He cocked his dark-haired head to the side. A massive scar ran the length of his forehead, down the side around his eyebrow and the bottom of his jaw. “Yes.”

“About ten minutes then.”

“You’re an elf.” He tapped his talons on the wooden planked tabletop and leaned a little closer, inhaling. “And a mage.” He inhaled again, deeper this time. “Maybe even something more. Rare in Ryvengaard.”

Layala took a long drink of the ale. “Yep.”

“Come play a game with us. Let me and some friends show you our hospitality.”

Hel told her to wait here. That he’d be right back. And she wasn’t up for games anyway. “I’m good where I’m at.”

“We’ll bring the game to you then.” He waved a hand and the group from three tables over stood. All five dragon shifters, at least seven feet tall, rugged looking with scars and unruly facial hair.

Layala groaned. She’d been in Ryvengaard all of twenty minutes and already she had to deal with the local riffraff. One slid into the booth beside her, another next to his friend and the other two pulled up chairs at the end of the table. They smelled like booze, smoke, and trouble.

The shifter beside her took the pipe from his mouth and a bitter stench rippled out of his mouth as he spoke, “You alone?”