Page 114 of A Hunt Bound in Blood

Don’t worry if you don’t see me around for a few weeks. You remember you promised me you wouldn’t be upset if I went after a certain ring myself? That better hold true about the disgusting amount of money it’s going to net me once I find it. A buyer contacted me as soon as word got out that I was interested, and those red eyes of yours will be green with envy when you see the number of zeroes.

But remind me to tell you about this woman I met. Flaming thunder, I might have done something really fucking stupid.

Sy

I shook my head, caught between amusement, curiosity, and frustration that yet another outlet for my pent-up emotions had been stolen from me. I was trapped here alone with my thoughts, cursed to wind through them again and again and hope I found some solution in the muddle.

To distract myself, I wrote the letter to my father, outlining the contents of the folder and what had occurred in Blue Harbour, leaving out any emotional opinions in favour of the facts, and ending with my farewell and an endorsement for my sister. After I finished copying the most relevant pages for my files, and after Mrs. Taylor had swept the package away, I filled my time as best I could to keep my thoughts off Glory. I had no kit left to unpack, so I made a list of items I would need to replace before my next hunt; I stood under a very long, very cold shower; and I paced.

I must have walked the entire length of the estate three times, stepping into rooms I hadn’t entered in years. I went from the bottom floor to the top, exercising my body in an effort to stop exercising my mind.

My feet slowed when I returned to my office and caught sight of the painting hanging on the wall outside the door. The Dream.

How many times had I sat on the bench across from this scene and wished I could decipher the meaning behind it? I remembered standing in front of it on the day I’d left thinking I’d need to touch-up the details so they wouldn’t be tainted by Glory’s association. How laughable that version of me was now. If anything, I was frustrated because the resemblance wasn’t close enough. There were too many inconsistencies with the woman I’d come to care about. The shape of her face wasn’t the same, the curve of the body wasn’t a perfect match for the lines I’d become familiar with.

No, I wasn’t looking at Glory, but the emotions this image evoked…

The confirmation of everything I’d come to feel struck me like a fist to the chest, and I staggered backwards and dropped onto the bench. I swallowed to work some moisture back into my mouth, then again to clear the lump that had formed in my throat.

I’d always seen passion in this painting, of course. Always experienced it in my dream, when I’d wake up hard and wishing the woman were real so I could bury myself inside her. But physical satisfaction had never relieved the ache the dream evoked. Something deeper than lust.

Before I was aware of it, I was on my feet again, striding towards the painting, this time focusing on the man—on me. On the expression in the eyes, the curve of the mouth that made up a smile I’d never noticed myself wearing before. Subtle effects but, now that I noticed them, potent.

These two weren’t only sharing a moment of desire but of intimacy. With fresh eyes, I studied the brightness of her expression—as though she were laughing at something he’d said, or maybe hadn’t said in words—the gentleness of her touch where it curled around the back of his neck, the openness of her posture that said she kept no secrets from him.

This wasn’t some one-off tryst as I’d always believed, but lovers enjoying the comfort and security of being together.

Something I’d obviously craved for years despite being too inexperienced to recognize it when I saw it. All it had taken to wake me up was for death to almost steal it away.

I let out a shuddering breath and retreated into my office.

Clearly, the Fates were behind this. I could point my finger at the universe for drawing me into the life of the only woman who could bring the roguish demon prince to his knees.

Now that I’d accepted the depth of my feelings for her, I needed to figure out what to do about it.

The obvious answer, of course, was nothing. My feelings were my own, and I would deal with them. I wouldn’t be so selfish as to inflict myself where I wasn’t wanted. Say, in the tiny office in the back of a library.

But maybe… maybe it would be worthwhile to ask if I could stick around. Just to hear what she’d say. If she said yes, it would be the most terrifying—the most exciting—adventure I’d ever embark upon.

And if she said no?

I had to accept it was a possibility. Just because I’d fallen so fucking hard didn’t mean she felt the same now that we were back home. She didn’t strike me as fickle, but she’d always been a rule follower, and I, well, I broke every rule in the book.

But if she didn’t want me, I would give Glory whatever she needed—whatever made her happy—even if that meant letting her go. Even if it meant the closest I would ever come to snaring that dreamscape was the memory of having her.

Glory

LV

I followed Healer Istan through the side doors, forcing myself not to look at Cammon over my shoulder. I couldn’t. Not until I’d spoken with the king and taken my first steps down the path towards my future. I couldn’t allow the expression on his face to influence me or make me nervous. I had made up my mind about what my future looked like, and I was choosing that future for me, not for him.

I expected Istan to take me to the healing bay, but instead she led me upstairs, away from the royal hospital and towards the private rooms that sat on the upper floors. Of course that’s where we were going. King Evaniel wouldn’t have put his betrothed among the rest of the sick and injured. Especially not if they still didn’t know who had cursed her.

We entered the room, and I looked down at the woman asleep in bed. Her soft blond hair stretched across the pillows, her delicate features and the slight points of her ears giving away her fae heritage. She was beautiful, and I had no doubt she would be a shining light beside our Nightfall King on the Golthwainian throne. Even if she did look a little soft compared to the hard edges and sharp personality of our handsome monarch.

“You have it?”

The monarch in question spoke from behind me, and I turned to face him before dropping into a deep curtsy—or as best I could do in tattered breeches and the shirt of the captain’s old cabin boy. Never in my life had I been publicly seen in such a state, but King Evaniel didn’t appear to care, and wildly, I didn’t either. “I do, Your Majesty.”