Page 392 of Bitten By the Fae

True. It didn’t matter that Kols was innocent in the war; his grandfather had started it. And the Quandary Blood wanted the Nacht line exterminated.

“Am I still considered a Nacht?” Kols called a cloud of magic to his hand, the colors a swirling mix of purple, red, cerulean, and green. “I don’t really feel like an Elite Blood anymore.” The flames extinguished in a flip of his palm, his burnt-bronze gaze flickering with curiosity and a hint of something else. Not sadness—I felt his comfort with being part of our mate-circle thriving via our connection. Yet there was a sense of loss in him.

For Tray, I realized.

Yes, Kols replied, our link open and allowing him freedom in my thoughts. I considered pushing him out like I had earlier but didn’t. Instinct told me he needed the bonds right now. Because the one he’d established at birth was suffering.

He couldn’t exactly feel Tray, but their souls were joined in a unique manner—one that would never truly be severed. “You’re still a Nacht,” I said. “But a good one. Like Tray.”

Kols blinked at me.

However, it was Zeph who spoke. “Was that a compliment?” Shock underlined his words. “Like an honest-to-fae compliment?”

“I think so,” Kols replied, humor in his tone.

“How odd.” Zeph’s green eyes found mine, a grin lurking in their depths. Probably a joke at my own expense. Or maybe I’d pleased him. It was hard to say with the Warrior Blood.

“Shade has many layers,” Aflora said, dissolving my map spell as she stepped through it to wrap her arms around me. I kissed the top of her head, her embrace immediately putting me at ease.

Thank you, little rose,I whispered.

She responded with a rumble in her stomach, her hunger evident.

Zeph smirked. “Someone wants some mustard berries.”

Aflora shook her head against me, mumbling the appropriate term back to him like she always did.

The Warrior Blood’s gaze sparkled with delight, loving their banter.

Zakkai ignored them all, his focus on me, his eyes telling me that he was impatient to meet with my grandmother. He’d wanted a full briefing on security and everything else that went with the paradigm, too.

“The dorm we’re staying in is just over there,” I said, gesturing with my chin over Aflora’s head.

The others followed as I led the way, Aflora’s hand in mine once more. A week ago, this would have felt surreal—like a dream. Seven timelines had ended in destruction and near death.

And number eight had led to this.

To a union between five Midnight Fae.

I knew better than to rejoice in the victory. We were nowhere near done. Focusing on unity became all the more imperative with Constantine engaging us in this new dangerous game.

Zakkai and Zeph were the two who posed the biggest threat.

Two alpha males vying for dominance.

Aflora was the key to keeping them in line, and I wasn’t entirely convinced she had Zakkai under control.

He moved behind me with silent steps, his presence a threat and a comfort. Power radiated off him, his connection to the source rivaling Aflora’s ascension.

I moved up the stone steps to the double doors of the dorm where two gargoyles waited, their eyes cast down in a sign of respect.

A third stood just inside with Kols’s crow perched on his stone head. “Sir Kristoff,” I greeted with false cheer. The little creature loathed me for all my dates with time. He didn’t know all the details but possessed certain memories of Kyros and me twisting fate on numerous occasions.

“Death Blood,” he muttered. Then he inclined his head. “Mistress Aflora.”

She paused midstep, her blue eyes falling to the short stone being. His head didn’t even reach her knees. “Mistress Aflora?” she repeated.

Kols moved to her other side. “You’re the ascending royal, sweetheart,” he explained against her ear. “And you passed your second trial. The creatures all respond to you now.”