Page 121 of Change

There was no way I’d be able to hold myself back.

“That’s good enough for me.” The fight left me. “Let’s get…”

Damen was holding out a bone-handled knife for me, handle first, and his head tiled in expectation.

“You planned this,” I accused, glaring down at the knife but accepting it anyway. The bones held the slight indentations of my fingers and palm from usage throughout our lives, and the cold bone warmed under my skin. I ran my thumb over the blade, checking it, but it had been sharpened already. “Was Miles walking by a random accident too?”

“Actually, yes,” Miles quipped. “I was going to my room to read.”

Of course he was. Since Bianca had become interested in Andreina Bellini, he’d retrieved the rest of those trash books from storage.

Damen and I exchanged a look of long-exasperated understanding. The onmyoji and I might never agree on much, but there were some things that transcended our contrasting personalities.

One of those being, of course, our mutual hatred for Tu’s writings.

“In any case”—Damen cleared his throat—“shall we begin?”

The witch had gotten up, linking his fingers in front of him as he cracked his wrists. “I’m ready.”

I wasn’t.

“It’ll be okay,” Damen said, sighing as he removed his glasses. He shook his head, running his fingers through his too-high hair.

Instantly the doubt fell away, and the steady hum of self-assured confidence sank into my senses. My legs felt weak, and—for a moment—I couldn’t remember why I’d hated him.

All pretenses had dropped.

A strange, but ancient feeling stirred under my skin, causing my hand to twitch and the knife to hum.

Thistime when I looked at him, I saw a leader. Someone more than worthy of my service and protection.

Even if we didn’t always agree on how to get there, we shared the same goal.

“Yes.” My mouth felt dry, and the knife warm within my grip. I held the blade against my palm, and Miles stepped closer. I could hear the deep intake of his breath, and I knew that he felt it too. The edge of the knife moved effortlessly over my skin, the pain barely registering. I didn’t have to look to know that it was working.

I pressed my palm against the back of the onmyoji’s wrist. The room darkened, and our breaths mingled in the air. “Let’s go.”

It was quiet—too quiet for what was supposed to be an event of celebration. The white, marble hallways were void of people, warmth, or even a single piece of greenery.

And for a fae household—and this home in particular—that was an unusual thing.

“Where are we?” Miles stood at my side, glancing around the pristine space.

“Whisperwind.” I stepped past him, moving to one of the tall, panned windows that lined the hallway. Stained glass decorated the top of the window, and the setting sun cast colorful patterns across the walls.

“No!” An enraged, but terrified, shout reverberated through the space. And I jumped as a door slammed open, and a younger Damen stumbled into the hallway. “I don’t believe you.” He straightened and turned toward Gregory—who’d followed after him. “It’s not him.”

Titus stumbled out after them, but his mind seemed a million miles away. There was a dark wildness in his eyes that sent a chill down my spine. His short, curly hair was in disarray, as if he’d been pulling at it. “It is.” He clutched his chest.

“Don’t say crap like that!” Damen pulled at Titus’s arm. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It feels weird,” the dragon muttered.

If I hadn’t thought to watch for it, I never would have noticed the flash of curiosity in the older fae’s eyes. He looked at Titus, a muscle in his jaw jumping just once, before his expression became carefully blank.

Of course, Titus might have been upset. They’d obviously just been told that Baily—aka, Bianca—did not survive.

But knowing what we did now, it was clear to see that Titus’s reaction was not only emotional. While it was true that shifters didn’t find their mates until the youngest party was over eighteen, nobody knew what might change when it came to dragons.