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CHAPTER SIX

T he room that comes back into focus around me when I open my eyes is not the same one.

Gone are the rows of books and the sturdy table.

Instead, I’m lying on a soft double bed covered in white sheets, in what looks like some kind of bedroom.

The walls have been painted in a pale green color, and there is a gleaming faelight lamp on the bedside table which casts a warm glow over the room.

Given the position of the sun outside the window, I must have been unconscious for several hours.

For a moment, panic floods my body. Because I have no idea where I am or how I ended up here.

Then I see him.

Draven.

The panic inside me drains away the moment my gaze lands on his powerful body. I blink, clearing the last of the fog from my vision, as I study him.

He is sitting on a chair next to the bed. His elbows are braced on his knees and his face is buried in his hands. Tension seems to pulse from his entire body like shockwaves, and his black hair is disheveled, as if he has repeatedly run his hands through it.

I frown, trying to figure out why he looks so worried.

Then my confused mind finally catches up with the events of the past days. The battle. The shard of ice fire. The searing coldness that burned through my body, freezing me all the way into my very soul. My severed spine. The deal with the Unseelie King. The healer.

Dread and hope and confusion crash inside my chest like a violent storm. I barely dare to breathe. To hope.

Then I brace myself.

I move my foot.

And my foot moves .

A gasp rips from my lungs, and I jerk upright in bed, pulling my legs up to my chest. No lingering pain remains from the burning ice inside me. No coldness. Nothing. Instead, warmth fills my whole soul.

Draven snaps his head up.

His golden eyes are wide and haunted when they meet mine.

For a second, it’s as if the moment is suspended in time. Then his gaze darts over my whole body, as if checking to make sure that I’m here. That I’m okay. That I’m alive.

And then relief, so intense that it snatches the breath from my lungs, washes over his face.

Lurching up from the chair, he slides his hands along my cheeks and into my hair and kisses me so desperately that it makes my heart skip several beats.

I drag in an unsteady breath when he breaks the kiss.

But he doesn’t draw back. Instead, he keeps his hands in my hair and rests his forehead against mine.

“Don’t you ever do something like that to me again,” he whispers against my lips. “Do you hear me?”

My heart pounds in my chest, and several conflicting emotions tug at my soul.

This can’t just be because of the mate bond. Can it?

The sheer terror in his eyes when I was dying. The desperation in his voice when he was bargaining with the Unseelie King. The relief on his face when I woke up. That heart-wrenching kiss. It has to be real. These kinds of emotions can’t just have been forced upon him by the mate bond. Right?

Another memory pulses through my mind. A memory of a darkened forest. Of Draven carrying me towards a glittering portal. And of the words he spoke to me there under the silent trees.

There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I would crawl and grovel.

I would slaughter entire nations. So you had better fight with everything you have to make it through this.

Because if you die, I will rip my own heart out and then claw my way out of Azaroth’s fiery realm and break the barriers between our afterlives so that I can follow you in death into Mabona’s evergreen garden.

I will never let you go. You are mine. In this life and every life after it.

My heart aches at the memory of it.

Goddess above, this has to be real. Please, let this be real. Because if it’s not, I don’t know how I’m going to survive being near him.

Dragging in a shuddering breath, I once more curse the universe for making us fated mates.

If we weren’t mates, I could have chosen him on my own.

But now, I will never know. Now, I will spend the rest of my life wondering how much of his and my feelings are our own and how much has been forced onto us by someone else.

Draven takes his forehead from mine and pulls back enough to lock eyes with me. Pure command pulses in those beautiful eyes of his as he slides his hands out of my hair and instead takes my chin in a firm grip.

“I said,” he begins, his voice dripping with authority. “Don’t you ever do something like that to me again. Understood?”

My heart jerks, and a rush of giddy relief and gratitude washes over me. An absolutely ridiculous grin spreads across my mouth. But I can’t help it.

Because Draven isn’t treating me like I’m made of glass. Even though I almost died yesterday, he doesn’t look at me like I’m weak. He isn’t touching me like he’s handling a fragile glass figurine that might break at any second.

Instead, he is treating me like he always has. As if I’m strong and powerful.

It makes me want to kiss him again.

But he’s clearly waiting for me to acknowledge his order, so instead, I flash him a sly smile and reply, “Yes, sir.”

Light flickers in his eyes like golden sparkles. While trying, and failing, to suppress a smile, he slides his thumb over my bottom lip. “Such a little troublemaker.”

I press a hand to my chest in a show of exaggerated shock. “ I’m the troublemaker? Did you forget the part where you’re the legendary Red Hand and a member of not one but two rebellions? Talk about being an overachiever in the troublemaking department.”

“Well, technically, I was never actually a part of the human?—”

The door is pulled open.

“Draven,” Lyra says as she strides into the room. “The Unseelie King just sent word that our presence has been requested for dinner, but since…”

She trails off. Blinking, she comes to a halt on the floor halfway between the door and the bed. Her orange eyes dart between Draven and me for a moment. Then her face lights up.

“Guys!” she yells, a grin spreading across her lips. “Selena is up!”

Something clatters from outside the door. It’s followed by the sounds of scraping chairs and thudding feet.

While Lyra moves farther into the room and plops down on the empty side of the bed, Galen hurries across the threshold.

Relief washes over his features when he sees me sitting up with my knees bent, but his eyes quickly shift to Draven.

As if he was more worried about what it would do to Draven if I died rather than my death in itself.

Given that he barely knows me, I can’t say that I’m particularly offended by that.

Galen, however, seems to catch himself anyway. Clearing his throat, he tears his gaze from Draven and meets my eyes instead. “Glad you’re okay.”

I give him a small smile. “Yeah, me too.”

Before he can say anything else, Alistair strolls into the bedroom. Taking up position by the desk opposite the bed, he leans back against the edge of the table and crosses his arms.

“Damn, Soulstealer,” he says, sounding strangely impressed. “If I had known you were this hard to kill, I would never have picked a fight with you during the trials all those months ago.”

A surprised laugh escapes my chest.

Alistair looks like he is trying very hard not to smile, which stuns me. I have never seen him like this before. Never heard him tease and joke like this.

However, before I can say anything, Isera saunters into the room as well. But she doesn’t move farther in like the others. She simply leans back against the wall right inside the door while her cool gaze slides over my body.

“You look like shit,” she announces.

Another unexpected laugh rips from my lungs. On the mattress next to me, Lyra chuckles as well while Alistair just rolls his eyes.

I snort. “Thanks.”

She’s right, though. I do look like shit.

In fact, all of us do. My white shirt is covered in dirt and blood.

Not to mention that I can feel the large hole in the back where the ice shard ripped through the fabric.

Isera and Alistair’s silver tunics and thin pants are equally rumpled and splattered with blood.

Only our three dragon shifters look relatively presentable in their black dragon scale armor.

We’re going to have to figure out a way to acquire some new clothes for me, Isera, and Alistair. Especially the two of them, since their fancy silver garments are very conspicuous.

Draven turns back to Lyra. “What were you saying about Orion?”

“Oh. Right.” She gives her head a quick shake as if to clear it. It makes her wavy brown hair ripple around her. “He’s requesting our presence at dinner tonight.”

“You mean demanding our presence.”

By the wall, Isera scoffs. But when we all turn to look at her, she just looks back at us in silence instead of elaborating.

“Anyway,” Lyra picks up. “I’m assuming it’s to remind us of our bargain.”

And just like that, the warm and light feeling inside me evaporates in a heartbeat.

Right. The bargain. The bargain they made and the price we now have to pay. An assassination. A nameless Unseelie fae’s life in exchange for mine.

“As if we would forget,” Draven huffs and shakes his head in annoyance.

“Well then,” Lyra says, and slaps her thighs before jumping up from the bed. “Let’s go get ready to meet the Unseelie King.”

“We’ve already met him,” Alistair points out from where he is still leaning against the edge of the desk.

“Officially.”

“What’s the difference between officially meeting someone and just meeting someone?”

“Paperwork,” she replies without hesitation. “There are lots of forms we have to fill out.”

Alistair draws back and blinks at her in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Strolling over to him, she loops her arm through his and starts leading him to the door. “Come on, we have an entire stack of them to get through.”

Alistair glances back at us, looking bewildered, but just staggers along with her as they cross the threshold.

The moment they disappear out the door, both Draven and Galen burst out laughing. Light dances in their eyes as they exchange a look.

“I can’t believe he fell for that,” Draven says, still chuckling.

“Me neither.” Galen grins and shakes his head. “I’m telling you, she’s gonna eat that guy up and swallow him whole. Remember that time when—” He abruptly cuts himself off.

Regret and shame and hesitation pulse across his entire face for a second. Then he awkwardly clears his throat and glances down at the floor.

“I’ll, uhm…” He clears his throat again and starts drifting towards the door. “I’ll better go and get ready too.”

Draven opens his mouth to say something, but Galen has already slipped out. He heaves a deep sigh.

“Well,” Isera drawls from where she’s still leaning against the wall. “This is going to be an interesting dinner.”