Page 78 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

On one of Harrow’s trips above, he spotted Heelin roaming the woods.

The poor dog had been living on his own in the wild.

Harrow dropped him out in front of Melly’s new home.

She welcomed him with tears of joy. Harrow said Heelin was overjoyed as well, spinning and barking.

Maybe they both needed a reminder of home—and someone to comfort and love after all the terror they endured.

She’s living like a queen with her faithful guard pup by her side. Harrow visits her often to ensure all is well. Maybe one day I’ll be able to visit her too.

When I look up to Harrow, his brows are deeply furrowed.

“There’s something I’d like you to see,” he says.

“What troubles you?” I ask. He’s got that look.

Most days his energy is light and joyous.

Gone is the cold, detached Ruler of the Underworld.

With me around, his truest self has come out.

It’s been an honor to watch him blossom, his happiness unfurling like the new forest we currently walk through.

Today, though, I see the weight of his position pressing in around him.

Harrow leads me to a garden we haven’t visited before.

There are around thirty people within—a larger garden than most. It’s still a mystery to me how people are assigned to each one.

There’s no guarantee they knew each other or were even from the same continent.

The people in this one are all similarly dressed in peculiar, scaled armor.

“What do you notice about them?” he asks.

“They have interesting taste in clothing.”

“It’s not clothing.”

Looking again, I realize the scales are embedded into their skin.

“They have scales?”

“That’s part of it. What else?”

Studying the people, I take in their movements, heights, hair colors. Upon closer inspection of their faces, I know the answer Harrow is looking for.

“Their eyes. The pupils are slitted.” I think back to Angel’s eyes. They were slitted too, but there’s something different about these. “They aren’t human eyes.”

“Reptilian,” Harrow confirms.

“Reptilian people?” They look enough like normal humans—aside from the scales and pupils.

“They’re shapeshifters. Dragon shapeshifters.”

“Dragons?” I move closer, leaning in to get a better look. “I’ve never noticed them before.”

“They’re all recent arrivals. Within the last week.”

There must be dozens. So many dragons dying within a week? That doesn’t feel right.

“Shouldn’t dragons be hard to kill?”

Harrow nods, pleased. That was the right question.

“They are incredibly hard to kill—and even harder to find. With this many dead, the species must be nearing extinction.”

“Extinction? There were so few to begin with?” My heart tightens. “Why? How did they die?”

The grim look on Harrow’s face makes my stomach swoop.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “But I believe someone is killing off the dragons.”

The statement gives me chills. The idea of someone targeting and extinguishing an entire species is terrifying.

“Could it be the one who escaped from here? The one you told me about.”

“No. He’s not interested in dragons. Missing children, that’s the trail he leaves behind.”

I’m instantly sorry I asked. He rarely talks about the one that got away. Even Drusinnia was unable to retrieve that dark soul. Part of me is grateful. He would have lost a third wing if she had been. Imagining Harrow unable to fly is too heartbreaking to fathom.

“I’ve got someone working on it. She’ll get him back. When he drops into my domain, I’ll ensure his torment befits his crimes.” Harrow’s voice is low and cold. There he is, the Ruler of the Underworld. The man I first met. That darkness still swirls in his every cell.

My thoughts return to the dragons. “Can we move closer?”

Harrow nods.

Up close, I find the dragon shifters to be even more fascinating.

Each one is in peak physical condition. Even the women are tightly toned and well-muscled.

The scales that cover parts of their bodies vary in size and color.

Were these the colors of their dragons? I try to imagine it, a dragon soaring overhead.

It sounds magical. “Do they breathe fire?”

“Hey, watch it, you.” Harrow’s words and irritated huff have me turning to look back at him.

Several birds have chosen to perch on his shoulders.

Bundle and Lemon chase each other in a figure eight between Harrow’s feet, their little cotton tails blurring past. Beazel the Weasel has Harrow’s cape in his mouth.

The little stinker is pulling as hard as he can in what must be a one-way round of tug-o-war.

“I think I liked it better when they were afraid of me.” Harrow purses his lips.

“They love you. It’s adorable.”

“I can’t say anyone has called me adorable before. Is that meant to be an insult?”

“Who knew immortals could be so sensitive,” I tease.

“Indeed. Without proper ego stroking, we’ll wither and die.” He closes his eyes and feigns a hand across his forehead. “I feel rather faint.”

“Of course, of course. Please allow me to feed the beast. You’re so powerful.”

He cracks one eye open. “Yes, I like this. Please continue.”

“Such a strong, monstrous ruler. My handsome, terrifying Prince of the Underworld.”

“King of the Underworld now that I’ve found my Queen.”

My face screws up. “Queen. I knew I’d be a queen one day. I never thought it would be in the Underworld. You are far more handsome than any of my mortal suitors. Older, but less wrinkly.”

Harrow grins and tugs me into his chest. The birds scatter. “Lenore, my beautiful little raven, giver of life, collector of bones.” He plants a soft kiss on my lips. “Queen of the Underworld. It rolls off the tongue. What do you think, my love?”

I kiss him, pouring my whole heart into the action. His wings wrap around me, cocooning us.

When we finally break for air, I grin up at him. “I guess I can get used to it.”