Page 17 of Night Fae

Malik didn't deserve that fate. Not because of Zev.

And once Malik had been sacrificed, Zev's family would find some other way to force him into compliance as long as he couldn't escape, as long as he was weak.

His stomach twisted with hunger, magic dormant within him, starving for the rich taste of nightmares. How long had it been since he'd properly fed?

The scent of Malik's fear still lingered in the chamber, a phantom sensation that made his mouth water even as his mind recoiled.

No. Focus.

Zev tested the chains again, magic pulsing weakly against the restraints. Useless. Without feeding, he couldn't break free, couldn't save Malik, couldn't even save himself.

He'd have to make the deal.

The thought settled like poison in his veins. Return to what he'd been—the Night Court's perfect weapon, the obedient son. The life he'd escaped once before.

He had escaped it. That was the key.

Zev's breathing steadied as the realization took root. He'd worn the mask of a loyal assassin while plotting his freedom once. He could do it again. Let them believe he'd surrendered, bide his time, gather his strength.

Find a way out—forbothof them this time.

The chamber door creaked open, interrupting his thoughts.

Lord Darius entered first, impeccably dressed in midnight blue, silver embroidery catching the torchlight. Two guards flanked him, faces impassive beneath their helmets. But it was the figure who glided in behind them that made Zev's blood run cold.

Lady Morvena. The High Priestess of the Night Church. His grandmother.

She moved like shadow given form, her silver hair swept up in an elaborate crown of braids adorned with black pins sharp enoughto kill. Her violet eyes—the same shade Zev had inherited—surveyed him with cool detachment.

"Grandson." Her voice carried the stillness of a winter night. "You've caused quite the commotion with your return."

Even Darius seemed to diminish in her presence, taking a half-step back as she approached Zev. Old conditioning made Zev want to bow his head, to show proper deference to the matriarch. He resisted, meeting her gaze instead.

"I didn't return by choice, Grandmother."

Her lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. "Few choices in life are truly our own." She gestured to Darius. "Your father tells me you're considering a return to service."

Zev glanced at his father, whose expression remained carefully neutral. He'd spent his childhood watching his father navigate the dangerous waters of his grandmother's approval. Now Zev was doing the same.

"I'm considering it," Zev said carefully.

Lady Morvena stepped closer, the scent of night-blooming flowers and something older, darker, surrounding her. From childhood, that scent had meant both safety and danger—the comfort of her occasional affection and the terror of her displeasure.

"The Court requires your skills, Zevran." Her tone softened, nearly maternal. "The family needs you."

"And what of what I need?" The words escaped before he could stop them.

Her eyes flashed with something between amusement and warning. "What you need, child, is to remember your place in the order of things." She reached out, one cold finger tracing his jawline. "Have you made your decision?"

Zev met her gaze without flinching. "I have."

"And?" His grandmother arched one perfect eyebrow.

"I'll do what you ask."

A smile spread across his grandmother's face, triumphant but not warm. "Good child. I knew you would see reason in the end."

Zev lifted his chin. "But I have conditions."