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twenty-three

Gideon

I can’t seem to forget her.

The songbird.

The way her emerald eyes lit up with fire. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

I saw her fight and willpower. But I also saw her wounds, and I wasn’t going to contribute to them.

Haven is a failing kingdom, and she is better off with the fae. The only thing that greets her in this place is death.

Cardinal was no high priestess. She was a manipulator. She was the worst of all the high priestesses I had seen throughout the centuries because not only did she manipulate people to her own ends, but she preyed on the weak. Cardinal took from people who had nothing left to give. The king and his consort, the high priestess, had that in common, for they took and took until you were nothing but a shell of yourself. They sucked the life out of Haven and every life form within it.

I’ve slowly watched this kingdom crumble, cycle after cycle, ever since they bade us rid this place of all the fae. In the end, we won by brute strength and numbers.The humans numbered in the thousands as they came across the seas to land in Haven by way of…us—me and my brothers.

The fae were smarter, though. They had contingency plans in place so their kind would live on, and half managed to escape between the death and destruction.

And by the looks of the healthy fae male all over the songbird, they are thriving outside of Haven.

The songbird .

As I take my time walking through the corridors of the castle, my mind shifts to her scent, the sweet aroma of vanilla and honey with flora undertones. But she is not all sweet when her fire blazes bright, instead smelling like a caramel lolly the humans from centuries past used to make.

I could’ve taken a chunk out of her when I found her in that strange tree, dressed in that flimsy ivory robe.

The way the silken material folded to her slight curves nearly undid me, but the smell of the blood on her—a sour, rotten fruit—was enough to make me stop in my tracks. Not her blood.

Running my hands through my scruffy beard, I stand before a large bay window high up in the king’s residence, watching the last of the suns cresting the waves over the water below the docks.

If King Horus had given me clearer instructions for his prisoner, I could have her slung over my shoulder right now in that same silken robe, smelling her sugary, intoxicating scent.

Shoving against the bulge in my pants, I push down, cursing the songbird who flew into my life. If I indulged in flesh more often this woman wouldn’t have such a hold over me. I’d stayed abstinent for too long. It was starting to impaire my judgment.

It has been a good several cycles since I have laid with another. Usually, once the king has had his fill, he passes his women onto me and Fenrir, my brother.

Wolves mate for life, and I find it hard to go against that side of my instinct, unlike Fenrir, who keeps himself in a steady stream of drink and women.

A low rumble emanates from my chest, and I adjust the rigid length in my pants at the thought of a woman in my bed.

Not just any woman, but a green-eyed spitfire.

Closing my eyes, I find those stubborn eyes staring back at me.

“Fuuuuck.” I can’t control myself. Every spare moment, I remember a part of her I desperately need to forget because soon, she will become my prey.

Next time, King Horus will speak true, and I can only hope he will request her death within the kingdom. If he just bides me to find her first and bring her back, if he does not stipulate a timeline, I can draw out her capture.

There are loopholes to this potential arrangement, and I will pray for all of them. Orion only knows how this will play out, but I will help her where I can.

But why? Why do I want to save this female?

The songbird has screwed with my head.

I should want to kill her.

She wants to kill Horus, kill Castor. A feat me and my brothers could never accomplish. Not after our lord tied us to this wretched human bloodline all those centuries ago.

Payment. It is due, and she could be the one to do it.

Impatience seeps through me, and the feeling of bones grinding to make anew tears through my figure. Whenever I think of the circumstances that brought me to this point, I want to slay, but as a creation of the Gods, I can do no more than live in their shadow.

Turning from the turbulent seas and barren streets of the village below, I head towards the king’s throne room.

Let’s see what he has in store for you this time, Songbird.

“Gideon?” The coarse voice behind me pulls me to a stop.

Turning, I face my brother, an almost identical replica of myself except for his lack of facial hair and shorter scruff on top of his head. Evidently, the ladies love his smooth chin. I will just have to take his word for it.

“What is it, Fenrir? I have orders from the king.” I try to hold my irritation as I address my brother.

“I heard you let the girl escape.” He gives me a perplexed look, familiar thin scars mark almond brown skin, ripping a line in his full lips.

“What can I say? She was more cunning than I gave her credit for,” I reply.

“So, you’re telling me a little human girl outran a dyre wolf?” Fenrir gives me no room for movement in his questioning, unlike the song and dance I just went through with the king movements ago.

“Like I said to the king, she used the tunnels to escape.” I am not in the mood to elaborate.

“Right…” his gaze turns calculating as the cogs work within his brain. We stopped guarding those tunnels over a century ago, so it’s plausible.

“Go back to your women and your drink, brother. You are not needed here,” my tone is harsh as I head back down the long hallway, set on my new task from the king. Her .

“Be well on your journey, brother,” Fenrir snickers behind me.

I cannot linger in these halls.

The king asked the wrong questions, and I provided just enough information. For now, my place within these halls is safe, but I cannot say the same for my songbird.