Page 48

Wynter

W e crash through the surface of Lake Grenlynn, stumble onto the bank, and push up the hill, soaked to the bone and shivering. Ivor bursts out beside us, shaking water from his black coat, and immediately trots ahead, his ears pricked.

As we run, the woods claw at our clothes, branches snatching like the Hunt’s own hands, trying to drag us back—back to the lake, where Summer nearly died when she was nine.

The hall rises through the trees, eerie and regal, its dark towers silhouetted in the dying light of the sun. Orange and gold bleed into purple as the day folds into itself. It’s beautiful, the kind of twilight that makes predators bold and fools feel calm and safe.

“It’s not even proper night here yet,” says Summer.

“Nope. Realm jumping does a number on your body clock. You’ll feel it later. Seven hells, I really hope we get to sleep in your comfortable bed tonight.”

“How would you know what my bed’s like? You haven’t slept in it yet. ”

Shit. Guilt hits me hard. “I may have tried it one time when you were at work.”

I stop just under the canopy of an old willow tree, dragging Summer against me. “Landolin’s definitely here. Can you feel it? There’s a smoky scent in the air from his magic, too.”

“No,” Summer says, tugging her impractical purple gown up her shoulders as she scans the decaying hall through the trees. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Look.” I nod toward the markings in the grass near the steps around an old fountain, half-melted into the soil. “His shadow magic leaves scorch marks. They’re recent, too. That fucker set the portal to dump us in another city.”

“Wait… he was trying to send us somewhere else?” She glances back at the shimmer hovering over the lake, already dissolving. “How do you know that? And how did you even change its course?”

I shrug. “I wasn’t absolutely certain. But the portal felt wrong, not anchored by you and Gravenshade like it normally is. I was getting images of a vast red wilderness. Canyons.”

Summer stares at me. “And you just… rerouted it?”

“I felt the shift, grabbed onto a thread from our last time inside it, and pulled us through Lake Grenlynn. It was easy. The lake wanted you back.”

“Man, Landolin’s diabolical.” Her hand tightens in mine. “What’s he planning?”

“My best guess? He’s here to confirm what he suspects about Zylah. Probably can’t take her without the Hunt, though.”

“Shit.” Silence stretches between us, then she asks, “So what do we do? ”

I scan the Hall’s upper windows. “We stay low and quiet. Don’t draw attention until we know where he is and what we’re walking into.”

She gives a nervous laugh. “We’re soaked and wearing formal wear. Not exactly blending in.”

“Don’t worry about blending in,” I say, jaw clenched. I wave a hand, and the stones beneath us radiate heat, drying our clothes in seconds. “We just need to be fast.”

Inside the manor, all is quiet. Our shadows stretch behind us like dark phantoms as we walk quickly but silently through the house.

The lamps flicker, highlighting the dust motes floating in the dimming dusk. Every creak underfoot threatens to give us away.

We pause outside the dining room. I motion for Summer to wait, listening. One beat. Two. Three.

Then we hear it. A low, familiar voice that makes my skin crawl. A second voice answers, light and breathy with fear. Boots hit hardboards, then there’s the sound of scuffling movements.

Summer grips my arm. I nod once. It’s definitely him. She stiffens beside me as we press ourselves further into the shadows, my muscles coiled, barely holding the wolf inside me at bay.

We slip into the room, Ivor padding at my heel with a low growl rumbling in his chest. I silence him with a single look.

The once luxurious space is in disarray, scrolled velvet chairs torn and set in a semi-circle around the hearth, a chandelier dangling askew.

We crouch behind an overturned sideboard near the entrance and watch the Shade Prince herd Summer’s housemate into the bay-window alcove, the last of the sunset creating an orange halo around her hair.

Landolin stalks across the floor, circling Zylah. His expression is hungry, admiring, like he’s just found the final piece of a puzzle he’s spent centuries chasing. Perhaps he has.

Marie, the ghost maid, hovers above them wringing her spectral hands, her expression anguished.

Landolin definitely sees her—his eyes keep flicking upward, scanning her—but he pretends otherwise.

Zylah stands stiff and defiant, fists clenched at her sides.

Her face is pale but furious, and when Landolin speaks, she pushes her glasses up her nose and bares her teeth in a silent snarl.

His voice is no louder than a whisper as he drives her out of the alcove and back toward the old fireplace, where soot blackens the brick and a shattered mirror reflects the room in broken pieces.

Summer leans in close, voice barely audible. “Why her?”

“Because he thinks she can bring dead things back to life,” I murmur. “Like he might be soon.”

Thanks to Landolin’s father, the Hunt’s blood bond is probably killing the prince slowly.

A sudden skittering sound breaks the tense moment, a clatter of claws on wood. From the dark hallway, Ollie, Summer’s fierce, hairless cat, slinks into view, his tail held high like a banner of disdain.

He’s followed by at least three more of Gravenshade’s felines, their eyes shining black in the lamplight. Ollie pads straight up to Landolin and, with all the regal entitlement of a creature who’s never feared a godsdamned thing in its life, rubs his flank against the prince’s boot.

“Your name is like a blade slashed across my chest,” Landolin says, ignoring the cat and drawing out each word like a lover’s kiss.

“ Zyyylahhh. It’s a quiet sigh, then the start of a song that continues for eternity.

” He smiles with pure glee. “Mistress of dead and broken things—owls, bats, foxes, and loons. All stitched together beneath your tender, trembling hands. You’re the one I’ve been searching for.

The one the Hunt couldn’t see. You . Somehow hidden right under my nose for all these years. ”

Raising her palm, Zylah glares at him. “Sorry, speak to the hand. I’ve been warned not to talk to monsters.”

His smile only deepens. “Oh, humans are fond of saying that, but you’ll warm up to me eventually. And what makes you think I’m a monster? We’ve only just met.”

“You have to be the reason Summer disappeared. Both times. What happened to her? I want her back. Now.”

Landolin tilts his head, intrigued. “Why do you believe I had anything to do with that?”

Zylah’s eyes narrow. “Because one of my birds started screaming your name the day Summer vanished and hasn’t stopped the entire week she’s been gone.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Week?” Summer whispers. “I’ve been gone more like two weeks.”

“Time works differently in Faery,” I say. “Be quiet.”

“My taxidermy,” Zylah says, chin lifting. “Sometimes the animals I restore... I can hear them talk. That raven… he wouldn’t shut up. Said the Hunter took the girl, wrapped her in shadows.”

“What name did it speak exactly?” asks the prince.

“Ravenseeker. First, I thought it was just noise in my head. Thought I was losing my mind. But I knew Summer would never run away again. She’d never leave me here alone without telling me where she was going.”

Landolin’s expression sharpens, hungry eyes glittering. “Ah. So the bodies of the dead can speak to you. This makes so much sense. Confirms you’re the one the Hunt should have taken in the first place.”

Purring loudly, Ollie climbs Landolin’s boot and sinks his teeth into his thigh. The Shade prick curses and jerks his leg as shadow tendrils burst from his body in all directions.

The cats scatter with yowls, darting behind the crumbling hearth and then into the dining bay. One of the shadows licks up the wall right in front of us, too close.

Landolin turns his head, eyes narrowing. Ollie darts forward and snarls, drawing the prince’s attention away from us. A spear-shaped shadow shoots out from his extended palm, the impact sending the cat flying across the room.

My hand tightens on Summer’s thigh, holding her in place. She flinches at the pressure. “Fuck,” I whisper. “This is bad.”

“We have to do something,” she says, her voice shaky as her eyes flash toward me, wide and bright with panic.

Ollie races around the room’s perimeter, behind the sideboard, then launches himself into Summer’s arms. Landolin turns sharply and strides toward us, a bank of shadows tossing the furniture that shelters us aside with a single swipe of his hand.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” he snarls.

“Heard you were having a party,” I say. “Sounded a lot better than cliff diving in canyons.”

Boom . Smug wolf-boy 1, angry Shade Prick 0 .

“Well. Don’t you two look wonderful in your court finery,” he drawls, a chaos of gold swirling in his black irises. “Disheveled, yes, but far too polished for this crumbling old carcass of a house. Would you like to be sent back to the Raven Realm, where you’ll fit in better?”

“Tempting, but no thanks,” says Summer as he draws his blade.

I shove onto my feet and drag Summer up with me. Zylah yelps as she lays eyes on us, storming over and grabbing hold of Landolin’s arm. “Hey! Look at me. I’m the one you’re here to hassle. Leave them alone.”

He shrugs her off and stalks closer to us.

Magic pulses in my veins, tugging at the earth beneath us, and the floorboards tremble in response.

Landolin doesn’t flinch as Zylah plants herself between him and Summer. The gleam in his eyes says he finds it amusing, enjoys it, which only makes her stand taller.

“I said back off, goth Thranduil,” she snaps.

I shift forward, ready to attack, but then Zylah grabs Landolin’s arm again, twisting it with startling precision before dropping her weight in a movement so fast and fluid it almost looks like magic.

He actually stumbles. She follows with a sharp jab of her elbow to his throat and attempts to flip him over her hip like she’s been battling fae princes her whole life.

Her moves are raw and messy. But they work.

Landolin hits the floor with a grunt, shocking the smugness off his face.

I stare, briefly stunned. Some elite fae warriors spend years perfecting moves like that, and Zylah does it wearing a strange hoodie with sequined bat wings .

“I’ve had just about enough of being manhandled by undead weirdos, thanks,” she says, hands on her hips.

Landolin stays down longer than he needs to. Smiling. Studying her. “I’m not dead, love. I’m immortal. Which you must admit is a whole lot sexier.”

Recovering from the shock of watching the deranged Landolin-and-Zylah show, I summon a ball of earth magic, but Landolin moves first, and the room erupts in chaos.

His blade swings toward me, a blur of shadow magic trailing behind it like smoke.

I raise a wall of stone from the ground that crashes through floorboards with a thrust of my arm.

His blade hits the wall, sparks flaring.

I punch a spike of earth through from beneath his feet, but he leaps, cloak flaring like wings.

He lands hard, then sweeps his arms wide. The shadows rise with him, clawing and ferocious. One tendril lashes my shoulder, the pain burning like a firebrand. Another tangles around my ankle. I wrench free and slam both fists to the floor, calling to the magic down deep.

Instantly, it answers.