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Oberon

GARRICK RAMBLED ON beside me, filling me in on everything he had learned. At least half of the information was relevant to the rising tensions between the elves and humans and the power plays that shifted beneath the surface. The rest was just him boasting, spinning tales of his so-called exploits, and dropping the names of women he had flirted with as if any of it fucking mattered.

I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t. My focus was locked on the man in front of Quinn. He had the fucking nerve to touch her. To grab her arm and stop her from following me. And she let him, without so much as a glance my way, without giving me the chance to guard her.

My jaw clenched so tight I felt the tension crawl up my skull, winding through my bones, ready to snap. I took in every inch of the bastard—his stance, his grip, the casual ease with which he leaned into her space. He wasn’t a threat in the way I had been trained to recognize one. He wasn’t armed, wasn’t calculating his next move like a predator, and wasn’t exuding the danger I could carve through with steel. But none of that mattered.

My blood still burned.

Then she blushed.

The heat that curled through my chest was nothing short of violent. A sharp ache pulsed through my jaw as my teeth ground together, the pressure so intense it sent a dull throb up to my temple. This feeling, the twisting in my gut and simmering rage beneath my skin, was unpleasant.

I had felt it before. It has happened too many times. Every single time she interacted with others, they spoke to her, looked at her, and stood too close to her. It was there. This sharp, irrational possessiveness was coiled tight in my chest. It made no sense. It wasn’t logical. It had nothing to do with strategy, survival, or anything I had spent my life training for.

And it only worsened after Vaelwick. After her blood soaked my hands. After she unraveled in my arms, and I saw—

Beside me, Garrick let out a low whistle, dragging my focus just long enough for me to register his presence again. I had almost forgotten he was there, too caught in the slow, simmering burn beneath my skin. “What has you brooding this time, Sinclaire?” he asked with amusement, thick with the insufferable arrogance he carried.

It made my fingers twitch, and my knuckles ache with the urge to plunge my fist into his smirking face. “Nothing,” I clipped, the word more of a growl than a response.

He let out a slow, unconvinced hum. “Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.” His gaze flicked toward Quinn. And when I didn’t respond, his smirk deepened. I hated the knowing look that crossed his face. “You’re staring daggers into them.”

I couldn’t answer. If I had opened my mouth, I might have said things I wasn’t ready to admit—words that laid too much bare and unraveled thoughts I hadn’t untangled in my mind.

After a beat, he pressed further. “You look pissed, mate.”

My knuckles cracked. The muscle in my jaw ached from clenching. “I don’t like the way he looks at her. That’s all.”

Garrick’s smirk widened, and his eyes gleamed with far too much enjoyment. “Like what?”

My glare flicked back toward Quinn and the bastard standing too close to her. I could feel the weight of that fucker’s gaze, the slow drag of his eyes over her features, the hunger concealed beneath his measured expression. “Like he wants to eat her,” I bit out, the words coated in bile.

Garrick laughed. That smug, irritating laugh made my fingers curl into fists. It was mockery—a pointed jab that sank right beneath my ribs, knowing which nerve to strike all too well. “You mean the way you look at her?”

I shot him a glare so fast that my neck popped. My pulse pounded in my skull. Garrick only grinned wider, leaning back as if he expected me to swing at him.

Saints help me; I almost did.

Quinn, unaware of the storm brewing inside me, flipped open her journal. Her focus shifted to the scratch of charcoal against the pages as she wrote.

Garrick hummed beside me, studying the scene with amusement before he stepped forward with an all-too-pleased grin. “Seems relative enough to go… intervene ,” he mused, far too entertained by whatever drama he believed was unfolding. I scowled, following behind him. I couldn’t stand there watching them any longer.

“Made a new friend, Freckles?” Garrick’s voice was casual, but the glint in his eyes was anything but. He stepped beside her, waiting for a reaction. Quinn ignored him, but her grip on the journal tightened. “And here I thought you only blushed for me.” That earned him an elbow straight to the ribs.

Garrick coughed, laughing through a pained exhale, but my attention had snapped to Quinn. The corner of her eye narrowed. Her lips pressed together in that near-imperceptible wince, which she seemed to believe neither of us caught. I reached out and grazed her arm with a cautious touch. “Careful, Dilthen Doe,” I warned.

The half-elf’s attention shifted to me. His smile remained, but his eyes sharpened as he assessed me. He had understood Sindarin, had heard the warning in my tone, and had seen how my hand still rested against her arm, how I didn’t move away.

Recognition flickered across his features. He wasn’t as composed as he wanted to be for his smug posturing. His stance shifted with the slightest change in weight, revealing his discomfort.

Garrick let out a low chuckle. “Well, this is fun.”

Quinn kept writing as though she hadn’t been looked at as though she were a prize. Like she hadn’t just fucking blushed for him. The muscles in my jaw clenched again, my teeth grinding together so hard that they ached.

Garrick had been right. And I loathed that.

Quinn looked up at me with steady, amber eyes that searched mine. I held her gaze for a breath, waiting for her to speak. She hesitated, tore her eyes away, and lifted her journal between us, cutting off whatever I might have seen in them.

My brows furrowed as I forced myself to focus on the page. The sketch of the trinkets dominated the space, drawn with the same precise detail she always put into her notes. But my focus landed on the small, scrawled words surrounding it.

More than warding charms?

Symbols match the ones in Vaelwick.

Fish bones. Protection or offering?

Why the docks? Why only there?

My eyes narrowed as I scanned the questions scribbled around the drawing, my mind circling her conclusions. She was right. The connection between Vaelwick and Ruvenmere wasn’t just a coincidence. A pattern was forming in the shadows, threading through villages that whispered of ghosts.

Her focus was elsewhere when I glanced at her, as if she expected me to brush past it. That unsettled me more than it should have. I should have pushed her to rest instead of letting her run herself raw over a mission we weren’t even halfway through solving, one that made little sense for us to be summoned in the first place, but I didn’t because I understood now.

I didn’t know what horrors awaited her when she let her guard fall, when she closed her eyes and let the silence creep in, but I knew they were wicked enough. Distressing enough that she would rather run herself ragged than be alone with them.

Feeling their weight, I dragged my knuckle over the words written at the bottom of the page. “The docks,” I murmured. “We need to go there after sundown.” Quinn’s fingers tightened around the journal. She didn’t meet my eyes, but she nodded.

Beside her, Garrick hummed, shifting his weight, his ever-present grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Are you guys done flirting?” he drawled in smug amusement. “Wanna fill me in on what’s happening?”

Quinn tensed beside me. Her fingers twitched against the journal’s worn cover, her shoulders straightened, and she looked like she wanted to throw the damn book at his head. I wanted her to do it.

The half-elf was still standing in front of us, watching and listening. His pointed ears twitched as his gaze flicked between Quinn and me, measuring what he saw. My jaw ticked. I relaxed my posture, but his stare irked me like an itch beneath my skin.

Dragging my gaze away from the journal, I huffed and shot Garrick a flat look. “We’re going to the docks after sundown.”

The half-elf perked up, tilting his head. “Why wait til’ dark?”

Garrick mirrored his expression, crossing his arms. “Yeah, why wait? Wouldn’t it be smarter to investigate now? While we can see whatever the hells we’re looking for?”

Quinn spoke, her voice level but laced with exhaustion. “Because whatever is causing this isn’t going to be standing in plain sight, waiting for us.” She flipped the journal closed and tucked it under her arm. The movement was precise and too controlled. “The villagers only report seeing things at night—the voices, the figures on the water. The pattern matches Vaelwick. If we’re to understand what is happening, we must witness it ourselves.”

The half-elf folded his arms while he studied her. “You believe all that?”

A low whistle escaped Garrick’s lips as he rocked back on his heels. “So, we’re ghost hunting.”

“Not ghosts,” I corrected, sharper than I had intended.

Garrick’s smirk widened, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Right. Monsters. ”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Are you coming or not?”

The half-elf tilted his head while he considered her. The corners of his mouth tipped up into a creeping smile. A smooth, deliberate expression. “You should be careful,” he said, voice edged with a tone that peeved me. “The sea doesn’t like outsiders poking around where they don’t belong.”

I don’t like people poking around where they don’t belong.

His eyes rested on Quinn, trailing over her to the point my blood hummed with irritation. He gave her the look he had earlier, which held far too much interest. He stepped back, turned without another word, and disappeared into the shifting crowd of the docks.

My hands flexed at my sides, my fingers clenching in and out of fists as he left. He knew more than he let show. He understood the significance of his warning, but didn’t intend to share it.

Garrick, of course, wasted no time making himself a nuisance. He slung an arm around Quinn’s shoulder, pulling her in with an exaggerated scoff. “Please,” he said, unimpressed. “I wouldn’t miss a romantic moonlit walk with my two favorite people.”

Quinn elbowed him off. He emitted a sharp oof while she stepped out of reach. “Try that again,” she warned, “and you won’t make it to sundown.”

Garrick clutched his chest as though she had just run him through. “Sinclaire, your lady is mean to me.”

I glared at him. “She’s not my lady.”

Garrick looked between us, his grin stretching wider, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sure, sure.” He clapped his hands together. “So, docks at sundown. Until then, I’ll be at the tavern, securing my place as the most charming man in Ruvenmere.”

Quinn muttered under her breath as he strolled off, hands tucked in his coat, plotting his next round of debauchery.

I rolled my shoulders. “The docks. Be ready.”

Her expression hardened. “I know.”

The half-elf’s words continued to stir in my mind when I stepped away. The sea doesn’t like outsiders poking around where they don’t belong.

MY KNUCKLES RAPPED against Quinn’s door.

No answer.

I stood there for a beat, sighed harshly, and pushed the door open.

Empty.

A slow, simmering irritation turned in my gut. Saints, help me if she had headed to those damned docks alone.

She better have Garrick with her.

The cool salt-laced breeze rushed over me, carrying the smell of brine and damp wood. The air felt heavier. Beyond the dim glow of lanterns swaying on their rusted hooks, Ruvenmoths drifted in slow-moving embers, their pale wings pulsing with a ghostly luminescence as they flitted between the shadows, drawn to the light yet never quite touching it.

The streets were quiet, but not empty. A few stray cats prowled between crates and barrels, their eyes flashing when they caught the flicker of movement. A mangy dog stretched out beneath the awning of a market stall, lifting its head just enough to watch me with wary, half-lidded eyes before settling again. A rat scurried past down an alley as its nails clicked against the worn wooden planks of the dockside paths.

I swept my gaze over the street.

A movement in the market caught my eye.

Garrick was stretched out like a well-fed cat, his usual smug grin plastered across his face as a woman trailed her fingers down his chest. Garrick murmured something low, and his fingers brushed her arm. She leaned in, whispering against his jaw, her laughter a breathy lilt before she slipped back inside.

I groaned under my breath, regretting approaching him.

His eyes locked onto mine the moment I neared. That knowing smirk spread as he tilted his head. “Hey, Broody,” he drawled, stretching his arms behind his head. “Where’s our girl?”

Our girl.

My jaw ticked, and I glared at him. The words still landed deep and settled in a way I didn’t care to explore. “You haven’t seen her?” I clipped.

He hummed while his gaze swept over the street until his posture shifted. His smirk twitched, and he let out a sharp whistle. “Oh, boy.” His tone had my muscles locked.

I followed his gaze, and my chest tightened. That bastard from earlier was leaning against a market stall, arms crossed, his posture easy and too relaxed. His expression was intentionally vague, but his gaze wasn’t. It was locked on Quinn, watching her.

Quinn stood before him, flipping a bundle of herbs between her fingers, her journal tucked against her hip. Her expression was drawn and focused. Not wary or uneasy. She was listening. Taking in whatever bullshit he was feeding her.

She didn’t look uncomfortable. But she didn’t look aware, either.

A biting pressure built in my jaw.

Everything about it—about him —itched beneath my skin, needling at a part of me I couldn’t name. He leaned into her space, and his gaze flickered over her with quiet calculation. The way she tilted her head to listen, unbothered.

Garrick hummed beside me, shoved his hands into his pockets, and exuded nothing but casual amusement.

My irritation flared hotter.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “what he said about the ocean seemed… off-putting.”

I tore my gaze away from Quinn long enough to glare at him. “You think?”

He huffed a chuckle. “I mean, yeah, the whole ‘the sea doesn’t like outsiders poking around’ bit isn’t quite comforting. Not to mention, he seems awfully interested in her.” His eyes flicked back to Quinn, and his smirk grew. “Can’t say I blame him.”

I could have responded to that. Could have said anything—a sharp retort, a cold dismissal, a warning.

But the half-elf had leaned in. Quinn didn’t flinch or step back. She tilted her head closer again, as if what he was saying held any fucking value at all. A slow, simmering heat burned through my veins. Garrick let out an amused hum. “You could go over there, you know.”

I ground my teeth. “She’s not alone.”

He snorted. “No, but she sure as hells isn’t with us.” He tilted his head toward me, watching, waiting for a reaction.

My expression remained flat.

“So,” he continued, stretching the word, “are you going to do something about it? Or are you just going to stand here brooding like the jealous, overprotective—” I shot him a warning look so sharp it could have drawn blood. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk never faded. “Fine, fine,” he said, clearly entertained by the situation. “But if she drowns because you let that half-elf sweet-talk her onto a boat, that’s on you, Sinclaire.”

My patience snapped. Garrick chuckled behind me as I strode toward her, my pulse hammering with violent and undeniable rage. The bastard was still speaking, still holding her attention as if he had any fucking right to it. She listened intently, nodding, her brows furrowed in thought as she rubbed a bundle of herbs between her fingers.

He was still looking at her.

And she was still letting him.

The half-elf’s gaze flicked up and locked onto mine when I stopped beside her, lips curling at the edges, as though he knew something I didn’t. He believed he had the right to stand there, talk to her, and look at her like that.

Quinn sighed when she felt my presence.

“You must stop doing this,” I insisted.

She turned to me with a strained expression. “I don’t have to wait for you, Sinclaire. The village is small enough that you would hear me from your room if I screamed out here.”

I became rigid, my fingers twitching at my sides. She didn’t know how those words affected me or how much they infuriated me. She thought it was a joke, just a throwaway statement to dismiss my concerns. She failed to realize that the thought of her voice cutting through the night in fear or pain made my blood run ice cold.

“I’m fine,” she continued, brushing past me as if it was nothing.

“Horseshit.”

Her eyes whipped to mine, filled with fire.

“At least keep Garrick with you if you refuse to let me guard you.”

She scoffed and lifted her chin in defiance. “I don’t need a guard.”

My eyes locked on the half-elf as she spoke. A knowing gleam laced his features. His eyes, that smirk. It was a flicker of satisfaction that vexed me.

That bastard knew. He understood she was more than just an herbalist. He had been watching her, listening to her, and now he believed she was vulnerable. I wouldn’t allow him to think that. I refused to let him believe she was unclaimed. Unprotected.

“Your back suggests otherwise,” I ground out.

Quinn froze. Hurt flickered across her features before her mask snapped back into place, morphing into a pure, blistering rage. Her hand formed a fist at her side. “Fuck you,” she snapped.

I stepped closer, leaning down and tilting my head as my voice lowered to a provocative tone. “Here?”

Her nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed. My words sounded sensual to others—a challenge laden with implications. Only we recognized that the weight of those words had nothing to do with intimacy. The half-elf would hesitate before touching her again.

Quinn, however, appeared as if she wanted to punch me.

Good.

Do it.

Show him.

Garrick wedged between us with a chuckle and pushed me back. “Down, boy.” His hand was firm against my chest, but I hardly felt it past the storm in my head. “The sun is about to set,” he added. “We should head to the docks soon. And we can’t do that if you two rip each other’s throats out in front of the market stalls.”

Quinn handed two bronze quince to the Elven woman behind the stall before shoving the herbs into her satchel with more force than necessary. “I wasn’t—” She cut herself off, chewing her lip.

I rolled my shoulders back and compelled my muscles to relax. “Let’s just go,” I muttered.

She refused to look at me.

The piece-of-shit leaning against the stall still hadn’t moved. Still had that same smug look in his eyes. But he had enough sense to keep his damn mouth shut. I gave him one last glare, walking away before I gave in to the urge to bash his skull into that stall and make him eat the gravel at my feet.

Quinn fell into step beside Garrick, maintaining just enough distance to make her point. Garrick, of course, was all too eager to break the tension. “Well, that was some unresolved energy,” he drawled, loud enough for me to hear. I shot him a glare. He smirked. “Just saying, you two argue like lovers,” he added. His grin widened when Quinn’s face paled.

My pace quickened toward the docks. If I stayed near Garrick any longer, I would rip someone’s throat out.