Page 32 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

Asher

V lad calls just as we reach Mischief Vlad will just keep calling if not, and I don’t want him to worry unnecessarily.

“You think Jeremiah told him?” I mutter. Paxton scowls. “Vlad? What is it?”

“We are to wait , Asher. Wait until tonight. We have time.”

“Who told you?”

“Does it matter?”

Not really. It might have been Maurice. I know he’s worried. He argued with me on the phone earlier but only half-heartedly. I think he knows how much I need to do this.

“We’re not after the twins,” I say. “We just need to find Quinn’s wolf.”

“Asher—”

“We’re going, Vlad. We’re doing this. I’ll see you tonight.”

I hang up and, for good measure, turn my phone off. Paxton sighs and turns his off as well. “We’re gonna be in so much trouble when we get back,” he mutters, still staring ahead at the building.

Next to him, Sparrow snorts. “That is what you are worried about?” they ask.

“Not really,” I reply. “Come on. Let’s get in there.”

Paxton weaves a net of magic that should have us able to slip through the shadows undetected. Sparrow adds some of their own, and my eyes widen at the way the magic sparks and swells as theirs wraps around it.

“You too,” Paxton murmurs.

My blessing doesn’t fight me. It joins the rest, magic weaving together until the net is so tight I’m not sure it can be broken at all.

We slip down the alley, our combined magic pushing back the artificial darkness, and when we find the door, Paxton crouches to pick the lock. It takes him no longer than a minute. Clearly, the twins are relying on their magic above anything else.

It’s not a bad move, but it’s not all that smart, either. If you can beat the wielder, you can beat their magic.

Case in point: the door swings open, and Paxton slips inside first. I gesture for Sparrow to go in ahead of me, so I’m bringing up the rear. Eager as I am, I can’t take point. I’ve got tunnel vision where Quinn’s concerned. Paxton will ensure there’s no threat.

There are no lights on in the bar, so I use my blessing to see through the darkness. No one’s in here. We creep into the room with the cage. No one’s here, either.

Paxton indicates a door at the back of that room.

When he waves at it, glancing at me, I swallow and nod.

I pull a knife from my boot. Who knows what’s on the other side of that door.

It could be the back of this pub they’ve made for themselves, or it could be a portal straight through to the Otherworld.

Well, I don’t think it’s the latter. Even I’d be able to feel the magic coming off that.

Paxton pulls open the door and then steps back, ensuring he’s out of reach of any surprise attacks. None come. Sparrow stays low, fangs bared. Paxton signals, then walks down the corridor the door has revealed.

“Careful,” Sparrow mutters before they follow.

The corridor is just as dark as the rest of the pub. It’s long—feels longer than it should, even for a building that’s been magically altered—and for a brief second, I wonder if we might be trapped in here forever.

My blessing doesn’t let out a peep, though. It’s still feeding magic into this net that surrounds us, keeping us hidden.

Another door appears at the end of the corridor.

Even with magic helping my vision, I can’t make out much beyond the fact that it’s heavy and wooden and dark.

Paxton tries it gently, then kneels to unlock it like he did the front door.

I spin my knife in my hand. I don’t use it often, preferring to fight hand-to-hand where I can, but we need to be quick here, and we need to be quiet.

There’s a muted click and Paxton stands again, stowing his lockpick away. He ushers Sparrow back a little way and then swings the door open.

Light floods my vision. I stumble back, squinting, and by the time I feel a surge of magic, Paxton is already on the ground. Sparrow growls, recovering faster than either of us, and bursts into the room ahead of me.

I reach Paxton. His blessing brushes mine. He’s alive, at least, and I’ll check him after, but his eyes are closed, and he’s unmoving.

When I step into the room, Sparrow is grappling with one of the twins. The red-haired one. They’re both hissing, baring their fangs, and Sparrow is quick and brutal with each blow, but the fae pulls on his magic and Sparrow goes down, too.

A blow hits me in the side. I stagger, but there’s no escaping it. Magic wraps around my limbs, and though my blessing flares, trying to fight back, these are high fae and I’m the last of us to be a true threat.

Sparrow lets out a pained groan and goes quiet. The green-haired fae who has me immobile twists his hand, forcing me to my knees. After a moment, the red-haired one joins him.

This is some kind of study, almost, this room. A fire crackles in the fireplace, and I take in the plush armchairs that sit before it.

“ You’re the one who caught the eye of our little wolf,” the green-haired fae says. “Celyn, look at him. Can you imagine?”

Celyn shakes his head. “No need to play, Sorrel. They’ll wake up soon.” He indicates Paxton and Sparrow with a jerk of his chin. Then he looks at me. “This one, then?”

Sorrel smirks. His expression sends a shiver down my spine. I struggle with my invisible bonds but to no avail, and it’s clear from the way both of them are standing that this magic is no strain on them at all.

“Yes, this one,” Sorrel says. “We already have his mate’s wolf. Now we need his magic.”

Mate?

Mate?

I roar, almost pushing to my feet with the sudden anger that burns through me, but Sorrel only laughs and twists his hand, sending me to my knees again. “He’s passionate.”

“Did you come here to save your little wolf?” Celyn asks, eyes wide, playing the innocent. “Oh, that’s sweet.”

“Ever so,” Sorrel agrees. “Pointless, though.”

I pull my blessing close. I can’t push through their magic, but maybe I can use it to wake Paxton or Sparrow, get them out of here.

Celyn and Sorrel fall into their own conversation—though I know their attention never truly wavers from me—and I form my magic into small tendrils, try to snake them out of the magic they’ve wrapped around me.

As soon as I do, I sense something familiar. Something I want.

Quinn’s wolf.

I don’t know how I can feel it, but I know his wolf is somewhere in this room. It can’t be further away. I cast my gaze about, looking for anything similar to what Spectra mentioned—a vase, a vial—but come up empty.

“Let’s get it done, then,” Celyn says. He tilts his head to one side, looking at me. “If we do this before sundown, we can stop your little mission before it starts, I imagine.”

“What?” I manage. I’m still reeling at the fact that Quinn’s wolf is somewhere in this room.

“You think we wouldn’t know you’d come for us?” Sorrel says. He snorts. “You did rather give it away immediately, didn’t you? But we’ve been waiting for you to come back. Watching which members of the Hunt returned to the city. Almost all of you are here now. All we’re missing…”

“The hunter,” Celyn says. His expression twists in distaste when he adds, “The fae.”

“If you can call them that,” Sorrel snorts.

Celyn shrugs. Moreau, I assume he means. Rook and Saide, too. Fuck, it’d be helpful if they were here. But no, it’s just me. And with a sinking feeling, I’m beginning to understand that’s not enough.

I clench my jaw until my teeth hurt. I promised Quinn I’d save him. I meant it. And he’ll never know, because—

“Now you’re getting it,” Sorrel murmurs. He’s crouching next to me, expression awfully smug. “Your blessing and your mate’s wolf will be enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to help us slice through the veil, of course,” Sorrel says. He shrugs one shoulder when Celyn makes an affronted sound. “We tried with the other wolf. Our magic—high fae magic—and wolf magic. It failed. Oh, we cut a little way through, but there wasn’t quite enough.”

“But pack bonds and mating bonds are different. They tie magic together.” Celyn tilts his head, watching me.

I shake my own. “We don’t have a bond.”

“How would you know?” Sorrel says. “How would either of you know? A sad little wolf who gave up that part of himself. Another sad little wolf who’s scared of everything. How would you know whether you have a bond at all?”

We don’t. I’m certain we don’t.

It doesn’t matter. Sorrel stands again, and the gesture he makes this time is more complicated. Celyn does the same. The magic holding me never wavers, and for a moment I think— hope —that their plans have failed.

They haven’t. Their magic digs its hooks in, deep in my core, tearing at the blessing the Huntsman gave me. I cry out, swaying forwards.

“I don’t understand,” I snarl, trying whatever I can to keep my blessing where it belongs. “You have free rein here. Why would you want to open the veil?”

Sorrel throws his head back and laughs. “Why not? It seems like it will be fun. I can’t wait to watch your silly little Hunt running around trying to control the high fae.”

“Not to mention the Huntsman,” Celyn adds.

They pull again, their magic dragging my blessing from me, bit by bit. I press my hands against the dark wood floor, trying to push back, trying to convince the magic to slip like water through their grasp, but it just twists and turns and can’t break free.

Whatever connection I felt to Quinn and his wolf is weakening, too. I grasp at it desperately, frantically trying at least to see where his wolf is—maybe I’ll survive long enough to tell Paxton, at least—but I see nothing. The twins pull again. I gasp my next breath.

Will I manage another?

Sorrel already believes he’s won. I can see it on his face. Celyn is more cautious, fingers of his free hand twitching as he pulls and pulls and pulls —