Page 29 of The Shattered Kingdom (The Cursed Kingdom #2)

KIERAN

ABBY MARCHES AHEAD of us, leading the way. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she’s following the sound of the river, heading toward the shoreline. It’s accurate enough.

Mason walks alongside her, his body so close that his fur brushes against her fingers. I suspect asking him to give her space will be about as successful as splitting hairs. He’s protective of her, and anybody who sees us will recognize it.

“Mace…” I start.

He turns his head, peering at me over my shoulder.

I open my mouth, but then I realize I have nothing to say and clamp it shut. Mason doesn’t accept that. He smacks his jaw against Abby’s hip to stop her, and we both pretend not to notice her quiet, nervous shriek. She’s still wary of Mason, but it won’t last forever.

Mason stares, waiting for me to speak.

“Do you sense anything?” I ask.

It’s a stupid question. Mason would make it abundantly clear if somebody were nearby.

This area isn’t highly trafficked by the shifters, which is precisely why I brought us here.

Shifters aren’t kind to faeries, and if they see us outside the meeting grounds, they’ll attack first and ask questions later.

I’m willing to bet the entire forest from the entrance at Farbay to Traul River is crawling with shifters. Alpha Theon requested a meeting that only Mason would be able to make for a reason. He wants his son to come alone, and I’m sure the shifters are waiting for him to come running through.

Mason stares at me. I imagine he’d be saying something snarky if he were in his skin form. After a moment, he turns back around, not bothering to engage further with me.

I release a quiet breath, and we continue walking.

“It helps to think of you as a pet,” Abby says to Mason.

Her voice is low, cautious even. She’s scared to be loud. I hate her fear, but I’m appreciative of it. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

“Do you have dogs here?” Abby continues.

Mason can’t answer in this form, so I answer for him.

“No.”

Abby makes a quiet noise of surprise. “Humans have domesticated wolves, and we call them dogs. They come in all shapes and sizes, and some larger breeds resemble a smaller version of Mason.”

I think I understand what she’s talking about. We don’t have pets, but we occasionally purchase mammals to keep rodents out of barns. They look nothing like Mason, though.

“Anyway,” Abby continues, “it helps when I think of Mason as a pet. I like them, and I’m pretending Mason’s a large dog. If you were, I’d put a bow in your fur and feed you treats.”

Mason ignores every word that comes out of her mouth. I try to listen, I really do, but she loses me at bows and treats. Our mate is odd.

I’m trying to think of something to say, something to humor her, but my mind is blank. I’m usually good at speaking, quick on my feet and comfortable owning conversations, but Abby’s exceptionally skilled at turning me into a wordless fool.

Mason doesn’t seem to have that problem. If he weren’t in his animal form, I’m sure he’d respond with something rude or sexual.

He’d tell her he’d wear a thousand bows for her treats. Then he’d slide his hand down her backside to show her precisely what treat he has in mind. Abby would huff and push him away, but then her face would turn red and her arousal would saturate the air.

If I tried that, I’d get elbowed in the throat. Abby doesn’t lust for me like she does for Mason. It’s my fault. I pulled away, throwing myself into work and Lillian.

Burning-hot shame rushes through me whenever I think about the faerie woman. Mason knew something was wrong with the bond—he made that clear from the very start—but I ignored his visible discomfort and reluctance. I was convinced Lillian was ours, and I ignored every sign that suggested otherwise.

I touched Lillian in front of Abby. I kissed Lillian in front of Abby.

Does Abby think about it? When she looks at me, does she think of my lips and hands on Lillian?

I want to scrub the memories from her brain.

It’s no wonder she prefers Mason. He never indulged Lillian, and the few times he allowed the faerie to touch him, he looked like he’d been swallowing nails. He visibly hated it.

Mason takes off into the forest. He says and indicates nothing before darting away, his muscular frame pushing him out of sight. I close the distance between me and Abby, keeping her close.

“Give me your bag,” I order.

I let her carry it for fun, but the time for her spiteful independence is over.

Abby wordlessly slips the bag off her shoulders. I throw it over mine, then place a hand on the back of her neck. My fingers curl around her throat, and I slowly guide us to stand so my back is to the river and I can see into the surrounding woods.

Abby buries her face into my chest, her body shaking. She’s terrified.

Mason’s not within my sight or hearing range, and I brush my thumb over the back of Abby’s neck to keep her calm and her heart steady. I’ve developed an obsession with listening to it, and it’s hard to focus when it’s pounding so aggressively in her chest.

“You’re okay,” I whisper.

She grabs my waist, and I continue surveilling the woods as she slips her fingers under my shirt and touches my bare skin. She isn’t wearing gloves, and I can’t help but shiver at the contact. It’s surprisingly steadying.

Does she remember when Lillian touched me like this? I can’t lie and say Lillian’s touch was unpleasant. It was the first skin-to-skin contact I’d ever had with a woman who wasn’t a blood relative. It was nothing compared to this, though.

I want to wrap myself around Abby and cling to her until I’m dead. I crave it. I need it.

There’s commotion to my left, and I shift Abby to the right. Mason is out there alone, but I won’t leave Abby unprotected. I have to trust Mason to take care of it. He’s a better fighter than I am, anyway.

I rely on my magic, but Mason is pure brute strength. I can hold my own against a shifter or two, but Mason moves through them with an easy I can’t match. He’s not threatened until surrounded by a minimum of five or six full-grown adult males.

There’s more rustling, and I tighten my grip on Abby’s neck as fur weaves through the trees. It’s not Mason.

I slide our bags off my shoulders. “Get on the ground, put the bags on top of you, and don’t move. ”

For once, Abby listens. She drops to the dirt and drags our bags over the top of her. They’re thick, and they’ll act as a barrier between her skin and a pair of sharp teeth.

Two shifters come darting in our direction a second later. I step in front of Abby, fighting the instinct to use magic as the shifters approach. These two must’ve slipped past Mason.

The one on the left favors his right side, overcompensating for an injury. He’s Priority Number Two. Priority Number One is fast and covered in thick muscle. He’s going to rip off my fucking arm, and I shake out my limbs as I crouch down and meet him head-on.

He lunges for my neck, a move I expect and just barely dodge. Shifters always go for the necks. It’s where Mason went the first time we met.

Abby’s pounding heart is all I can hear. It’s all I want to hear, and I listen to every pump as I turn to the side and kick the shifter in the hip.

Priority Number Two doesn’t come for me. He goes straight for Abby, bumping him to Priority Number One. I reach him before he reaches her, and when he opens his mouth to bite me, I grab the upper and lower parts of his jaw and rip them apart.

A tooth impales my palm, but adrenaline makes the pain easy to ignore.

The whine the shifter lets out is sickening, and I try not to think about the fact that he’s a person with a family as I rip his head in two. He crumples to the floor, but I don’t have time to ensure he’s dead before turning back to the remaining shifter.

He’s taken advantage of my distraction, and I watch in slow motion as he lunges for Abby.

She screams and throws a bag at his head, slowing him enough for me to reach them. Blood pumps through my veins, panic rendering me unable to think as I throw myself against his side and knock him off-balance.

Four claws gouge my arm as he falls, the sharp nails easily tearing through my skin. It burns, and I grunt as I throw my fist into his eye socket. His position on his back puts him at a disadvantage, and I avoid his kicking feet as his skull shatters beneath my fist.

The area around his eye caves in, and at least one of my fingers breaks. Still, I don’t stop until the shifter falls limp. Are there more? I don’t hear anything, but that’s not reliable.

This is their land, and they know it better than I do.

Abby digs through our bags, and cold fingers wrap around my wrist a second later. I hold still while Abby pushes the torn skin on my arm together and staples it in place. Mason and I have been taught how to use stitches, but we packed the stapler for Abby.

She takes advantage of it, and I wince as she works her way up my arm.

Then she rises, her breath hitting the back of my neck. “Thank you.”

I nod, only relaxing when Mason finally emerges from the woods. He’s covered in blood, and his eyes dart between me and the two shifters who snuck past him. He doesn’t speak, but I know what he wants.

“Help me clean my arm?” I ask Abby.

Mason needs to dump his kills in the river, and he doesn’t want Abby to see them. My kills were brutal, but they were quick and relatively clean. Shifters fight differently, and the ones Mason fought will be shredded into pieces. He doesn’t want Abby to fear him more than she already does.

I place myself between her and the bodies, blocking her view as I crouch beside the water. Abby quickly joins me.

“Is Mason okay?” she asks, peering at him over my shoulder.

He’s sniffing around my kills, probably ensuring they’re dead. The one whose face I tore apart must be hanging on because Mason darts forward and sinks his jaws into his neck. Abby flinches, and I grab her chin and guide her head away.

“He’s fine,” I say. “Don’t look at him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s embarrassed.” Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but it’s close enough. “He’s going to drag the bodies into the water and rub mud over the blood trail, and he doesn’t want you to see.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him.”

Abby makes a quiet noise, then falls silent. She looks deep in thought, which I won’t interrupt. I busy myself instead, searching through our bags until I find soap.

I’m covered in blood, and the scent will carry. I need to wash it off before any other shifters wander into the area. It’s one thing if Mason kills a few, but it’s another if I do.

I can’t meet with Alpha Theon covered in shifter blood—not if I want anything productive to come from our meeting.