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They’d only met once before, during Merlin’s fall and subsequent imprisonment. She’d only bothered to get involved because Merlin had deigned to harm her own kin.
“The forest is restless,” Iathana observed in that rich, silken voice he remembered. Her eyes shot open beneath the cover of her hood, revealing vibrant golden irises. “As are you, vampire.”
The trees stirred under the presence of her magicks. Like the tide of an ocean, it pushed and pulled with her. Of course he was restless. Anyone would be under such scrutiny.
He edged toward her slowly, stepping into the clearing until he, too, was bathed in moonlight. “Why now?” he demanded.
The dryad’s eyes flared. Their power cascaded over him, sending a shiver up his back.
“Do you no longer require my aid?” she asked.
Sirus narrowed his gaze. He was already agitated by this exchange, and her question only bothered him more. Impatience wouldn’t serve him or his purpose. He should be grateful she’d come herself.
The faerie lifted the corner of her lip in the slightest whisper of a smile before her eyes drifted up to the trees, as if they’d said something of interest, then back down to him.
“For centuries, your clansmen have lived in this forest,” she went on, delicately caressing the green needles of a branch within reach. “For centuries, it has watched over your kin. You are the wolf.” She rose and stepped closer, keeping her eyes on the trees. “The wolf of shadows.”
Iathana stopped just at the edge of the warding spells that rested unseen between them, the haze of perpetual mist lingering behind her. She ran a slender finger along the edge of the spell. In response, a glimmer cascaded through the air.
She didn’t need to display the breadths of her magick for him. He’d witnessed them when she’d taken on Merlin. This was her subtle way of reminding him.
“When your kind were unleashed on the world, I hunted you,” she declared without any touch of feeling. “I believed vampires to be twisted abominations of your human forms. A dark plague of rabid animals to be culled.”
Her words did not stir Sirus. He’d known as much already. Though how many vampires she’d slain, he didn’t know for sure.
Iathana let her gaze fall upon him once more. He could read nothing in her eyes but power.
“It was the forest that convinced me otherwise.” The magick of the trees stirred around him, as if to confirm her words. “You are creatures forged from death, but even you have your place, vampire. You’re woven into the fabric of creation as we all are.”
It was a lovely sentiment, but it held no value. Vampires would soon be nothing more than a distant nightmare relegated to lore.
“Our fate is written,” Sirus replied.
Iathana stared deep into his eyes, and he willed himself not to look away.
“You believe you deserve the same fate as your makers?” she asked.
Her question reminded him too much of something Rath had once said, something that edged too close to hope. Sirus didn’t reply. His silence was answer enough.
She stepped back and looked to the forest as it rustled under a gust of wind. Her cloak shielded her mouth, but Sirus sensed she was communing with the trees.
“Time will tell,” she replied.
Sirus clenched his jaw. He had no interest in her musings over the fate of his kind.
Iathana seemed to sense this, as she said a moment later, “Nestra and the zephyrs are beneath my concern, but I will take the woman to the Veil if it is what she desires.”
Despair rippled through him instead of the relief he’d anticipated. The taste of Gwendolyn lingered on his tongue. The memory of their bodies entwined. Bitterness rose within him. “What was the purpose of your delay?” he pressed. If Iathana had merely come at the beginning and taken her away?—
“Do you fear you cannot protect her, wolf?” she asked in return. “Or is your fear rooted elsewhere?”
With precision, she struck him right at his center—a jolt of raw anger seared through his bones. Iathana didn’t shift in the slightest when the shadow slipped around him. She merely turned to look at him as if he were no more than a pitiful child.
Fear.
Before Gwendolyn, Sirus had known little fear. Yet it was fear that crept over him now like a suffocating vine.
He’d feared his hunger and his ability to control himself around her.
