Page 12 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

I stare out the window, but the motion makes my stomach churn. I dare not turn my head to the left and look at Dante, mostly because I believe he will not look at me at all.

I do not want him to come. I understand the urge, which is why I did not approach the pack in the first place. That, and this needs to be an expedited process. Despite our long lives, we fae are not known for our patience, and we hold soulbonds in reverence, but not the way the wolves do. The fae who have taken Ophelia will not hesitate to harm her if they believe it will sway me into doing their bidding.

“…I keep telling him we can just watch whatever, but he absolutely refuses to let me move the TV into his room, and it’s not like I’m going back to my own every night, so it’s just a bit of a stalemate, really.”

I tune back into the animated sound of Grant’s voice. Sam flicks his eyes up to the mirror, meeting my gaze in the reflection. I did not plan to say anything, but I swallow down any notion of it. He is angry with me, and I believe I am the last person he wants to send over there to get her back.

Dante says nothing. I dare a brief look at him, only to find he is staring out the window, expression impassive. I stare down at my lap again. I wish I knew words that would make him feel better, but even if I did, I doubt they would be welcome.

Did I come here for nothing? Are we doomed—three fae princes with three human soulbonds—to never realise those bonds at all?

The thought pricks at the back of my mind until Sam pulls off the main road and begins following sharp, winding ones. Night is creeping up and the trees are tall and dark, but that only makes me breathe a little easier. My head is pounding from being in the car for too long, and I clasp my hands together, willing the nausea to subside.

Eventually, he stops the car and looks ahead. I can see nothing, but I feel the faint pull of magic beyond the trees. Grant’s eyes are wide next to me; whatever is there, he has a far better sense for it.

“Vlad rang ahead,” Paxton says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “C’mon. Let’s get going.”

We all pile out of the car, but I sway a little as I take a step away. Dante has rounded the vehicle, and he looks at me sharply.

“Are you okay?”

Is there concern in his voice? I do not hear it. I nod, unable to meet his eyes, and he merely sighs and passes me, joining Sam and Paxton up ahead.

Grant leans against the car, watching me. Now that he is silent, he seems much more formidable, and I think maybe that is rather the point. Three hours in that car… Without him, things would have been tense.

More tense.

“You should’ve said something on the way,” he says.

“There was no other way to get here.”

He shrugs. “I know. You still should’ve said. You’re not going to make him care about you by pushing him even further away.”

I swallow a growl. My glamour quakes, and maybe Grant sees that too because he tips his head to one side like he did earlier, when he was thinking.

After a moment, he sighs. “Whatever. Come on. Can’t let them have all the fun.”

We follow the others through trees and foliage that become increasingly thick the farther we travel. All things considered, I like it. Breathing in the earthy scent has my headache subsiding quickly, and I keep my eyes pinned on Dante’s form ahead.

He will not accompany me through the veil. Not that I believe Sam intends to allow that. No. Sam will come, probably Paxton, and it will take us half a day to reach the witch’s lair if she is feeling particularly cooperative. I frown and feel the faint reach of an old sycamore nearby. It probably wonders why I am not reaching back.

“Sorry that we laid it all out like that,” Grant says after around fifteen minutes of walking. I glance at him sideways. He has no need to remain with me. He is a vampire. It is no effort at all for him to keep up with the others. “Well, kind of. I mean, you definitely should have told him. Why didn’t you tell him?”

He blinks up at me with nothing but guileless curiosity. He is not as soft or innocent as Drew—for all that Drew is a grown wolf—but I can imagine him worming under my skin in the same way.

“Why did your sire not tell you about your bond?”

“Because he was s—” Grant snaps his mouth shut. “Oh.”

“Fear has nothing to do with it,” I say.

“Yeah, okay.”

I bare my teeth, my glamour flickering. I was wrong a moment ago. Grant is still irritating, but at least crossing the veil means I will not have to put up with him for long.

It is an hour before Paxton stops. Magic pulses up ahead. Sam frowns as though he can see it, but then, as a mage, perhaps he can.

Dante hardly seems to notice it at all. He smiles faintly at Grant when we catch up, and his gaze flicks over me, but it does not linger.