Page 115 of Tethered Fates

Grinning wildly, Teagan’s large, curious eyes sparkle as he scrambles on. I take us to the floor-length window and ask, “Ready?”

Teagan pulls out his phone and sends a quick text. “This is going to be so much fun.”

I glance at my soulmate over my shoulder. His curls spill around his face, the light draped across his smooth skin like a kiss. He is my home, my peace, my everything. “Every day with you, sweetheart, is going to be perfect.”

Teagan pushes his face into mine, smiling. “I can’t wait, slick.”

Then I jump out the window, much to Teagan’s sheer delight, just as Kai steps outside the mansion, muttering, “Why did Teagan text me to come here?” Then Kai lets out a startled yell when we land.

“Fuck’s sake, Teagan!” Kai snaps, slapping a laughing Teagan on his arm. “Don’t do that!”

“Teagan, please stop scaring your brother,” Vidar drawls, draping his arms around his fuming mate.

“Are we scaring Kai?” Golden asks, bounding out of the mansion, tugging Luc with him.

“Fuck yes, I’m in, lads!” Apollo shouts, jumping on Golden’s back.

“Why are we scaring Kai?” Ramy asks.

“Dickheads, the lot of you,” Kai grumbles. “Especially you, Teagan!”

I grin as Teagan buries his face into my neck and vibrates with silent laughter.

Perfect. Every day is going to be perfect—

A tower of flame bursts from between the iron gates.

I let go of Teagan and shove him further back.

Luc and Vidar bolt forward, the three of us shielding the others as the flame grows wide. Larger. Hotter. Into the shape of a passage—or a door.

“Summer?” Luc growls.

“Maybe,” I bite out.

“Just be ready,” Vidar orders us.

Through the flames, a figure emerges. I grit my teeth, chest heaving as a tall, slim man with glasses perched on his nose and black ram horns curving up from his forehead steps out. On the left side of his face are swirling tattoo-like runes. His clothes are immaculate: tailored trousers, an amber silk shirt and a thin gold chain connected to the slim legs of his round glasses.

“Is that a…” Luc trails off.

“A demon,” I finish.

“The Haraldsson Vampire Family?” he asks with the tone of someone who doesn’t like to waste time.

“Who’s asking?” Vidar demands.

The demon slides to the side, his posture straight, his gaze bored. “Allow me to introduce you to Demon Prince Maddox.”

The flames flare out like a pair of reaching hands. Then the prince himself steps through.

Prince Maddox is large, bigger even than Vidar. His moss-green eyes scan us as a warrior searches for weaknesses. He has muscles on top of muscles, all wrapped in simple black clothing. Yet it’s his horns that are the most impressive and intimidating thing about him.

They’re set on his forehead, brown like tree bark with a gold and emerald chain wrapped around the length that’s as thick as a wrist, tapering until they end in deadly points. His dark hazel hair is pushed away from a face that could be handsome, if he wasn’t scowling.

“Why are you here?” Vidar’s voice is a sledgehammer.

But Prince Maddox, it seems, is cut from the same cloth—or armour—as my Maker. He stares down Vidar, an immovable object clashing with an unstoppable force. I’m not sure who’ll win.