Page 116 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“Be careful. Keep your eyes open.”

He has a point. Other parties are watching and waiting. The moment the next attack lands, I’ll be ready to strike, fast and brutal.

Helene may not like what she sees but it isn’t an overreaction to circumstances so much as pressing an advantage.

A new weaving means we have a shot to shamelessly fuck with the assholes in charge.

“Including the ones in the back of my head,” I mutter.

“Stay out of trouble. Do nothing to draw the gods' attention, or the Norns.”

It’s too late on both counts.

“If you have any love for this world, Wren, then consider this. There are times when being selfish is the only recourse. And there are times when a little selflessness can’t hurt...

My lips peel up.

Hríd disappears in another shower of snowflakes, and I push them away.

My eyes drill into Helene’s empty window as I walk away from the side of the building and do my best to walk easy down the street.

If I were to hate anything more than Odin, then Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld would be a small step above him. The Norns are not a separate race but part of an order of beings who draw power from the wellspring of creation. They exist in all realms, the sisters, inspiring fear and awe.

Their dominion and influence carves destiny, including the fates of the gods themselves.

Some call them giantesses. Others say the sisters are Jötnar. They were given the roles they inhabit.

And they are bitter. They like to play games.

Will the Unseelie taking over impact my curse at all? Will they weaken it? Or can they break it?

There is something galling about being at the mercy of those three. Add a lecture from Hríd on top of it, and my evening has officially gone to shit.

“I’ll fix this,” I whisper.

So what if I have bigger things to worry about than frostbite?

Fuck it. Let the worlds burn if it means I get to keep Helene this time.

Chapter 24

Nicholas

So. Helene is searching for information on vampires.

The scent of The Fenlight trails me, dragged into the apartment, but she’s too wrapped up to notice or to see me standing beside her.

The damn place has shrunk in the hours I’ve been gone.

Strange, then, how engrossed she is.

How she doesn’t recognize the constant drip anymore outside the bucket under the leaking faucet tap. She doesn’t care about the lack of space between the mattresses, the absence of furnishings that don’t wobble and how none of the walls are straight.

A compact grin pricks my lips. She never has.

Strange how the small things are the same. She’s never cared for fineries.

Wren used to think he could change that. The man is a sucker for luxury and haughty grandeur. And Forest, shit, if he could make an entire vault of shiny treasures to dive into, he would.