Page 80 of Fae Farewells

Amelia took a step closer as she whispered, “Who made you the judge?”

“The Fates,” Barbie hissed. “And you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Want this to happen? This isn’t what you signed up for? Yeah. Me either. But let’s be honest... This story.” She bounced her finger between her and her mother. “It’s been a shit show from the get-go. We can’t change that either.”

“You don’t have to kill him.”

Sloane leaned closer, her shoulders tense. “Yes I do, because you couldn’t do it.”

“I’m not a cold killer,” Amelia snarled.

Barbie’s anger dissipated as Pete wrapped his trunk around her waist. She patted him gently, a hushed chuckle falling from her lips.

“You don’t have to be one. That’s my job. I’ve already left a trail of bodies behind me. Your brother will be one of them. The sooner you can come to terms with that, the better off we’ll be.”

Then Sloane sucked in a sharp breath, her right eye squeezed closed as she scrubbed furiously at her temples. Her pain flowed through the bond, causing my stomach to flip.

Franklin was the first to react, his hands gripping her head above her ears. When she slumped forward, panting, Novak picked her up, keeping her close to the ancient vampire.

“Take her to Val’s,” Franklin commanded our vampire before turning to address us. “We’ll wait for you there.”

They sped away, leaves rustling in their wake. We moved to follow, but Amelia stopped us.

“Wait. I need to tell you something, Stone.”

“It can wait,” he growled.

She shook her head. “You found the journal?”

“Yes. I know you wrote it.”

“Have you read it?”

“Not all of it,” he cautiously replied. “We can’t find anyone trustworthy to translate it.”

“Those moths are the original Death Moths,” Amelia explained. “Jin is the only one I’ve ever known who could control them.”

Stone glanced between the direction of our mate and her mother. “What is so important about them that it can’t wait until we’re done here?”

“They sense duplicitous magic,” she warned. “But when they’re hungry, they’ll eat true power, too.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“What do you mean by duplicitous?” Stone inquired.

“Fake. Deceitful magic.”

York furrowed his brows. “Like stolen magic?”

She nodded. “Or mimicked magic.”

“I’m sorry,” Vaughn drawled, then demanded, “Explain what that means.”

“Sloane uses mimicry,” Amelia stated. “That’s duplicitous.”

“No,” Palmer argued. “It’s not. Her power is to mimic. That’s not fake. It doesn’t matter if mimicry was a gift from Lucifer or not. It’s hers now.”