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They died along with the rest.
No matter. Lunara planned on returning again. And again and again, until she figured it out. The guilt was somewhat assuaged by the fact that they were all going to perish, if they weren’t dead already. At least she was giving them a chance.
That was what Lunara kept telling herself anyway, to justify—to stomach—her actions.
She was crawling across the mattress when Fern grumbled, turning over in her sleep. Lunara choked back a squeal and flopped down into her likeness, resorbing its imprint as her friend’s eyes blinked open.
Feigning a long stretch as if she was just waking up herself, she said, “Hello.”
“Good morning, traitor,” Fern rasped.
Lunara willed her pulse to slow, lest she give herself away. “T-traitor?”
Yes. Keep it breezy. Calm.
“Among other things, but I’m too sleepy to start in on you yet.” Fern yawned wide and reached back to scratch at one of her wings. “Fuck, I’m starving.”
Relax. She’s still going on about last night. She doesn’t know about the chasm.
Ignoring her creaky joints and the overwhelming desire to close her eyes, Lunara sat up. “I need to check on Brand and Magnus before I do anything else.”
“Anything else.” Fern smirked at her. “You mean mustering the courage to show your face to the Demon King and however many other creatures are blind fucking pissed at you? I wouldn’t bother. Just get it over with.”
“Lyriat has no reason to be angry with me.”
Devastated, yes. He’d been clutching that note from the cave, his eyes deadened, so he already knew their mission failed.
“No? You were the perpetrator of an inter-realm incident, my friend. The Wolflords you mist-napped were threatening all kinds of creative shit after you disappeared again. But sure, he probably won’t be mad. Not like he was up all night dealing with it or anything.”
Lunara swallowed. “A problem for later.”
Fern trudged to the washroom, shaking her head. “Shitting seasons, I would not want to be you today.”
She did it to protect them. Surely the Chieftains of the Westrealm wouldn’t fault her for that.
Later. You can think about it later.
Perfect. Besides, Brand and Magnus needed to be her focus.
Along with her the continuous, desperate plea to the Sisters that both brothers were well. That she and Fern weren’t about to walk into something horrific. That the dread eating away at her insides was self-imposed, and not the universe trying to warn her.
Brand wouldn’t hurt his brother. But the beast? That was a different story.
As soon as they were dressed, Lunara grabbed hold of Fern’s hand and misted them to Brand’s tower chamber. Her knees nearly buckled when she found him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows perched on his knees as he stared towards the open balcony doors. The furrow in his brow, the tense set of his shoulders…
That was her mate, without a doubt. The cage worked.
Or it didn’t need to work because he was fine through the night. Either way, they’re safe.
Magnus was pacing, absentmindedly re-braiding a hank of his hair as he said, “I know that, but it wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking. No one was even injured, lad. We handled it.”
Brand shook his head. “You didn’t handle anything. It was all left to her.”
Weeping baby Sisters. He—
“Only because our Lunara is a pollen-headed pixie tit,” Fern chirped. “Pretty to look at, but dumb as a rock, apparently. I’d have handled you just fine if given half a chance.”
Both brothers startled at the colorful entrance.
