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Damn him. That look was so normal. It almost made her forget that he wasn’t himself.
Her heart skipped when his gaze landed on her and stayed there, every particle in her body betraying Lunara as she leaned in. The daft things were unaware they’d get nothing in return for reaching out. That there was no point in wanting and wishing. No point in desire.
He didn’t know her. Didn’t care.
Fuck, it hurt.
Brand broke the spell when he stepped out of the way and put fingers to lips, sending a short whistle up the shaft. Another moment and Magnus was with them, just as deft as his younger brother.
“Well.” Magnus scrubbed a hand over his face when he noticed the passage. “That’s just lovely, isn’t it?”
Lunara rolled her eyes. “You and Fern should organize a tournament.”
“For what?”
“Sarcasm,” she grumbled. “I’m genuinely unsure which of you would win.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Fern sniffed, examining her nails. “I would. Obviously.”
“Ach, have we already started?” Magnus rejoined. “Give a wolf some warning, lass. We—”
“Enough.”
Brand’s clipped command bounced against the earthen walls, and Lunara swallowed. At least he sounded like him.
Magnus drew in a long breath, cheeks puffing out when he sighed. “Sense anything, witchling?”
“No, but take that with a grain of salt. It’s a labyrinth down here and my magic is having to twist and turn all over the place. Plus, Forgotten and dreadbeasts don’t have heartbeats, remember?”
“So what?” Fern spat on the ground. “I’ll make those undead troll fuckers eat my massive dick.”
Emotions in their usual flux, Lunara almost busted out laughing. “Let’s just stay on our guard and hope that sensing nothing is a good thing, hmm? And say a prayer we eventually find a clue to point us in the right direction because I’ve got shite to go on right now.”
With that, Lunara tiptoed down the decline, only hesitating for the barest moment before entering the tunnel.
There was maybe eight or ten feet of clearance at its apex, at most. Hedda and Faldir would’ve had an impossible time traversing the space in their rage. Even Magnus and Thaddeus, two of the largest Wolflords she’d ever seen, might have trouble while shifted in some of the tighter stretches.
Clay turned to stone as they descended, chunks and roots turning to tapered, jagged columns. The air grew cooler. More damp. But there was no sound. No scent. On and on and on…
“In all my years,” Magnus whispered a while later, “I’d never have guessed this sort of thing lurked beneath our fields. Seeing it was—is—a shock.”
“You didn’t know the Westrealm had caves and caverns?” Fern asked.
“No,” he breathed. “I really didn’t.”
Something in his tone was perilously close to fear, and it kept Lunara in a chokehold as they sank ever deeper into Thodelebor’s underbelly.
At long last, they reached the end and were dumped into a yawning cavern. The ceiling leapt upwards, the walls outwards, soaring above and around them, every shaking breath echoing in its vastness. The yellowed stone glittered here and there, flecks of crystal embedded in its chalky surface, and water trickled in the distance. A harmonious sight and sound, completely at odds with the sudden roar of her pulse.
It might’ve been beautiful, except for the blood-curdling fact that huge torches were fixed at even intervals in the damp walls.
And every last one of them was lit.
Brand and Magnus didn’t say a word as they pushed past her and Fern, aggression in every measured step. Fern brandished her bronze mace, and Lunara reached into the ether, unfurling one of her taloned whips.
She flirted with the idea of loosing Axanderus in order to see beyond what was in front of them, but it was too risky. The sight of her owl companion might trigger Brand, and who knew what sort of mess that might cause.
Instead, she turned half her attention to those winding threads of power.
