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Lysander didn’t tease. He only nodded solemnly, like he was making a vow. The two men moved to each side of my bed. Kage dropped his towel first, then slid under the blankets to my right so quickly it was as if he was worried I’d change my mind. The mattress sank with his weight, and I gave a little gasp, nearly rolling toward him. Lysander was more hesitant. He slid into the bed slowly on my left.

And then there I was. Trapped between them. What the fuck had I done? I could feel their heat. They didn’t move, didn’t touch me. Just lay there. I closed my eyes. My breathing gradually slowed down.

The room was quiet. I could hear the waves.

“Rest, Regan,” Lysander whispered. “Sleep.”

His voice was so gentle. So tender. Before I could even reply, my eyelids became too heavy to move. There came a wonderful feeling of being safe. Sleep slipped over me.

Chapter 47

MEDRA

The gate we passed through reminded me of home. Not the shape of it, this one had been clearly of dwarven making, but the concept was the same. On the other side, we hadn’t been greeted with a triumphant parade—or any signs of civilization at all. We’d bypassed all dwarven cities, all towns. We were off on a different road.

We’d walked all day before finally stopping to set up camp. There was no true day or night underground, and we were learning quickly how disorienting that could be. It was never truly dark. Instead, the sky constantly glowed. Far above was a vast sky of bioluminescence, so high above I couldn’t make out what it was made from exactly. Plants? Fungi? Whatever it was, it was beautiful, all pale blues and soft greens with threads of purple woven in. It pulsed in slow waves, like a living thing, and glittered with tiny points of light. Around us, the cavern walls spread out like a huge cathedral. It reminded me of the Black Keep in some ways, except with a forest inside of it. Forest life covered the ground beneath our feet—low ferns that glowed faintly, huge mushrooms as high as my calf, and tall trees so pale their trunks looked more like bone than wood. But the water surprised me the most. We’d followed an underground river for miles and even passed small lakes. Now in the cavern we’d chosen to make camp, a narrow stream split through the undergrowth. The sound of the water flowing was comforting. A little like the sea back at Bloodwing.

Our camp lay on a shelf of stone, raised above the damper ground below. Tents had been raised, bedrolls unfolded. We still had the dwarven attendants with us, but Zaira had said we’d be leaving them behind soon. They’d return to their homes in one of the cities without us. I supposed they’d be taking word back to the high council about what had happened to Lord Sharma. The best laid plans and all that …

Blake sat on a fallen root, one boot propped up as he stared into the fire. He looked tired. I knew he’d learned to leash the dragon that lived under his skin. I knew they were now forever one and the same. But I still worried about him. Hawl sat on a rock opposite Blake. The bear whittled something with a knife that looked too small for their paws. I watched it take shape until it formed a ball. Fascinated, I watched them hold the ball in one paw, then lift it into the air and toss it. There was an immediate response from Neville. The fluffin rushed forward, yapping with hysterical eagerness. He dove to where the ball had landed, yapped louder as the ball rolled off the ledge of rock and into the foliage below, and then plunged down to fetch it, barking madly the entire time.

Hawl’s laugh boomed out across the cavern. “So the little pup does play fetch.”

Blake’s eyebrows went up. “You know, I never thought to give the little guy a ball.”

“A missed opportunity, to be sure,” Hawl rumbled, as Neville scampered back up onto the ledge, the wooden ball gripped firmly in his mouth. Hawl reached for the ball, but Neville shied away. “Oh, it’s like that now, is it, little one? Come, you must give me the ball,” Hawl gently encouraged. “Or I cannot throw it again, and we cannot play.”

Neville dropped the ball, which looked rather wet and slobbery. Hawl reached for it. Neville grabbed it before Hawl could pick it up and raced away.

Visha laughed from where she was lounging against a tied-up bedroll just inside the opening of her tent. “I think Neville needs to learn the finer points of fetch.” Then her eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing?” She’d spoken to Kazmyn. He’d moved lazily toward Visha’s tent with his backpack in hand.

“I’m unpacking,” he said. “We’re sharing a tent.”

“We’re not fucking sharing a tent. Go and share with your sister. Or Rodriguez,” Visha snapped.

Kazmyn raised a brow. “But you are a highblood.”

Visha rolled her eyes. “Excellent observation. Yes, what of it?”

“And you do require blood to survive?” Kazmyn pointed out.

Visha’s face fell. “Fucking shit.”

“Did you bring any thralls with you?” Kazmyn inquired politely. He pretended to look around. “Or perhaps you just assumed that one of the dwarven attendants would acquiesce to your needs?”

Visha’s face flushed red. “Of course not.”

“Well, in that case, it seems to me you need a volunteer.”

Blake was cracking up. “Visha, did you seriously not think of this?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “No, I fucking did not. There were more important things to think of.” She glanced over to where Rodriguez had set up his tent. He was inside it now with Sankara.

The tent wasn’t moving so I assumed they were sleeping or cuddling. I didn’t really need to know. But clearly Visha had miscalculated somehow.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

There was a wicked gleam in Kazmyn’s eyes. “I’ve always wondered what a highblood bite would feel like. I’ve heard the feel of fangs can be … tantalizing.” He glanced at me with frank curiosity, and I felt myself blushing.