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“Weird? Don’t know that word. What’s it mean?”
She translated, tossing out synonyms. “Odd. Strange. Unusual.”
His grip on her wrist lightened.
Porch planks creaked as he hit his haunches next to her.
Truly remained still, every muscle tense, refusing to lessen her grip on the board. Her statement might’ve stopped his forward progress, but that didn’t mean the drag-and-tow wouldn’t start up again. Distrust combined with a healthy dose of prudence seemed the way to go, given the level of his commitment. He could be trying to trick her. Could be hoping she’d let down her guard. Could be deciding what seasonings to use before trussing her up and tossing her into a human-sized stew pot.
His odd hazel eyes met hers. “Well then, Oh-Exalted-One — open a door.”
Her stomach clenched. Bile touched the back of her throat.
She swallowed the burn, knowing she was in even bigger trouble now. Samarin wanted proof. And her magic was shot, winking out, barely sparking. The faint glow persisted, swimming around the edge of her mind, but she could hardly see it now. Blackness kept washing back in, rolling over the light, erasing the glow a little at a time.
Truly searched for it anyway. All she needed to do was —
A brilliant starburst broke across the backyard.
Like a welder’s rod sparking, magic zigzagged into sharp blue lines. A crack appeared in the open air. A doorframe took shape, hovering above the grass. Illumination streamed across the pathway, up the stairs, nearly blinding her.
Shrieking split the night, quieting cricket song.
The door slammed open.
Montrose sailed over the threshold. He landed with a thump. Arms and legs flailing, cursing like a drunken sailor, her former boss spun across the grass. Billowing like a sheet of gauze, wispy edges ofEcotonefloated out of the portal. Fresh air blew across the yard. Stride even, pace steady, a winged shadow approached from inside the breach. Truly held her breath as Westvane dipped his head beneath the curved lintel and stepped into Samarin’s backyard.
His boots touched down, flattening the grass.
Magic swirled inside her mind, heating her temples and…
The door swung shut. A gradual closing. Quiet and clean, absorbing all sound, a soft stirring sigh carried away on a warm wind.
Westvane caught sight of her. Her brows snapped together. An instant later, he snarled.
Samarin flinched. His hand spasmed around her wrist. Tearing her eyes off Westvane, she looked up at the man-beast. Startled by Westvane’s appearance, he remained motionless as fear drew his features taut. Color leeched from his complexion, turning the beautiful umber hue ash-gray.
“Thank God,” she whispered, sagging against the steps. “Thank God.”
Ignoring her thankfulness, Westvane raised a brow. “Got yourself into some trouble, princess?”
She ignored the sarcasm. Right then, at that precise moment, she didn’t care about his warped sense of humor. She was too grateful, so relieved to see him she wanted to hug him until his ribs cracked.
“A little,” she said, bumping down the steps on her backside.
His brows popped up.
“Okay, maybe more than just a little.”
“Figures.” His lips twitched as she collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Humor warmed the usual chill in his eyes.
An illusion, no doubt. A flight of fancy, the wild flickering of her imagination. How did she know? The warmth in his gaze didn’t last.
Ice cold, the chill came back, leaving a cruel expression in its place as his attention shifted to Samarin. Dark eyes flat with the threat of violence, Westvane tilted his head, the viciousness he conveyed so profound Truly shivered in reaction. No need to translate. Things were about to get messy in a very unpleasant way.
Rolling his shoulders, Westvane resettled his wings.
Hooves clattering, Samarin scrambled to his feet. He raised his hands, palms up, and stepped back, distancing himself from her. “She belongs to you?”
