Page 8 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

It was a canna cake.

She spun around, canna cake clutched to her chest as she searched amongst the trees.

She felt him before she saw him, the raw, ancient power that rolled from him just like the first time they’d met.

There.

The Fae stood watching her, arms folded as he stood beside his horse, his familiar green eyes visible even in the darkness.

Zylah’s voice came out in a whisper. “Holt.”

Chapter Four

Zylahstaggeredforwardsastep, and in less than a heartbeat Holt had closed the distance between them, pulling her into an embrace despite how wet and filthy she was. She threw her arms around his waist, leaning her weight against him as she fought back tears, a sob lodged in her throat.

“Hi,” she murmured into the hardness of his chest. He towered over her, strong arms enveloping her in his familiar scent—acani berries and a musky, earthiness that settled something inside her as she breathed him in.

Holt touched a hand gently to her hair, his chin resting against her head and Zylah willed herself not to cry. Not to break right there and then in front of him. The rain came down harder, but neither of them moved.

His voice was hoarse as he said, “Hi,” pulling her tighter for a heartbeat.

Zylah couldn’t speak. Could do nothing but stand there and let him hold her.

He eased back, one hand softly brushing her hair from her eyes, the other moving to her cheek, a muscle feathering in his jaw as his gaze settled on the wound the Wolf had inflicted. Zylah felt the warm tingle of his healing magic as it passed between them, knitting her split lip back together. “Come on, Little Bird, let’s get you inside.”

“You saw?” She punched his arm, instantly regretting it and clutching her hand against her chest.

Holt gave her a rare smile. Gods, she’d forgotten how beautiful he was. Even with the rain plastering his hair to his face, it was no wonder she’d thought him a god when they’d first met. She frowned, thoughts drifting to darker memories, and Holt’s smile faded.

He took her hand in his, more of his magic pouring from him as he healed her bruised knuckles.

“But aren’t you worried?” Zylah began.

“I’ve learnt a few tricks in the last few months,” he said quietly, releasing her fingers one by one.

Zylah’s brows pinched together again. “That’s why I couldn’t hear you.” And the magic… all magic left a trace. It was why Zylah had been too afraid to heal herself or to evanesce. But the last time she’d encountered a spell to conceal sound and scent, it had led to her capture. And if Holt had learnt that spell, maybe he’d learnt to conceal his magic, too.

He took the key she pulled from her pocket and opened the door, standing to one side in the rain to let her in. “I found the bounty hunter that took your brother.”

Zylah kicked off her boots, pressing a hand to her ribs and taking short, shallow breaths. It was her fault, all of it. She looked up at Holt and he caught her arm gently, pressing a hand lightly to her ribs to heal her broken bones. The sensation was strange but soothing, and she resisted the urge to lean into his touch, exhaustion pulling at her bones, mud caking her skin.

She peeled off her tunic, let it fall to the floor with a wet thwack. “I’m having a bath, and I want you to explain everything.”

“Neither of those things surprise me,” Holt said, gathering her tunic from the floor. “There’s hot water in the bath for you.”

Zylah didn’t need to ask him how. He’d explained once, precisely how he could call things to him in the same way they could evanesce to other locations, but Zylah had never quite managed it. And it wasn’t the first time he’d filled a bath with warm spring water for her.

She let the bathroom door fall shut behind her, leaning against the wood as a silent sob shook her shoulders. She’d been alone for so long, and it felt wrong to be happy about Holt’s arrival. To feel anything good.

Monster, a voice whispered in her thoughts. But there was worry there, too. Worry that she’d only draw him into her trouble.

Her reflection stared back at her from the partially steamed-over mirror, dark circles under her eyes, stark against her pale skin. Hair soaked through with rain and mud. But her face was unmarked. Holt must have healed her eye, too.

She unravelled the strips of cloth around her knuckles, peeled off the rest of her clothes, and stepped into the bath with a hiss. Everything still ached, but she pulled her knees to her chest out of habit. “Holt,” she called out.

“Can I get you anything?” His voice carried from the other side of the door almost immediately.

“Will you sit with me?” There was nowheretosit in her tiny bathroom. But she wanted his company. Needed it. Hadn’t realised how much she’d needed a friend these last few months. And she had questions—like what he was doing there and how he’d found her after all this time.

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