Page 425 of Primal Bonds

“We’ll find him,” Fane murmured. “I promise.”

She nodded and pulled a dagger from her boot. Around her, knives appeared in the other fada’s hands as well. Dion gripped the bespelled dagger by its carved black handle. Even Fane had armed himself, and the man never carried a knife.

The barrier thinned slowly, almost imperceptibly. Olivia’s face grew taut with strain. Her arms began to shake, but the shimmering light never wavered.

“Now,” she said.

Cleia raised her own arms, calling on the sun’s power. Her palms glowed. She chanted an incantation, over and over. The heat intensified and fire danced over her body.

“Holy cat,” muttered Jace.

Mesmerized, Marjani stared into the unearthly fire along with everyone else. A warm breeze blew through the trees, tugging at their clothes, ruffling their hair.

Cleia gathered the fire, shaping it into a white-hot ball and flinging it at the portal. The ball stuck in the center as if it had been captured in a net.

“Fuck,” whispered one of the sun fae men.

Marjani clenched the dagger.

“Steady.” Dion set a hand on the small of Cleia’s back. “You can do it.” The fire danced over him as well, as he somehow aided her to control the energy.

“Yes,” Cleia whispered. The ball brightened until the light was unbearable to look at.

Marjani averted her gaze. A sizzle and a pop, and suddenly, the light was gone.

Cleia lowered her hands, chest working.

Dion rubbed her back. “You’re okay?” he asked anxiously.

“Go,” Olivia hissed. “Before they realize we’re here.”

“Yes.” Cleia gave Dion a small push. “Go. Olivia can only hold the portal open for an hour, maybe less.”

He glanced from his mate to the opening, clearly torn, and then sprang after Rui and Tiago, who had already slipped into the night fae compound.

Lurching into motion, Marjani followed him through the portal along with Jace and Fane.

Chapter 42

The hours until midnight passed with agonizing slowness.

Olivier showed Adric to a large, comfortable apartment, but refused to answer any questions before locking him inside.

By then he was lightheaded from the iron poisoning his blood. He found salt in the kitchen, peeled off his shirt and cleansed the wounds as best as he could. The burns on his hands and arms had almost healed, but the knife wound on his chest seared like a red-hot brand. The salt solution burned almost as much as the iron itself, but he grit his teeth and rinsed the cut flesh repeatedly, then pulsed healing energy into it until the wound scabbed over.

He paced into the living room and sank onto a pricey antique couch.

Thrice-damned, fucking fae.

Langdon’s sick bastard of a son had pushed Adric until he had no choice but to fight back—and the prince had the balls to blame him?

Worse, Marjani wasn’t any safer from Langdon than she’d been before this all started, and now Rosana was enmeshed in this fucked-up mess, too.

His mate.

His claws pricked out. With a snarl, he slashed them through the couch’s blue velvet cushions, sending stuffing flying around him.

Kill, hissed the cat.

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