Page 87 of The Enemy to the Living
Whatever connection I felt to Quinn and his wolf is weakening, too. I grasp at it desperately, frantically trying at least to see where his wolf is—maybe I’ll survive long enough to tell Paxton, at least—but I see nothing. The twins pull again. I gasp my next breath.
Will I manage another?
Sorrel already believes he’s won. I can see it on his face. Celyn is more cautious, fingers of his free hand twitching as he pulls and pulls andpulls—
A dark shape smacks into Sorrel and sends him sprawling. I hear the crack of his head on the wood, and then Sparrow is on him, nothing human about them at all. They claw at Sorrel, tearing clothes, drawing blood. Celyn gasps, and there’s a brief, shining moment where the magic holding me weakens, and some of my blessing flows back in.
I don’t hesitate. I push to my feet, and I’m on Celyn within two steps. He’s not as fast. He’s not expecting my blade or the magic I’ve wrapped around it. I bury it in the side of his throat, the knife slicing through his skin with ease.
He gurgles. Blood spills from the wound, from his mouth, and when I pull the blade free, it erupts like a geyser, and he collapses to the floor.
Beneath Sparrow, Sorrel snarls. He pushes them away, but Paxton is on his feet now too, blessing at the ready. Sorrel looks at his twin and in the next instant, he’s gone.
My knees buckle. Sparrow catches me before I can fall, then drags me away from Celyn and the pool of blood steadily growing around him. Fuck. I hurt like I’ve been through the ringer—my blessing feels somehow tender, curling up in my chest.
“He’s in here,” I say.
“What?” Paxton’s eyes jerk from Celyn on the floor. “Quinn’s wolf?”
I nod. “Yeah. Somewhere. Felt him.”
“All right,” Sparrow says. Their magic reaches out and I try not to shiver as it passes over me. They’re not high fae, not even close, but they’re powerful in their own right and clearly vicious when necessary.
They circle the room, gradually narrowing in on a single area—one of the bookcases up against the back wall. “Over here,” they say, and Paxton hurries to join them. “Somewhere here.”
All books. I frown and lurch to my feet. Paxton moves aside when I reach them both, and I extend my hand, letting my fingers move from spine to spine.
He’s here. Each breath tells me that, my blessing peeking out like it knows, too, that our mate is close. I swallow around a lump in my throat. I’ll save him. Whatever happens after that is up to him, but I’m not going to let my mate die because I couldn’t find his fucking wolf in an empty room.
My blessing surges down one arm as my fingers touch a cloth spine. “Here.”
Sparrow gently nudges my hand aside and takes the book from the shelf. They frown as they do. “Heavy,” they mutter, then flip the book open.
It’s hollowed out and there—in the centre—is a small glass vial. It’s shining silver, so bright I almost look away, but I can’t bring myself to.
Sparrow licks their lips, looking nervous. “They used some of it,” they say. “Or took some of it.”
“Is that enough? Will he—Will they—”
“I think so,” Sparrow replies.
“Did they take some of your magic, too?” Paxton asks me.
I frown. Does my blessing feel smaller than before? Maybe. I don’t know how I’d tell. “Does it matter?”
“Not right now,” Paxton says. He holds out his hand and Sparrow shuts the book, handing it over. “Let’s get back to the pack house. We’ll deal with the rest later.”
I hardly notice the journey back. Sparrow supports me much of the way, though they’re clearly exhausted, too. Their glamour barely holds together as we make our way to the corner and wait for the taxi Paxton ordered to pick us up.
His phone is going crazy in his hand, but he doesn’t seem to care. Well, maybe that’s not true. He’s holding off. We all climb into the back of the car that pulls up, even if it’s too small for that, and Paxton presses up against me, the book still firmly in his hands.
“Sorry,” he murmurs as the car sets off. “I fucked up.”
“You didn’t.” It’s not his fault they were waiting for us. We all should have considered that. “I’m fine.”
Paxton shakes his head but drops it. I reach over and rest one hand on the book, and for a moment, I fancy I feel Quinn’s wolf brush up against me. Sparrow tips their head back against theheadrest, jaw clenched. The fight took it out of them, too. For all that it was over quickly, we’re all battered and bruised.
And Sorrel is still out there. Still free. Looking for vengeance, if I know anything about the fae.
