Page 86 of The Enemy to the Living
“Yes, this one,” Sorrel says. “We already have his mate’s wolf. Now we need his magic.”
Mate?
Mate?
I roar, almost pushing to my feet with the sudden anger that burns through me, but Sorrel only laughs and twists his hand, sending me to my knees again. “He’s passionate.”
“Did you come here to save your little wolf?” Celyn asks, eyes wide, playing the innocent. “Oh, that’s sweet.”
“Ever so,” Sorrel agrees. “Pointless, though.”
I pull my blessing close. I can’t push through their magic, but maybe I can use it to wake Paxton or Sparrow, get them out of here. Celyn and Sorrel fall into their own conversation—though I know their attention never truly wavers from me—and I form my magic into small tendrils, try to snake them out of the magic they’ve wrapped around me.
As soon as I do, I sense something familiar. Something I want.
Quinn’s wolf.
I don’t know how I can feel it, but I know his wolf is somewhere in this room. It can’t be further away. I cast my gaze about, looking for anything similar to what Spectra mentioned—a vase, a vial—but come up empty.
“Let’s get it done, then,” Celyn says. He tilts his head to one side, looking at me. “If we do this before sundown, we can stop your little mission before it starts, I imagine.”
“What?” I manage. I’m still reeling at the fact that Quinn’s wolf is somewhere in this room.
“You think we wouldn’t know you’d come for us?” Sorrel says. He snorts. “You did rather give it away immediately, didn’t you? But we’ve been waiting for you to come back. Watching which members of the Hunt returned to the city. Almost all of you are here now. All we’re missing…”
“The hunter,” Celyn says. His expression twists in distaste when he adds, “The fae.”
“If you can call them that,” Sorrel snorts.
Celyn shrugs. Moreau, I assume he means. Rook and Saide, too. Fuck, it’d be helpful if they were here. But no, it’s just me.And with a sinking feeling, I’m beginning to understand that’s not enough.
I clench my jaw until my teeth hurt. I promised Quinn I’d save him. Imeantit. And he’ll never know, because—
“Now you’re getting it,” Sorrel murmurs. He’s crouching next to me, expression awfully smug. “Your blessing and your mate’s wolf will be enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to help us slice through the veil, of course,” Sorrel says. He shrugs one shoulder when Celyn makes an affronted sound. “We tried with the other wolf. Our magic—high fae magic—and wolf magic. It failed. Oh, we cut a little way through, but there wasn’t quite enough.”
“But pack bonds and mating bonds are different. Theytiemagic together.” Celyn tilts his head, watching me.
I shake my own. “We don’t have a bond.”
“How would you know?” Sorrel says. “How would either of you know? A sad little wolf who gave up that part of himself. Another sad little wolf who’s scared of everything. How would you know whether you have a bond at all?”
We don’t. I’m certain we don’t.
It doesn’t matter. Sorrel stands again, and the gesture he makes this time is more complicated. Celyn does the same. The magic holding me never wavers, and for a moment I think—hope—that their plans have failed.
They haven’t. Their magic digs its hooks in, deep in my core, tearing at the blessing the Huntsman gave me. I cry out, swaying forwards.
“I don’t understand,” I snarl, trying whatever I can to keep my blessing where it belongs. “You have free rein here. Why would you want to open the veil?”
Sorrel throws his head back and laughs. “Why not? It seems like it will be fun. I can’t wait to watch your silly little Hunt running around trying to control the high fae.”
“Not to mention the Huntsman,” Celyn adds.
They pull again, their magic dragging my blessing from me, bit by bit. I press my hands against the dark wood floor, trying to push back, trying to convince the magic to slip like water through their grasp, but it just twists and turns and can’t break free.
