Prologue - Sam

Fifteen years ago…

The rain has soaked through to my skin, but that's not why I'm shaking.

I can't pull magic to warm myself anymore.

I stand in a shop doorway, wrapping my arms around my chest. The jacket I dragged on in the midst of the fighting isn't made for this weather, but it's all I've got. My hair is plastered to my skull, and my stomach rumbles, cramping painfully.

I've been in London for three days, which means my parents died five days ago.

It means I made it to the Lytton estate four days ago, where I—

I press a hand to my mouth, forcing the memory back. I have to… I have to do something. For all the training I've had, I should be prepared for this.

A deep breath helps pull together some of my scattered thoughts. Okay. First of all, no magic. If I try it again, it'll burn through me. I know it.

Immediate concerns? Water. Food. Warmth. Maybe that's not the right order, but I don't care. It's easier to keep the memories at bay if I have a task to focus on.

Besides, I'm a sitting duck out here. I can't be the only one to have survived. If nothing else, Jasper's probably out there somewhere, causing more trouble.

I square my shoulders and step out onto the street. It's not late, but it's dark already, and although I can't pull on my magic, I can feel the faintest hints of it from others as I dart through the crowds.

Witch magic, I think, my lip curling back in disdain. Though maybe I'm not one to judge. Witches didn't cause all the shit I've just been through.

No, that was all down to Jasper.

I cross the road and go to turn down another street when something catches my attention. There's a narrow, shabby-looking shop squeezed between two buildings, and I stare at it for a moment before I take a few cautious steps closer.

It's no more powerful than a handful of other places I've sensed over the last few days. Hell, I even went over to the vampire clan house, spent a night debating whether it might be worth offering myself up as a donor in exchange for some protection.

Decided against that, though. Best-case scenario, they'd turn me back over to whatever mage they could find—they can't run the risk of ending up with all their vampires addicted to fae-blessed blood.

That's not accounting for my age, either. I pause at the edge of the shop's window and take a peek inside. I can't see anyone, but the space looks cluttered, every surface covered in things witches need to do their spell work. The lights are on, and the sign says the place is open, but I walk past, pausing only when I reach a spot I can hide in.

The wind blows, and cold seeps into my bones. I clench my jaw when my teeth start to chatter. No, the vampires will be no help to me. I've never met a wolf in my life, either, so the packs are out too.

And the hunters… The grief in my chest burns hot with anger. Hunters. Hunters of what? We're supposed to be on the same side, but not a single one came to our aid.

My father had always told me that the Wild Hunt were there for that. They protect us—all of us—from the wiles of the fae.

I growl and squeeze my arms tighter around myself.

Yeah, that was a fucking lie.

I don't know how long I wait before I approach the shop again. The sign still says open , but the other buildings on this street are dark, and there's no one walking along it. I bite the inside of my cheek. Can't reach out with magic, but what if I risk going inside and I'm wrong?

Well, that's it, isn't it?

And maybe it's all I deserve.

I open the door and walk into the shop.

The wall of heat that hits me makes my knees weak. I close the door and lean back against it. Why am I breathing so fast? My heart pounds against my chest, and I feel lightheaded, dizzy…

"You poor thing," a woman says, and my eyes shoot open.

When did I close them?

She stands in the entryway to another room, and backlit as she is, I can't make out her features. I think she's probably my mum's age, though I can already see the two women are nothing alike.

Were nothing alike.

She takes a step forward, but when I press myself against the door, she stops. "You're safe here, you know," she says.

I can't help the scowl I give her. She has to know what's happened and she's just—

"Safe?" I repeat. My voice comes out high, on the verge of panic. "How can I be safe in a witch's den?"

The woman tilts her head to one side, and when she takes a step forward this time, she's not cautious about it. There's a sharp anger to her movements instead.

"I know you've been through a lot, boy, but that's no excuse to be rude."

Heat floods my cheeks, but I keep my stubborn chin high. She's right, even if I'm not going to admit it. Dad was always telling me that. Just because Jasper says something, it doesn't mean you have to repeat it.

I'd stopped calling the other kids witches—just to rile them up—when Cassian had started coming around. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. He was everything I wanted to be.

Well, except for the part where he was Jasper's best friend. I guess that's not true anymore, either.

"You should come in and get warm," the woman says. She's closer now, and part of me is alarmed, sure, but I'm just so tired. "When did you last eat?"

I shrug. More than five days ago, for certain. When her hand touches my arm, I flinch, but she tightens her grip, and I don't pull away.

I'm not sure how she gets me into the back room, but I blink and I'm there, and I blink again and there's a steaming cup of tea and a plate of toast before me.

I frown down at it before I eye her suspiciously.

She sighs. "You want me to try it, first?"

I can see her more clearly here, and I know I was right about her age. Her light brown hair is tied back, some wisps having escaped, framing round cheeks. Her eyes are tired, though they spark with anger when she looks me over.

I get the feeling it isn't directed at me. Not entirely.

"No," I mutter and drink the tea first. I'm careful to go slow; though I've been lucky enough to get my hands on water here and there, I know I've not had enough.

She watches me intently as I finish the drink and eat the toast with as much meticulous thoughtfulness. Heat crawls up my neck. I'm well-trained. I am. It's just that training never really covered what to do if your entire family and all your allies are killed, and you're the only one left, and you—

My stomach rolls and I jump to my feet. She points, and I make it to the toilet a second before everything I've just consumed leaves my body again.

I groan, and she appears with a glass of water, her expression sympathetic but not overly so. I decide I like that. I don't want pity.

"Up you get," she says and helps me to my feet. "Want to try that again?"

The next time, I keep it down. The witch takes the plate away and washes it in the little sink. I keep my back rigid in the chair, not liking the way my eyes want to fall shut.

"You're welcome to stay the night here," she says, her back still to me.

I don't like that, either. Doesn't she know I could be a threat?

"I have somewhere to stay," I lie.

She hums thoughtfully. I hear water drain from the sink and she turns, resting her back against it.

"Well, if you didn't want to travel all that way to wherever you're headed…" She smiles faintly. Something haunts her eyes, and I don't think it has to do with me at all. "I'm Pris, by the way."

I press my lips together, and she shakes her head. "No, I don't need your name. But I'm… I'm going to head out. There's a room upstairs if you did feel inclined to stay the night."

I glance at the small staircase in the corner of the room. "What's up there?"

"Storage, mostly," she replies. "But there's an airbed, too. I had a feeling I might need it tonight."

My gaze snaps back to her, and she shakes her head, holding her hands up in front of her. "I'm no seer," she says, and that haunted look returns. "You just… never know."

Makes sense, I suppose. There can't be many witch—magical shops in London. She has to have heard about what's happened.

Even with as insular as our families were, everyone will know the truth soon.

The mages have wiped each other out.

No.

The fae tricked us into wiping each other out.

She heads for the front of the shop, for the door, and I stand and follow her on clumsy legs. When Pris pauses, I stop, and she looks back at me with a questioning expression.

"I… Thank you," I manage. The words come out choked and rough, and she nods once.

"I'll see you in the morning, little mage," she says before she lets herself out into the night.

Four years later…

I don't know what I'm expecting when I bound into Rowan not unless she's planning on doing a spell.

She needs a moment.

I study Kieran, and it takes me a second to realise he's studying me right back. Something about his presence is almost enough to make me ignore the hunter, and though I should be annoyed that he's right —the hunter does scare me—I find that I'm not.

"You're Kieran," I say, and the corner of his mouth quirks.

"And you're Sam."

When I look up, the hunter is still eyeing me with something close to wariness.

Kieran tilts his head back, looking up at him. "You should go check on her."

"I'm not leaving you here if it's not safe."

"You're the one who insisted on bringing me here."

"Kieran—"

"Pax." Kieran sighs. "Check she's okay. Please?"

The hunter sniffs, scowls, turns on his heel, and leaves the room. Kieran seems alert, even with all his injuries, though I'm pretty sure his energy will crash soon.

I recognise the signs.

"Making dinner?" he asks.

I shrug. "If you like omelettes…"

"Sure."

Pushing away from the table, I flick the stove on again, all the while aware of Kieran's eyes on me. It's not… attraction. I'm very aware that I'm into guys, but even if Kieran is too, it's not about that.

My magic is trying to tell me something. I just don't know what it is.

"You going to be in London for a while?" I ask. An idea is forming in my head, and it's ridiculous, but it's also making the magic around me resonate, almost hum.

Kieran huffs a laugh. "Yeah, I think so. Not like I have anywhere else to go. You?"

"Eh, same," I say. The pan is hot, butter melted, so I pour in the eggs, then a generous helping of cheese.

"Why do you ask?"

I poke the eggs around the pan. It's not going to be my best omelette, but it'll do.

"I'm living with Pris at the moment, but I figured I might move out soon. Need a flatmate, though."

When I turn towards him, plated omelette in hand, Kieran eyes me speculatively. I already know he's human. My magic would sense a wolf, and I'm trained well enough to spot hunters. Fae or fae-blessed, it's all the same.

No, he's human.

But when I listen to my magic, sliding the plate in front of him, watching as he grimaces when he leans forward—showing just the tiniest hint of weakness he wouldn't show before the others—I wonder if he feels the same thing I do.

Connection.

He takes a bite, chews, and nods when he swallows. "Yeah, all right," he says. "Sounds like a plan."