Chapter 10

Ten

Arion, Lord of the Summer Court, spins me around and slams me against the nearest wall. He towers over me, his scent everywhere. Like thistle and honeysuckle and something richer, darker, like rainwater soaking stone.

“You don’t get to know my secrets,” he says. “You don’t get to ask questions. You don’t—” He cuts himself off with a hiss of air between his teeth.

The smell of iron and burning flesh drives away the heady scent of fae lord.

“Put her down,” Sam says.

Sam has a tool in her hand that looks like a Swiss Army Knife. But this one is built for supernatural weapons. The tool flipped open is a small iron knife and Sam has it pressed to Arion’s throat.

Arion turns to her slowly. The blade pierces flesh and blood beads from the cut. “Careful, mortal,” he says.

Sam narrows her eyes. “I said, ‘ Put her down .’”

Arion’s fingers exert more pressure on my throat, breaking off my supply of air. My lungs burn. My ears are ringing. I may be fae, but I still have to breathe.

Sam turns the point of the blade against Arion’s jugular. “Try me.”

Smoke curls in the air between us before the fae lord finally relents and drops me. I sputter, sucking in air. He stands back and folds his hands behind him like this was all a minor misunderstanding.

When I’m able to fill my lungs with a full breath, I straighten and smooth over my shirt. When Bran finds out about this, and there’s no doubt he will, I will never hear the end of it.

But I’m determined to navigate this new terrain with some measure of autonomy. I love Bran and I know he’ll do everything in his power to protect me. I just need to prove to myself that I don’t always need him to save me.

“I am not your enemy,” I say.

“Does that make you an ally, faeling?” Arion tilts his head in consideration. “Allies do not dig for secrets they have not earned.”

Well, he has me there.

I rub at the sore spot of flesh beneath my jawline. “I needed to know what I was dealing with. You can’t blame me for that.”

He says nothing.

“So are you? An enemy or ally?” I ask.

“Once upon a time, you were an enemy,” he answers. “Now, it’s up for debate.”

It doesn’t escape me that he’s chosen his words carefully. Unlike me, the fae lord can’t lie.

“So tell me what you want.”

“I want to go home,” he admits, with little to no emotion on his face.

“And you think I can help you with that?”

“You were quite possibly the last fae to come through the gate before it was sealed. So yes, I do think you can.”

“And if I say no?”

The first hint of emotion filters into his eyes, making them glint. But I can’t tell what it means.

He takes a step closer and I take a step back, bumping into Sam. She still has her supernatural Swiss Army Knife open, the iron pointed at Arion. But he ignores it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Did I ask for permission?”

My stomach knots. “Are you insinuating you’d force me to help you?”

“I’m insinuating that I can take your blood with very little effort.”

Is that what will unlock the gate? Arion doesn’t seem like an idiot. If he thinks I’m the answer, he probably won’t give up so easily in testing out the theory.

“Have you forgotten I can literally use my voice to make you do whatever I want?” I counter.

His nostrils flare. His hands are still clasped behind his back, but his body has taken on a new level of alertness, as if he could snap my neck in the next second before I even notice he’s moved.

“Try it,” he challenges.

I snort and then open my mouth to say, “ Bark like a dog ,” except the second I take a breath to utter the words, a gale force wind shoots into the room. My eyes burn from the shift in pressure and several papers pull free of a bulletin board and fly around the room. I throw my arm up to shield my eyes.

Arion is standing in the center of the whirlwind, his hair lightly fluttering in the breeze. He’s watching me blankly, a little bored.

I try again to reach for my voice and give a command, but the wind kicks up, stealing all the oxygen from my lungs.

I turn around and Sam and I huddle together, shielding our eyes, trying to catch our breath.

When the wind dies down, paper flutters to the floor.

Arion hasn’t moved, but his point has been made.

My family might once have been considered an all-powerful enemy of the other fae courts, but I barely know anything at all about being powerful. He’s probably had several hundred years’ jump on me.

“Cooperate or don’t,” he says. “I don’t really care. If you accept our invitation for tonight, I’ll assume you chose our side and in that case, we’ll celebrate. If you don’t show up…” He tilts his head again and a lock of his dark hair falls over his forehead as he narrows his eyes at me. “Well, I know where to find you, now don’t I?”

And then he turns around and leaves.

I can’t go back to Duval House. Not yet. Bran probably isn’t up, but by the time he’s had his first drop of coffee later today, he’ll know what happened at the courthouse.

And because sometimes avoiding confrontation is better than, well , confronting , I decide to go back to my house.

Sam insists on coming with me.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her as I pull open the driver’s side door on the Bimmer.

She goes around to the passenger side and is in the seat before I’m behind the wheel. “I’m sure you will.” She buckles her seat belt. “But on the off chance you’re threatened again by a fae lord, it might behoove you to have me and my supernatural widget to save you.”

I sigh and settle into the driver’s seat. “Where did you get that thing, anyway?”

Sam props her elbow on the door rest and wrinkles her nose. “Cal.”

“Well, props to the Alpha,” I say and turn the engine over. “That little widget came in handy.”

“No props to him,” Sam practically snarls. “ Zero props.”

I let her have that one. She’s going to get enough push back from practically everyone when they find out she’s the Alpha’s fated mate.

When the news breaks, she’ll practically be a Midnight Harbor celebrity and everyone will be watching what she does, what she says, how she dresses and where she eats. They’ll be pressuring her to dish on the Alpha and hounding her to reveal her own private thoughts about him and their relationship.

As her best friend, I just need to let her hate him—for now.

We park in the driveway outside my house. I find the front door still locked, and when I turn the key in the deadbolt and the lock thunks open, I breathe out with a sigh.

It’s familiar, even if it’s silly, and it makes me suddenly miss everything that was before.

I kick off my shoes and trudge over to the couch and dramatically throw myself into the cushions. Sam sits at the other end, snagging the TV remote from the end table.

I yawn and let my eyes slip closed.

“Do you have to work today?” I ask sleepily.

“No.” Sam clicks on the TV and the room brightens with the glow. She scrolls through apps, landing on a streaming service.

“Will you stay with me all day?” I ask, feeling the exhaustion catch up to me.

“As long as I can,” she says.

I curl into my side and Sam grabs the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa and tosses it over me.

“Bran will show up around dusk,” I warn her.

“My widget has a stake too.”

I laugh and try to find a comfy spot on one of Kelly’s throw pillows.

“Don’t kill him,” I tell her.

“Just give him a warning poke, got it.”

The sleep tugs me down instantly.

When I wake hours later, the sun has set and Sam is no longer sitting at the other end of the sofa.

Bran Duval is.