Zev knew he was in deep shit before he even opened his eyes. 

Whatever Yuri had done, it had dragged him back to Veridia. He felt the magic in the air, pressing against his skin. A particular kind of magic that was at once familiar and oppressive. 

This was Night Court territory. 

Zev took one brief moment to look at the street around him, spotting unremarkable buildings. For a second he found himself hoping he’d landed in one of the small towns on the outskirts of the territory, but then a horse-drawn carriage thundered past him and when he followed it with his gaze, he spotted obsidian spires in the distance. 

The palace.

It wasn’t distant enough. 

Zev cursed under his breath.

He couldn’t be caught here. They’d execute him for treason—or worse.

Without conscious thought, he drew on his magic to strengthen his glamour, turning his violet eyes to an unremarkable brown as he stepped into the shadow of a doorway. 

Just in time.

Two Court guards passed his hiding spot, wearing pristine black uniforms and the crest of the Night Church. 

Zev held perfectly still, though his muscles screamed to move. To slit their throats. To punish them for their crimes.

This court had killed Rhys. 

They’d kill him too, given the chance. 

Zev needed to get out of here before he did something stupid. 

The guards rounded the corner, voices fading. 

Zev waited three more breaths before moving down the street in the opposite direction. He needed different clothes. Money. Transportation to get as far away from here as possible as quickly as possible.

A market square opened up ahead, filled with the usual bustle of mid-day activity. Merchants called their wares, the smell of fresh bread and roasted meat wafting through the air. 

It was a perfect hunting ground.

Still, Zev surpressed a sigh. 

He hadn’t lowered himself to the level of  common thieves since he was an adolescent. Back then he’d thought it was a fun challenge to rid nobles of their goods. 

Other nobles.

The thought rankled and Zev shoved it aside.

He knew what he had to do. No point grumbling about it. 

He kept to the edges, watching, picking his targets.

A well-dressed merchant turned away from his stall to argue with a customer. His coin purse hung temptingly from his belt. Zev drifted closer, timing his path to intersect just as the argument reached its peak.

“These prices are obscene!” The customer’s voice rose.

“The quality speaks for itself.” The merchant gestured wildly. “I got these lutes straight from the Siren Queendom!”

Zev bumped into the merchant, apologized profusely, and walked away with the coin purse tucked into his sleeve. 

The weight felt promising.

His next target presented itself at a clothing stall. While the merchant helped a fussy noble with her selections, Zev’s fingers found a dark traveling cloak and a plain shirt. He bundled them against his chest as if he’d just purchased them.

The tavern across the square caught his eye—The Crow’s Rest. It looked like just the place he could slip into for a quick meal and some juicy tidbits of town gossip.

It would be interesting to find out what had happened in Veridia during his absence.

He slipped into a narrow alley to change. The new clothes fit well enough, and the cloak’s hood would help hide his face. He counted the stolen coins—enough for a meal and information, if he played this right.

The tavern’s warmth hit him as he entered. A few early patrons hunched over their drinks, while a pair of merchants conducted business in the corner. Zev chose a seat where he could watch both the door and hear the merchants’ conversation.

He’d figured they might be talking about trade deals or maybe their next destination, but instead Zev heard something that made him forget about securing a way out of the city. 

“They say,” a fat merchant said, “he appeared right in the middle of the Prince’s breakfast.”

“Appeared?” the man’s gangly friend leaned in. “How?”

“It was like teleportation magic. One moment our esteemed Prince was eating his eggs, the next this human crashes onto the table. Tall fellow, tanned skin, walks with a limp. Started demanding to know where he was, if you can believe it.”

The gangly man laughed. “What did the Prince do?”

“What do you think? Locked him up until they figure out how he got in. Though Marina says he’s been oddly polite about it. Even gave the human his own suite instead of the dungeons.”

Zev’s chest tightened. 

He had the worst suspicion he knew the human who’d ended up in the palace. 

It had to be Malik.

Gods be damned.

Staring down at the table, Zev considered his option. The smart move would be for him to leave anyway. The Court had no immediate reason to harm a human who’d appeared by accident. Malik would probably be fine.

Probably.

No, Zev could not convince himself of that. 

He’d experienced the cruelty of the court first-hand.

Still… Did that mean it was Zev’s responsibility to rescue the human from his fate?

It was, wasn’t it?

If only because he and the human had been working together before they were transported here, and Zev had decided long ago that he would not abandon his friends. His allies. 

He had precious few of those in any world.

And so Zev left the tavern and made his way toward the palace.

The ancient building rose before him, a masterpiece of obsidian and shadow-glass. He’d spent years in those halls, learning to kill with blade and magic. Learning to obey—the prince, the Court, and most of all, his family.

He’d left that life behind, but his memories of it served him well.

Guard rotations wouldn’t have changed – the Court clung to tradition like a dying man to life. Eight minutes between patrols on the east wall. Seven on the north. Patterns he’d memorized so long ago they felt carved into his bones.

He flowed from shadow to shadow, timing his movements in ways that had been drilled into him since he’d first started to walk. 

If he didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t be seen.

But the guards’ gazes weren’t all he had to content with.

The palace wards tingled against his skin, recognizing old blood. He held his breath, waiting to see if they would raise the alarm. But the magic settled, remembering him as one of its own despite his years away.

Zev did not belong here anymore, but he did not let that thought stop him.

Up the wall. Across the roof. Down to a window he knew would give him a view into the guest wing. He pressed against the stone, peering through darkened glass into a well-appointed sitting room.

Malik was there, seated at an ornate table, reaching for a goblet.

Not a good idea.

Zev pressed his palm against the glass, reaching for the wards with his magic. The window latch clicked open.

Silent as a whisper, Zev slipped inside, crossed the room in three strides, and knocked the goblet from Malik’s hand. Wine splashed across white tablecloth.

“What the—” Malik jerked back, then his eyes widened. “Zev?”

“Keep your voice down,” Zev hissed. “And don’t eat or drink anything they give you.”

“What’s happening? Can you get us out of here?”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Multiple sets, moving with purpose.

Zev’s mind raced. He could slip away as easily as he’d gotten in—but Malik? The wards would tear him apart. Running now would mean leaving him behind.

Zev had to make a decision, and fast.

One second he took in the layout of the room, the next, he dashed for a heavy wardrobe, slipping inside just as the door opened.

“Ah, you haven’t touched your food.” 

That voice…

No, it couldn’t be. 

A cold shiver trickled down Zev’s spine. He’d expected guards or maybe some lower ranking officer to check on Malik. 

He hadn’t expected Lord Darius vel Nacht. Head of the Noble House of Night.

His father.

Zev’s throat closed. Lord Darius’s boots clicked against the floor as he approached the table. Even without seeing him, Zev could picture every detail—the perfect posture, the way his fingers would trail across the table’s surface, the calculating look in the violet eyes Zev had inherited from him.

“I’m not very hungry,” Malik said.

“Come now. It would be terribly rude to refuse such hospitality.” A chair scraped. “Especially when we have so much to discuss.”

“What do we have to discuss?” Malik sounded like he didn’t want to have any kind of conversation with Darius. 

Smart man. 

The night fae lord was best avoided at all cost.

“I heard the most curious thing.” Zev’s father’s voice carried the practiced lightness of a predator toying with prey. “You mentioned traveling with my son.”

“Your son?” Malik’s chair creaked.

“Zevran. Though I suppose he wouldn’t have mentioned me.” A soft laugh. “We had something of a… falling out. It pains me that we haven’t been able to make amends.”

In the wardrobe, Zev’s fingers curled into fists. 

A falling out…

That was certainly one way to call it. 

“I don’t know where Zev is now.” Malik’s voice sounded impressively steady. Zev couldn’t see the human’s face, but he hoped it betrayed nothing.

Zev did not want to have a chat with his old man today.

Or ever.

Darius’s boots clicked against the floor. “But surely you can tell me where you were before? I’d be grateful for any news of my wayward child.”

“Another world.” Malik’s voice hardened. “I didn’t mean to come here.”

“How fascinating. How did you come here? Crashing through our wards like that? That was powerful magic.” A pause. “Nothing a human like you could wield.”

“It was a Barrier Keeper’s magic.” 

“A Barrier Keeper?” Darius did not seem to believe it, and though Zev hated the man, he couldn’t blame him. If he hadn’t seen the keepers with his own eyes he migth still believe their existance to be rooted in myth as well. 

“It’s the truth,” Malik insisted. “I’m not from here, and I don’t wish to stay here.”

“That’s the only thing you’ve said so far that sounds like the truth.”

“I haven’t told a single lie.”

“Humans are always lying,” Lord Darius said. “Fortunately I know how to push them toward the truth.”

Zev’s nails dug into the skin of his palms. This was not good. He knew exactly what his father’s ‘pushing’ would look like. The man was threatening torture of the sort only a night fae could inflict. 

He would slip into Malik’s dreams and trap him there. Inside his dreams, Malik could not die, but that wasn’t a source of comfort. It was a source of horror. Darius would not have to be careful not to inflict lasting harm. He could cut into Malik’s skin and slash his organs a hundred times, and while the damage would not be real, the pain would be. 

And then he could restore Malik’s body and do it all over again. 

Zev had been subjected to that experience himself. ‘Disciplinary actions’ when he was young and not yet strong enough to push other fae out of his dreams.

He never wanted to go through that again.

He didn’t want Malik to go through it either. 

“I’m not lying,” Malik said. 

“We shall see about that.” Darius didn’t sound the least bit convinced. “Come with me.” His voice carried the kind of authority that expected instant obedience. “We’ll continue this conversation somewhere more… suitable.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“That wasn’t a request.” 

This was bad. If Darius took Malik somewhere else… How could Zev help him? 

“Guards.” Darius’s voice rose. “Escort our guest to the east wing.”

Oh damn it all. 

The wardrobe door swung open. 

“Pick on someone your own size, Father.” Zev stepped out, violet eyes blazing as he dropped his glamour. 

Darius didn’t even blink. No surprise crossed his features, just that same cold smile that had haunted Zev’s nightmares for decades. “Ah, there you are. I was wondering how long you’d hide in that wardrobe.” His father’s fingers traced the rim of a wine glass he’d picked up. “The wards sang when you touched them. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Zev’s stomach dropped. Of course someone would have been monitoring the wards after a strange human crash-landed on the prince’s breakfast table.

The whole time he’d cowered in that wardrobe, his father had been baiting him. 

“Though I must say,” Darius continued, “your choice of hiding spot lacks imagination. You used to be more creative.”

More guards filed into the room, blocking the exits. Zev’s gaze darted between them, counting weapons, assessing threats. 

Darius’s smile widened. “Welcome home, son.”

---

Zev’s fingers twitched toward the knife hidden in his sleeve. Six guards, all armed. His father, who’d taught him every trick he knew. The odds sucked, but he’d faced worse.

“I’d rather die than call this place home again.” Zev’s voice carried the chill of a winter night.

Darius sighed, setting down his wine glass. “Always so dramatic.” He gestured to the guards. “Take them both.”

Zev moved. Two throwing knives found guard throats before anyone could blink. As they fell, he drew the curved dagger from his boot and slashed through the third guard’s sword hand.

“Get behind me,” he snapped at Malik.

Two guards rushed him from opposite sides. Zev flowed between them like liquid shadow, his blade opening the throat of one while he kicked the other’s knee backward with a sickening crack.

A blade whistled past his ear. Zev spun, parrying the strike and countering with a thrust that slipped beneath the guard’s ribs. Blood sprayed. Someone grabbed him from behind—amateur mistake. He drove his elbow back, following with a backwards thrust of his dagger.

But he’d lost track of his father.

Magic crackled through the air—dark and familiar. Shadows writhed across the floor, wrapping around Zev’s ankles.

“Enough.” Darius’s voice cut through the chaos. “This is tiresome.”

Zev twisted, trying to break free of the shadow bonds, but they only tightened. This wasn’t the kind of hold he could shake off through physical strength, but his magic was too weak. He hadn’t fed on nightmares since before leaving Veridia. 

“What’s wrong?” Darius’s lips curved. “Can’t fight my magic? Have you been on a diet?”

“I don’t need your kind of power anymore,” Zev spat.

“No?” Darius circled him slowly. “Look how weak you’ve become. Relying on steel when you were born for so much more.” He paused. “I’ll help you reclaim your heritage.”

“I’d rather starve.”

“You’ll change your mind.” Darius gestured to the guards, one of whom was holding Malik. “Take them both to the east wing.”

* * *

Zev’s steps faltered as the guards dragged them through heavy obsidian doors. The air felt different here—heavier, charged with old magic that drained power from any prisoner who crossed the threshold.

His own magic dimmed further, leaving him feeling hollow.

The guards forced them into a circular chamber. Spelled chains bit into Zev’s wrists, binding him to the wall. Across the room, they pushed the human onto a narrow cot. 

“Excellent.” Darius produced a small vial filled with dark liquid. “Now, let’s get comfortable.”

“Don’t touch him.” Zev yanked against the chains.

“Behave, and I won’t have to.” Darius’s fingers curled around Malik’s jaw. “Open.”

Malik clenched his teeth—he wasn’t stupid—but Darius pinched his nose until the need to breathe forced his mouth open. The potion disappeared down his throat.

“There we go.” Darius stepped back, watching as Malik’s eyelids grew heavy. “Simple sleeping draught. Nothing to concern yourself with, son.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Such harsh words.” Darius settled into a chair between them. “I’m offering you a chance to come home. To remember who you are.”

“This was never home.”

“No? Then what was it?”

“A prison.” Zev’s chains rattled. “A place where you tried to shape me into your perfect weapon.”

“And succeeded, I’d say.” Darius’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How many died by your hand in service to the Court? Or have you convinced yourself that you’re free of sin?”

Zev hadn’t convinced himself of any such thing, but before he could argue, a soft whimper escaped Malik’s lips. The human’s fingers twitched against the cot.

“Oh, look at that.” Darius’s smile widened. “I don’t even have to give him nightmares. He’s making his own.” His fingers brushed through Malik’s hair. “Mm, it’s a good one. Have you fed on him, son?”

“No.” The word came out as a growl.

“I don’t know how you resisted.” Darius’s eyes gleamed. “I won’t.”

“Leave him alone!” Zev jerked against the shackles again.

“Or what?” Darius settled onto the edge of Malik’s cot. “You’re in no position to make threats.” His fingers traced down Malik’s temple. “Such delicious fear. Want to know what he’s dreaming about?”

Zev turned his face away, but he couldn’t block out Malik’s ragged breathing or his father’s words.

“Death.” Darius’s voice carried that familiar, cruel curiosity. “Loss. How ordinary. But the guilt…” He closed his eyes, savoring it like fine wine. “Now that’s extraordinary. He survived while others died. He thinks it’s his fault.” A soft laugh. “No wonder you like him. He’s as broken as you are.”

“I said don’t touch him.”

“I don’t have to listen to your commands because you’re powerless.” Darius’s gaze focused on him. “Look where your self-elected starvation has led you.” His fingers tightened in Malik’s hair and the human’s whimpers grew louder as Darius’s magic dug into his terror, sharpening it. 

“Stop it!” The shackles bit into Zev’s wrists as he pulled harder.

“You know how to make me stop.” Darius’s magic twisted deeper. Malik thrashed on the cot, a broken sound catching in his throat. “Just give in. Feed. Let me show you how strong you could be again.”

Zev’s starved magic stirred at the waves of terror rolling off Malik. His mouth watered.

If he just reached out…

No.

There was a reason he’d never fed on Malik. 

Though he had been tempted more than once. His father was right about one thing; Malik cooked up the most delicious dreams all by himself.

Darius’s voice softened. “You can feel it, can’t you? The power waiting to be claimed?” He stroked Malik’s cheek almost tenderly. “I won’t even make you hunt for it. Here’s your prey, helpless and afraid. All you have to do is take what’s offered.”

Malik’s curled in on himself. Tears leaked from beneath his closed eyelids.

Zev remained firm. “I won’t.” 

“Such noble restraint.” Darius rose from the cot, leaving Malik twitching in the grip of his nightmares. “But nobility won’t save him. You know what I’m capable of.” He approached Zev. “What I taught you to be capable of.”

“I won’t help you.”

“You will.” Darius stepped back. “Because every time you refuse, every time you cling to your pathetic moral high ground, I’ll be here. Feeding on his fear. Shaping his nightmares.” His smile turned razor-sharp. “How long before you break, watching me take what you deny yourself?”

“No,” Malik called out weakly. “No. Not Maya.”

Darius drifted back to Malik’s side. “What was that, little human?”

Malik shuddered under Darius’s touch. “No… should’ve been me…”

Something shifted in Darius’s expression. His eyes narrowed, and then a knowing smile spread across his face. “Ah.” He looked at Zev. “Now I understand why you won’t feed on him.” He traced a finger down Malik’s cheek. “This guilt, this certainty that he should have died instead of others—it reminds you of yourself, doesn’t it? After you ran away and left poor Rhys to die?”

Zev’s chest tightened. “Don’t say his name.”

“Such similar pain.” Darius’s voice dripped false sympathy. “Is that why you protect this human? Trying to save him when you couldn’t save your wolf?” He leaned closer to Malik, inhaling his fear like perfume. “Or are you afraid that tasting his guilt will make you remember your own?”

“You don’t know anything about it.” 

“Don’t I? I know you blamed yourself. Still do.” Darius straightened. “Just like this one thinks about his own dead loved ones. Is that what confused you into thinking you need to feel sympathy for a mere human?”

Zev refused to look at his father, looked at Malik instead. His whimpers had quieted to shallow, uneven breaths. The silence felt worse somehow.

“I’ll give you time to think about your choices. The potion I gave him will wear off in a few hours.” Darius moved toward the exit. “You know what you have to do if you want to get out of those chains.” The door closed behind him with a heavy thud.

Malik’s breathing hitched. 

His fear saturated the air still, rich and oh so tempting. 

Darius was right; Zev knew exactly what he had to do to gain the power to free himself from the chains that bound him. 

But he’d be playing into his father’s hands. Unleashing something inside of himself that would be difficult to contain, and his family would be right there to shape the hungry monster inside of him into whatever form they wanted.

It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Zev wouldn’t become what his family wanted him to be. Not after they’d killed Rhys. 

If that meant going hungry while he breathed in the scent of a delicious meal… so be it.

A broken sound escaped Malik’s throat, punctuating the silence between them, reminding Zev that once again, someone was suffering because of him. 

Zev closed his eyes. 

His father had been right about another thing. He was too familiar with Malik’s pain. It stirred memories in him that he was doing his best never to revisit. 

Another reason feeding on him would be a bad choice. 

He’d sate his hunger but his thirst for vengeance would grow unbearable. 

No, he could not feed on Malik.

But that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything he could do about his situation. 

Malik had been giving a sleep potion, not a nightmare potion. So if Zev could just get him to cut the crap, the noise would stop. 

He could share a dream without eating it, like putting food into his mouth without swallowing. Not the easiest feat to accomplish, dream-starved as he was, but he could do it. 

He was in control of his fae powers, not the other way around. 

He reached out with his magic, found the edges of Malik’s consciousness. Slipped inside.

Darkness. The screech of tires. Metal crumpling.

Raw grief slammed into him like a physical force—loss and guilt so thick he could barely breathe.

Something inside of him itched to feed on all that delicious terror. This was a five-star nightmare. A true quality meal. 

All he had to do was—

No.

Focus, Zev. 

* * *

Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The world spun in slow motion, making him dizzy, making him want to throw up. 

Malik knew what came next. He always knew, but he could never stop it.

Maya’s scream cut off. Mom’s hand, reaching back, went limp. Dad’s body slumped over the wheel.

The car rolled. Once. Twice.

Malik’s seatbelt dug into his chest. His leg twisted. Pain shot through him.

But he lived.

He always lived.

“Malik.” 

Someone called his name. Who? His brother? Malik tried to twist his head to look at his brother, but he was stuck, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t—

“Malik!” 

More insistent now, and that wasn’t [‘s voice. That was… That was…

“Snap out of this.” 

Malik’s eyes narrowed. He recognized that voice, but it didn’t make any sense for him to be hearing it right now. What was Zev doing on the highway? Could he help? “Zev?” he called. “Over here! Please help my mother. I think she’s hurt. And Maya. And—” 

The night fae came into view. Hands reached for him. 

“No, don’t help me.” Malik struggled against Zev’s grip as the fae tried to pull him from the wreckage. “Help my brother—he’s bleeding. Maya needs help. Mom’s not moving—”

“Stop fighting me.” Zev snapped as Malik clawed at his arm. “And hold still for a minute.”

“There’s no time!” Malik’s voice cracked. He could see the blood trickling down his brother’s face, could smell gasoline and burning rubber. “Please, they need help—”

Zev lifted him. “They don’t need help. They’re dead.”

Terror clawed up Malik’s throat. “No!” Why was the night fae saying such a horrible thing?

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be.

Zev carried him away from the car while Malik still tried to fight him. 

“No, go back,” Malik demanded. “Help them!”

Zev set him down on the asphalt. “Think, Malik. You know they’re dead.”

“No, they’re not dead. They’re right there.” Malik tried to turn back toward the car, but the words died in his throat.

The wreckage was gone.

Four granite headstones stood in its place, stark against a gray sky. Names and dates carved in cold stone.

No.

A sob ripped from Malik’s chest. “Why did I survive?”

“You’re dreaming, Malik.” Zev’s hands settled on his shoulders. “Stop wallowing in your grief.”

But Malik couldn’t tear his eyes from the headstones. Memories crashed over him—the funeral he’d attended in a wheelchair, coming home and picking up the pieces of Damir’s half finished puzzle from the coffee table. Mom’s wedding ring, cleaned of blood, placed in a velvet box. Dad’s reading glasses, folded on his nightstand where they’d never be picked up again.

“It should have been me.” The words spilled out, raw and bleeding. “Why was I left behind?”

“Stop.”

“If I hadn’t suggested—”

“I said stop.” 

“If we’d left a little later, if I hadn’t hurried them—”

Zev’s arms wrapped around him, cutting off the words. Malik’s face pressed against soft leather, and the tears he’d been fighting broke loose. His fingers clutched at Zev’s coat as grief ripped through him, fresh as the morning he’d woken up to the nurse telling him his survival was a miracle.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only feel the crushing weight of his ‘miracle’ pressing down on him.

Zev held him, silent and steady. No empty words of comfort. No platitudes about how it wasn’t his fault or how they wouldn’t want him to blame himself. Just the solid press of arms around him, anchoring him as the storm of grief raged.

Malik’s tears soaked through leather and fabric. His throat burned. His chest ached. 

Maya should be kicking ass at her dream job now. Damir should be married. Mom should be planning holiday dinners while Dad urged her not to spend too lavishly.

But they were gone, and he was here.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time felt strange here.

Finally, the sobs quieted to shuddering breaths. Malik’s fingers slowly unclenched from Zev’s coat.

He hadn’t broken down like that in years. At least, not in someone else’s presence. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out hoarse. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry,” he repeated. What had come over him?

What was happening?

Where were they?

Had Zev said he was dreaming? 

Malik studied Zev, whose expression was closed off. If the night fae felt any which way over Malik using him as a pillow to cry into, he didn’t show it. 

Malik inched away from him. He’d offered for Zev to feed on him before, but this wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind. This was mortifying. 

“You entered my dream?” Malik asked. 

“Your nightmare,” Zev corrected. “You were making it very hard not to.” 

That response did not help Malik’s feeling of mortification. “I’m… sorry?” he tried to apologize again. 

What the hell was going on?

He was still so confused. 

“My father gave you a sleeping potion.” 

Vaguely, Malik recalled something like that happening. “I landed in Veridia,” he remembered. “In the Night Court.” A sense of dread accompanied his words. He’d read all about the Night Court in the webnovel. He’d known it wasn’t a good place to end up in, and he’d been all by himself too. But then Zev had showed up in his room… and then Zev’s father. “He gave me nightmares?”

Zev shook his head. “He made you sleep but you created this nightmare all by yourself.”

Malik winced. 

But who wouldn’t have nightmares after getting captured like that?

The worst part was that he’d gotten Zev caught too. He remembered that now. “Did you free yourself?” He gave the fae warrior another once over. 

“Sadly no,” Zev admitted grudgingly. “But I needed you to stop having this nightmare because it was very distracting so I came to shake you out of it.”

Right. Zev hadn’t come to console him out of the goodness of his heart, of course not. Nevertheless, he’d come to help Malik. He’d let himself get caught for Malik too. That part, Malik truly was sorry about. 

He knew enough about the Court to understand why Zev had needed to leave this place with Knox.

“What are they going to do to us?” he asked, wondering if he even wanted to know the answer. 

“Whatever they think will break me fastest.” Zev looked away, his jaw tight. “My father wants me back in the fold, and you’re just a means to that end.”

The dreamscape around them shifted, the cemetery fading into mist. They now stood in a blank, gray space.

Malik tried to remember everything he knew about Zev’s backstory. His history, he corrected himself. Zev was not a fictional character, after all. 

“You said you’d rather be dead than call this place home again,” Malik mused. “Because of what they did to your—”

“Don’t even say it.” Zev’s voice sounded sharp. “I’ve had enough of this.”

Malik swallowed and shut up. 

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then Malik said, “The others will come for us.” 

At least he hoped that was true. Yuri had transported all of them here, hadn’t he? 

“We can’t count on that.”

“Knox and Lyrian wouldn’t abandon you to your family.”

“No, but they might have their own problems to deal with. We have to make our own plan.”

“What plan?” 

Zev glanced aside. “I don’t know. Until I do, we bide our time and survive.” His gaze narrowed. “The day will come that I will slid my father’s throat.”

His words were not accompanied by a lust for blood, which made them seem more like a definite plan than a quickly spoken threat. Zev knew he was going to kill that man one day.

Fae could not lie.

Malik felt like he should have been put off by the night fae’s killer intent, but he wasn’t. In fact, he appreciated that Zev wasn’t someone who would sit idly by while fate pushed him around. 

It added to the warrior’s attractiveness. Sure, the purple eyes and the horns and all those lean muscles didn’t hurt, but the way he could swing a sword without a second thought? That was what really sealed the deal for Malik. 

Not that the night fae would ever be attracted to him in return. 

Especially not now.

Malik had just cried all over him like a scared child. 

Not very attractive. 

In fact, right now Malik was the thing that dragged Zev down. It was for his sake that Zev had ended up in chains. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling the need to apologize again. “If you hadn’t tried to help me…”

“I don’t abandon my allies,” Zev cited his honor code. He didn’t seem particularly interested in shifting blame around. 

Malik nodded. “Thank you.” He looked around the gray dreamscape. “What happens when I wake up?”

“My father will continue to use you against me.” Zev’s expression hardened. “He’ll try to force me to feed on your fear, thinking it will awaken my hunger for more. Make me remember what it feels like to be a proper night fae.”

“Why don’t you?” Malik asked. “Feed on me, I mean. I’ve offered before.”

Zev’s fingers curled into fists. “Your nightmares aren’t the kind I’m interested in eating.”

Malik didn’t know whether or not that should offend him. His nightmares weren’t appetizing to Zev?

Well, fuck, Malik didn’t particularly like having them either. 

“My dreams would still strengthen your magic,” Malik argued. 

Zev shot him a look. “You’re talking about things you don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand?” 

“Your dreams would feed more than my magic. My father realizes that. That’s why he’s trying to tempt me to take a bite. I’ve worked hard to achieve my peace. You would shatter it.”

“What about my dreams… Oh.” Understanding dawned. Malik had nightmares about losing the people he loved. Of course Zev wouldn’t be untouched by that, after what had happened to his lover. “It’s because of…” He didn’t say more.

Zev had made it clear he didn’t want to talk about Rhys. 

They sat in silence for another short while. Then, Zev’s head snapped up.

“Wake up.” Zev’s voice turned harsh. “Now.”

“But—”

“Wake up!”

Malik jerked awake, gasping. The stone ceiling of their prison swam into focus above him. His eyes burned, face tight with dried tears. Across the room, Zev hung in his chains, watching him.

“Welcome back,” Zev said flatly.

Malik pushed himself upright, muscles stiff from the hard surface of the cot. His mouth felt dry, head pounding with the remnants of whatever potion he’d been forced to swallow.

“How long was I out?”

“Few hours.” Zev’s eyes flicked to the door. “They’re coming back.”

Malik pushed to his feet, swaying slightly before finding his balance. As quickly as he could, he approached Zev and tried to get him out of his chains. 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, realizing that it was no use. Hed’ never get these shackles off without the key. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Zev said. “I’ll get us out of here. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid like what?”

There was no more time for talking. 

The door to their torture chamber opened. Guards entered first, followed by Lord Darius, his elegant robes sweeping the floor.

“Well, well.” Darius smiled. He held a silver goblet in his hand. “Did you two have a nice chat while I was gone?” His gaze flicked between them. “Or perhaps something more? Did my son finally sample what you’re offering, human?”

Zev gave his father a look that could have turned water to ice in an instead. “Leave him alone.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Darius sighed. “Disappointing, but not surprising. My son always was stubborn about the wrong things.” He gestured to the guards. “Bring the human.”

Two guards advanced on Malik, seizing his arms.

“Where are you taking him?” Zev demanded.

Darius placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You don’t trust me with your pet? I’m wounded.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to him as long as you comply.”

“Comply with what?” 

Malik couldn’t hear whatever response Darius might give as the guards dragged him toward the door. Malik’s gaze remained on Zev. The fae’s expression was carefully blank, but Malik could see the tension in every line of his body.

“Don’t give them what they want,” Malik called to him.

The last thing he saw before they pulled him from the room was Zev’s face, eyes blazing with fury as the door slammed shut between them.

---

Zev’s chains clinked as he slumped against the wall. The sound of Malik being dragged away echoed in his ears, replaced now by his father’s measured breathing as Darius watched him, studying him like a specimen.

“Where are they taking him?” Zev wanted to know.

“To a secure room.” Darius approached slowly, the silver goblet still in his hand. “Where he’ll wait until we reach an agreement.”

Zev tested the chains once more, feeling the runes etched into the metal resist his weakened magic.

“There’s nothing to agree on.”

“No?” His father swirled the contents of the goblet. The smell of wine and blood filled the air between them. “Your situation would suggest otherwise.”

Darius crouched to bring his face level with Zev’s. “The Court has need of your particular talents again, son.”

“I’m not your son anymore.” Zev met his father’s gaze. “And not the Court’s assassin either.”

“Yet you could be.” Darius stepped closer, bringing the goblet to Zev’s lips. “Drink. We’ll discuss terms after you’ve regained your strength.”

Zev turned his head away. No way would he drink anything his father offered. “What terms? What do you want?”

“Your return to service.” Darius lowered the goblet, his smile thin. “Your return to the life you were born for.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then your human becomes the Court’s newest plaything.” Darius said it so matter-of-factly he might have been discussing the weather. “The Prince has developed quite an interest in him already.”

The blood in Zev’s veins turned to ice. He knew what the Prince’s “interest” meant.

“Malik has nothing to do with this.”

“True,” Darius agreed. “But he matters to you. That makes him useful.”

“I’ve only known him for a short time.”

“Then why did you risk capture to save him?” Darius’s smile widened. “You hid in a wardrobe like a child rather than leave him to face us alone.”

Zev had no answer that wouldn’t reveal too much.

“One assignment,” his father continued. “Prove your loyalty with one kill, and we can negotiate further terms.”

“One kill that will inevitably lead to more.”

“Perhaps.” Darius didn’t bother to dance around the truth. “But your human friend will remain unharmed while you serve. Refuse, and his suffering begins tonight.”

Zev’s fingers curled into fists above his head, chains rattling with his frustration. “Who do you want me to kill?”

“Someone who’s become a thorn in the Court’s side.” Darius raised the goblet again, pressing it against Zev’s lips. “The details can wait until you’ve agreed.”

Zev jerked his head away, wine spilling down his chin. “And after I complete this job?”

Darius wiped a drop of wine from Zev’s jaw with his thumb. “The human’s continued safety will depend on your continued service. Simple.”

Of course. Zev understood. His father was demanding open-ended servitude with Malik’s life as collateral.

“So I become your weapon again, killing whoever you point me at, for as long as I care about the human.”

“For as long as you care indeed.” Darius’ smile had something predatory to it. “It’s a better offer than you deserve, my treacherous son.”

Zev laughed, a harsh sound that held no joy. “It’s a terrible offer.”

“And what will you do about it?” Darius gestured to the chains. “You’re in no position to negotiate. Either accept the Court’s mercy or watch your friend suffer. Those are your choices.”

“The Court has no mercy to speak of.”

“Of course it does.” Darius lowered the goblet, seeing Zev wouldn’t drink. “Perhaps, in time, you might earn certain… freedoms.”

Meaningless promises. Zev knew what those freedoms would look like: a leash that would never be fully removed, a cage with slightly wider bars.

Darius moved toward the door. “I’ll return at dawn for your answer. If you’re wise, you’ll take my offer.” His eyes locked with Zev’s. “If not, the Prince will be happy to play with your human.”

The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving Zev alone with his thoughts.

His shoulders burned from the strain of the chains, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the weight of the choice before him. To serve the Court again, to kill in their name… He’d be breaking every promise he’d made to Rhys’s memory when he’d left this place.

But refusing meant condemning Malik to torment and death.

Rhys’s face flashed in his memory—laughing, alive, before the Court had killed him. Before Zev had failed to keep him safe.

If only Rhys was here now. If only Zev could ask his advice. He’d know what to do. 

His moral compass had never been broken the way Zev’s was. All Zev had was the honor code he’d made up for himself when he’d left this place, and it wasn’t helping him now. According to his code, he could neither abandon his ally, nor kill for his father.

In situations like this, it became apparent than his system was a poor substitute for that intrinsic knowledge other people seemed to have of what was right or wrong.

These days, even Knox seemed to be doing better at that than Zev.

What would Knox want him to do?

Let Malik die or kill someone else? 

No, he wouldn’t have to kill just one other person. He’d be killing countless people before his father was through with him, and he’d be losing himself in the process.

When he looked at the situation from that angle, the right answer became quite clear. 

Then why did it feel so wrong?

---

The guards marched Malik down a long corridor, their grip on his arms firm enough to bruise. He didn’t know where they were going, but they were entering a section of the palace different from the one he’d been in before. 

It seemed even more oppulent. 

Especially when they stopped in front of a large door that seemed carved out of silver. 

Malik looked at it and felt as if he’d swallowed a brick. 

Whose chamber was this? 

Did he want to know?

“May the shadows have mercy on you,” one of the guards said softly. 

“The prince rarely does.” The other chuckled, and then he knocked, three measured taps on the door.

“Enter,” called a voice from within—melodic and smooth as silk sliding over skin.

The doors swung open without being touched. The guards propelled Malik forward into a chamber with a ceiling so high Malik couldn’t see the end. Everything in it screamed ‘dark royalty’ in a way that made Malik himself want to scream. 

He knew exactly where he was and he only wished he were anywhere else. 

“Leave us,” the voice commanded.

The guards released Malik and backed out, relief evident in their hurried steps. 

Malik stood alone in the center of the room, fighting the urge to rub his arms where the guards had held him. 

Fighting also the urge to turn around and run. 

He knew he wouldn’t get far.

“So nice to see you again, human.”

Malik turned toward the voice.

The Prince of the Night Court stepped through a door to the side, and Malik’s breath caught in his throat.

He’d caught a glimpse of the man earlier, but he hadn’t had the time to take in what he was seeing. The prince was beautiful. Perfection carved from midnight, with features so flawless they seemed unnatural. His skin shimmered with an inner luminescence, as though he’d swallowed starlight. Hair like spilled ink fell past his shoulders. 

The Prince’s eyes, though—those were what really caught Malik. Completely black except for pupils of burning silver that seemed to see through flesh, through bone, straight into whatever made Malik himself.

Malik shuddered. He’d spent long nights reading about the prince and his capacity for casual cruelty. 

There were many villains featured in Monsters of Veridia, but Malik had always thought the Prince of the Night was the worst of them all. 

There was no speck of remorse, no sense of goodness within that creature. 

He claimed to dedicate his life to upholding the faith of the Church of the Night, but all he did, he did to while away the boredom of his immortal existence. He tortured the unbelievers not because he had to, not to teach anyone a lesson, not even because he believed it was the right thing to do, but simply because he thought it was entertaining. 

And now the prince’s lips curved into a smile as he looked at Malik. “You’re staring.”

“I apologize.” Malik tore his gaze away. 

“No need.” The Prince glided closer, flowing more than walking. “I’m accustomed to admiration.”

He circled Malik slowly, appraising him like a collector might examine a curious artifact. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

Malik swallowed. “Prince Ashelon.”

“How fascinating.” The Prince—Ashelon—reached out and traced one cold finger along Malik’s jaw. “A human who claims to be from another world who knows who I am.”

Malik fought the urge to recoil from the touch. The finger left a trail of ice on his skin, and something worse—a thin tendril of awareness that wasn’t his own, like a hook seeking purchase in his mind.

“You’re afraid,” Ashelon observed, his voice almost gentle. “But not in the way the other humans were. You know exactly what I am. How curious.”

The Prince’s finger traced a path from Malik’s jaw to his temple, lingering there. The cold penetrated deeper, a spiderweb of frost spreading through Malik’s thoughts.

“I can taste your knowledge,” Ashelon murmured. “It sits at the surface of your mind, half-formed and trembling. Tell me how you know me.”

Malik’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. The truth would sound insane, but lying to someone who could apparently touch his thoughts seemed equally foolish.

“In my world, there are stories about yours,” he managed. “About Veridia. The Courts. You.”

Ashelon’s silver pupils expanded slightly. “Stories? I’m flattered.” His hand slid to the back of Malik’s neck, gripping firmly. “What do these stories say about me?”

That you’re a monster who tortures people for fun, Malik thought, then immediately tried to push the thought away, terrified the Prince might pluck it from his mind.

Too late. Ashelon laughed, the sound strangely melodic. “How refreshingly honest.” His grip tightened painfully. “Most who think such things die before they can voice them.”

He released Malik and drifted toward an ornate chair that seemed to grow from the floor itself, shadows solidifying into black stone.

“These barriers between our worlds interest me greatly,” Ashelon said, settling into the chair. “They’re weakening. I can feel it.” He gestured lazily at the air. “Yesterday, half a village on the eastern border simply… disappeared. Replaced by a strange forest that wasn’t there before.”

Malik’s fear momentarily gave way to curiosity. “The barriers are failing here too?”

“Everywhere.” The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “But I think you knew that already.”

Malik chose his words carefully. “I know the barriers between our worlds are breaking down. I don’t know why.”

“Don’t you?” Ashelon’s smile returned, sharp as a blade. “I think you know much more than you’re admitting.” He extended a hand, shadows gathering at his fingertips. “Come closer.”

Malik’s feet moved against his will, dragging him forward until he stood directly before the Prince. Ashelon’s hand hovered near his face, not quite touching. 

“Lord Darius seems convinced his son will do anything to keep you safe,” Ashelon said conversationally. “I find myself curious about what makes you so special.”

The shadows reached out, caressing Malik’s cheek, slipping toward his ear. He jerked away instinctively.

“Please don’t.”

“Please?” Ashelon laughed again. “How delightful. Manners in the face of terror.” He leaned forward, his face inches from Malik’s. “I could slip into your mind fully, human. I could walk through your memories like rooms in a house, opening every door, examining every secret.” His breath smelled of winter and something metallic. “I could reshape your thoughts until you believed yourself to be my loyal pet.”

Malik’s heart hammered against his ribs. How was he supposed to respond to that? What could he do?

“It’s really too bad.” The prince leaned back. “I’ve promised Lord Darius he could use you as bargaining chip to bring his son back into the fold.” He stood, his body suddenly too close while Malik was still struggling to process what he was hearing. “Zevran likely thinks I’ll kill you.” One hand settled on Malik’s waist while the other brushed hair from his forehead with mock tenderness. “But the two of us would have so much fun before that.”

Malik couldn’t breathe. The hand at his waist felt like ice burning through his clothes.

The prince’s lips brushed Malik’s ear. “You would make a pretty toy. I could keep you alive for hundreds of years past your natural life span. Wouldn’t you like that?”

No, Malik would not. 

He didn’t want to spend another second with the prince, much less hundreds of years. 

But if the price for his safety was Zev’s surrender… Wasn’t that too steep a price to pay?

Beneath his terror, something else surfaced—determination. He wouldn’t be the reason Zev returned to a life that would destroy him.

“Just let Zev go and take me,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could reconsider.

Ashelon blinked, genuine surprise flickering across his perfect features. “What did you say?”

“Let Zev go free,” Malik continued, amazed his voice didn’t shake. “I’ll be… whatever you want. Your plaything. Your source of information about Earth. Anything.”

The Prince’s laugh was like ice cracking. “How noble.” His fingers traced Malik’s jawline. “And how very tempting.”

“Do we have a deal?” Malik pressed, trying to ignore how the Prince’s touch made his skin crawl.

“You’d sacrifice yourself for someone you barely know?” Ashelon’s silver pupils expanded, consuming the blackness of his eyes. “How fascinating humans are.” His lips quirked. “But I’m afraid it’s not that simple. I’ve made my deal with Lord Darius, and I have my own reasons for wanting to see how this plays out.”

The doors burst open without warning. A guard stood there, breathing hard. “Your Highness, forgive the interruption. The eastern border—it’s happening again.”

Ashelon’s face hardened. He released Malik abruptly, causing him to stumble backward.

“Put him in the blue chamber,” the Prince commanded. “And make sure he’s fed.”

As guards entered to seize Malik, Ashelon leaned in one last time, his voice pitched for Malik’s ears alone. “We’ll be together again soon enough.”

Then the Prince was gone, dissolving into shadow, and Malik found himself being dragged from the room, his skin still burning from the cold of the Prince’s touch and his mind reeling from what he’d learned.

The barriers were collapsing here too… and he found himself wishing he’d never crossed them.

---

Zev stared at the ceiling, hating how powerless he felt. Chains bit into his wrists, the spelled metal humming against his skin, rendering escape impossible.

Dawn approached. Soon his father would return for his answer.

The choice before him wasn’t really a choice at all. Return to service as the Court’s weapon or watch Malik suffer at the Prince’s hands. Zev had seen what Ashelon did to his playthings. None lasted long.

Malik didn’t deserve that fate. Not because of Zev.

And once Malik had been sacrificed, Zev’s family would find some other way to force him into compliance as long as he couldn’t escape, as long as he was weak. 

His stomach twisted with hunger, magic dormant within him, starving for the rich taste of nightmares. How long had it been since he’d properly fed? Not since before leaving Veridia. The scent of Malik’s fear still lingered in the chamber, a phantom sensation that made his mouth water even as his mind recoiled.

No. Focus.

Zev tested the chains again, magic pulsing weakly against the restraints. Useless. Without feeding, he couldn’t break free, couldn’t save Malik, couldn’t even save himself.

He’d have to make the deal.

The thought settled like poison in his veins. Return to what he’d been—the Night Court’s perfect weapon, the obedient son. The life he’d escaped once before.

But he’d escaped it before. That was the key.

Zev’s breathing steadied as the realization took root. He’d worn the mask of loyal assassin while plotting his freedom once. He could do it again. Let them believe he’d surrendered, bide his time, gather his strength.

Find a way out for both of them.

The chamber door creaked open. His time was up.

Lord Darius entered first, impeccably dressed in midnight blue, silver embroidery catching the torchlight. Two guards flanked him, faces impassive beneath their helmets. But it was the figure who glided in behind them that made Zev’s blood run cold.

Lady Morvena. The High Priestess of the Night Church. His grandmother.

She moved like shadow given form, her silver hair swept up in an elaborate crown of braids adorned with black pins sharp enough to kill. Her violet eyes—the same shade Zev had inherited—surveyed him with cool detachment. 

“Grandson.” Her voice carried the stillness of a winter night. “You’ve caused quite the commotion with your return.”

Even Darius seemed to diminish in her presence, taking a half-step back as she approached Zev. Old conditioning made Zev want to bow his head, to show proper deference to the matriarch. He resisted, meeting her gaze instead.

“I didn’t return by choice, Grandmother.”

Her lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. “Few choices in life are truly our own.” She gestured to Darius. “Your father tells me you’re considering a return to service.”

Zev glanced at his father, whose expression remained carefully neutral. He’d spent his childhood watching his father navigate the dangerous waters of his grandmother’s approval. Now Zev was doing the same.

“I’m considering it,” Zev said carefully.

Lady Morvena stepped closer, the scent of night-blooming flowers and something older, darker, surrounding her. From childhood, that scent had meant both safety and danger—the comfort of her occasional affection and the terror of her displeasure.

“The Court requires your skills, Zevran.” Her tone softened, nearly maternal. “The family needs you.”

“And what of what I need?” The words escaped before he could stop them.

Her eyes flashed with something between amusement and warning. “What you need, child, is to remember your place in the order of things.” She reached out, one cold finger tracing his jawline. “Have you made your decision?”

Zev met her gaze without flinching. “I have.”

“And?” His grandmother arched one perfect eyebrow.

“I’ll do what you ask.” 

A smile spread across his grandmother’s face, triumphant but not warm. “Good child. I knew you would see reason in the end.”

Zev lifted his chin. “But I have conditions.”

“Conditions?” Darius started, but Lady Morvena silenced him with a mere glance.

“Speak them,” she commanded Zev.

“After each assignment, I want to see Malik. I need to confirm he’s unharmed.”

Lady Morvena studied him for a long moment, her ancient eyes searching his face. “You would be wise not to grow even more attached to this human, Zevran.”

“I’m buying his safety with my service. I want to see what I’ve purchased. Is that not wise?”

His grandmother stepped closer, her power prickling against his skin like frost. “Very well. Complete your assignments to our satisfaction, and you may see your human. Fail us in any way…” She left the threat hanging, unnecessary to voice.

“I understand,” Zev said, the weight of his childhood obedience settling over him again like a familiar, suffocating cloak.

Lady Morvena nodded to the guards. “Release him.”

The guards hesitated, looking to Darius, who nodded his permission. They approached cautiously, unlocking the spelled chains with a series of clicks. The metal fell away, leaving red marks on Zev’s wrists that would fade within hours.

Zev rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness in his bones. Freedom, however temporary, felt like the first breath after drowning.

“Before you begin your assignment,” Lady Morvena said, “there is the matter of demonstrating your renewed loyalty.”

Zev’s jaw tightened. “I agreed to kill for you. Isn’t that demonstration enough?”

His grandmother’s smile chilled him to the bone. “Words are wind, Zevran. Even for fae. How can we let you walk out of this palace without knowing your resolve is true?”

“The Court has a prisoner awaiting execution,” Darius explained, stepping forward. “You will carry it out.”

“You raised me to be an assassin,” Zev challenged, gaze shifting between his father and grandmother. “Not an executioner.”

“We raised you to do as the family commands,” Lady Morvena corrected. “This prisoner shouldn’t trouble you. We’ve already caught and convicted them. Their life is forfeit.”

“Then why do I have to do it?” The question came out sharper than he intended.

His grandmother’s eyes narrowed. Zev half expected her to slap him with the back of her hand for his insolence as if he were still a child, but she didn’t.

“To show that you can follow our rules,” she said softly. The quieter her voice, the more dangerous she became. “To prove that your years away haven’t made you forget who you are. Who we are.”

Zev knew better than to push further. “Fine,” he said, the word clipped. “Let’s get this over with.”

Darius approached with a silver goblet, the same one from earlier. “Drink first. Regain your strength.”

The scent wafting from the goblet made Zev’s stomach clench with hunger—blood mixed with distilled terror, harvested from some poor soul in the dungeons. Once, he’d savored such concoctions.

“No,” Zev said, turning away. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“You’ll need your strength,” his father insisted.

Lady Morvena waved a dismissive hand. “If the boy wishes to suffer unnecessarily, that’s his choice.” Her eyes held something calculating. “Pride has always been his weakness.”

Pride wasn’t why Zev refused. He just couldn’t stomach accepting anything from them. They’d take any chance they got to turn him into something he didn’t want to be. 

They led him through corridors he’d once known better than his own reflection. Guards stepped aside, heads bowing to Lady Morvena first, then to Darius. Some looked at Zev with recognition, others with wariness. Word of his return had spread.

“The Court has missed your particular talents,” Lady Morvena said as they walked. “There have been… challenges since your departure.”

“Challenges?” Zev kept his tone neutral despite his curiosity.

“The barriers weakening,” Darius explained. “Strange things appearing where they shouldn’t. People disappearing.”

Zev thought of what Yuri had done, transporting them across worlds, but he kept his mouth shut. These two didn’t need to know what he’d been up to.

They descended a spiral staircase, the air growing colder with each step. The execution chambers lay beneath the palace, far from the elegant halls above. Few who entered these rooms ever left them.

“The prisoner has been most uncooperative,” Darius said. “Refusing to answer questions about their pack’s activities along our borders.”

Zev faltered mid-step. “Pack?”

His father smiled thinly. “Did I forget to mention? The prisoner is a werewolf.”

The word ran through Zev’s veins like ice. Werewolf. His lungs constricted, memories crashing through him with such force he nearly staggered.

Rhys laughing in the moonlight. Rhys’s fingers tangled in his hair. Rhys shifting forms in a blur of magic, running beside him through forest paths. Rhys bleeding out in the dirt while Zev was miles away, unable to save him.

“Is there a problem?” His father’s voice seemed to come from far away.

Zev couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. His father knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t just a test of loyalty—it was an act of deliberate cruelty, designed to break something inside him that had never fully healed.

Lady Morvena stepped closer, her cold fingers lifting Zev’s chin. “Your father asked you a question, Zevran.”

He forced himself to meet her gaze, fighting to keep his expression neutral even as bile rose in his throat. “You want me to kill a werewolf.”

“We want you to execute a criminal,” his grandmother corrected. “Their species is irrelevant.”

No. Nothing about this was irrelevant. They’d chosen this prisoner specifically, knowing what it would cost him.

“I can’t.” The words escaped before he could stop them.

Lady Morvena’s eyes narrowed to violet slits. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

“You know what you’re asking.” Zev’s voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“I’m asking you to choose,” she said, again in that dangerously soft tone of voice. There was no sympathy there. “Between your past and your future. Between sentiment and survival.” Her gaze hardened. “Between this werewolf and your human.”

There it was. The ultimatum laid bare.

Rhys was already dead. Nothing could bring him back. But Malik was alive, somewhere in this palace, depending on Zev to keep him that way.

“Find someone else for me to kill,” Zev said, a final, desperate attempt.

“There is no one else,” Darius replied. “This is the choice before you. Make it.”

Zev glared at the man who’d sired him. 

The man who’d raised him not to question what he was doing.

Now he wanted Zev to make a choice?

Ridiculous.

It had been Rhys who’d first taught him that he had choices. 

Something sharp and painful dug into his chest, making breathing difficult again.

“One day,” he said in a low tone of voice, “I’m going to kill both of you.”

That was his choice.

The words had barely left his mouth when Lady Morvena’s power slammed into him. Invisible force struck him like a battering ram, sending him sprawling across the hard stone floor. His head cracked against the ground, vision blurring as his grandmother loomed over him.

“Scrub those insolent thoughts from your brain,” she hissed, pressing her foot against his throat. The pressure wasn’t enough to choke him, just enough to remind him how easily she could. “But hold on to that bloodlust, child. It will serve you well.”

Her violet eyes blazed. “Get up. Your weakness disgusts me.”

She removed her foot, allowing him to stagger upright, blood trickling from where his head had struck the floor. Darius watched impassively, neither helping nor hindering, his expression unreadable.

That was the way it always was. No one said a word against the family matriarch. Not ever.

Zev didn’t speak again either, but he clutched his promise to himself to his heart. These two would die by his hand.

They reached the heavy iron door of the execution chamber. Runes of binding and silencing marked its surface, preventing magic from entering or leaving. Two guards stood at attention, stepping aside as Lady Morvena approached.

The door swung open.

Harsh white light spilled from within, illuminating a stark chamber with a stone floor sloped toward central drains. In the center stood a single occupant, chained to a post.

The werewolf was young—barely past adolescence—with features that echoed Rhys’s so strongly that Zev’s heart stuttered in his chest. The same defiant tilt of the chin. The same wild hair. Different coloring, different build, but enough similarities that Zev couldn’t look away.

Had his family gone out of their way to find someone who resembled his past lover or would Zev glimpse Rhys in every werewolf?

“Kill it quickly or slowly,” Lady Morvena said, “but kill it.”

Kill your silly feelings. 

She didn’t say it, but that was what they were asking of him.

Darius handed Zev a blade—his old blade, the one he’d left behind when he fled with Knox. The weight felt familiar in his hand, a perfect balance designed for his grip alone. An extension of himself. 

Zev approached the werewolf, whose eyes tracked his every move. No begging, no pleading. He knew his fate was sealed.

“Any last words?” Zev asked quietly.

The werewolf’s nostrils flared, scenting him. Recognition flickered in those eyes. “You’re the one who ran with my pack.” The young werewolf’s voice was rough from screaming. “The one who never smiled.”

The words sliced through Zev’s defenses. 

This wasn’t any random werewolf. He belonged to Rhys’s pack. Had probably sat by the fire while Zev and Rhys wandered away from it, falling into the shadow of the night to fall into each other. 

Zev’s blood froze in his veins. 

If Rhys could see him now…

Would he understand? Would he forgive Zev one more time?

Zev took a shuddering breath and pushed the thought down. He couldn’t be thinking about these things. Not if he wanted to do this. No, he didn’t want to do this. He needed to do this.

And he could.

He would.

With another breath, he emptied his mind, drawing on night fae instinct. On years of training. It was the only way he would get through this. 

He raised his blade. 

The werewolf met his gaze. “We considered you pack.”

Something shattered inside Zev then—the heart of the person he’d become after escaping the Court. The person who’d sworn never to kill for them again. The person who’d promised Rhys’s memory he would be better.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so quietly only the werewolf could hear.

The blade descended in a perfect arc, severing the carotid artery with an assassin’s precision. Blood sprayed across Zev’s face, hot and metallic. The werewolf’s eyes widened, then dimmed as life drained away in violent pulses.

It was over in seconds. A clean death. The only mercy Zev could offer.

He stood motionless, blade dripping at his side, as something vital inside him crumbled to ash. He couldn’t look away from those empty eyes, from the face that reminded him of everything he’d lost, everything he’d failed to protect.

Everything he’d betrayed.

“Excellent,” Lady Morvena’s voice broke the silence. “Not your prettiest kill, but you haven’t lost your touch.”

Zev didn’t respond. He didn’t wish to exchange another word with that woman unless he had to.

“Come,” his father said, placing a hand on Zev’s shoulder. “You’ve earned the right to see your human.”

Zev shrugged the man’s hand off, but he followed Lord Darius out of the room. He’d earned his reward, earned it by doing something he could never undo. 

And the worst part was, he knew he’d do it again tomorrow.

---

Blood never quite washed away like other stains.

Zev scrubbed his hands raw under the stream of icy water in the small washroom. No matter how many times he rinsed them, he still saw crimson beneath his fingernails—which was ridiculous. The way he’d carried out his kill, there shouldn’t be any blood under his fingernails.

But Zev couldn’t stop seeing it there anyway.

“You’re the one who ran with my pack.”

The memory sliced through his mental defenses. Zev shut his eyes, forcing it away. He couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t dwell on the young werewolf’s face, on how his eyes had dimmed as life drained away. On how much he’d looked like—

No.

Zev’s stomach churned. He bent over the basin, certain he would be sick, but nothing came. He’d emptied himself in a shadowed corner shortly after leaving the execution chamber, his father pretending not to notice the weakness.

The Night Court had always excelled at strategic blindness.

Rage coiled beneath his skin, warring with disgust. If Malik hadn’t been transported here, if Zev hadn’t felt compelled to save him…

Zev wouldn’t be back in his family’s clutches. He wouldn’t have another werewolf’s blood on his hands. He wouldn’t have just betrayed every promise he’d made to Rhys’s memory.

All because of a human who had no business being in Veridia in the first place.

The thought was poison, bitter and unfair, but Zev couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the resentment from flooding through him. Soon he would face Malik, and these emotions—this rage, this blame—they would spill out, toxic and venomous. 

Unless he found some way to get himself under control.

Zev stared at his reflection, at the violet eyes that marked his heritage. His glamour had fallen away without his notice. When had that happened? During the execution? After?

Did it matter?

He was returning to his true fae self, step by step, and maybe that was the solution to his problem.

Zev closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself, past the grief and rage, reached for his cold, empty core that had allowed him to be Veridia’s most deadly assassin for most of his life. 

Feel nothing. Be nothing. Want nothing.

The mantra was still familiar, still comforting. He did not have to handle all these damn feelings he wasn’t equipped to handle. 

Feel nothing. Be nothing. Want nothing.

He focused on his breath, on the emptiness between heartbeats. With each exhale, he pushed away a fragment of emotion—grief into the shadows, rage into the void, guilt into nothingness. He pulled darkness around his heart like armor.

Rhys would hate seeing him like this again. 

The thought was almost enough to break his focus.

But Rhys wasn’t here now. Rhys would never be here again, and Zev had no other way to stop himself from flying off the handle. 

When he opened his eyes again, his reflection showed a stranger. The glamour hadn’t returned—his violet eyes still gleamed—but something else had changed. His gaze was empty, devoid of the pain that had ravaged him moments before. His face settled into lines of cold indifference.

A sharp rap at the door signaled the guards’ arrival.

“Lord Zevran, your presence is requested in the blue chamber,” a muffled voice called.

“I’ll be right there,” Zev answered, his voice smooth and empty of emotion.

He straightened his borrowed clothes, squared his shoulders, and embraced the cold void within. By the time he reached the door, nothing of the broken creature who had scrubbed blood from his hands remained. 

The walk to the blue chamber felt endless. Guards flanked him, but Zev paid them no attention. He was focused only on himself, on each step he took and every one that followed. 

At the chamber door, he paused. Malik waited on the other side. The human whose life now depended on Zev’s willingness to become everything he once despised. The human who knew nothing of the price Zev had just paid for their continued survival.

* * *

The blue chamber lived up to its name. Sapphire drapes hung from ceiling to floor, casting the entire room in a submarine glow. Malik paced the perimeter for what felt like the hundredth time, running his fingers along the cool stone walls. The chamber was beautiful, with a mosaic depicting the night sky covering the ceiling, but it remained a prison.

Hours had passed since the Prince’s guards had deposited him here. They’d brought food—a platter of fruits and bread that Malik hadn’t touched, remembering Zev’s warning about Court hospitality. His stomach growled in protest, but hunger was preferable to whatever poison might be in the food.

The heavy door creaked, and Malik spun toward it. Relief flooded through him as he saw who came to visit him.

Zev!

He was alive. 

And unharmed, at least physically. 

The night fae warrior stood rigidly by the door, making no move to approach. Something felt off about him, though Malik couldn’t quite place his finger on what. 

In Malik’s dream, he’d said his father would try to break him. 

Had Lord Darius continued his cruel work while Malik was stuck in this chamber?

“Zev?” Malik stepped forward, then stopped when Zev stiffened further. “What happened?”

“They’re allowing us a brief visit,” Zev said, his voice flat. “To prove you’re unharmed.”

Malik studied him from head to toe. Zev alwaysseemed closed off. It was part of his persona, and having read his backstory in Monsters of Veridia, Malik understood why he behaved the way he did. 

But Zev seemed even more closed off than usual now. 

“I’m fine,” Malik said, though he hardly mattered at the moment. “I’m more worried about you.”

Something dangerous flashed across Zev’s face—a momentary crack in his mask. What was he hiding beneath it? What was going on with him?

“What did they do to you?” Malik asked quietly.

Zev’s jaw tightened. “They did not do anything to me.”

Malik wasn’t sure he believed that, but he also knew that Zev could not tell an outright lie. Nothing had been done to Zev. 

So then…

“Did they make you do something?”

“Why do you want to know?” 

The coldness in Zev’s voice didn’t deter Malik. “Because I care what happens to you.”

Zev’s expression remained impassive, but Malik caught the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes. He looked closer, noticing the raw skin on Zev’s hands—scrubbed almost to the point of injury. 

Could it be…?

“Did they make you hurt someone?” 

Zev didn’t respond. 

Fuck. 

“Did they make you kill?”

Still, nothing but damning silence from the beautiful-but-deadly night fae.

Malik took a cautious step forward. “Who was it?”

“It shouldn’t matter.” Zev’s voice remained detached, empty. “I’ve killed many people.”

“And yet you tried to wash your skin off.” Malik gestured to Zev’s reddened hands. “Tell me.”

“A criminal. An enemy of the Court.” 

“What kind of enemy?”

Zev’s jaw worked silently for a moment. “A werewolf.”

Malik’s breath caught. A werewolf. The bastards had made him kill a werewolf. Malik couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult that must have been for Zev, given his history. Zev’s family knew exactly where to twist the knife. 

And judging by the way Zev held himself, their cruel actions were getting them exactly what they wanted. 

Zev pretending once again that he did not feel things because if he did, his grief would overwhelm him. He was shutting down. Dissociating.

Malik wouldn’t let him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “You should never have been forced to do that.”

Something flickered across Zev’s face—pain, quickly suppressed. His shoulders tensed, and he turned away. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“But they chose a werewolf deliberately, didn’t they?” Malik pressed, taking another step closer. “To hurt you because of—”

“Stop.” The word was clipped, strained.

Malik could see the tension radiating through Zev’s body. His uncaring persona was starting to crack. He was getting annoyed. Maybe even angry. Good. Any emotion was better than this.

“Rhys would understand what you did,” Malik said quietly. “He wouldn’t judge you for this.”

Zev’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His breathing quickened almost imperceptibly.

Malik was hitting on something. “I know he loved you. I know he’d hate seeing what they’re trying to turn you back into.”

A flip switched. Zev whirled around, crossing the distance between them in a blur, seizing Malik by the collar and slamming him against the wall. His violet eyes burned with sudden, violent fury.

“What do you know about Rhys?” Zev snarled, his face inches from Malik’s. “How dare you speak his name like you knew him?”

Malik didn’t flinch. This was what he’d been pushing for—some kind of real emotion. His heart raced, partly from fear, but partly from something else entirely. Even furious, Zev was beautiful—all sharp edges and barely contained power. The heat of his body pressed close, the strength in his hands, the intensity in those violet eyes…

This wasn’t the time for such thoughts, but Malik couldn’t help himself. He’d been drawn to Zev from the moment he’d carried him out of the basement where Caelen had trapped him.

“Reading about someone isn’t knowing them,” Zev hissed, oblivious to Malik’s misplaced admiration. “You didn’t see his smile. You didn’t hear his laugh.” His grip tightened. “You don’t know what he would think.”

“You’re right.” Malik maintained eye contact, acutely aware of Zev’s breath against his skin. “But I know the Rhys from those stories would have died to prevent exactly this—to keep you from becoming their weapon again.”

Zev’s grip faltered, and something raw flashed in his eyes.

“That’s why they chose a werewolf, isn’t it?” Malik insisted. “They’re not just testing your loyalty. They’re trying to break whatever is left of the person Rhys helped you become.”

Zev abruptly released him, turning away. “It doesn’t matter why they did it. Only that I did it.”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?” Zev whirled back. “Why should it matter to you what I’ve done? What I’ve become?”

“Because I can see you fighting it,” Malik said. “This cold-blooded killer act—it’s not you anymore. Not the real you.”

“You don’t know the real me.” Zev’s voice dropped to something dangerous and low. “Maybe this is who I truly am. Maybe everything else was the act.”

Malik shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Believe whatever you want. It changes nothing.” Zev paced the room like a caged animal. “This is only the beginning. They’ll make me kill again. And again. I can’t do it without…” He drifted off, gestured vaguely. 

“So you’re just going to let them win?”

Zev stopped pacing, his hands balling into fists. “What else am I supposed to do?” The question exploded from him. “Let them hurt you? Let the Prince take you?”

“I don’t want you to do anything for my sake,” Malik said firmly.

“You have no idea what you’re saying.” Zev’s laugh was harsh. “You don’t know what the Prince would do to you.”

“Actually, I do.” Malik’s quiet words stopped Zev cold. “I’ve met him.”

Zev’s expression shifted to something between disbelief and horror. “What?”

“While you were…” Malik hesitated, “…elsewhere. Prince Ashelon had me brought to his chambers.”

Zev stared at him. “What did he do to you?” 

“Nothing. Yet.” Malik unconsciously rubbed his jaw where the Prince had touched him. “But he made his intentions clear enough.”

“Then you understand why I had to agree to their terms.”

“I understand why you think you did,” Malik countered. “But I don’t want to be saved at the cost of your heart and mind.”

Zev blinked as if he’d never considered that Malik might not be counting on Zev to save him. 

But Malik never wanted another to suffer for his sake. What they were doing to Zev… he wasn’t worth that kind of sacrifice. “I offered myself to him, you know.”

“What?” Zev’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“I told the Prince to let you go free, and I would… be whatever he wanted.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. He refused, but I would have done it.” Malik held Zev’s gaze. “I won’t be the reason you become something you hate.”

Zev didn’t seem to know what to do with that response. 

A guard called from the other side of the door. “Time’s up!” 

Zev moved toward the door, but before he could leave, Malik grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

Zev raised an expectant eyebrow at him. 

“If they do make you kill again…” Malik struggled to find the right words to express what he wanted to say, what he wanted to offer. “Don’t lock it away. Don’t go numb.”

“That’s exactly what I need to do to survive this.”

“No. It’s what they want you to do.” Malik tightened his grip on Zev’s arm. “Come to me instead.”

Confusion flickered across Zev’s face. “What are you saying?”

“You can vent at me.” Malik’s voice dropped lower. “When it gets too much, when you feel like you’re drowning in it, come here. Rage at me. Scream. Break something. Whatever you need.”

Zev stared at him, shock evident in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do.” Malik held his gaze steadily. “It’s better for you to be furious than for you to be killing your emotions.”

The door opened. Guards waited impatiently in the corridor.

“I have to go,” Zev said, his voice strangely rough.

“Promise me you’ll think about it.”

Zev pulled his arm from Malik’s grasp, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Malik thought he would leave without answering.

“I’ll think about it,” Zev finally said, so quietly Malik barely heard him.

Then he was gone, the door closing heavily behind him.

Malik exhaled slowly, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating. Had he crossed a line? Offered something he shouldn’t have? He didn’t know. 

---

Zev stood motionless in the center of his grandmother’s private study, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. He’d assumed this posture countless times before—the obedient grandson awaiting instruction. It disturbed him a little how easily he could fall back into this pattern, but there was nothing he could do to change his situation. 

For now.

The room hadn’t changed in the years since he’d last stood here. Walls lined with ancient texts bound in midnight-blue leather and silver filigree. The polished marble desk where Lady Morvena now sat, examining a map spread before her. Crystal sconces held floating orbs of cool blue light that cast no shadows, illuminating the space with perfect, merciless clarity.

Only the company differed. His father leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Zev with undisguised satisfaction.

Zev kept his face blank, his mind emptier still. He hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Not without finding the void inside himself again, that hollow space where emotion couldn’t reach. It had served him well for decades before Rhys. It would serve him now.

Lady Morvena finally looked up from her map,regarding him with calculated interest.

“You did well yesterday,” she said. “I hope you continue to do so.”

Zev said nothing. 

He wasn’t here willingly. They all knew that.

But he was the only one who cared about that little fact.

“Now,” Lady Morvena said, gesturing at the map,  “the werewolves have grown bold in our absence. They encroach on Court territory, tampering with powers beyond their comprehension.”

Of course she would find more werewolves who had wronged her.

Zev didn’t know why he’d bothered hoping for literally anything else.

If there was any mercy in Veridia, it would not be found within these walls.

He’d made the mistake of coming home, and so he would be punished for his crimes until he broke—or until he found a way out. 

His grandmother traced a long, sharp nail across the paper, indicating locations marked with silver pins. “Here. And here. And here. They gather near the shadow paths, performing their primitive rituals.”

Primitive rituals that had never hurt anyone. Zev kept the words inside as his gaze followed her finger. The western forest. The cliffs above the silver lake. The caves beneath the twin peaks. Places he knew well. Places he’d visited with—

No. He shut down the thought before it could form. Memories were dangerous things.

“Why are you concerned about the shadow paths?” he asked, his voice neutral.

His father pushed away from the wall, approaching the desk. “They seek power they have no right to,” Darius said. “The paths belong to the Night Court.”

This wasn’t strictly true. The shadow paths belonged to no one. They predated the Courts, predated most of Veridia itself. But saying so would only invite punishment.

“The barriers between worlds weaken,” Lady Morvena continued. “Surely you’ve noticed. Things appearing where they shouldn’t. People vanishing. The human in our custody is but one symptom of a larger problem. It’s because the wolves are tempering with forces they don’t understand.”

That was so stupid. 

What happened with the barriers wasn’t the wolves’ fault. It was Yuri’s. All of this was Yuri’s fault. 

Oh, how Zev wished he could make that man pay.

Oblivous to Zev’s thoughts, his father tapped the pin marking the western forest. “You’re going here first. Eliminate the wolf that set up the ritual site there.”

Zev wanted to say no, but what was the point?

He knew how this worked, and ‘no’ was not an acceptable response to an order from his elders. “When do I leave?” he asked instead.

“Within the hour,” Lady Morvena replied. “But first, a precaution.”

She rose from behind her desk, gliding toward him with that unnatural grace all ancient fae possessed. Despite himself, Zev tensed as she approached. Her power radiated from her like cold fire, pressing against his skin.

“Your arm,” she commanded, extending her hand.

Zev hesitated only a moment before offering his right arm. Defiance would gain him nothing now.

Lady Morvena pushed up his sleeve, her cold fingers wrapping around his forearm. She began to whisper words in the old language, language that predated even the Night Court. With each syllable, pain bloomed beneath his skin, sharp and insistent.

Darkness gathered around her fingers, sinking into his flesh. The pain intensified, burning through his arm like acid in his veins. His jaw clenched, but he made no sound. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

When she removed her hand, a mark remained—a thin black band encircling his forearm, pulsing with subtle magic.

“Insurance,” she explained, her smile thin and sharp. “This will tell me when your task is complete. When the blood of your target spills, the mark will fade.”

Zev stared at the mark, hatred a cold knot in his stomach. “And if it doesn’t fade?”

His father stepped forward. “Then your pet human will suffer the consequences of your failure.”

Zev glared at his father, wondering why he’d bothered even asking.

“I understand,” he said, pulling down his sleeve to cover the mark.

“Do you?” Lady Morvena returned to her desk. “You seem to have forgotten so much of your training. Truly a waste.” She shook her head. “To think you were so promising once. I was going to wed you to the Moon warden’s family before you left a black on your family.”

Ah, and that was what truly rankled his grandmother about what Zev had done. He’d brought shame on her good name. That was why he had to suffer now. 

“I am very sorry I could not marry into the Moon warden’s family,” Zev said, though he was not. 

Lady Morvena’s smooth features wrinkled. “You would have made beautiful children, you and Ceris.” She paused. “Well, she does have a younger sister, should you prove yourself worthy.”

Zev didn’t wish to prove himself worthy, but he was wise enough not to say it. 

He was a night fae male. By the traditions of his kind, his future was not for him to decide. He would do as his matriarch decided, what was best for the family. 

“I will do my job,” he said just to end the conversation.

His grandmother studied him again. “Veridias most deadliest assassin, Zevran. I will not let you become anything less. I won’t allow you to waste your potential, do you understand that?”

“I do, grandmother.” He bowed exactly the way he had been taught to do.

She looked at him for a moment longer. “I wish your mother had birthed a daughter. Daughters do not disappoint their families like this.” She waved her hand vaguely. “You are dismissed, child.”

Zev didn’t look back. The mark on his arm throbbed with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of his chains. He would do what he’d been born to do. He would kill again. And he would find a way to make them pay for it—all of it—eventually.

First, he needed to hunt.

* * *

The western forest loomed before Zev, ancient trees stretching toward a slate-gray sky. He’d traveled on horseback to the forest’s edge, then proceeded on foot, each step carrying him deeper into memories he used to treasure but that would serve only as distractions now. 

These woods. This path. He’d walked here before, but not alone.

The mark on his arm throbbed in time with his pulse, a persistent reminder of what waited if he got distracted from the task at hand. Malik would suffer. 

“I don’t want to be saved at the cost of your heart and mind,” Malik had said.

Zev paused, resting his hand against the rough bark of an old tree. He could run. Right now. Disappear into the wilds of Veridia where even the Court would struggle to find him.

He knew how to disappear.

But the price for his escape would be paid in Malik’s blood before Zev could hope to return and free him.

What would Rhys tell him to do?

He’d probably ramble on about how Zev ‘really needed to learn to make his own choices.’ 

“You always have a choice,” Rhys had told him once. “Even when all the options are terrible.”

Zev pushed himself away from the tree. The memory wasn’t helping. If all his options were terrible, did it matter which one he picked?

He and Rhys had often fought about this. Rhys with his unwavering belief that Zev could be something better than he was.

And where had that belief led him?

Zev tracked on through the woods, emptying his mind. Malik was his ally. Zev would not abandon him, and that was that.

After another hour, Zev found what he was looking for. 

The clearing appeared undisturbed at first glance. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor with patches of gold. Zev moved cautiously around the perimeter, noting subtle signs of recent activity—broken twigs, disturbed earth, the faint scent of werewolf that lingered.

But something else caught his attention. A strange shimmer hung in the air at the clearing’s center, visible only from certain angles—like heat rising from summer stones, but wrong somehow. Colder. Deeper. Zev approached with hesitant steps, his skin prickling with awareness.

A shadow path. Not fully manifested, but close to the surface here. 

Zev knelt, examining the ground around the shimmer. Runes had been carved into flat stones arranged in a precise circle. 

Beyond the stone circle lay other evidence: a leather-bound journal half-hidden beneath fallen leaves, strange instruments of copper and silver, vials of what appeared to be earth and water samples.

Zev retrieved the journal, leafing through pages filled with meticulous notes and diagrams. The wolves were documenting changes in the shadow path’s behavior—fluctuations in energy, instances where objects disappeared or reappeared. One entry mentioned a tree that had vanished overnight, replaced by a metal pole bearing strange symbols.

A road sign from Earth. 

Zev set the journal aside, stomach twisting. 

These wolves were scientists, not threats. 

But it wasn’t for him to question his orders.

The mark on his arm pulsed painfully, reminding him of his chains.

And the wolves must know the danger they were inviting by coming here.

Foolish mutts. Everyone knew how touchy the Night Court got over the shadow paths. 

Zev’s ears caught a distant sound—voices approaching. The wolves were returning.

For one wild moment, Zev considered stepping into the open, warning them, scaring them away. But the mark burned again, reminding him that his betrayal would come at a cost.

No good options. Only terrible choices.

Zev replaced the journal exactly as he’d found it. He tucked himself into dense underbrush downwind from the clearing, concealed from sight.

He let his training take over. 

Emotion by emotion, thought by thought, he constructed the void inside, a perfect hollow where pain couldn’t reach. The assassin’s mindset.

By the time the werewolves entered the clearing, Zev had become something else. Something cold and calculating. His body perfectly still, his breathing shallow and controlled. 

The werewolves were talking as they came into sight.

“—changed again. The energy signature is stronger today.”

“Could be the phase of the moon. We need more data.”

They were two males. One tall and broad-shouldered, the other leaner with dark hair covering his arms even in human form. They carried packs and what appeared to be more measurement tools.

“The alpha won’t like this,” the taller one said, kneeling by the stone circle. “The path shouldn’t be this close to the surface.”

The leaner wolf removed instruments from his pack. “It’s not just here. Kara’s pack reported the same thing near the western border. Something’s happening to all the paths.”

Zev watched them work, cataloging weaknesses, planning his approach. Information flowed into his awareness—the taller one favored his left side, the leaner one remained more alert, scanning the treeline periodically. The void inside him expanded, consuming whatever hesitation might have remained.

The wolves continued their work, oblivious to his presence.

“The Court must know something they’re not telling anyone,” the taller one said, adjusting one of the stones.

“Would they tell werewolves if they did?” The leaner wolf snorted. “We’re just animals to them.”

The conversation continued, but Zev stopped listening to the words. Their voices became mere sound as he calculated trajectories, angles, the quickest path to complete his task.

The mark on his arm pulsed, eager for blood.

Zev drew his knife, and then he rose from his hiding place, silent as a shadow.

He struck without warning.

One moment he was hidden in the shadows, the next he was behind the taller wolf. His blade found the soft spot between vertebrae, severing the spinal cord at the base of the skull. The wolf had no time to cry out, no chance to shift forms or defend himself. His body crumpled to the ground with a soft thud, eyes still open in mild surprise.

The second wolf froze, tools clattering from his hands. His nostrils flared, catching Zev’s scent only after it was too late for his companion. Recognition dawned in his eyes. He knew what Zev was.

Zev advanced, knife held low and ready. There was no hesitation in him, no doubt, as he closed the distance between them. 

The wolf’s eyes darted between Zev and his fallen packmate, terror paralyzing him. His mouth opened, perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse.

The mark on Zev’s arm pulsed once, a wave of cold satisfaction washing through the binding spell. 

Zev stopped mid-stride, realization cutting through him. His grandmother’s spell required proof of a kill—not multiple kills. 

He studied the trembling wolf for a heartbeat, then lowered his knife.

“Run,” Zev commanded. “Tell your pack to stay away from Court territory. From the shadow paths.”

The wolf backed away, confusion warring with terror on his face.

“Why—”

“Go,” Zev cut him off. “Or do you want to die?”

The wolf turned and fled, crashing through the underbrush without looking back.

When he was gone, Zev knelt beside the body, methodically searching through the dead wolf’s belongings. He found nothing of great interest, but he decided to take the journal he’d picked up earlier with him. 

There was something going on with the shadow paths. The wolves might know what. 

Zev wanted to know as well. 

* * *

“The deed is done.” Zev stood before his grandmother’s desk, the stolen journal tucked under his coat, the mark on his arm now a faint gray outline instead of midnight black.

Lady Morvena extended her hand, and Zev rolled up his sleeve to display the faded binding. She traced the mark with one sharp nail, satisfaction curving her lips.

“Good,” she said. “You have served the Court today.”

Had he?

He’d murdered someone doing research, that was all.

“The wolves were studying the shadow path,” Zev said. “Not messing with it.”

“Don’t be naive.” His father stepped forward from where he’d been lingering near the window. “Other races lie. You know this. They only sought to justify their trespassing.”

Lady Morvena’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What exactly did you observe?”

“The path was near the surface,” Zev said. “More visible than it should be.”

“Interesting.” His grandmother tapped her fingers against the desk. “And unfortunate. It seems our work is far from done.”

She opened a drawer and withdrew a small silver box. When she lifted the lid, a three-dimensional map shimmered into existence above it—the territories surrounding the Night Court displayed in perfect miniature. Pinpricks of light marked locations throughout the map.

“Your next target,” she said, pointing to a glowing red dot near the silver lake. “Another pack has established a camp here. They’re more numerous, more organized.” Her violet eyes fixed on his. “This time I don’t want you to let any of them run.”

Zev swallowed.

How did she know?

“You spoke of multiple wolves,” Lady Morvena said. “But you only killed one.“

“I did what you asked me to do,” Zev insisted. 

“I suppose I was not clear enough when I gave you your orders this morning. That will not happen again.”

Zev held his grandmother’s gaze instead of lowering his eyes in subservience as was expected. “I’ve killed for you,” he said, keeping his voice carefully steady. “I want my reward.”

“You should not have to be rewarded for serving your family.”

“We had a deal,” Zev reminded her. 

He half-expected her magic to slam into him, but Lady Morvena did not attack. “Very well.” She raised a hand vaguely. “If you must see your human.” She seemed tired of him. “Go.”

Zev turned and left the room.

* * *

Zev moved through the familiar corridors toward the blue chamber, barely taking in his surroundings. Now that the job was done, now that Lady Morvena had dismissed him, the events of the day were starting to catch up with him. 

His thoughts lingered on his kill in ways they never had before. He remembered the soft resistance as blade met flesh. The slight surprise in the wolf’s eyes before light faded from them.

Zev took a deep breath.

What was wrong with him? He’d killed hundreds of times before. The deaths of his victims never clung to him like this.

But then, his family had never chosen targets specifically to get to him.

He took another breath, trying to reconstruct the void inside of him. No matter what Malik said, this was how he would get through.

A guard stationed near the entrance to the guest wing snapped to attention as Zev approached. “Lord Zevran.”

Recognition flashed in the guard’s eyes—recognition and something else. Fear? Respect? Disgust? Zev couldn’t tell. He tried not to let it bother him. 

Nothing should bother him.

“This way, my lord,” the guard said, leading him down the final corridor.

Zev followed quietly.

“He’s been fed,” the guard reported, hesitating before adding, “Refused the food at first, but we… convinced him it was safe.”

The slight pause told Zev everything he needed to know. A flare of anger burned through the numbness, hot and surprising in its intensity.

“Did you hurt him?” Zev demanded.

The guard stiffened. “Nothing permanent, my lord.”

Nothing permanent. 

Something snapped inside Zev. 

“Nothing permanent,” he repeated, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I killed today so he would remain unharmed. That was the agreement.”

The guard shifted his weight, suddenly uneasy. Good. He should be. “We followed orders, my lord. The human needed to eat.”

“And what did you do to him?” Zev stepped closer, crowding the guard against the wall. “Tell me exactly.”

“Just standard persuasion techniques.” The guard’s hand drifted toward his weapon. “Nothing that would—”

Zev moved before the thought fully formed in his mind. His hand shot out, seizing the guard by the throat, slamming him against the stone wall with enough force to crack the back of his skull. Blood welled between Zev’s fingers as his grip tightened.

“I killed for his safety,” Zev hissed, nose inches from the guard’s rapidly purpling face. “I became their weapon again for his protection. And you still hurt him.”

The guard clawed at Zev’s hand, eyes bulging with panic. His mouth worked soundlessly, feet kicking against the wall.

His pulse fluttered beneath Zev’s palm. Soon, he would be unconscious, then dead. It would be easy—so easy—for Zev to tighten his grip just a fraction more. To feel the life drain from this body like he’d felt it drain from the werewolf just hours ago

The guard’s struggles weakened, his eyes rolling back.

This death might bring Zev satisfaction.

The thought broke through his rage like ice water. He released his grip abruptly, letting the guard crumple to the floor, gasping and retching.

Zev stared down at his hand, now literally stained with blood while the guard wheezed, dragging himself away from Zev on trembling limbs.

“Say nothing of this,” Zev ordered quietly, “or next time I won’t stop.”

The guard nodded frantically, one hand protectively covering his throat where bruises were already forming.

Zev glanced at the door to Malik’s room. 

What would the human think of him if he walked in there with fresh blood on his hand, having nearly killed a guard in a fit of rage? Having killed a werewolf in cold blood just hours earlier?

His hand dropped to his side, fingers curling into a fist so tight his nails cut into his palm, mixing his own blood with the guard’s.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Zev decided. “I won’t see him tonight.”

The guard, still hunched against the wall, didn’t respond. 

Zev didn’t look back as he walked away.

---

The chambers Zev had been given were not his childhood rooms. Those had been stripped bare after his defection, his possessions burned in a ritual cleansing, or so he had been told. These were guest quarters—luxurious but impersonal, lacking in both comfort and memory.

But he was glad for the lack of memories these chambers stirred. He’d already had too many of those today.

Without further thought, he crossed to the washbasin and plunged his hands into the cold water, scrubbing the blood from his fingers.

After his hands were raw from washing, Zev retrieved the journal from his jacket. He sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through pages of meticulous observations and cryptic shorthand. Most entries documented changes in the shadow path’s behavior—fluctuations in energy, instances where the path seemed to thin or widen. Later entries grew more alarming.

Day 47: Path breached surface for 3.2 minutes. Stones placed within disappeared. No retrieval possible.

Day 51: J.M. reports similar breaches at eastern site. 

Day 58: Temporal anomaly observed. Path emitted cold light for 7 minutes. After dissipation, strange device recovered. Not one of ours. Inscription dated 1923. No such year in any calendar we know.

Zev paused at a detailed diagram labeled “Cross-Realm Contamination.” It showed the shadow path as a dark river with tributaries branching into different colored sections—each representing a different world or realm. Notes in the margins documented increased “bleed-through” between these sections.

Near the back of the journal, a passage caught his eye:

The Night Court must know. The paths have never behaved this way, not in all our recorded history. Whatever ancient balance maintained the separation between realms is failing. If the Court won’t acknowledge it, we need to bring this to the attention of the other powers. The Shadow King might listen where the Court won’t.

The Shadow King. Caelen.

Zev almost laughed at that.

The wolves were going to seek assistance from Caelen, of all people?

The majority of the paths did run through his kingdom…

How ironic that Zev wished he’d ended up there instead of here.

Zev closed the journal when it stopped providing the distraction he needed.

Tomorrow, he would kill again. More wolves who were only trying to understand what was happening to their world.

What a waste.

When he tried not to think of that, his thoughts circled back to Malik. What had the guards done to him? How badly had they hurt him despite Zev’s sacrifice? The uncertainty gnawed at him.

He should have checked on the human after all.

Maybe he still could. 

Not in the waking world, but he was a night fae, and he’d entered Malik’s dreamspace before. It wouldn’t be easy with his magic as depleted as it was, but the human was unlikely to try to shut him out, which would help. 

Zev settled onto the bed, arranging himself comfortably. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, on the rhythm of his heartbeat. Gradually, he extended his awareness beyond his own body, beyond the physical constraints of the room.

The palace around him teemed with sleeping minds—guards drowsing at their posts, servants collapsed after long days of labor, nobles dreaming of power and gold, minds closed to him. Zev moved past them all, searching for the distinctive texture of Malik’s consciousness.

There—a warm glow several corridors away, but disturbed, rippling with distress. Malik was dreaming, but not peacefully. The edges of his consciousness pulsed with terror.

Another nightmare.

Of course.

Zev hesitated. The taste of Malik’s nightmare brushed against his senses—rich with emotion, potent with pain. The kind of nightmare that would nourish a night fae for days. But there would be consequences if he gorged himself on Malik’s nightmares. He had to remember that. 

Nevermind that he’d meant to check on the human, not feed on him.

Maybe this was not the right time. 

Zev nearly pulled back, nearly severed the tentative connection between them. But beneath the nightmare’s distress, he sensed something else—Malik reaching out to him, almost as if he could sense that Zev was there, lingering at the edge of his consciousness.

Almost as if he was calling for Zev.

How could Zev refuse to answer?

Taking a steadying breath, Zev gathered his power and slipped into Malik’s dream, carefully, gently, determined not to feed on the nightmare even as its flavors washed over him.

The dreamscape materialized around him—a twisted version of the car crash Malik had survived. But unlike the previous nightmare, this one had merged with their current predicament. The wrecked car sat in the middle of a Night Court chamber. Prince Ashelon stood over the vehicle, his silver eyes gleaming as he reached for Malik, who remained trapped in the twisted metal.

“You’ll never escape,” the Prince was saying, his voice distorted and too deep for reality. “Your friends abandoned you. No one is coming for you.”

In the back seat of the car, the bodies of Malik’s family stirred unnaturally, their limbs bending at impossible angles as they turned toward him with lifeless eyes.

“You should have died with us,” they chanted in eerie unison. “You should have died with us.”

Malik struggled against his seatbelt, panic evident in every line of his body. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

Zev moved without thinking, pushing past the dream-version of the Prince, who dissipated like smoke at his touch. He reached the car door and yanked it open.

“Malik,” he said firmly. “This isn’t real. You’re dreaming.”

Malik’s wild eyes found his, terror was replaced by confusion, and then hope. “Zev? Zev! It’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Zev cut the seatbelt that trapped Malik. “This is a nightmare. None of it is real.”

The dream-corpses in the back seat hissed at Zev’s interference, their features melting and reforming until they looked like wolves. 

How odd. 

Why would Malik be dreaming of wolves?

Zev pushed the thought aside as he focused on freeing Malik from the wreckage.

The human clung to him as Zev lifted him. Zev didn’t mind. It wasn’t an emotion that he let himself linger on, but there was something comforting about feeling the weight of Malik’s body, warm and alive, against his own.

The scene around them flickered, the shadows twisting as the car and corpses wavered at the edges of Malik’s mind. But the dream didn’t collapse entirely. Malik was still holding on to him for dear life. It didn’t seem that he had entirely realized that he was dreaming. “I’m so glad you came for me,” he said. “I was so scared you wouldn’t. I was so scared that they would break you.'” A half-sob ripped from his throat.

Zev stared at the human. He was that scared for Zev’s sake?

Something inside Zev twisted. In his dream-state, Malik was terrified of many things, but Zev hadn’t expected his own wellbeing to factor in. 

Malik buried his face against Zev’s chest, his breath warm and unsteady. “Run away, just run away,” he whispered. “I can’t… I can’t be responsible for ruining another life.”

Zev’s throat closed. So that was what this was about. Malik blamed himself for the deaths of his family, and now he was also blaming himself for whatever the Night Court might do to Zev. That was what motivated his selflessness. His dreaming mind didn’t hold back any uncomfortable truths, and Zev almost felt rude for intruding on him in this state, but he’d tried to tell Malik he was dreaming. What else could he do?

Zev gripped his shoulders. “Malik,” he tried again. “You’re dreaming.”

Malik’s fingers twisted in the fabric of Zev’s clothes. “Of course I’m dreaming,” he murmured. “You’d never let me get this close in real life.”

The human wasn’t thinking clearly. How frustrating. Zev should–

His thoughts cut off when Malik lifted his head to look at him.

His thoughts cut off when Malik lifted his head to look at him. His expression was open, raw in a way Zev had never seen before. There was no caution, no hesitation—only something hopeful and yearning.

Before Zev could do anything, Malik surged forward, his lips brushing against Zev’s in a soft, desperate kiss. A hesitant kiss, like a wish Malik never expected to be granted. A dreamer’s gamble.

It shocked Zev all the more for its honesty.

He had not seen this coming.

While Zev froze, Malik’s warmth melted into him, trusting him, leaning into him the way no one had done since… since…

Malik’s hands curled against Zev’s chest, clinging, as if afraid he would disappear.

Something inside of Zev cracked. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to linger in the kiss. Allowed himself the ghost of a response, the briefest press of his lips in return, before he forced himself to break away.

“Malik,” he murmured, his voice rough, uneven. “You don’t mean this.”

Malik’s lashes fluttered, his dream-drunk gaze filled with confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Zev exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on Malik’s arms, grounding himself. “I’m your second favorite, remember?”

The dream wavered around them, flickering at the edges. “Oh God.” Malik exhaled. “I’m dreaming… but you’re not a dream.” He pulled back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” His face flushed. “I just thought…” 

The human was stuttering.

How annoyingly adorable.

***

Oh shit. He’d kissed Zev. He’d kissed Zev. 

Malik wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. 

Unfortunately, the dreamscape around him followed his command, and the next thing he knew, a sinking feeling pulled at his stomach and he actually plummeted downward.

“Malik!” Zev’s voice was distant, already fading.

Malik’s body jolted as if he’d just missed a step going down the stairs, and then—

His eyes snapped open.

His breath came fast, his heart slamming against his ribs. He was in a bed, an unfamiliar bed, silken sheets cool beneath his fingers, the lingering warmth of the dream still curling around his skin. He stared at the ceiling, pulse pounding in his ears, the sensation of Zev’s lips still there, like a phantom touch.

He lifted a trembling hand to his mouth. “Oh my God.”

The realization hit him all over again, crashing down on him like a landslide of mortification.

He had kissed Zev. He had kissed Zev. In a dream, sure, but Zev had been real. Zev had been there. Had felt it. Had—

“Nope. Nope nope nope nope—” Malik muttered, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillow. “I did not just do that. I refuse to believe that.”

The problem was, refusing reality would not erase what he’d done. 

Malik groaned into the pillow, muffling a string of curses. He would never be able to look Zev in the eye again.

A knock at the door made him jump. “Human,” a voice called—one of the guards. “You’re going out today. Get up and get dressed.”

Right. He was still in the Night Court’s hands. 

Malik pushed himself upright with a deep breath. 

There were bigger problems than Zev knowing he had a pathetic crush.

---

The door to Malik’s chamber burst open just as he was done dressing, putting on pants and a simple black tunic that had been provided for him. 

Two guards burst in.

“Come with us.”

Malik blinked at them. Where did they want him to go?

“Move.” A hand between his shoulder blades pushed him toward the door.

They marched him through corridors he hadn’t seen before. The palace seemed even bigger in the pre-dawn hours, shadows stretching across marble floors and up ornate walls. Malik tried to map their route in his head but quickly lost track of the twists and turns.

Were they going to take him to Prince Ashelon’s chambers? The thought sent ice through his veins. He’d managed to keep his composure last time, but the Prince had barely begun to play with him. Who knew what he might do next?

But instead of moving toward the Prince’s chambers, they descended a wide staircase and emerged into a courtyard where morning mist clung to vibrant green hedges. A carriage waited, its ebony surface gleaming with inlaid silver. Four horses stood in their traces.

Under different circumstances, Malik might have been tempted to try to pet them. 

One of the guards opened the carriage door. “Inside.”

Malik hesitated. “Where are you taking me?”

The guard’s expression didn’t change. He simply grabbed Malik’s arm and propelled him forward, all but tossing him into the carriage.

The interior was plush and claustrophobic, all deep blues and midnight blacks. Two people waited inside. Lord Darius, Zev’s father, sat with his back straight, his angular face devoid of warmth. Across from him was an elegant, older fae woman Malik had never seen before. Her silver hair was elaborately braided with tiny jewels that caught the light, and her eyes—Zev’s eyes, but colder—studied him with clinical interest.

Malik suppressed a shiver.

She had to be Lady Morvena. The Matriarch of Zev’s family.

The door slammed shut behind Malik. A lock clicked.

“Good morning,” Lady Morvena said, her voice musical and pleasant despite the early hour. “I trust you slept well?”

Malik remained standing, unwilling to sit next to either of them. “Why am I here?”

The woman’s lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She raised a silver goblet to her lips, and Malik noticed with revulsion that the liquid inside was too dark, too thick to be wine.

“Please, sit,” she said. “We’ve much to discuss.”

“I prefer to stand.”

Darius flicked his fingers. Shadow magic pulsed through the carriage, and Malik found himself shoved onto the seat beside Lady Morvena. The carriage lurched into motion.

“Where are we going?” Malik tried to keep his voice steady.

“Curious little thing,” Lady Morvena observed, addressing Darius rather than Malik. “I see why he’s intrigued.”

Darius leaned forward, his violet eyes boring into Malik. “Where has my son been all these years?”

The abrupt question caught Malik off guard. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.” Darius didn’t raise his voice, but coldness radiated from him. “My son nearly killed a guard over you. He surrendered himself for you. What are you to him?”

Zev had nearly killed a guard for him?

That was news.

Malik didn’t know what to make of that, but he didn’t have time to think about it either.

“I’m his friend,” he said.

“Zevran doesn’t have friends,” Lady Morvena said mildly. “He has uses for people. Tools. Temporary fascinations.”

“Like Rhys,” Darius added, watching Malik’s face closely.

Malik couldn’t keep the disgust from showing on his face, knowing what these people had done to the man Zev had loved. 

“He told you about him, then.” Darius nodded, satisfaction creeping into his expression. “Did he tell you how it ended?”

Malik said nothing. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

“My grandson has always been drawn to distractions,” Lady Morvena said, placing her goblet on a small shelf built into the carriage wall. “Fun things he can play with for a while. The wolf was merely the most extreme example.”

“Zev isn’t like that,” Malik said before he could stop himself.

Lady Morvena’s eyes gleamed. “Oh? And what is he like, then? Please, enlighten us about the warrior we raised.”

The carriage wheels rattled over uneven ground. Through the small window, Malik glimpsed dense forest replacing the manicured palace grounds.

“You didn’t raise him,” Malik said quietly. “You made him into a weapon.”

Darius laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Is that what he told you? Poor misunderstood Zevran, forced to kill against his gentle nature?”

“My grandson was born to serve the Court,” Lady Morvena said. “It’s in his blood. His nature. No matter how he tries to deny it.”

She leaned closer to Malik, her perfume like crushed flowers and something metallic. “He will kill for us again. That’s inevitable. And when his body obeys before his mind can fight—when he no longer hesitates—we will order him to kill you.”

The world seemed to tilt. Malik forced himself to breathe.

“And he will do it,” she continued, her voice gentle, almost kind. “Just like he killed the wolf yesterday. Just like he’ll kill the others today. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

She was lying. She had to be. But the certainty in her voice made Malik’s stomach twist.

“You’re wrong about him,” he said, hating how weak his voice sounded.

“Am I?” Lady Morvena’s smile widened. “We shall see.”

The carriage slowed to a stop. Outside, the forest had grown darker, the trees pressing close around them.

“We’ve arrived,” Darius announced, reaching for the door.

Two guards opened it from outside. Darius stepped out first, then turned to offer his hand to Lady Morvena. Malik followed without assistance. 

It was nice to get a breath of fresh air after the suffocating atmosphere inside the carriage. The forest smelled like moss and something vaguely like pine resin. 

They stood at the edge of a narrow path that wound between ancient trees. The canopy overhead was so thick that little sunlight made it through.

“This way.” Lady Morvena gestured down the path. Her guards flanked Malik. 

So running wasn’t an option, then.

Too bad. 

Malik really would have liked to run. 

The deeper they walked into the woods, the more things just seemed… strange. 

He caught flickers in the corner of his eye as if trees disappeared and reappeared but he could never catch the moment it happened. 

Was he imagining it?

“What is this place?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” Lady Morvena replied.

The path opened into a clearing where fae in dark robes moved with purpose around what looked like an excavation site. They’d dug deep into the earth, creating a steep-sided pit at least fifteen feet deep. Wooden scaffolding reinforced the sides, carved with glowing runes that pulsed with blue light. A constructed tunnel entrance at the bottom of the pit led deeper into the earth, its supports similarly inscribed with magical wards.

But it wasn’t the tunnel itself that made Malik’s skin crawl. It was what seeped out of it—darkness unlike anything he’d ever seen, not just an absence of light but a presence of nothing. It spilled from the tunnel entrance like liquid shadow, flowing against gravity to pool at the bottom of the pit.

“The shadow paths,” Lady Morvena announced, gesturing toward the darkness. “Ancient ways beneath the surface of Veridia. Older than the Night Court itself.”

Malik stared at the darkness. He’d read about the shadow paths. The Night Court had long tried to harvest power from them while the werewolves saw them as some sort of sacred entity that kept the world together and whole. The wolves knew how to travel along the paths to quickly get to anywhere within Veridia, but anyone who tried to do the same came out changed. 

The wolves would not share their secrets.

The Court hated them for it. 

What were they doing here?

Several fae stood on platforms built along the sides of the pit, using strange instruments to measure the darkness. They kept their distance. Even Lady Morvena and Darius stopped several yards from the edge.

“Why did you bring me here?” Malik made himself ask.

“The shadow paths play a role in keeping up the barriers between worlds,” Lady Morvena said. “The very barriers you fell through.” 

Malik didn’t like where this was going.

Darius stepped forward. “We’ve been wondering—what happens when something like you touches one of these?”

Malik didn’t want to find out. “No.”

“You misunderstand, dear.” Lady Morvena’s smile was almost maternal. “I’m not asking.”

“You promised Zev my safety,” Malik pointed out.

“Don’t worry. You’ll survive.” At a signal from Darius, a guard grabbed Malik’s wrist. Another seized his shoulder, locking him in place. They began to drag him toward the excavated pit.

“Stop!” Malik struggled against their grip. “You don’t know what will happen!”

“That’s precisely the point,” Lady Morvena said, following at a leisurely pace. “We want to know.”

The guards forced him down the wooden stairs built into the side of the pit. Panic surged through Malik as the cold emanating from the darkness touched his skin. 

He fought harder, desperation lending him strength, but the guards were implacable. They thrust his arm toward the darkness that pooled at the bottom of the excavation.

“Please,” Malik gasped.

Lady Morvena just watched from the edge of the pit, head tilted with interest.

His fingers breached the edge of the shadow path.

Pain exploded through Malik’s hand, racing up his arm, tearing through his body. He might have screamed—he couldn’t tell. The world dissolved around him, reality shredding like confetti.

And then he wasn’t there anymore.

He was somewhere else. Everywhere else.

The visions came like hammer blows. Daniel and Caelen in a castle of obsidian, arguing over maps spread across a table. 

Adrian and Knox near a lake, laughing with each other. 

Lyrian shouting at an older Siren whose voice made the water around them boil.

Jamie—in his bookstore?

And then—

Zev.

Standing in a forest brighter than the one Malik had just left. His face was expressionless. Blood dripped from the knife in his hand.

At his feet lay the bodies of two werewolves. Their throats had been cut.

The vision shifted again. Zev kneeling in darkness, whispering to shadowy tendrils that reached for him like lover’s fingers. The same tendrils that now wrapped around Malik’s consciousness, hungry and curious.

Then Malik was falling, tumbling through nothing, feeling pieces of himself being stripped away with each moment of contact. Names, faces, memories—

The connection broke.

Malik slammed back into his body. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the muddy ground at the bottom of the pit. He should have felt pain from the impact, but he felt… nothing.

No pain, no panic… nothing.

“Get him up,” someone said. The voice sounded distant, muffled, as if reaching him through water.

Hands gripped his arms, pulling him to his feet. Malik didn’t resist. Why would he? What did it matter?

“Fascinating.” Lady Morvena stood at the edge of the pit, watching closely. “What did you see?”

Malik looked up at her. Words formed slowly in his mind, struggling to connect to the part of him that should feel something—anything—about what he’d witnessed.

He’d seen his friends. 

He’d seen Zev after a kill. 

Zev had looked about as hollow as Malik felt now.

“Speak,” Lady Morvena demanded.

Malik saw no reason to.

“That’s the way of the shadow paths,” Darius said, studying Malik’s vacant expression. “They take more than they show. Feed on emotion.”

“How long will he be like this?” Lady Morvena asked.

Darius shrugged. “It depends on how much they took.”

Malik heard them discussing him as if he were an object, but couldn’t summon indignation. He knew, intellectually, that he should be afraid, angry, scared—but those emotions remained out of reach, like a memory of feelings rather than the feelings themselves.

Actually, it was kind of nice.

When the fae couldn’t scare him, they had no power over him. 

Except that they could still order him around, of course.

“Take him back to the carriage,” Lady Morvena instructed the guards.

They half-carried, half-dragged him through the forest. Malik watched his feet moving beneath him with detached curiosity. Left, right, left, right. 

In the carriage, he slumped against the cushioned seat, staring at nothing. Lady Morvena watched him with unblinking interest, like a scientist observing a particularly promising experiment.

“We’ll need to question him again tomorrow,” she told Darius. “I need to know what he saw.”

Their words washed over Malik without sticking. Only the image of Zev remained clear in his mind—Zev standing over the dead werewolves, gaze empty.

Hollow.

Just like Malik.

---

Zev sat on the edge of his bed, examining his hands in the pale moonlight that filtered through the curtains. Clean, yet not clean. The pattern of his existence since returning to the Court.

The werewolves’ faces haunted him. Not just today’s kills—the lean one with dark hair covering his arms even in human form, the taller one who’d favored his left side—but all of them. A parade of the dead that wouldn’t leave him alone. 

That would never leave him alone. 

Zev rose and paced the length of his chambers. 

If he couldn’t sleep, he should check on Malik.

Malik, who had kissed him, thinking he was dreaming. Had he meant it?

He’d certainly seemed embarrassed enough for real emotions.

Their current situation must be confusing him.

That was understandable, wasn’t it?

He was a soft human caught in the clutches of the Night Court. Anyone would go a little crazy in his place.  

Malik was too pure to be here. 

Zev paused by the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. It was his job to protect Malik. It was the one good thing he could still do. 

He returned to his bed, stretching out on his back, arms at his sides. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing.

As his body relaxed, he extended his consciousness beyond its physical boundaries. As usual, the palace around him teemed with sleeping minds. Even so, Malik’s unique signature was easy to find.

But something was wrong with it.

Where Malik’s dreams should pulse with emotion and imagery, Zev found… nothing. A void. Not the emptiness of dreamless sleep, but a hollow absence where feeling should exist.

What had happened to him?

What had they done to him?

Was it Prince Ashelon?

Zev needed to know.

His eyes snapped open and he sat up. Without another thought, he crossed to the door and flung it open.

The guards outside straightened at his sudden appearance.

“Take me to the human,” Zev demanded, voice tight with barely contained urgency. “Now.”

The taller guard shifted uncomfortably. “Lord Darius left orders that—”

“My grandmother guaranteed my access to the human as part of our arrangement.” Zev stepped closer, glaring at the guard. “Unless you’d like to explain to Lady Morvena why you violated her word?”

The guards exchanged glances, a silent calculation passing between them. Lady Morvena’s wrath against Lord Darius’s displeasure. Neither prospect appealed.

“Very well,” the shorter guard relented. “But we escort you the entire time.”

Zev nodded once. He didn’t care if guards escorted him or not. He needed to see Malik. Now. 

No more words were exchanged between them as they walked through the dark palace.

“Here,” the taller guard said eventually, stopping before an ornate door. “We’ll wait outside.”

Zev didn’t bother knocking. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, bracing himself for whatever he might find.

Moonlight bathed the chamber in silver.

Malik lay in a four-poster bed, sheets tangled around his legs as though he’d been restless. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. But it wasn’t peaceful sleep—even from the doorway, Zev could sense the wrongness, the void where dreams should be.

He approached the bed silently, studying Malik’s face in the moonlight. The human looked younger in sleep, more vulnerable.

“Malik,” Zev said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Malik’s eyes opened immediately—too quickly for natural sleep. They stared up at the ceiling, before Malik slowly turned to Zev. No surprise registered at finding him there, no emotion of any kind crossed his face as he sat up.

His eyes—those expressive eyes that had sparked with anger, softened with compassion, burned with determination—were flat and vacant.

What was wrong with him?

“How are you feeling?” Zev asked.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” 

Malik didn’t respond to Zev. He just stared past him at nothing in particular. 

Zev grabbed his shoulders, shaking slightly to make Malik look at him. “Tell me what happened.”

“They took me to the forest this morning,” Malik reported. “Your grandmother and your father.”

Curse it all. Of course his family was behind this. 

“There was an excavation site,” Malik continued in a monotone voice. “A pit, fifteen feet deep. With a tunnel at the bottom.”

Zev had the worst suspicion that he knew what came next. “What kind of tunnel?”

“A shadow path.” Malik’s eyes met his, empty as a winter sky. “They forced my hand into it. The darkness… it was hungry.”

The coldness in Zev’s chest spread. He understood. The shadow paths fed on emotion, on memory, on self. They stripped away everything that made a person who they were, leaving only the hollow shell.

How could Lord Darius and Lady Morvena do this to Malik when Zev had been promised that nothing would happen to the human?

Zev’s hands clenched into fists. 

How could they take this bright warm soul and offer it to the shadows?

“I saw you,” Malik whispered, though his expression didn’t change. “You had two dead werewolves at your feet.”

Something inside of Zev’s chest twisted. The pain his actions had inflicted on him. The pain he’d tried to shove aside. He could still feel it, and honestly? Good.

He wasn’t the unfeeling, hollow being that sat on the bed before him. 

But it was what he was on the road to becoming. If he stayed here much longer, if he wasn’t careful. He could see that more clearly than ever now.

He could also see why Malik had wanted him to rage instead of trying to numb his feelings. 

Right now he would prefer for Malik to rage too. He wanted the human to be angry about what had been done to him, wanted him to do anything but just sit there. 

Was that what Malik felt when he asked Zev to express his feelings?

Zev could do that. Maybe it would even get a response out of Malik. 

Zev seized a crystal decanter from a nearby table, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered spectacularly, fragments glittering like stars as they rained to the floor.

The sound was strangely satisfying.

Gods, that had felt good.

Malik stared at the broken glass.

Zev overturned the writing desk that stood in the corner. Ink spilled across the carpet, dark as blood. Books tumbled, pages splaying open like broken wings.

“You wanted this.” Zev turned to Malik who watched him with that same empty gaze. 

How could Malik feel so little while Zev felt so much?

“Remember?” Zev demanded, letting his suppressed anger flow into his voice. “You told me to rage, to break things instead of myself.”

He swept his arm across a shelf, sending ornaments and trinkets flying. A small clock struck the floor, its mechanism giving one final, pathetic chime before falling silent.

“You said I could scream, that I could rage—” Zev’s voice broke as he tore down the heavy curtains, ripping the fabric from its rods. “That I didn’t have to shut down.”

He drove his fist into a painting—some pastoral scene of the Night Court in its glory days. His knuckles split, blood smearing across the canvas as it tore.

“So why are you shutting down?”

Something flickered in Malik’s eyes. A spark of awareness where before there had been nothing.

“Zev,” he said, and his voice held the faintest tremor.

The sound of his name, spoken with even that ghost of emotion, doused Zev’s rage like cold water. He sank into a chair that had survived his fury.

What was the point of all this?

“What have they done to you?” he whispered, more to himself than to Malik.

Zev leaned forward, elbows on his knees, blood from his knuckles dripping onto the carpet. The destruction around him mirrored the chaos inside him.

Those Gods damned shadow paths.

If only it wasn’t for them…

A memory surfaced—Rhys and him, near those paths. Rhys’s people had deified them.

“The Court thinks they own these paths,” Rhys had told him. “But the paths answer to no one. They’re ancient. Older than the Courts, older than most of Veridia.”

Rhys had traced patterns in the earth around them, strange symbols that seemed to calm the hungry darkness.

“My people learned the secrets of the paths centuries ago,” he’d explained. “We know how to travel them safely, how to feed them just enough without losing ourselves.”

Zev hadn’t understood then. “Why show me this?”

Rhys had smiled, eyes reflecting moonlight. “Because someday you might decide to leave this life behind, and through here is the fastest way to do it.”

Zev had learned the marks to make, the words to whisper, the way to move through darkness without losing too much of himself. Not out of intellectual curiosity, but because Rhys had asked him to. 

Now Zev’s gaze snapped to Malik. “The excavation tunnel,” he said. “It may be the answer.”

Malik tilted his head.

Zev wanted to explain his new plan, but not where anyone might be listening. 

If Zev could put into action all that Rhys had taught him, the paths could take them anywhere in Veridia. It wasn’t without risk, but if they stayed here…

Zev didn’t even want to consider what would become of them. 

There was just one more problem. To get Malik out of the palace, to navigate the shadow paths, to protect them both from the hungry darkness, he would need power. More power than he currently possessed.

He knew where he could get it. 

Malik’s dreams. He’d tasted so much magic there, tempting him. Its potency was almost overwhelming.

Zev hadn’t wanted to feed on Malik’s dreams to protect his own mental state, but what was there left to protect now?

What would be left to protect a week from now?

Zev studied Malik’s empty face. It was a heartbreaking sight, and it was another flaw in his plan. Without emotion, there was nothing for him to feed on—no fear to harvest, no nightmares to consume. 

He moved to sit on the edge of Malik’s bed. “Listen to me. The shadow paths numbed your emotions, but sometimes—” he hesitated, “—sometimes a strong enough shock can reverse the process.”

Zev leaned closer, one hand moving to Malik’s face. “If this doesn’t make you feel anything,” he said, “I don’t know what will.”

Malik didn’t respond, didn’t move away, didn’t lean in. He simply watched, hollow-eyed, as Zev closed the distance between them.

Their lips met, and Zev intended to keep the kiss controlled, impersonal—just a touch to rattle Malik. For some reason Zev couldn’t understand Malik had decided he liked Zev, and if that could bring him back…

“Come on,” Zev whispered against Malik’s lips. His thumbs traced Malik’s cheekbones, and finally, finally, the human responded.

His tongue touched Zev’s lips and then they were kissing for real and Zev told himself he was only doing what was necessary. That the racing of his heart meant nothing. That the heat spreading through his body was merely because his plan was working. 

Confusion swam in the depth of Malik’s eyes when he pulled back. Pain flickered across his features. And something else—something warm and wanting.

“I—” Malik’s voice cracked. His hand rose to his lips. “I felt that.”

The wonder in his voice, the break in his flat affect, sent a surge of relief through Zev. 

Gods.

This human really was adorable.

Malik’s fingers trembled as he touched his own lips. Color rushed back into his face. Zev couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking, but at least he was having thoughts. That much was clear.

“We need to talk,” Zev said, lowering his voice. “I want to feed on your nightmares.”

Malik blinked as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard that correctly. “You do?”

“I do.”

“But you said—”

Zev shook his head to keep him from saying any more. He wished he could explain his plan in detail, but that was too risky. “Will you let me do it?”

Malik looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I’ll give you whatever you need,” he said softly. 

And how did Zev deserve that?

He didn’t know.

But this was not the time to question his good luck. Or the human’s sanity.

This was the time to take action and get out of here. 

Zev exhaled slowly. “This won’t be pleasant for you.”

“I understand,” Malik said. “I’ve read the webnovel. I know you make a nightmare more intense by drawing on it.”

And yet Malik had offered himself many times.

Why?

At some point, Zev really needed to find out. Right now, though, they had more important matters to take care of. If one of the guards outside had alerted Lord Darius about Zev’s night time stroll, they might be watched already. 

Ironically, Lord Darius would love to see Zev feeding on Malik. He’d assume it meant he was winning, that Zev was giving in to his basest nature, returning to the son he’d raised. 

What Lord Darius didn’t know, and what Zev had realized, what he was hoping was true, was that feeding on Malik might give him enough power to turn against his family.

“Lie down.” Zev’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Close your eyes. I’ll do the rest.”

Malik settled back against the pillows. He nodded once before closing his eyes. “I trust you.”

Those three words landed like blows. He was brave, this mortal. Probably more so than he gave himself credit for. Stupid too, for trusting Zev. 

How could anyone trust Zev when Zev had betrayed his most important promise already?

He’d done the dirty work for his family again. 

He drew in a breath. 

Later, he told himself. There would be time to worry about all of that later, when they were both safe. 

Gathering himself, he placed his hands on either side of Malik’s face and closed his own eyes.

He let his consciousness sink beneath the surface of Malik’s, through layers of thought and memory to where nightmares dwelled. There, he dove into the deep and pulled Malik with him. 

There was so much pain in Malik’s subconsciousness, so much terror. 

Zev found the memory of the car crash easily, but it was far from the only thing that scared Malik. 

There were others too—newer fears, fresher pain.

The hollow emptiness of the shadow paths. The cruel silver eyes of Prince Ashelon. 

Zev himself, standing over dead werewolves, knife dripping blood, face empty of remorse.

So Malik was terrified of him after all.

Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as Zev had feared. Not if Zev was one of Malik’s nightmares.  

And still the mortal trusted him.

Before Zev could linger on that thought, he grabbed a thread of fear and pulled on it. 

Malik’s body arched on the bed, a gasp tearing from his throat. His nightmares flooded into Zev—rich, potent, intoxicating. Power surged through Zev’s veins like liquid fire, burning away weakness, filling the hollow spaces inside him.

Through the connection, flashes of Malik’s memories crashed over him:

The car, metal screaming as it folded around them. His mother’s voice, suddenly silenced. The weight of his father’s hand on his arm, trying to shield him even as he died.

A hospital room, white and sterile. “The only survivor,” someone whispered, not knowing he could hear.

Late nights alone, the empty house echoing with ghosts of laughter that would never fill it again.

The crushing guilt of having been the one to get away.

The power built and built, far beyond what Zev had anticipated. He’d known Malik’s dreams would be juicy, but this…

This was a feast of a kind he’d never experienced. 

He could feel the power crackle across his skin as he drank in deep. 

Was it because Malik’s survivor’s guilt mirrored his own?

Was that what made this connection so energizing?

Zev didn’t know. And he couldn’t stop.

Beneath his hands, Malik trembled, tears streaming from the corners of his closed eyes. But he didn’t fight. He bore the intrusion, willingly giving what Zev took.

Magic flowed into Zev, wild and untamed. He noticed his glamor slipping by the way his fingers lengthened into elegant claws. His skin would became paler too, showing the dark veins visible beneath while the violet of his eyes bled outward, consuming the whites until there was only swirling, glowing color.

Still, he didn’t want to stop drinking.

New visions now—not memories but possibilities: Zev transformed into something inhuman, eyes empty as the void. Malik reaching for him, only to have his hand pass through like smoke. The Court breaking Zev piece by piece until nothing remained of the person he’d been.

No!

Zev finally recoiled, pulling himself away from Malik’s mind with a gasp, reeling backwards.

Power hummed through every cell of his body, making the air around him shiver. He felt… immense. Unstoppable.

“Zev?” Malik’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been screaming. His eyes widened at the sight of Zev’s transformed appearance, whether in shock or horror, Zev couldn’t say.

“Is this you?” Malik asked. “The real you?”

Zev nodded once, sharply.

“Wow,” Malik whispered.

Zev really wanted to know what he was thinking, but there was no time.

“We need to go,” Zev said. Power on this level would ping someone’s radar. “Now.”]

Malik nodded, rising from the bed on unsteady legs. “How do we get past the guards?”

Zev smiled, and knew it wasn’t a kind expression. “That part’s simple.”

He moved to the door, placing his palm against the wood. Magic flowed from him, seeping into the structure of the palace itself, preparing the illusion he’d have to cast to escape.

“They’ll see us leave this room,” he explained, “but they’ll see us heading in the opposite direction of where we’ll actually go. Their minds will fill in the blanks, crafting memories of us walking down corridors we never touched.”

Malik stared at him. “You can do that?”

“I can now.” The admission sent a shiver of both pride and unease through Zev. He had never possessed this kind of power before. It was heady.

Addictive.

Malik stepped closer, swaying slightly. “I feel… strange. Lighter.”

“It’ll pass,” Zev promised, hoping he wasn’t lying. “Once we’re safe.”

He took Malik’s hand and the contact sent a strange jolt through him, as if something sparked between them, as if the connection he’d forged to draw all that power was still open.

Why?

And more importantly, how?

“Zev?” Malik asked, clearly sensing his hesitation.

Zev shook himself out of his momentary stupor. “Stay close to me,” he instructed. “Don’t speak. Just follow.”

Malik squeezed his hand in response.

Zev opened the door. The guards straightened at his appearance, shock evident on their faces.

“My Lord,” one began, his hand moving to his weapon.

Zev didn’t give him time to finish. With a gesture, he cast his illusion over both guards. Their eyes glazed, following phantom versions of Zev and Malik that existed only in their minds.

“Come on,” Zev whispered, pulling Malik in the opposite direction.

They moved through the palace like shadows, Zev extending his power ahead of them to cloud the minds of anyone they encountered. Servants, guards, even a minor noble—all saw what Zev wanted them to see.

The magic flowed eagerly. It wanted to be used, to reshape reality around him, to bend the world to his will.

It prodded at Zev to make his illusions more terrible.

It had been born from fear and it wanted to strike fear in the hearts of everyone. 

You and me, it seemed to whisper in his ear, we can bring anyone to his knees.

And it would be glorious.

Zev did his best to shake the thought.

Was this how his grandmother felt all the time? Seduced by terrible potential?

Zev didn’t want to know.

By the time they reached the outer wards of the palace, sweat beaded on Zev’s forehead. Maintaining the illusions while moving quickly had taken more concentration than he’d expected.

“We’re almost there,” he told Malik, whose face had grown alarmingly pale. “Just need to get beyond this final barrier, and then it’s a straight path to the forest.”

Malik nodded, his jaw set with determination despite his exhaustion.

The outer ward shimmered before them, invisible to most eyes but glowing silver in Zev’s transformed sight. He pressed his hand against it, feeling the ancient magic pulse.

The ward finally gave way, creating an opening just large enough for them to slip through. Zev pushed Malik ahead of him, then followed, the barrier snapping closed behind them.

They emerged into the palace gardens, moonlight bathing the sculpted hedges and statues in silver. Beyond the gardens lay the outer grounds, and then miles of terrain before they’d reach the forest where Malik had been taken.

“We need horses,” Zev said, pulling Malik toward the eastern side of the gardens. “The shadow paths are too far to reach on foot.”

“But the stables will be guarded,” Malik whispered, casting nervous glances toward the palace where lights were beginning to flare in windows.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Zev assured him.

His newfound power whispered reassurance to him.

There could be ten guards there and he could kill them before they’d even notice him. 

They moved through the gardens, keeping to the shadows of towering hedges. Zev’s enhanced senses picked up every sound—the rustle of night creatures, the smell of the horses, the soft breathing of Malik beside him.

The stables stood at the edge of the palace grounds, separated from the main buildings by a wide courtyard. Two guards stood at attention by the entrance, their postures rigid and alert.

“Stay here,” Zev instructed, guiding Malik behind a decorative stone wall. “This won’t take a minute.”

“Wait.” Malik stopped him with a hurried whisper. “You won’t kill them, right?”

Zev regarded the mortal silently.

Funny, until this interruption, he hadn’t even thought to spare the guards’ lives. 

But he didn’t need them dead either. 

“Stay here,” he repeated before he started moving. 

He approached the guards from behind, gathering shadows in his palms. With a quick gesture, he sent tendrils of darkness wrapping around both guards’ heads. They slumped to the ground without a sound, caught in dreams of Zev’s creation.

Zev beckoned to Malik, who hurried over, eyes wide at the unconscious guards.

“Are they…?”

“Sleeping,” Zev assured him.

Inside the stables, horses nickered softly in their stalls, disturbed by the late-night intrusion. Zev moved to a large black stallion, stroking its neck to calm it.

“This one,” he said, quickly saddling the animal. “You’ll ride with me.”

Malik looked relieved. “Good. I’ve never actually been on a horse before.”

Zev shot him a look. “I figured. You have very few survival skills.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Malik scratched the back of his head. “D&D didn’t prepare me for this.” 

Zev didn’t know what D&D was, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t going to help this human survive Veridia. That job fell to Zev.

Without further comment, he finished preparing the stallion and led it out of the stall. He mounted first, then extended his hand down to Malik. “Hold on to me.”

Malik grasped Zev’s forearm, allowing himself to be pulled up behind the saddle. His arms immediately circled Zev’s waist, holding tight.

Zero hesitation. 

Did he really not mind Zev’s changed appearance?

Or maybe he just really didn’t want to fall off a horse, which was smart. 

In any case, now was not the time to ponder that. Behind them, alarm bells began to ring throughout the palace.

“They know we’re gone,” Malik whispered, his breath warm against the back of Zev’s neck.

Zev refused to let it distract him.

Grimly, he urged the stallion into a gallop as they reached the edge of the palace grounds. Ahead stretched open fields, then the dense forest that surrounded the Night Court’s domain.

The wind whipped past them as they raced across the dark fields, Malik clinging to Zev—as he should.

“They’re coming,” the human called, glancing back at the lights appearing behind them.

Zev could hear it too—hoofbeats, voices, the distant howl of shadow hounds.

There was no way they’d make it to the excavation site Malik had mentioned. 

But there was somewhere else they could go. 

The place where he used to meet up with Rhys. 

Swallowing the emotions that accompanied the thought, Zev steered his stallion toward a copse of old trees that rose like sentinels along the western edge of the fields. 

As they reached the trees, Zev slowed their mount, weaving between the massive trunks. The forest closed around them, branches forming a canopy that blocked out the moonlight.

Behind them, the sounds of pursuit grew louder. 

And there was the howl of the shadow hounds again, raising the hair on Zev’s neck.

If they got caught…

No, they wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t let them get caught.

“Can we shake them off?” Malik asked, his voice strained.

“Just hang on,” Zev said. 

They pushed deeper into the woods.

If only they could go faster, but the forest was too thick. Branches scratched at Zev’s face and arms, leaving thin trails of blood.

It had been so long since Zev had sought out this clearing. 

Did he even remember the path correctly?

The forest had grown and changed, what if he was leading them nowhere, what if…?

No, there it was.

They emerged into a small clearing where the trees formed a perfect circle around a pool of still, black water. The surface reflected no stars, no moon—only darkness.

Another entrance to the shadow paths.

Zev wanted to breathe a sigh of relief.

But they weren’t alone.

Three figures crouched around the pool, their clawed hands covered in soil from drawing symbols in the earth—symbols similar to what Zev had intended to create. They looked up as Zev and Malik burst into the clearing, their ears were furry.

Werewolves.

One of them—a broad-shouldered male with a scarred face—rose slowly to his feet. His nostrils flared as he caught Zev’s scent.

“Night Court,” he growled, his voice thick with hatred.

The other wolves stood as well, bodies tense. They were ready to fight.

“Wait,” Malik called. “We’re not—”

But it was too late. The wolves had recognized Zev.

“You,” the scarred wolf snarled, taking a step forward. “You’re the one who killed Tomas and Erin.”

Those must be some of the werewolves Zev had executed recently. Maybe they could smell it on him, still.

“We don’t have time for this,” Zev muttered, dismounting. “Move aside. We’re not here for you.”

“Like you weren’t there for our packmates?” The female wolf to the left spat at the ground. “You murdered them while they worked.”

“I have killed many wolves,” Zev admitted. What was the point in hiding it?

Of course, the admission only enraged them further. The scarred wolf began to change, his body contorting as bones cracked and reformed. Coarse fur sprouted across his skin, his face elongating into a muzzle filled with razor-sharp teeth.

The other two followed suit, though their transformations were slightly slower.

If Zev had wanted to, he could have killed them mid-shift.

It was what he should have done, really. They were wasting time.

Any moment, their pursuers might catch up with them.

But Zev didn’t want to kill any more wolves. 

Sadly, the wolves didn’t care what he wanted.

The scarred one—now fully transformed into a massive beast that stood on two legs, its amber eyes burning with rage—lunged at Zev with supernatural speed.

Zev sidestepped, unleashing a whip of shadow that lashed across the wolf’s chest. The creature howled in pain but didn’t slow, spinning to attack again.

One of the other two circled around the horse, trying to swipe at Malik.

“Leave him!” Zev shouted, surrounding the horse with a barrier made of shadow, and while he did that, the third wolf joined the attack, coming at Zev from the side while the scarred alpha engaged him from the front. Claws raked across Zev’s arm, drawing blood that shimmered almost silver in the moonlight.

Zev hissed in pain, retaliating with a blast of power that sent the third wolf flying into a tree trunk with a sickening crack. The creature slumped to the ground, whimpering.

Behind them, the sounds hoofbeats grew louder. 

“Zev!” Malik called, alarmed. 

The second wolf had broken through the shadow barrier, swiping at the horse, which almost threw Malik off.

Fury surged through Zev. He caught the scarred wolf by the throat, darkness wrapping around his hand, amplifying his strength. The wolf thrashed in his grip, powerful but unable to break free.

“I could crush your windpipe,” Zev snarled. 

Instead, he slammed the creature to the ground with enough force to stun it, then turned to deal with the wolf attacking Malik.

Moving with inhuman speed, he seized the mutt from behind, one hand twisting in the fur at the nape of his neck, the other pressing against his temple.

“Sleep,” he commanded, pushing a tendril of power into her mind.

The wolf struggled for a moment, then collapsed.

Zev pulled Malik off the horse. Fortunately the shadow barrier had kept the mount from bolting. “Are you hurt?”

Malik shook his head, still pressed against the tree. “No. But Zev—”

The clearing exploded with light as a dozen mounted guards burst through the trees, shadow hounds snarling at their heels. 

At their center rode Lord Darius.

“Zevran.” His voice was cutting and cold. “This pathetic escape attempt ends now.”

Zev positioned himself in front of Malik, and then he scanned their surroundings. 

They had the lake to their backs.

Already, Zev could hear its shadows whisper at him, beckoning him.

Lord Darius dismounted, his boots striking the ground with an ominous thud. “Guards, secure the human. My son and I need to have a conversation.”

Oh no, they were not going to have a conversation here.

And Zev wasn’t going to let anyone touch Malik either.

But what could he do?

The wolves had delayed them too much.

Now they were out of time, out of options. 

They had to dive into the shadow path, but Zev hadn’t completed the protective symbols. Without them, the journey would be dangerous.

But if they didn’t go, they would become his father’s prisoners again.

He made his decision.

“Hold onto me,” he told Malik, pulling him close. “Don’t let go, no matter what.”

Malik’s arms wrapped around Zev’s waist, his face pressed against Zev’s chest. “I won’t.”

Darius realized what they intended. “Stop them!” he shouted, striding forward with shadows gathered around his hands.

In one fluid motion, Zev scooped Malik into his arms and leapt backward into the pool of darkness.

The last thing he saw was his father’s face, contorted with rage and something else—fear.

Then the darkness swallowed them whole.

* * *

The shadow path welcomed them like a starving predator, eager to feed. Cold beyond any natural chill enveloped them, sinking into their bones. Malik gasped against Zev’s neck as the darkness pressed in from all sides.

Without the protective symbols, the path’s hunger was unchecked. It reached for them, tried to pry into their minds, to feed on their emotions and memories.

Zev wrapped his power around them both like a cloak, creating a barrier—not impenetrable, but enough to filter the path’s hunger. He let it taste certain memories, inconsequential ones he could spare, offering them as sacrifice, the way Rhys had taught him.

No, don’t think of Rhys, he chided himself.

That was a memory to precious to offer to the shadows. 

He had to focus. 

But the power he’d taken from Malik’s nightmares was already beginning to strain under the pressure. 

There was so much pressure.

Malik whimpered. 

Zev tried to pour more magic into the barrier that was supposed to protect them. 

Around them, images flickered—fragments of other times, other places, other worlds. Memories not their own played out like distorted reflections: a silver bridge arching over dark water; a throne room where discordant music played; a battlefield littered with bodies beneath a three-mooned sky.

“Don’t look,” Zev warned as Malik’s head began to turn toward one particularly vivid scene. “Focus on me. Just me.”

Malik nodded against his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. But even with his eyes closed, the path found ways to reach him. Zev could feel him trembling as the darkness whispered temptations to them both, promises of relief from pain, from guilt, from the weight of everything.

Worse, it was drawing Zev’s magic out of him.

And it was doing so quickly.

In a minute or so, Zev wouldn’t have enough to offer them any protection at all, and then they would be lost.

Forever adrift in the darkness.

“Zev.” Malik’s fingers dug into his clothes.

Something strange happened as Zev focused on the human.

He didn’t know if it was the strange nature of their surroundings or something else, but he could feel Malik’s heartbeat as if it were his own, could sense his thoughts brushing against the edges of his consciousness.

There was energy there, within that connection. Something Zev could take and use.

He wasn’t sure if that would be wise.

But what choice did he have?

“Hold tight,” he whispered to Malik, and then he drew on all the power he could gather, everything he had left inside him and everything he could pull from the warm mortal who clung to him.

Heat flooded his system in a rush unlike anything he had ever felt. His thoughts escaped him as he lost himself in it.

He hadn’t just acquired power.

He was power.

He was a terrifying force.

He would bend to no one, least of all these shadow paths.

Without even thinking, he released magic in a burst, an explosion.

The darkness around them screamed—a sound felt rather than heard, vibrating through their very souls.

For one terrible moment, they were everywhere and nowhere at once, stretched across realities.

Then they were falling, tumbling through empty space.

They struck something solid, Zev twisting at the last moment to protect the source of his power. Cold stone pressed against his back, and above them, a ceiling of black crystal reflected their faces back at them. 

Zev barely recognized himself. That pale fae could not be him. Not when he felt so vast and mighty and uncontainable.

Except now that they were out of the shadows all that glorious power receded, leaving him cold and empty and hungry. 

So fucking hungry.

The human shifted on top of him, breathing hard, fingers still digging into Zev’s shoulders. 

He still contained energy…

Zev wanted it. 

He needed it.

And he knew how he would get it. He rolled until he was on top of the human, lips finding Malik’s, forcing the connection between them wide open again. 

Malik made a surprised sound that turned into a soft, pitiful whimper as Zev took what he wanted from him, but Malik didn’t pull away. His fingers loosened their grip on Zev’s shoulders, his body going pliant as Zev drank—not blood or breath, but something more essential. Fear, anger, guilt, every negative emotion that could be turned into raw power in the hands of a night fae.

Malik tasted like moonlight and desperation and Zev’s whole body sang as dark energy filled the void the shadow paths had left behind. 

He was alive, so alive.

And he couldn’t stop.

Deep down he knew he had to.

He could feel Malik weakening beneath him, heartbeat stuttering, skin cooling. 

But the more he took, the hungrier he became. 

Malik’s hand lifted weakly, but not to push him away. His fingers brushed Zev’s cheek in a gesture he could not interpret.

“What the—Zev! STOP!”

The shout barely registered until hands clamped around Zev’s shoulders, ripping him away from Malik with such force that Zev was thrown backward.

A feral snarl tore from Zev’s throat. How dare someone interrupt his feeding? 

Incubus. It was a fucking incubus.

He launched himself at the intruder, darkness gathering around his hands. His vision tunneled, focused only on the threat, on eliminating whatever had come between him and his source.

His attack connected with solid muscle. The figure blocked Zev’s strike, staring at him with golden eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. 

“Zev! It’s me!” The voice cut through the haze of bloodlust. “What is wrong with you?”

Zev froze with his blade in mid-air.

This was Knox.

He’d been about to attack Knox.

“Have you lost your mind?” Knox demanded. “You were killing him!”

Reality crashed back into Zev. The heady rush of power faltered as he looked past Knox to where Malik lay motionless on the floor, skin ashen, lips parted but barely drawing breath.

What had he done?

“I didn’t—” Zev’s voice died in his throat. He had. He’d fed on Malik like a starving animal. Would have drained him completely if Knox hadn’t intervened.

“Fuck.” Knox dropped to his knees beside Malik, pressing fingers to the human’s throat. “He’s alive, but barely.”

The chamber around them came into focus as Zev’s power-drunk vision cleared. Black crystal walls curved upward into a dome, etched with silver symbols. Torch light cast long shadows across polished stone floors.

They weren’t in the Night Court territory anymore.

“Where—?” Zev managed.

“The Shadow Kingdom.” Knox gathered Malik gently into his arms, shooting Zev a wary look. 

It made sense. This was where the shadow paths converged. 

The Shadow Kingdom was not exactly where Zev had hoped to go, but at least they were out of reach of the Night Court. 

At what cost, though?

Zev couldn’t tear his eyes from Malik’s limp form. The human looked so small, so fragile in Knox’s arms.

“I need to get him to a healer.” Knox stepped back as Zev moved toward them. “And you need to stay away from him until you get yourself under control.”

---

Zev stood frozen in the chamber where the shadow path had spit him out, Knox’s words echoing in his mind. Knox had told him to stay away from Malik.

And he was right too.

Zev had lost control. He still didn’t have it back. The remnants of power sparked beneath his skin, wanting to be used, wanting to feed again.

Zev shuddered.

He’d let himself turn into a monster. 

Two Shadow Kingdom guards appeared by the door that Knox had left through. Zev paid them no mind. Neither did he let himself think about the weird fact that he was relieved to be in the Shadow Kingdom of all places.

His family would not follow him here. 

But did that matter?

They’d already destroyed him. 

Pull yourself together, he told himself sharply. He’d only done what he needed to do—and then he’d overdone it, yes, but there was no use crying about that now. 

He pressed his palms against his face, feeling the unfamiliar sharpness of his features. His glamour had completely faded. He breathed deeply, trying to calm the storm inside him enough to pull his appearance back into something resembling normalcy. The effort felt like trying to contain an ocean in a teacup—power still surged through him, wild and untamed.

Power he’d taken from a human who hadn’t even tried to fight him to save himself. 

“Zev?”

His head snapped up at the familiar voice. Adrian stood in the doorway, eyes widening slightly at Zev’s appearance before he schooled his expression.

“Are you all right?” Adrian asked, approaching cautiously. “I just saw Malik. Knox brought him to the healers.”

A flash of guilt surged through Zev’s chest, hot and painful. He pushed it aside, focusing on what mattered.

“Take me to him.” It came out as a command rather than a request.

Adrian hesitated. “Knox said—”

“I don’t care what Knox said.” Zev stepped forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I need to see him.”

Adrian held Zev’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “This way.”

They moved through the wide corridors of the Shadow Palace in silence. Guards and servants moved aside as they passed, eyes tracking Zev’s transformed appearance with undisguised curiosity. Idly, Zev wondered if they knew who he was, and how quickly rumors would fly.

He found that he didn’t give a damn. 

“What happened?” Adrian finally asked, his voice low. “Knox wouldn’t say much, just that Malik needed healing immediately.”

“The shadow paths drained him,” Zev said. “I took the rest.”

The truth was simple and damning. He didn’t bother softening it.

Adrian stared at him. “Why?” he asked after a moment. 

Zev didn’t have an answer for him. Not a good one, anyway. Not one that explained anything.

Eventually, Adrian stopped in front of a door and pushed it open without ceremony. “We’re here.”

They stepped into a chamber lit by the glow of amber crystals that floated in the air over a bed surrounded by two fae healers and Knox.  

Malik lay on that bed, his form still and pale. 

Knox looked up as they entered, concern evident in his eyes.

“How is he?” Zev moved past Adrian, approaching the bed.

Malik’s face was ashen, his breathing shallow but steady. The healers had removed his shirt to place some smaller crystals directly on his skin.

Knox stepped to Zev’s side, eyeing him up and down. “Tell me what happened.”

Zev kept his gaze focused on Malik. “We had to travel the path to escape the Night Court. I needed power to get us out. I fed on his nightmares, and then… I couldn’t stop.”

One of the healers—a willowy fae with silver markings around her eyes—glanced up at him. “His life force was severely depleted. We’re stabilizing him, but recovery will take time.”

“Will he be okay?” Zev asked.

“That depends on his strength,” the healer replied. “He’s fighting.”

“Of course he is,” Zev muttered. Malik had shown nothing but determination since they’d met. Even after the shadow paths had hollowed him out, he’d fought his way back with nothing but a kiss.

Zev’s kiss.

Swallowing hard, Zev pushed the thought aside.

Knox rested a hand on Zev’s shoulder. “You should rest too.”

Zev shrugged him off. He did not wish to rest. Now was not the time for it. “These are Caelen’s people.” He gestured at the healers working on Malik. “How do we know we can trust them?”

The healer who hadn’t spoken so far snapped at him. “We would never harm a patient.”

Zev was about to argue with her when Knox cut in.

“Zev,” he said. “Do you know any other healers who could help us right now?”

He did not. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. The healers were winter fae. Zev could tell by all the silver on their bodies. At least there was that. 

They weren’t related.

“Caelen isn’t plotting against us for now,” Knox said.

“You trust the Shadow King now?” Zev asked. 

“Sometimes we have to forge strange alliances to get what we want.” Knox didn’t like it—that much was clear from the sound of his voice. But he was focused on the bigger picture. 

Zev always struggled to see things that way.

The same way he struggled to see all the shades of gray that Knox insisted existed between black and white. But Zev liked his world in black and white. 

Things were infinitely simpler that way.

This moment, he was black and Malik was white. 

He didn’t know about anything else. 

“Adrian and I got here last night,” Knox said while Zev was barely listening. “Caelen’s people are still looking for Leon and Jamie. We have some reason to believe that Lyrian wound up in his hometown.”

“With his grandmother?” Zev asked.

Before Knox could respond, Malik stirred, taking up all of Zev’s attention as a small sound escaping his lips. The healers paused in their work, watching as his eyelids fluttered.

He was slipping into dreams. 

Zev sensed it the same way a hungry wolf scented the faintest whiff of blood in the air—and his body responded without his permission. Power stirred beneath his skin, hungry and eager. His mouth went dry, senses sharpening until he could almost taste the dream taking hold of Malik.

“I need to go.” Zev backed away from the bed, fighting the pull of his own desires. 

He was not going to give into those again. 

He left the room without turning back. 

Footsteps hurried after him in the corridor.

“Zev, wait—” Adrian called.

“Leave me,” Zev snapped, not slowing his pace. The sharp edge in his voice left no room for argument.

Adrian’s footsteps faltered, then stopped completely. 

Zev moved through the palace without direction. He didn’t care where his feet took him as long as it was away from Malik. Servants and guards gave him a wide berth, likely sensing the dangerous energy that radiated from him.

After several minutes of aimless wandering, Zev turned a corner and found himself in an open courtyard. Moonlight spilled over flowers with glowing petals. As the night breeze touched them, they released soft, haunting notes that blended into a beautiful melody.

The Singing Gardens.

Zev had heard of them but never seen them for himself.

He stood transfixed for a moment.

Then he noticed two figures approaching from the opposite side of the courtyard. Daniel—colorful and vibrant even in the midnight hour—walked beside the Shadow King. They were deep in conversation, Daniel gesturing animatedly until he stopped aprubtly upon noticing Zev.

His eyes widened and he rushed toward Zev, leaving Caelen behind. “Zev! We heard you’d arrived! How’s Malik? We were just heading to check on him.”

“He’s alive,” Zev said tersely. He couldn’t fault Daniel for worrying about his friend, but he had no patience for his particular human’s energy levels.

Daniel studied him for a moment longer. “Why do you look like that?”

Before Zev could lash out at Daniel for asking such a stupid question, Caelen laid a hand on the human’s shoulder and told him to run ahead. 

Daniel protested. “But I want to know—”

“Go,” Caelen said with a meaningful look. “Visit your friend. We’ll talk later.”

Daniel looked like he wanted to argue more, but then, fortunately, he gave in and listened to his mate. 

“Glad you made it here,” he said in parting to Zev before he ran along to see Malik.

Caelen, however, made no move to follow. Instead the Shadow King stood there and watched Caelen with cool assessment. 

As if he were any better than Zev. 

“You look terrible,” Caelen said. “Veridia’s Most Deadly Assassin, indeed.” His gaze swept Zev. “You lost control.”

Fury sparked to life in Zev’s chest.

The half-fae assumed he could judge Zev? “You would know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?” He shot back. 

“True.” Caelen’s lips curled. “I guess we’re not so different, you and I.”

“We are completely different.” Zev was never going to let anyone say anything else. 

“Are you sure about that?” Caelen asked. “I heard a whisper that you drained Malik’s life force. Did you get a little too hungry? It feels good, doesn’t it? Feeding that thirst for power.”

“Stop,” Zev warned. “We’re not the same.”

“I suppose,” Caelen said. “I was possesssed by a God. Why did you fail to control your appetite?”

Zev moved without thinking, closing the distance between them in a blur of motion. His hand shot out, fingers curling around Caelen’s throat. “Stop,” he warned again.

He didn’t want to admit that the Shadow King had a point. Zev’s failing was entirely his own. 

And the worst thing was that Caelen didn’t seem intimidated by him. “You’d threated me in my own palace?  Caelen’s lips curled into a taunting smile. “Did your brain leave you along with your glamor?”A blast of freezing air erupted from Caelen’s palm, shoving Zev back several steps. Frost crystals formed on Zev’s skin where the magic had touched him.

“Come on, Assassin,” Caeled called. “Show me what the Night Court’s prized killer can do.” The half fae’s voice dropped lower. “Or are you only dangerous to humans now?”

Rage exploded through Zev’s body. He lunged forward, shadows gathering around his fists. His first strike missed as Caelen sidestepped with infuriating grace, countering with a shower of ice shards that sliced across Zev’s cheek.

“Too slow,” Caelen taunted, frost swirling around his fingers. “I expected more from the legendary Zevran vel Nacht.”

Zev conjured more darkness, compressing it between his palms before hurling it at Caelen. The Shadow King raised an ice barrier that shattered upon impact, sending frozen fragments scattering across the courtyard. The force knocked Caelen back several paces.

“Better,” Caelen said, wiping a thin line of blood from his lip. “But still holding back.”

Zev wasn’t holding back—but his power was wild, untamed, and difficult to control. It pulsed through him like a second heartbeat as he unleashed a blast that struck Caelen square in the chest, sending him flying into a stone column. The impact cracked the marble, and Caelen slid to the ground, momentarily stunned.

Caelen recovered quickly, eyes blazing with cold fury. He slammed his palm into the ground, and sheets of ice spread outward, transforming the courtyard into a frozen battlefield. Ice spikes erupted beneath Zev’s feet. He leapt aside to avoid them.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Caelen growled, just as he conjured a whirlwind of ice and snow that engulfed Zev.

The cold burned his lungs.

Gods damned that was cold.

Almost icy enough to touch the hot rage in his core, the rage he drew on now to create a sphere of darkness around himself. 

If he foced just a little more power into it…

The sphere expanded outward, shattering the ice storm.

The two fae circled each other, both breathing heavily. 

There was still so much corrupted power within Zev, begging for release. 

He obliged. 

Caelen was the perfect target for all this darkness, and Zev sent blast after blast of shadow-energy at the cursed half-fae. 

Caelen deflected some attacks and absorbed others with his own magic.

Marble cracked. Statues toppled. The singing flowers screamed discordant notes as they were crushed underfoot.

Zev lost himself in the battle, barely registering when Caelen whistled sharply and six palace guards rushed into the courtyard, weapons drawn.

“Restrain him,” Caelen ordered, ice forming a protective shield around himself.

The guards circled Zev cautiously. One lunged at him with a sharp blade, and Zev moved without thinking. He caught the guard’s arm, twisted, and flung him into two others. Their bodies collided with a sickening crunch.

The remaining guards attacked simultaneously. 

Zev ducked beneath a swinging blade, kicked one guard in the chest, and sent another flying with a blast of pure energy. The last guard he seized by the throat, power surging through his fingers, tempting him to strike, to kill. 

No.

He released the guard but the momentary hesitation cost him.

A spear of ice struck his shoulder, pinning him to a wall. More ice formed around his limbs, holding him immobile as he thrashed and snarled, shadows whipping around him in violent tendrils that lashed at anything within reach.

Three more guards fell before Caelen finally shouted, “ENOUGH!”

The command reverberated with power that cut through Zev’s rage. 

Caelen approached him with a calculating gaze. Frost glimmered in his white hair, and his breath fogged in the unnaturally cold air of the ruined garden.

“Have you expended enough of that cursed power running through you now?” he asked. “Or do we have to go another round?”

Understanding dawned slowly through Zev’s rage. Caelen hadn’t been trying to humiliate him—he’d been offering an outlet for the dangerous energy that had been consuming Zev since his feeding on Malik.

The ice restraining Zev shattered as he slumped forward, suddenly exhausted. The wild power had indeed diminished, leaving him hollow but clearer-headed than he’d been since emerging from the shadow paths.

Caelen gestured to one of the uninjured guards. “Take our guest to the east wing. Give him a chamber where he can rest.” To Zev, he added, “You’re safe here for now. The Night Court has never been welcome within these walls.”

“Why help me?” Zev demanded.

“I’m not helping you,” Caelen replied coldly. “I’m helping Daniel, who cares about his friend, who cares about you for reasons I can’t begin to fathom.”

The guard approached Zev cautiously. “This way, sir.”

Zev followed without argument, still tempted to stab Caelen, but too drained to fight anymore.

---

The guard led Zev through the Shadow Palace’s winding corridors. His limbs felt heavy. Damn Caelen and his ice magic. The slashes on his cheek stung, a small pain compared to the hollow ache spreading through his chest.

The guest chamber door swung open. Spacious. Dark sheets on the bed. A window overlooking the nightscape of the Shadow Kingdom. No personal touches. 

Zev didn’t bother thanking the guard or removing his clothes. He collapsed onto the bed, darkness swallowing him instantly.

Even as he drifted off, though, something tugged at him. Something—

No. 

Not Malik’s dreams. Not again.

Zev pushed against the connection, fought it, but his exhaustion won and his consciousness slid through the barrier between their minds.

* * *

Malik stood in a meadow beneath a violet-tinged sky. Not Earth. Not quite Veridia either. The tall grass whispered against his legs, wild flowers releasing a sweet scent that reminded him of summer evenings back home. 

There was a lake nearby. Maybe he would go there and sit for a while. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Just to exist for a moment without worries.

Maybe he would nap. 

He felt kind of tired.

Why was he so tired?

A prickle on the back of his neck. 

Was there someone else here?

Malik turned. There was a figure standing at the meadow’s edge. Was that…? 

Zev?

Malik’s heart beat faster. That was Zev! What was he doing here? And why did he look like that? Oh, right, his glamor had dropped when they’d….

Oh.

Malik’s memories of the last few hours came back to him in a rush. They’d fled the Night Court. They’d jumped into the Shadow Path, and he’d clung to Zev there. He’d felt so close to the fae, like they were in sync, like he was really just an extension of Zev, and then they’d made it out and the sensation lingered and… then Zev had kissed him. 

Malik’s heart thumped painfully in his chest at that particular memory. 

He’d been so overwhelmed he hadn’t even cared that Zev’s lips were on his only because the night fae was feeding on him.  

He would have given Zev anything in that moment. 

And then he’d passed out. 

So was this a dream?

The lake, the meadow? Zev?

No, Zev might be real. He looked at Malik as if he didn’t know how to approach. He kind of looked as if he didn’t want to be here, actually. 

But then, why was he?

Malik took a few steps toward him. “Is that you?” 

Zev’s jaw clenched. God, he looked terrible. Beautiful and terrible at once, violet eyes glowing so brightly. Malik had never seen a color so stunning. “I didn’t mean to intrude on you here,” Zev said.   

“I don’t mind.” Malik shot him a smile. “You can visit my dreams anytime.”

“You’re only dreaming because I put you in a coma.”

Oh. Was that what had happened? Malik worried his lower lip, unsure what to say. “You got us away from the Night Court.”

“I lost control.” As always, it seemed Zev was not interested in softening the truth or sparing details. “You offered a lot of power, and I couldn’t resist taking it, even after you passed out. If Knox hadn’t pulled me off you, I would have killed you.”

That was a scary thought. In retrospect, Malik probably should have tried harder to push Zev off after the shadow paths had spit them back out. 

“And I’m in a coma now?” he asked. 

That was… not ideal.

But it certainly explained why he felt so tired.

“Caelen’s healers are working on you.” Zev didn’t offer words of comfort, but his expression spoke volumes. He hated what he’d done, hated himself for what he’d done.

That was why his posture went ever more rigid the closer Malik moved toward him.  

“Okay, so you nearly killed me,” Malik said. “I don’t love that, but I don’t think you meant to do that.”

“That doesn’t change what happened.”

Malik shook his head, coming to stand just two feet from the night fae. “You had to get us out of the Night Court. I wouldn’t have survived there, and neither would you have. I don’t blame you for losing your mind in the shadow paths.”

Zev, who was usually so good at facing the truth, averted his gaze. “It wasn’t the shadow paths that made me lose my mind.”

“What was it then?” Malik resisted the urge to reach out and touch the fae warrior, trace his thumb along his jaw and make Zev look at him. 

“Something inside of me.” Zev’s violet gaze flicked to him. “Something inside of me really, really likes the power you give me, and…” He paused. “The taste of you. I’ve never tasted anyone like you.”

Heat rushed to Malik’s cheeks. The taste of you. Malik desperately wanted those words to mean more than they probably did.

They brought back the memories of Zev’s mouth pressed to his. 

Twice now the night fae had kissed him.

But neither of those kisses had been romantic. 

Malik needed to remember that. Zev didn’t like Malik the way Malik liked Zev. But Zev did like the taste of him.

Malik swallowed, trying not to let that thought run away with him. “You can taste me anytime,” he found himself saying like the absolute fool he was.

Zev stared at him. 

Malik wished he would do more than stare. His heart was beating so fast he thought he might be in danger of passing out if he wasn’t already dreaming. 

Would he even remember any of this when he woke up?

“You should be afraid of me.” Zev’s voice dropped lower, a warning growl. “After what I did.”

“I’m not.” 

Something flashed in Zev’s eyes—frustration, confusion, guilt. Maybe all three.

Malik pushed himself to be brave. With another step, he closed the remaining distance between himself and Zev, resting his hand on Zev’s cheek. Their gazes locked. Malik’s breath caught. 

What was he doing?

He’d just wanted to erase that look of guilt from Zev’s face. 

And now he couldn’t backtrack. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” he made himself say the words that were on his mind.

“You should.”

“No,” Malik insisted. 

“You don’t—”

“Listen,” Malik cut Zev off. “After the accident, I was the one who lived when everyone I loved died. Every day I asked why me? What purpose could possibly justify me surviving when they didn’t?”

“What does that have to do with what I did to you?”

“Everything. When I offered you my nightmares, when I let you feed—it was the first time since the accident that my pain served a purpose.” Something lightened in Malik’s chest. “Do you understand? My worst memories helped save us both.”

Zev raised a hand, fingers closing around Malik’s wrist. The contact sent warmth spiraling up Malik’s arm even as Zev spoke. “Don’t let your pain push you to self-destruction.”

Malik grinned. “Look who’s talking.”

“Your family wouldn’t want this for you.”

“And what I want doesn’t matter?”

Zev lowered Malik’s hand. “How could you possibly want me?”

‘Me.’ How could you possibly want me? Not ‘this.’ Was Zev even aware what he’d just asked, how he’d changed the topic? 

Malik’s mouth went dry. “It’s so easy to want you.” Zev was handsome with his beautiful eyes and his fae features and that rare smile that completely undid Malik whenever it was focused on him, but even beyond the physical, he was honest and loyal to his friends and always trying to do the right thing, even when he struggled to know what the right thing was. 

There was nothing fake or inauthentic about Zev. 

Malik hated to see him so conflicted. “I know you don’t want me,” Malik said. “After everyhing you’ve been through recently… After the way you lost the love of your life… I would never hope for anything from you. But if you need anything from me… If there’s anything I can do for you, I’m happy to be useful.”

There, the words were all out. Everything Malik felt, laid bare.

Zev went still, his expression unreadable as Malik’s words hung in the dream-violet air between them.

“Useful,” Zev repeated, the word hollow. His eyes darkened. “Is that what you think I want ? For you to be useful?”

Malik’s heart stuttered.

“You need to stop this.” Zev stepped back, severing the connection between them. 

“Stop what?”

“Acting like you’re disposable. Offering yourself up like some kind of sacrifice.”

The intensity in Zev’s voice startled Malik. “I didn’t mean…”

“I don’t want your sacrifice. You talk about your own pain, but you forget mine.” 

The dream meadow darkened around them. A gust of wind picked up and swept through Malik’s hair, making him shiver.

Zev’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Do you think I want another person to die because they cared about me?” 

The question hit hard. Zev was right; Malik hadn’t considered Zev’s trauma. Only his own. “I’m not Rhys.”

“No,” Zev agreed. “You’re not.”

They regarded each other silently until the sky shifted above them,  colors rippling through the darkness. The dream began to fray at the edges. Something tugged at Malik—his physical body registering touch, voices. The healers Zev had mentioned? “I think I’m waking up.”

Zev nodded, his form already dissolving, becoming transparent.

Malik wanted to call out to him, to ask if Zev would come see him in the waking world.

But Zev was already gone.

---

It took Malik some serious effort to claw his way back to consciousness. His eyelids weighed tons, his mouth felt packed with sand, and every inch of his body ached with a peculiar hollowness, as if something vital had been scooped out from inside him.

He tried to swallow. Failed. Tried again.

Voices filtered through the fog in his brain, familiar yet distant.

“—think he’s waking up. Get the water—”

“—should we call the healers back?”

Cool fingers pressed against his forehead. Malik forced his eyes open, immediately regretting it as light stabbed his retinas. He squeezed them shut again with a groan.

“Easy,” someone murmured. Daniel. “Take it slow.”

Malik tried again, opening his eyes to narrow slits. The room gradually came into focus—amber crystals floating near the ceiling cast a soft glow over dark stone walls.

Daniel’s concerned face hovered above him, hair a shock of faded blue and purple against the darkness.

“Where…?” Malik’s voice emerged as a painful rasp.

“Shadow Kingdom.” Daniel lifted Malik’s head gently, pressing a cup to his lips. “Small sips.”

The water felt like heaven against his parched throat. Malik drank greedily until Daniel pulled the cup away.

“Not too fast. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Adrian appeared at Daniel’s side, relief evident in his expression. “Welcome back. You had us worried.”

Malik nodded slowly. He remembered their escape from the Shadow Kingdom but what stood out even more starkly was the memory of the dream he’d had before waking. The violet meadow. Zev’s guilt-ridden eyes.

He tried to push himself up and immediately regretted the decision as the room tilted sickeningly around him. Daniel’s hands steadied him.

“Whoa. Maybe don’t try to sit up just yet.”

Malik sank back against the pillows, frustrated by his weakness. “Zev?”

Daniel and Adrian exchanged a glance that sent a spike of worry through Malik’s chest.

“He’s here in the palace,” Adrian said carefully. “In one of the guest chambers.”

“Is he okay?” The question slipped out before Malik could think better of it.

Another exchanged look.

Daniel sighed. “We’re not happy with him right now.”

“Why?” Malik asked. 

“Because…” Adrian hesitated. 

“Because of me?” Malik guessed. Really, they didn’t have to tiptoe around the topic. Malik was fully aware of what had happened to him. 

“Knox had to separate you two,” Adrian said. “Zev lost control. He was…”

“Dangerous,” Daniel finished. “He fought with Caelen in the Singing Gardens and… well, they kind of destroyed the place. Which is a damn shame. I loved that garden.”

Malik blinked, trying to process this new information. “They fought?”

“Caelen claims he was helping Zev burn off energy.” Adrian ran a hand through his hair. “A few guards ended up injured.”

“Where is Zev now?” Malik asked.

“East wing,” Daniel said. “That’s where all the nice guest quarters are. Caelen isn’t mad at him, but I am,” Daniel added. “Zev almost killed you.”

“Caelen almost killed you once or twice,” Malik pointed out. 

“No, he didn’t.” Daniel crossed his arms in front of his chest, and Malik knew there would be no arguing with him… and Malik was too exhausted to argue anyway.

“Look,” he said. “I supported you when you fell for the villain so…”

Adrian turned to him. “Are you saying you’re falling for Zev?” 

Malik almost laughed at the surprise in Adrian’s tone. He’d been Caelen’s prisoner. A legit damsel in distress locked up in a basement, and then a drop-dead gorgeous night fae warrior with the most beautiful violet eyes came and carried him out princess-style. 

Who wouldn’t have fallen?

Zev would always be his hero, no matter how hard he was struggling with everything that was going on. 

And Malik knew that Zev was struggling. 

Do you think I want another person to die because they cared about me? 

He remembered those words from his dream. 

Had Zev really said that?

A shadow crossed the doorway, interrupting Malik’s thoughts. A slender fae woman with silver markings around her eyes stepped into the room. One of the healers?

“You’re awake,” she observed, approaching the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been hollowed out with a spoon,” Malik admitted.

She nodded as if this were perfectly normal. “Your life force was severely depleted. The shadow paths took much from you, and the rest…” She left the sentence unfinished, but they all knew who had taken the rest.

“Will I recover?” Malik asked.

“With time and rest.” She placed cool fingers on his wrist, her expression unreadable. “Your pulse is stronger. That’s good.”

“How much time?”

“A few more days, I would say.” She turned to Daniel and Adrian. “Don’t overtax him. Short conversations only for today.”

After checking a few more things, she left them alone again.

“So,” Malik said when the silence stretched too long. “We’re in the Shadow Kingdom now? Is everyone else here too?”

Daniel glanced aside. “We’re still looking for my brother and Leon. Lyrian might be with his grandmother.”

“I’m sure they’re safe,” Adrian said. He looked at Malik. “We were most worried about Zev, actually. On the way here, Knox and I heard rumors about Veridia’s Deadliest Assassin returning to service.”

Malik licked his lips. His mouth still felt so dry. “They forced him.” 

A sad look crossed Adrian’s features. “We figured it had to be something like that. Knox said Zev would never serve his family voluntarily.”

A moment of silence as they all contemplated this. 

“Did Zev say anything before…” Malik gestured vaguely, “…before the fight with Caelen?”

Daniel shook his head. “Not much. He was barely holding it together when he arrived. Knox said he’s never seen Zev so… unstable.”

A pit opened in Malik’s stomach. “I need to talk to him.”

“Zev?” Daniel shook his head. “Not a chance. Not until you’re stronger.”

“Not until he’s calmer,” Adrian added. 

“He’s alone right now,” Malik whispered. “He shouldn’t be alone.”

Adrian placed a gentle hand on Malik’s shoulder. “I promise you he’ll be okay. You should focus on healing now. We’ll let you get some rest.”

He and Daniel both stood. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Daniel asked. “Anything we can get you?”

Malik shook his head slightly. “I’m fine.” That was a lie, of course. There were many things he wanted, but nothing Daniel could help him acquire.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Daniel said. “We’ll check up on you again in a little bit.”

The room fell quiet when they left.

Left to his own devices, Malik drifted between wakefulness and sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the violet meadow from his dream. Zev standing at its edge, guilt and hunger warring in his eyes.

I’ve never tasted anyone like you.

The words echoed in his mind. Had Zev really spoken to him in his dreams? Or had it been just his own imagination, giving voice to his hopes and fears?

There was only one way to find out.

Malik waited, gathering what little strength he had. When the palace fell quiet and no footsteps passed his door for some time, he pushed himself up and swung his legs out of the bed, bracing against momentary vertigo.

The stone floor felt ice-cold against his bare feet. Good. The shock of it helped clear his mind, if only for a moment.

He found a robe draped over a nearby chair and pulled it on. His legs were shaky but held his weight. 

He would be okay if he took things slow.

Sticking close to the wall, he made it to the door, pausing only to steady himself against the frame before stepping into the corridor. More amber crystals cast long shadows along the stone walls.

East wing, Daniel had said. 

Malik didn’t know which way that was. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

He would try to go left.

He even made it a few feet before his vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges. And then his legs gave out.

He pitched forward into empty air, bracing for impact with the stone floor.

It never came.

Strong arms caught him, one around his waist, the other supporting his chest. Familiar arms. A familiar scent—forest and night air and something uniquely Zev.

“What are you doing?” Zev’s voice was low, tight with anger or concern or both.

Malik looked up into violet eyes, so bright they seemed to glow in the darkness, even though Zev’s glamor was back in place. “Looking for you,” Malik managed. His heart hammered in his chest, and not just from exertion.

Zev had come for him.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” Zev’s grip tightened, supporting more of Malik’s weight.

“You were in my dream.” The words tumbled out. Malik needed to know. “Wasn’t just my imagination, was it?”

Something flickered across Zev’s face—surprise, then guarded caution. “We can discuss this after you’re back in bed.”

“So it was real.” Malik’s lips curved into a weak smile. “Everything you said.”

Zev’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t intend to invade your dreams.”

“Not an invasion. I like… you there.” Malik’s vision darkened at the edges. His body sagged further against Zev’s support.

Without warning, Zev swept him up, one arm behind his knees, the other supporting his back. The sudden movement made Malik’s head spin, and he instinctively curled toward Zev’s chest.

“This is familiar,” he murmured, and if he hadn’t been so tired, he might have laughed. 

“Familiar?”

“Mhm.” Malik closed his eyes. With his head against Zev’s chest, he could hear the fae’s heartbeat, strong and steady.

He didn’t care what anyone said, this was what safety felt like.

“You shouldn’t have left your room.” Zev’s voice was a low rumble. “You’re still recovering.”

“Had to find you.”

Zev didn’t ask why. Maybe he already knew. He probably knew. 

Malik had not been subtle, recently. Especially not in his dreams. 

They reached Malik’s chamber, and Zev shouldered the door open. A moment later—all too soon—Zev laid him on the bed with a gentleness that belied his stern expression.

Malik caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Don’t go.”

Zev’s eyes flashed. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you came here for me.” Malik’s grip was weak—they both knew Zev could break free without effort—yet the fae remained still.

“I was…” Zev hesitated, then sighed. “I wanted to check on you.”

A smile formed on Malik’s lips. Zev cared. He couldn’t deny it. 

That was enough to give Malik the courage he needed to push on. “You’re sorry, aren’t you? About what happened.”

Zev tensed visibly. “Yes.”

“You can make it up to me.”

Zev’s gaze snapped to Malik’s face, wary and uncertain. “How?”

Malik’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was the moment to be brave, to ask for what he truly wanted. “Be here when I wake up again.”

“Malik—”

“I know you don’t like me the way I like you,” Malik pushed on, the words rushing out before his confidence deserted him. “And I’m not asking for that. I just want…” He swallowed hard. “I just want you to be here.”

Something shifted in Zev’s expression—a softening around the eyes, a slight parting of lips. He seemed about to speak, then stopped himself.

Instead, after a long moment, he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “Your dreams are too tempting,” he said. “That is why I left earlier. I was going to take from you again.”

“But you’re calm now. You’re… you.” Malik couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it. His eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion dragging at him once more.

Zev looked down at where Malik still held his wrist. With his free hand, he gently disentangled Malik’s fingers, but instead of pulling away, he curled his own hand around Malik’s.

That was nice. 

That was really nice.

“Sleep,” Zev said. “I’ll stay.”

Fae couldn’t lie, could they? “Promise?”

A pause, then: “Yes. I promise.”

As sleep claimed him, Malik felt the mattress shift slightly as Zev settled more comfortably beside him. The last thing he registered was the gentle pressure of Zev’s hand squeezing his.

* * *

The room fell silent except for Malik’s slow, steady breathing. Zev watched the rise and fall of his chest, fighting the urge to flee. He shouldn’t be here.

But he couldn’t leave.

He’d promised not to.

And besides, he didn’t want to. 

I know you don’t like me the way I like you.

Malik’s words replayed in his mind. The worst part was that Zev didn’t know if Malik was entirely right about that. There was some sort of connection forming between them. Zev didn’t understand it, but he’d never been one to deny the truth when it was staring him in the face.

The truth was that he shouldn’t have slipped into Malik’s dream without wanting to. 

Something pulled him toward this human.  

The door to the chamber opened with a soft click. Zev tensed, instinctively pulling on his magic before he recognized Knox’s silhouette in the doorway.

Knox froze, clearly not expecting to find Zev at Malik’s bedside. His eyes flickered between them. 

“I didn’t think you would be here,” Knox said in a quiet tone of voice as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. 

Zev didn’t respond. What could he say? That the human had asked him to stay? That would only lead to more questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

Knox settled into a chair by the bed. “You seem to be more in control of yourself now.”

Zev met his friend’s gaze. “I apologize for the trouble I caused.”

Knox shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Tell me what happened in the Night Court.”

Zev would rather not. He didn’t want to relive it, but Knox deserved to know. “They captured us. My father… he offered me a deal.”

“Serve them again?”

“Yes.” The word tasted bitter. “With Malik’s life as the price if I refused.”

Knox leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I heard about the wolves.”

Of course he had. News traveled fast in Veridia.

Silence stretched between them, heavy with shared understanding of the Court’s cruelty. 

Zev glanced at Malik. “Then they took him to a shadow path excavation site. Forced his hand into it.”

Knox’s expression darkened. “They what?”

“It hollowed him out. Took his emotions.” Zev remembered Malik’s empty stare, and how much he’d hated it. “Lady Morvena wanted to see what would happen to a human from Earth. I had to get him out of there.”

“So you escaped through the paths?”

“It was our only option.” Zev’s gaze dropped to his hands. “I drew power from him to protect us, but it was… too good.” Zev couldn’t describe the rush he’d felt feeding on Malik. He didn’t have the words. “It was different from anything I’d experienced before. I couldn’t stop.”

“I could tell.”

Of course. Knox had been the one to save Malik from him. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Zev admitted. He looked at Malik’s sleeping form again. “I slipped into his dream.”

Knox considered that. “You’ve formed a connection.”

“I don’t want it,” Zev said without even thinking.

Knox huffed. 

Zev’s gaze darted to his friend. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He paused, growing somber. “That is the exact initial reaction you had to Rhys.”

That comparison hit Zev like a punch to the gut. He stiffened, the muscles in his shoulders coiling tight as a spring.

“This isn’t the same.” His voice emerged sharper than intended.

Knox raised an eyebrow. “No? You meet someone who changes how you see the world. You claim you don’t want the connection, yet you can’t stay away. Sounds familiar.”

“Don’t.” Zev growled.

The memory came unbidden—a forest clearing bathed in moonlight, decades ago. Zev had tracked his target for days on Night Court orders. A werewolf who’d been trespassing where he shouldn’t have. 

It was supposed to be just another mission.

Until it wasn’t.

Zev had expected fear when he finally cornered Rhys. Terror. Pleading, perhaps. Not calm acceptance. Not those brown eyes looking straight into his, as if Rhys could see past the assassin’s mask to whatever lay beneath.

“If you’re going to kill me, at least tell me your name first,” Rhys had said.

And Zev—who had never hesitated before—found himself answering. One moment of weakness that changed everything.

He’d let Rhys live that night. Told the Court the target had escaped. One of many half-truths he’d tell over the following weeks.

They’d met in secret after that. Rhys asking questions no one had ever dared ask Zev before. About his life. His thoughts. What he wanted beyond the Court’s orders.

The knife’s edge he walked every time he slipped away to meet the werewolf, knowing discovery meant death for them both…

In the end death had claimed only one of them.

“You’re allowed to care about someone again, Zev,” Knox’s voice pulled him back to the present. “I know you blame yourself, but Rhys was on the Court’s hit list long before he became important to you.”

The words sank into him like knives. Zev curled his fingers into fists, fighting the tide of emotion threatening to rise. “They’d forgotten about him.”

“The Court doesn’t forget.”

Zev looked straight at Knox. “Then they’ll come for Malik too.”

Knox held his gaze. “Whether or not you deny yourself happiness changes nothing about what the Court will do.”

Zev didn’t know what to say in response to that. Was he denying himself happiness?

Knox rose. “I’ll leave you two to get some rest. Tomorrow we need to talk about everything that’s been happening with the barriers.”

Zev had almost forgotten about the barriers. He’d had too many other things to worry about. 

“Goodnight,” Knox said as he left.

Zev only nodded. 

Alone again with Malik, he exhaled slowly, studying the human’s face, relaxed in sleep. No trace remained of the hollowness from before. Just peace.

Without thinking, Zev reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Malik’s forehead. His fingertips lingered for a moment, Malik’s skin warm against his.

“I don’t know what this is,” he whispered, knowing Malik couldn’t hear him. “But I know I’m not ready for it.”

Malik woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the windows of his chamber. For a moment, he lay still, his mind drifting between sleep and consciousness, aware only of the dull ache that permeated his body. Memories of the previous night filtered back—his foolish attempt to find Zev, nearly collapsing in the corridor, being carried back to bed.

And Zev promising to stay.

Malik turned his head, half-expecting to find the space beside his bed empty. Instead, he found Zev sitting in a chair pulled close to the bedside, violet eyes watching him with an unreadable expression. The fae’s glamour was firmly in place, hiding his true appearance, but fatigue marked the shadows beneath his eyes.

“You stayed,” Malik whispered, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“I promised I would.” Zev’s tone was neutral, matter-of-fact, but he shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable with the acknowledgment.

Malik pushed himself up on his elbows, testing his strength. He wasn’t recovered, but he was better.

“All night?” he asked Zev.

“Yes.” Zev stood, moving toward the window. Distance. He was creating distance between them.

Sunlight caught in Zev’s dark hair, illuminating strands of midnight blue that drew Malik’s gaze. The fae warrior looked out of place in the morning light—a creature of darkness reluctantly touched by dawn.

“Thank you.” Malik swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pleased to find them steadier than the night before. 

Zev turned to him, arms crossed. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Not great, but better.” Malik rose cautiously to his feet. The room stayed mercifully steady this time.

Zev watched him with hawk-like intensity, poised to intervene if Malik’s strength failed. The concern in his posture contradicted the careful neutrality of his expression.

He cared; he just didn’t want to admit how much.

For a second, Malik considered calling him out on it, just to watch him squirm. But he didn’t want to push his luck—or Zev—too hard.

“Knox has called a meeting,” Zev said after a moment. “To discuss our plans going forward.”

Malik nodded, taking a few experimental steps. “Knox did? Did Caelen blow a gasket?”

Zev raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

“Nevermind. I was just thinking that the Shadow King probably isn’t loving that Knox is giving commands in his castle.”

Zev remained quiet for a moment longer. “Daniel seems to have leashed the Shadow King.”

“I didn’t think he could do it,” Malik admitted. 

“Because you couldn’t?”

Ouch. Did Zev really have to remind him of his brief crush on Caelen? And how it had ended? Malik winced. “He’s an ass.”

“Yet he was your favorite.”

What was Zev getting at? “Did I say that?” The memory came back to him slowly. He hadn’t told Zev that Caelen was his favorite, but he had told Zev that Zev was his second-favorite, while Zev had carried him out of his temporary prison. 

Oh God. 

Was Zev really not gonna let that go?

Malik hadn’t been thinking clearly. “He’s not my favorite anymore. He hasn’t been for a while!”

Zev regarded him quietly. It was impossible for Malik to tell what was going on in the fae’s head. 

“Let’s not talk about Caelen anymore,” Malik said. “Tell me about the meeting.”

Zev seemed fine with the change of topic. “It’s in an hour from now.”

“Good. I’ll be there.”

Zev’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not recovered.”

“I’m well enough to sit and listen.” Malik met Zev’s gaze, a silent challenge passing between them. “I need to know what’s happening.”

For a moment, it seemed Zev would argue, but instead, he gave a curt nod. “Fine. But you won’t walk there alone.”

Malik couldn’t help the small smile that curved his lips. “Worried I’ll collapse dramatically in the hallway again?”

“Yes.”

The blunt response startled a laugh from Malik. Damn it, but he liked the fae’s honesty.

Especially when compared with Caelen’s manipulations. 

Zev might be awful at processing and expressing his feelings, but he would never try to play mindgames with Malik.

“Someone will bring food shortly,” Zev continued, moving toward the door. “I’ll return in a little while to help you to the council chamber.”

Without waiting for a response, he slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him. Malik sank back onto the edge of the bed, feeling oddly bereft in the sudden silence.

But Zev had promised to come back.

And so far, he’d kept every promise he’d made.

* * *

True to his word, Zev returned an hour later, after Malik had eaten a breakfast of bread, fruit, and a strange herbal tea that had tasted like mint and something spicy.

“Ready?” Zev asked from the doorway.

Malik nodded, but in his urge to appear ready, he rose to his feet too quickly, and when he took his first step, a wave of dizziness caught him off-guard. Before he could stumble, Zev was at his side, one hand gripping his elbow, the other at his waist.

“I’m fine,” Malik insisted, even as he leaned into the support.

Zev’s hands were firm.

Warm too. 

“Of course you are,” Zev replied, his voice dry. But he didn’t let go.

Malik was glad for that, and not only because he appreciated the support. 

The two of them moved through the corridors in silence, Zev matching his pace to Malik’s slower steps. Servants and guards they passed gave them curious glances, doubtless wondering about the strange human and his fae protector. They must all know who Zev was—he had a bit of a reputation, after all. Yet here he was, helping a stumbling human. 

The thought put a smile on Malik’s face. 

How many people had experienced the assassin’s softer side? 

Probably not many at all.

After a few minutes of walking, they reached the council chamber at the end of a long hallway. Two guards stood at attention, opening the doors as they approached.

Inside, the others were already gathered around a large oval table of polished marble. Adrian and Knox sat side by side, heads bent in quiet conversation. Daniel perched on the table’s edge near Caelen, who stood examining what appeared to be maps spread across the surface.

All eyes turned to them as they entered.

“Malik,” Adrian was the first to speak, rising from his seat. “Should you be up?”

“I’m fine,” Malik insisted, even though he was still leaning on Zev. “I want to help.”

Caelen studied him with cool assessment. “Sit before you fall.”

Malik bristled, but he allowed Zev to guide him to an empty chair. The fae warrior remained standing behind him.

“Now that we’re all here,” Knox began, “we need to discuss what’s been happening with the barriers.”

Caelen nodded, gesturing to the maps before them—which displayed the network of shadow paths that ran through Veridia. “There’s reason enough to believe the paths play into it.”

“I have information,” Zev said. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a leather-bound journal. “I took this from werewolf researchers.”

Werewolf researchers…

Malik watched as the journal passed to Caelen.

Had Zev taken this from some of the wolves he’d been forced to kill?

Nothing in Zev’s expression betrayed his feelings, yet Malik still had to suppress the urge to reach for his hand.

“I’ve read the journal,” Zev said. “The researchers were documenting changes in the shadow paths. Recording disappearances, analyzing energy fluctuations.”

Caelen flipped through the journal, his expression growing increasingly troubled. “These readings match what my own people have found. But they’ve studied a lot more locations.”

He turned to one of the maps, placing the journal beside it. As he read out coordinates, Knox marked them with a pen.

A strange kind of pattern seemed to emerge—disturbances clustered around specific points, forming what looked almost like a constellation across Veridia.

“That can’t be natural,” Daniel said, leaning forward. “That doesn’t look random.”

“It isn’t,” Caelen confirmed. “This is a ritual formation.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“A ritual for what?” Malik asked.

Caelen’s expression darkened. “The shadow paths are ancient—older than Veridia itself by some accounts. They’re not just passages; they’re foundations holding our world separate from others.”

“Including Earth,” Adrian murmured.

“Yes.” Caelen traced a finger along the pattern on the map. “Someone is deliberately destabilizing them at key junction points.”

“Yuri,” Knox muttered darkly. “Could this be his doing?”

Malik remembered Yuri. The fourth barrier keeper who was responsible for his being in Veridia now. Yuri wanted the barriers to break.

But why?

“I wonder if he’s doing it for power,” Caelen said. “There is an immense amount of power that can be harvested from the paths. It’s part of the reason my ancestors built here… and why the Night Court keeps trying to annex my kingdom.”

Zev shifted behind Malik’s chair. “The Night Court has been excavating entrances to the paths.”

Caelen grimaced. “I’m not surprised to hear that.”

Malik worried his bottom lip. “Could they use them to travel here?”

“They haven’t managed so far.” Caelen met his gaze. “I have guards posted at all entrances. It’s how we were notifed of your arrival so quickly. If anything comes through the path, I’ll know.”

While that was reassuring, it didn’t completly erase Malik’s fear of coming face to face with his tormentors once more.

Before he could say anything, though, the chamber doors swung open. A guard entered and bowed deeply to Caelen.

“Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but there are urgent matters requiring your attention.”

“Speak,” Caelen commanded.

The guard straightened. “Our eastern checkpoint has detained an unusual visitor claiming to know your guests.”

Daniel sat forward. “Who?”

“A male siren with aquamarine hair. He was injured, exhausted when our patrols found him.”

“Lyrian,” Knox breathed, relief evident in his voice.

Caelen nodded to the guard. “Bring him here.”

The guard bowed and left.

“That’s one more of our missing friends accounted for,” Adrian said.

“Yes.” Daniel didn’t look as relieved as Adrian. Malik could guess why; his brother had still not been found. 

Caelen seemed aware of his mate’s troubles too. He moved next to Daniel, rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered something into his ear that seemed to relax him slightly.  

They had to wait a good little while before the doors opened again. 

Two guards entered, supporting a figure between them whose aquamarine hair was unmistakable despite being matted with what looked like dried blood. Lyrian’s clothes were torn, his face bruised, but his eyes were alert as they scanned the room.

“Never thought I’d say this—” his voice was raspy but unmistakably his, “—but I’m so glad to have made it to the Shadow Kingdom.”

Knox moved first, crossing the room in swift strides to clasp Lyrian’s shoulder. “What happened to you?”

The guards helped Lyrian to a chair. He collapsed into it gratefully, wincing as he shifted to find a comfortable position.

“I ended up near my grandmother’s territory, thank the gods. Her prophetic powers told her I needed to go to the Shadow Kingdom…” He hesitated. Malik understood why.

From the webnovel, he knew that Lyrian’s grandmother commanded great power—every once in a while, when she wasn’t high on moon berries, which she was most of the time.

It could be difficult to tell if she was speaking prophecy or if she was just having a really good trip.

Lyrian gathered himself. “I was right to trust her words this time, it seems, but on my way here, I ran into a bit of trouble with the Night Court.” 

Zev cut in. “What did they want with you?” 

Lyrian shook his head. “They weren’t looking for me specifically, but I saw them hunting humans and had to intervene.”

“Hunting humans?” Daniel shot up from his seat.

Lyrian nodded grimly. “Not just any humans. Specifically, those who’ve crossed over from Earth recently.”

Zev’s hand came to rest on the back of Malik’s chair, fingers just brushing his shoulder. The touch seemed unconscious, a protective gesture that sent warmth through Malik despite the chilling news.

“They mentioned you by name,” Lyrian said, looking directly at Malik. “They want you and humans like you.”

Malik felt the blood drain from his face. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Lyrian admitted. 

“Why target humans from Earth?” Adrian wondered aloud.

They all speculated while dark thoughts formed in Malik’s mind. He flashed back to the moment his hand had been forced to touch the shadow path. 

The Night Court had used him to experiment. 

What had they found?

Malik looked at the pattern on the map again. “Maybe they need us,” he said. “For some kind of ritual. Maybe it’s exactly because we crossed over from the other side.”

Silence fell as the implications sank in.

“We need to find Jamie and Leon,” Daniel said finally. “If the Night Court is hunting humans from Earth…”

“We’ll find them,” Caelen assured him, squeezing Daniel’s shoulder.

Malik looked up at Zev, whose expression had hardened into the cold mask of the assassin once more. Their eyes met briefly, and in that moment, Malik saw something fierce and resolute flash in Zev’s violet gaze.

“They won’t take you again,” Zev said, his voice low enough that only Malik could hear. “I won’t let them.”

Lyrian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wincing as he did so. His eyes darted between the faces around the table, finally settling on Knox.

“There’s something else,” he said, his voice dropping. “Something my grandmother told me. About Leon.”

Daniel sounded hopeful. “You know where he is?”

Lyrian hesitated, his usually confident demeanor faltering. “She saw him in one of her visions. He’s… he’s with Yuri.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“What do you mean ‘with Yuri’?” Daniel demanded.

Lyrian’s fingers tightened around the armrests of his chair. “According to my grandmother, Leon is working with him. Willingly.”

“That’s impossible,” Daniel protested immediately. “Leon would never—”

“Are you certain of this?” Caelen interrupted, his gaze sharp on Lyrian.

“I was hoping she was wrong,” Lyrian said. “But she wasn’t wrong about all of us gathering here.”

Zev moved from behind Malik’s chair, his expression hardening. “So what you’re saying is that Leon is conspiring with the enemy.”

Of course Zev jumped straight to suspicion. Malik couldn’t let that stand. “We don’t know that,” he countered. “Yuri could be manipulating him somehow.”

Adrian agreed. “Malik’s right. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

Knox turned to Lyrian, voice calm in spite of the tension building in the room. “Did your grandmother say where they were going?” 

Lyrian’s expression remained grim. “The Fields of Memories.”

Daniel gasped. “Wait—the Fields of Memories?”

Malik felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered reading about those. “The place where shadow paths spill into the open air…”

A place where memories became real—at least to the person immersed in them. Malik had tried to imagine once or twice what it would be like to go there and interact with his dead loved ones again. 

The novel warned against the place because everyone who went descended into madness. But Malik always wondered if it was the happy sort of madness. 

Caelen studied the maps before him. “The Fields of Memories sit at the border between my kingdom and Night Court territory. They’re considered neutral ground—or perhaps more accurately, no-man’s-land.”

“Why would Yuri take Leon there?” Adrian asked. “It sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“Because the Fields don’t just reveal memories,” Caelen explained. “They can reshape them. Alter them. If Yuri wanted to change someone’s perspective…”

“He could use the Fields to manipulate Leon’s mind,” Knox finished, his expression darkening.

Daniel stood abruptly. “We have to find him. Now.”

“There’s another complication,” Lyrian added. “Night Court activity is increasing around the Fields. They’re sending scouts, perhaps even excavation teams.”

Malik felt Zev tense beside him.

“If both Yuri and the Night Court are converging on the Fields of Memories…” Adrian began.

“Then whatever’s happening there is central to everything,” Knox concluded.

Daniel turned to Caelen. “How quickly can we get there?”

Before Caelen could answer, Zev cut in. “We’re not all going.”

“What?” Daniel protested.

“The Night Court is hunting humans from Earth,” Zev pointed out, his gaze flickering to Malik. “We’d be delivering exactly what they want right to them.”

“So we just abandon Leon?” Daniel demanded.

“No.” Zev spoke without feeling. “We send those best equipped for the mission. Not those most likely to be captured.”

Tension crackled between them, and Malik found himself placing a hand on Zev’s arm. The fae warrior stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“Zev’s right,” Knox said before Daniel could argue further. “We need to be strategic.”

“I’ll go,” Caelen said. “I’ve ventured into the Fields before and survived. I know its dangers better than most.”

“Oh?” Zev asked. “Was that before or after you were possessed?”

Caelen didn’t dignify the question with a response. Only with a cold glare.

“I’ll accompany you,” Knox said. “I’m not afraid of the fields.”

“I’m going too,” Daniel spoke up. “Leon is my friend.”

Caelen shot him a sharp look. “No, you won’t. None of you humans are coming.” He raised his voice a little when it looked like Daniel wanted to protest. “You don’t have any protection against the magic of that place.”

“Neither does Leon,” Daniel said. “But he’s going.”

Caelen remained firm. “Leon is working with the enemy.”

As much as Caelen tried to be in charge, though, it was obvious he’d met his match in Daniel, as Daniel stood up to him easily. “Look,” he said, jutting his chin. “You can try to leave me behind but I’ll just follow you and then I’ll be less protected as I’ll have to try to hide from your guards.”

Caelen regarded his mate. “Do I have to lock you in a room before I go?”

Daniel smirked. “How confident are you that you can keep me confined?”

After a moment, the Shadow King sighed in defeat. 

Daniel’s grin widened. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’ll go as well.” Zev’s voice cut through the tension between Daniel and Caelen. All eyes turned to him.

Knox frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise? The Night Court—”

“Won’t know what’s coming,” Zev finished darkly. “They’ll regret running into me again.”

Caelen regarded him with cool assessment. “You think you can manage that?”

“I know it.” Zev’s expression remained impassive, but his fingers tightened imperceptibly on the back of Malik’s chair. “Whatever they’re planning at the Fields, I intend to stop it.”

Malik twisted in his seat to look up at Zev, his heart stuttering at the determination etched into those perfect features. “But what if they capture you again?”

Determination flickered in Zev’s violet eyes. “They won’t.”

It almost sounded like he meant he wouldn’t be taken alive. Malik fought the urge to reach for Zev’s hand and tell him not to go.

“I agree with Malik,” Adrian said. “The risk seems unnecessary.”

Zev’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t a debate. I’m going.”

Malik opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t even sure what—but Zev silenced him with a look that brooked no argument. The fae warrior turned back to the others, his decision clearly final.

“Fine,” Knox conceded. “So that’s Caelen, Daniel, Zev, and myself.”

“And me,” Lyrian attempted to rise from his chair but winced, clutching his side.

Knox shook his head. “You need to heal first.”

“What about me?” Malik asked.

“You’re staying here,” Zev answered immediately.

Malik bristled. “I can help.”

“You can barely walk across the room,” Zev countered.

“I’m recovering quickly.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Zev leaned down, his face inches from Malik’s, close enough that Malik could feel the warmth of his breath. His voice dropped low enough that only Malik could hear. “I can’t protect you and fight them at the same time.”

The admission—that Zev wanted to protect him, that he worried about failing—struck Malik silent. Behind that cold mask, Zev was afraid. Not for himself, but for Malik. The realization sent an inappropriate flutter through Malik’s chest despite the gravity of the situation.

“We leave at dawn,” Caelen announced, breaking the moment. “Be sure to make all necessary preparations.”

The meeting dispersed quickly. Everyone had things to do, it seemed. Malik remained seated, unsure how steady he would be on his feet if he got up.

Zev stayed by his side.

When they were alone in the council chamber, Malik spoke again. “Help me back to my room?”

Zev offered his arm without comment. Malik slid his hand into the crook of Zev’s elbow, hyperaware of the solid muscle beneath his fingers. The contact sent warmth spreading up his arm as Zev supported him through the corridors, but it wasn’t until they reached Malik’s chamber and the door closed behind them that Malik found his voice again.

“The Fields of Memories,” he said quietly as Zev helped him to the edge of the bed. “You know what that place does, right?”

Zev released him, stepping back to create distance between them. “I’m aware.”

“Your memories, Zev.” Malik looked up at him. He didn’t want to say these things out loud, but he had to make sure that Zev was aware of what he’d signed up for. 

If the Fields were anything like what Malik had read about them…

They wouldn’t be kind to Zev. 

“After everything you’ve been through…”

Zev turned toward the window, profile sharp against the afternoon light. “I can handle my own memories.”

Malik wasn’t so convinced. He didn’t want to argue with the fae, but he wasn’t going to let him pretend that everything would be okay either. “I know you can’t lie, which means you actually believe that. That is what scares me.” 

Zev whirled to him. “You think you know me better than I know myself?”

He seemed a bit mad about that, but Malik decided this wasn’t the time to hold back.  “You’ll see Rhys there.”

Zev went rigid. “You don’t know that.”

“The Fields make memories real,” Malik persisted. “You could be drawn into a memory you don’t want to come out of.”

“No.” Zev’s shoulders lost a bit of that tension. “Nothing there is real. I know that.”

Malik pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the weakness in his legs. He approached Zev slowly, drawn toward him by an impuls that was stronger than selfpreservation. “I’m worried about you.”

Something flickered across Zev’s face—as if he was surprised at Malik’s directness. His  eyes darkened as he studied Malik’s expression. 

“Worry about yourself.” His words came out harsh, but lacked their usual bite. 

“I’m not the one walking into a place designed to weaponize memories.” Malik took another step closer, close enough now that he could see the slight pulse at Zev’s throat. “You’ve been through hell already.”

Zev’s jaw tightened. “We’ve all been through hell.”

“But not all of us have to face it again tomorrow.”

The air between them seemed charged, making it impossible for Malik to move any more. His heart hammered in his chest, but he refused to back down, to look away. For once, Zev was the first to break eye contact.

“I need to do this.” His voice dropped lower. “The Night Court has to pay for what they did.”

“To you? Or to Rhys?”

Zev’s head snapped up, eyes flashing with sudden anger. “Don’t.”

“You never talk about him.”

“Because it doesn’t concern you.” Zev stepped away, trying to create distance between them again.

This time, though, Malik didn’t let him. He followed. “It concerns me that you’re willing to walk into a place that might break you.”

“I won’t break.”

“Everyone breaks, Zev.” Malik reached for him, fingers brushing against the fae’s arm before Zev pulled away. “Even you.”

Zev moved to face the window, hands braced against the stone sill. “What would you have me do? Stay here? Let the others face this without me?”

“I just want you to think about why you’re doing this. And if your revenge is worth dying for.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than any they’d shared before. Malik watched the set of Zev’s shoulders, the rigid line of his spine. When Zev finally turned, his expression was unreadable.

“Some things are.”

Their gazes locked. Malik couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away. “Not to me.” His words were a whisper. “I don’t want to lose you. I want something better for you.”

Something changed in Zev’s eyes then. His features softened. He lifted a hand, hesitated, then let his fingers brush against Malik’s cheek with unexpected gentleness. “I don’t know why you care so much,” he said. Lower, he added, “I never understood why he cared either.”

Malik leaned into the touch before he could stop himself. “You’re worth caring about.”

Zev’s hand fell away, but he remained close. “Why?”

“Because you’re strong and brave, and I know you’re hiding a kind heart underneath all your bullshit.” Malik licked his lips. “Because I might not see you again.”

The truth of those words hung in the air between them. 

The fae’s gaze dropped to his lips, lingered there with an intensity that made Malik’s breath catch. “Why me?” 

“Because when I’m with you, I feel like I might have survived for a reason.” The truth tumbled from Malik’s lips before he could second-guess himself. “Like maybe all that pain meant something after all.”

Zev stared at him, stunned into silence. Then he brushed his thumb across Malik’s lower lip. “What if I’m not worth that meaning?”

“You are,” Malik whispered fiercely, his hand finding purchase on Zev’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of the fae’s heart beneath his palm. “You are.”

Something broke in Zev’s expression—resistance crumbling into raw need. His hand shot up, fingers tangling in Malik’s hair, gripping almost painfully tight as he pulled Malik toward him.

This wasn’t like the previous kisses—not the gentle contact when Zev had entered his dreams, not the hungry feeding when he’d drawn on Malik’s power. This was different. This was wanting.

Malik didn’t know how to process that. He didn’t think Zev wanted him. He didn’t think…

He didn’t think at all as Zev’s tongue swiped his lips. 

He gasped against Zev’s mouth, and Zev took advantage, deepening the kiss with a low sound that might have been a growl. His other arm snaked around Malik’s waist, pulling him flush against the hard planes of his body.

The world narrowed to sensation—the firmness of Zev’s muscles, the taste of night air and something distinctly fae on his tongue, the impossible heat radiating between them. Malik’s knees threatened to buckle, but Zev held him upright, pressing him back until Malik’s shoulders met the cold stone wall.

The contrast of temperatures—Zev’s burning heat against his front, the chill of stone against his back—sent a shiver racing down Malik’s spine. 

Zev broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he stared down at Malik with eyes that glowed like violet stars in the growing darkness.

“You’re still weak,” Zev whispered against his lips, though his actions contradicted his concern as he pressed Malik harder against the wall.

“I don’t care.” Malik’s fingers curled into the fabric of Zev’s shirt, anchoring himself to the fae warrior. “Let me give you one good memory. Something for you to come back to.”

Zev didn’t speak. He just stared at Malik, his breath still uneven from the kiss. The air between them felt thinner than it should be. Every movement felt loud.

Malik’s hand remained pressed against his chest. His skin was warm beneath Malik’s fingertips, even through layers of clothing.

Malik swallowed thickly. “Please. I—”

The rest disappeared into a gasp as Zev’s mouth claimed his once more—fierce, demanding, claiming. Malik melted into his kiss, opening for him.

The world tilted, and suddenly Malik found himself lifted into strong arms, carried to the bed, where Zev lowered him onto the sheets. He hovered over Malik, eyes still glowing faintly. A stray lock of dark hair fell over his brow. It made him appear softer, more vulnerable, than his usual cold façade.

Malik reached up to brush it back.

For an instant, Zev froze. Then he caught Malik’s wrist in a firm grip, pinning his hand to the mattress beside his head.

Malik shivered at his strength, at the possessiveness with which Zev covered his body. He’d fantasized so many times about what being with Zev would be like—about what it would feel like to have that lean body above his, pinning him to the mattress.

He’d never thought he’d get to experience that for real. Never imagined it could happen.

Yet here they were, with Zev staring down at him, expression torn between desire and something deeper. Something darker.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he said roughly. “I can’t stay away.”

A loaded truth, spoken easily as only a fae could. 

“Is it my taste?” Malik half-teased.

“Yes,” Zev murmured. His free hand traced the curve of Malik’s throat, the line of his jaw. The touch was surprisingly tender considering the hunger burning within the depths of his eyes. “But also something else. Something… beyond that.”

Beyond the taste?

What else was there?

Zev leaned close, his mouth trailing along the line of Malik’s pulse. “It’s the promise of power that whispers to me when I’m near you. And also…” He stopped as if he could not find the words for what he wanted to describe. 

Malik understood, though. There was something between the two of them. A faint hum of magic that even he could feel. That connection that had sparked to life to allow Zev to drain his energy so easily. 

Should it scare him? That it was still there, still open?

Probably, yes. If he were wise, but he wasn’t. 

He was just incredibly horny—and glad for anything that would make Zev touch him. 

This was Zev, after all. The assassin who’d haunted his thoughts and featured prominently in his dreams since the moment they’d first met. The fae warrior who’d saved him from the Night Court, who’d kept every promise he’d ever made—who might not return alive from a mission tomorrow, because he needed revenge more than he needed to have a future.

And now that he was so close, now that he was here with Malik, touching him, Malik would never deny him. 

He wrapped his legs around Zev’s waist, drawing him down so that the weight of him pressed Malik further into the mattress. Zev released his wrist to brace his hand by Malik’s head, holding himself up. The other trailed down to grip the hem of Malik’s shirt, pushing it up slowly to reveal the skin of his abdomen.

Malik sucked in a sharp inhale as Zev’s palm slid across bare flesh, fingers tracing lightly up to his ribs. Goosebumps rose under his caress.

Zev’s eyes met his, and for one long moment neither of them said anything.

Then: “Are you going to take my shirt off or not?” Malik asked.

“Demanding.” Zev’s voice came out rougher than expected.

“Only because I’ve been thinking about you undressing me for a very long time,” Malik countered, trying some of that fae honestly for himsef.

A faint smile curved the corner of Zev’s lips. It made Malik’s heart skip a beat. God, the man was beautiful. How could anyone expect Malik to keep his wits about him?

“I suppose I shouldn’t disappoint then,” Zev replied.

“Definitely should not.”

Without another word, Zev gripped the edges of Malik’s tunic and tugged upward, pulling the cloth over his head and tossing it to the floor.

Cool air hit Malik’s exposed skin. He shivered, but not from the sudden change in temperature. The heat of Zev’s gaze as he drank in the sight of Malik lying beneath him was hot enough to burn. He didn’t say a word, but the way his eyes lingered, traveling from Malik’s face down to his chest, down to his still covered groin made Malik feel like the most desirable thing in all the realms.

Gave Malik the courage to speak the words that lay on his tongue. “Do you want to taste?” He suggested.

Honestly, he’d wanted to offer that since the first time Zev had mentioned liking the taste of his lips. Since that moment there’d been something else he’d wanted Zev to taste.

A low sound rumbled in Zev’s chest, a predatory growl full of dark promise. His fingers hooked into the waistband of Malik’s loose pants, tugging them downward until they were gone.

Malik was fully naked now while Zev still wore all his clothes. Somehow that only turned him on more—knowing that he was at his most vulnerable yet Zev was still dressed, still exuding power. Still completely in control as he gazed down at the feast laid out before him.

Everything was as it should be.

Zev’s hands settled on Malik’s inner thighs, gently coaxing them farther apart. Then he lowered his face, his lips brushing against soft flesh.

His breath was warm against heated skin, sending shivers through Malik’s entire body. Zev nuzzled the base of Malik’s cock, teasing with his mouth and nose. His tongue darted out to lick along the underside in slow, lascivious swirls that made Malik arch his hips off the bed with a strangled moan.

“Fuck,” he gasped, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of Zev’s mouth on him.

Zev looked up at him from between his spread legs, and there was something wicked in his violet stare. Something that made Malik shudder. Made him feel as if Zev could devour him whole.

He wouldn’t protest.

Instead, he threaded his fingers into Zev’s dark hair, urging him on wordlessly.

Zev obeyed, wrapping his lips around the tip of Malik’s cock in a wet heat that sent sparks flying through his veins. His head fell back onto the pillow, his breath coming out in ragged pants as Zev’s mouth descended, taking him deep.

“God.” Malik’s hips bucked helplessly, but Zev’s hands held him down firmly, preventing movement.

Malik didn’t try to fight. Instead, he surrendered entirely, letting Zev take what he pleased. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus beyond the pleasure of Zev’s mouth moving over his length. Beyond the feeling of Zev’s tongue swirling around him and the suction building as Zev bobbed his head.

Holy hell.

He’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about it countless times. But nothing could compare to reality; to having Zev’s actual mouth on him rather than just in his mind—to the feeling of Zev’s actual hand gripping the inside of his thigh rather than just in imagination.

“I can’t—” Malik moaned, his fingers tightening in Zev’s hair.

He wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate.

Zev’s grip loosened, and Malik’s hips jerked up instinctively, thrusting into Zev’s mouth. Zev didn’t resist, letting Malik fuck into him as deeply as he desired, allowing Malik to set the pace.

The pressure built, and before long he was crying out, spilling hot and hard into the waiting warmth. Stars danced along the edge of his vision, and he closed his eyes briefly against their brightness, trying to catch his breath.

Zev released his softening cock and crawled over him, hovering above Malik on his elbows, his face inches away. His lips glistened with moisture, his cheeks flushed slightly with exertion.

He was gorgeous.

Malik couldn’t resist reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across Zev’s bottom lip.

Zev captured it in his teeth, biting down lightly before releasing it. He leaned in closer until their breaths mingled.

“Let me have you,” he murmured, voice rough from use.

The words sent a thrill racing down Malik’s spine, pooling low in his stomach with renewed desire. “You can have whatever you want.”

Zev’s eyes flashed, and then his mouth claimed Malik once more, stealing what little air remained in his lungs. The kiss was fierce, demanding. Hungrier than the others.

It tugged at Malik, at his core. Lightly, but still. The magic between them pulsed, flaring brightly. Suddenly, Malik wasn’t sure if Zev had asked permission to feed or permission to fuck.

Maybe both. He was fine either way because the answer remained the same. Yes. Yes to everything. Anything Zev wanted. Anything at all as long as he didn’t stop kissing Malik, touching him, pressing him down into the mattress.

Malik arched up, rubbing against Zev’s body, feeling Zev’s erection through the material of his pants. He ached for more, for that thick length buried within him. He needed it. Needed Zev.

Needed whatever the night fae had to give him.

But Zev pulled back, breaking the contact. His breathing was unsteady as he gazed down at Malik.

“You make me want to do things I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

The words sent another wave of arousal rushing through Malik despite his recent orgasm.

The words sent another wave of arousal rushing through Malik despite his recent orgasm.

He reached out tentatively, running his hand over the front of Zev’s shirt and then lower, palming the outline of his cock through his pants. “Do them anyway,” he urged. 

The world hung suspended between them, and Malik worried that Zev would withdraw. But they’d both come too far to turn back now. Too far to pretend that they could stop.

* * *

Zev studied the human under him.

Malik stared up at him with lust-clouded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His cheeks were flushed with color, lips swollen from kissing. 

He looked perfect.

Beautiful. Eager. Willing. 

Too willing. He wouldn’t stop Zev if Zev lost control and drained him dry—and that terrified him more than he wanted to admit.

More than it should.

This human…

Why was Zev still so firmly linked to him? Their dream connection should have faded by now. And yet… Zev could easily tap into the current of power flowing between them. Could take whatever he wished from Malik.

Could consume him utterly and completely.

How was that possible? 

“Zev.” Malik said his name softly, drawing his attention back into the room. Back to those warm brown eyes. “Please?”

There was so much trust in that word. Did Malik even know what Zev could do to him?

Before he could respond, Malik reached out again and stroked him through his pants—the touch firm, insistent. The heat radiating from his palm seared through cloth. It took all of Zev’s willpower not to thrust forward, not to chase the sensation.

Malik leaned closer, his breath hot on Zev’s neck, his words a seductive invitation whispered right into Zev’s ear: “Take me.”

Zev’s self-control snapped.

With a groan, he pushed Malik back onto the mattress, pinning his wrists above his head and holding him there. Then he captured Malik’s lips in a bruising kiss that left them both gasping for air by the end.

“You’ll drive me insane.” His words came out harsh. 

Malik grinned up at him—and if Zev hadn’t already wanted this human beyond reason, that would have done it.

That smile…

It made something twist painfully in his chest—something that went deeper than physical desire alone. Something he refused to examine too closely for fear that it might prove deadly to both of them.

Instead, he freed himself from his pants and scanned the contents of Malik’s bedside table for something that would serve as lubricant. The healers had left some sort of lotion there. It wasn’t ideal, but…

Better than nothing.

Zev coated two fingers liberally in it before returning to Malik. He pressed them against Malik’s entrance, sliding in slowly.

Malik shuddered beneath him and bit his lip hard.

Too much?

No. Zev didn’t know how he knew, but he could almost tell what was going through Malik’s mind—a mixture of pain and pleasure as the stretch intensified when he added another finger. Malik wanted this, so much that Zev’s own arousal spiked sharply in response. It took effort not to rush through preparations, to take Malik immediately. To claim him. To own him.

The thought came unbidden, but too strong for him to deny. He wanted to possess every part of Malik, body and soul. 

How could he not, when Malik was looking up at him like that—eyes half-lidded, expression dazed with desire. Lips parted slightly as he panted, breathless from Zev’s touch.

He was gorgeous.

Zev couldn’t resist leaning down, capturing those lips again. Kissing deeply until Malik melted under him, pliant as Zev continued preparing him.

Zev had to have him. Had to feel him around his cock, had to bury himself inside Malik. The need was overwhelming; he barely managed to retain enough control not to hurt Malik when he finally removed his fingers and replaced them with his painfully hard cock instead, easing in slowly.

Malik gasped, eyes wide, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. Zev held still, giving him the chance to adjust before moving further. He wanted this too badly to rush.

When he finally slid all the way home, Malik let out a soft moan. “Zev,” he breathed. “Oh my god—”

The desperation in Malik’s voice sent heat racing through his veins. It was impossible not to want to hear more of those sounds; impossible not to want to make Malik beg and moan and scream.

Impossible not to want him completely.

Zev began moving, pulling back and thrusting forward in long strokes designed to draw it out—to savor each sensation—to make Malik fall to pieces underneath his touch. The human writhed and gasped, clutching at Zev’s back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

Zev growled, wanting to feel those fingers on bare skin, wanting no barriers between them. He sat up abruptly and tore his shirt off before grabbing Malik’s hips and flipping him over so fast that he let out a surprised cry.

Then he yanked Malik’s hips up and drove into him again, eliciting another moan.

“Fuck!”

Zev gripped Malik’s ass, spreading his cheeks to get better access. To go deeper. Harder. To watch the muscles in Malik’s back flexing as Zev took him relentlessly from behind.

To listen as those delicious noises grew louder with each thrust.

“God, yes, Zev…” The sound of Malik moaning his name made him throb inside the tight confines of Malik’s body. Made something primal within him roar with satisfaction.

Malik’s knuckles were white as he clutched at the sheets below him, his head dropping onto his forearm as Zev slammed into him again and again.

He was close to climax already, Zev knew—could feel it building in his own gut. It was strange, being able to sense Malik’s feelings this way, but in the moment, it made perfect sense. He owned Malik; of course he could read his emotions. Of course they were connected.

He leaned over Malik to press against him, skin-to-skin contact heightening the sensation. Magic sparked between their bodies, invisible but  crackling with energy. It flowed freely through them both, mingling together into something new.

Something powerful.

Malik shuddered under the intensity, gasping for breath as Zev wrapped a hand around him, stroking his cock while continuing to drive into him as hard as he could.

Malik tensed, arching back against him with a loud cry. “Zev, I—ah!—can’t—”

His body clenched around Zev’s length, muscles spasming in time to each pulse from Malik’s cock, painting the sheets below him with hot spurts of cum. 

His climax triggered Zev’s own release; he buried himself as deep as possible before emptying his load inside Malik. He bit down hard on the side of Malik’s neck to muffle an animalistic growl that threatened to escape his lips. Gods, this human…

Zev wanted to make him his completely, consume him, absorb every drop of his power until there was nothing left.

No. He made himself ease out of Malik, and the human rolled to face him.

There was that smile again. Dazed and exhausted, but still. That beautiful smile.

Zev kissed it without thinking, without hesitation. Malik’s arms wound around him, pulling him close, clinging to him.

Zev broke the contact to look at his mate—no, not mate. Not mate. 

But it was so difficult to think of him as anything else right now, with the magic humming through his veins and the scent of sex filling his nostrils and the taste of Malik’s lips lingering on his tongue.

“Thank you,” Malik murmured.

Zev swallowed past the tightness in his throat before replying, “Don’t thank me.”

“Why?” Those dark eyes met his questioningly.

“I didn’t do anything worth gratitude.” 

Malik reached up to trace the lines of Zev’s jaw, his touch gentle. Almost reverent. “I disagree.”

Zev caught his hand, pressing a kiss to Malik’s wrist and then the inside of his palm before releasing it. He stood, straightening his clothes. “I should go.”

“What? Why?”

Zev paused, unable to meet Malik’s gaze. The truth was that if he didn’t go now…

He didn’t know if he would go at all.

---

Zev adjusted the short sword at his hip, testing its weight and balance. The Shadow Palace armory had decent weaponry—not as fine as what he’d trained with in the Night Court, but it would do.

Any blade that could slice through his father’s neck would do.

He slid a dagger into each boot, another at his belt. All within easy reach.

“Expecting to fight an army?” Knox asked, entering the armory with silent footsteps. The incubus wore his usual black, a sword already strapped across his back.

“Better prepared than dead.”

Knox studied him. “Are you certain about this? The Fields of Memories aren’t kind to those with pasts like ours.”

Zev didn’t answer. Instead, he tested the edge of a throwing knife against his thumb.

“What will you do if the Fields show you a vision of Rhys?”

The name sent a familiar ache through Zev’s chest, but he maintained his mask of indifference. “Focus on your own demons,” he said, sheathing the throwing knife.

Fortunately, Knox knew not to press further, and they finished arming themselves in silence before heading to the palace courtyard where the others waited. 

Caelen stood near the stone fountain, dressed in the colors of his kingdom—black and silver, with hints of deep blue at the edges of his formal attire. He didn’t wear a crown, but he didn’t need one to appear regal. Daniel stood pressed against his side, the Shadow King’s arm possessively wrapped around his waist.

“You’re late,” Caelen said, his voice cold as he regarded Knox and Zev. “Perhaps my servants should have reminded you of the urgency.”

“We were selecting appropriate weapons,” Knox replied evenly.

Caelen merely raised one eyebrow at them. “Do try to keep up with us once we depart.”

Zev wanted to fire back at Caelen, but he was distracted.

Malik leaned against a stone pillar, still pale but standing on his own. Their eyes met across the courtyard, and something twisted in Zev’s gut.

Caelen spoke again. “Now that the incubus and his friend have decided to join us, we can proceed.” The Shadow King held four silver pendants, each bearing a complex symbol etched into the metal. “These are protection amulets. They won’t shield us completely from the Fields’ influence, but they should help us distinguish memory from reality.”

Caelen distributed the amulets, placing Daniel’s around his neck himself before tossing the others to Knox and Zev with barely a glance. “Do not remove these, no matter what you see or hear.”

“How far is it to the Fields?” Daniel asked, fingers tracing the pendant now resting against his chest.

“Half a day’s ride,” Caelen replied, his tone softening when addressing his mate. “We’ll reach the border by midday.”

Servants brought three horses, already saddled and provisioned. Zev approached the sleek black mare assigned to him, examining the saddle straps.

“Planning to check every buckle?” Malik’s voice came from behind him.

Zev turned. “You should be resting.”

“I wanted to see you off.” Malik stepped closer, lowering his voice. “And I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you’ll come back.” Malik’s voice was steady, but his hammering heartbeat—audible to Zev—betrayed his anxiety. “To me.”

Those two words hung in the air between them.

“I can’t promise that.” Zev glanced over his shoulder. Daniel sat perched in front of Caelen on their shared mount, the Shadow King’s arms encircling him as he took the reins. Knox busied himself with his own horse, pointedly not looking their way.

Meanwhile, Malik stepped closer to Zev, close enough that Zev could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Why not?”

“I don’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep.”

Malik studied him for a long moment, then reached up to touch the side of Zev’s face. The contact was brief but seared into Zev’s skin like a brand. “I know you can’t lie.” Malik’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But sometimes I wish you would.”

Before Zev could respond, Caelen called impatiently for them to form up. Malik stepped back, his hand falling away. Zev mounted his horse, keenly aware of Malik’s eyes on him as he guided the mare into position behind Knox. 

Knox’s mate had appeared at his side.

“Take care of Malik while we’re gone,” Zev said to Adrian.

Adrian agreed. “I will. But you’d better return. You’d better all return.”

Zev gave a curt nod, then followed as Caelen led them through the palace gates, refusing to look back at the human who had somehow carved out a place for himself in Zev’s hollow ribcage.

* * *

They rode in tense silence for the first hour, following a narrow path that wound through dense forest. Caelen and Daniel led, the Shadow King’s arms wrapped protectively around his mate as they shared whispered conversations. Knox followed several lengths behind, with Zev taking up the rear.

The forest gradually thinned, giving way to rolling hills covered in pale silver grass that whispered as they passed. They stopped briefly to water their horses, then pressed on.

As they remounted and continued their journey, Caelen addressed them all without turning. “The Fields feed on emotion,” he warned as they crested a particularly high hill. Below, the landscape shimmered in the distance, like heat rising from stone. “Keep your feelings guarded. Any strong emotion—fear, anger, joy, grief—will make you vulnerable.”

“And you’ve been there before?” Knox asked.

Caelen’s expression darkened. “Once. It was not… pleasant.”

Daniel twisted in the saddle to look up at his mate. “You still haven’t told me about that.”

“There are many things I haven’t told you, pet.” Despite the endearment, Caelen’s tone was grim. “Today is not the day to invite bad memories.”

Zev decided it was time to change the subject. “We should discuss our plan,” he said. “Once we find Leon, how do we extract him? Especially if he’s working with Yuri willingly.”

“He’s not,” Daniel insisted. “Leon wouldn’t betray us.”

Caelen tightened his hold on Daniel. “People can be manipulated. The Leon we find may not be the one you knew.”

“If he’s under some kind of influence, we break it,” Knox stated simply. 

“And if Leon’s not controlled?” Zev pressed. “If he chose this new alliance?”

Daniel glared at him. “Then we try to understand why. He’s still my friend.”

“Your friend who might be helping to destroy the barriers between worlds,” Zev countered. “Allies can turn into enemies before you know it.”

“Enough,” Caelen commanded, his voice cutting. “We waste time with pointless speculation. The Night Court or rogue Barrier Keepers could be at the Fields already.” His arm tightened around Daniel. “We deal with Leon when we find him.”

The shimmering in the distance had grown more pronounced. As they rode toward it, the air took on a strange quality—thicker, somehow, as if they were moving through water rather than air. Sounds became muffled, and colors blurred at the edges.

They dismounted at the border of the Fields, tethering their horses to a stand of stunted trees. The animals seemed skittish, nervous.

“They won’t cross into the Fields,” Caelen explained. “Animals have better sense than we do.”

Zev studied the boundary where normal landscape gave way to something… different. 

There was no clear line, just a gradual shift into unreality. The silver grass beyond the border sometimes appeared solid, sometimes transparent, revealing other landscapes beneath—snow-covered mountains, dense jungle, barren desert—each flickering in and out of existence.

“Jamie?” Daniel suddenly tensed. “I hear Jamie.”

Caelen gripped his arm. “It’s not real, pet. The Fields are already reaching for you.”

Daniel shook his head. “It sounded just like him.”

“Remember the amulets,” Knox said, touching the pendant at his throat. “Focus on them when things become confusing.”

Zev touched his own pendant, the metal cool against his skin. “Let’s move. The longer we stand here, the more time we give the Fields to work on us.”

They crossed the border together. The moment Zev stepped into the Fields, the air around him changed—became charged with energy that prickled along his skin. 

Colors intensified, then faded, then shifted entirely. The silver grass sometimes brushed his knees, sometimes barely covered his boots.

Time seemed to stretch and contract. One moment, the others were right beside him; the next, they were distant figures shrouded in mist that hadn’t been there seconds before. Zev focused on his breathing, on the solid weight of his weapons, on anything but the whispers that tickled the edges of his consciousness.

“Stay close,” Caelen called, his voice sounding both near and impossibly far away. “The Fields will try to separate us.”

“I feel magic,” Knox said. “Strong magic, in that direction.” He pointed toward what appeared to be a copse of trees—though as Zev watched, the trees sometimes vanished, replaced by stone pillars, then tall sculptures, then trees again.

They moved toward the source of magic, fighting against the disorienting shifts in reality. Daniel stumbled once, then again, his eyes darting to things only he could see.

“Jamie’s just over there,” he insisted. “I can see him.”

“It’s not real,” Caelen repeated, gripping Daniel’s hand tightly. “Focus on me and nothing else.”

Zev kept his senses alert for danger, though in this place, danger could wear any face. Every shadow might conceal an enemy—or a memory given flesh.

The magic grew stronger as they approached the center of the Fields. Here, the shifts in reality were more pronounced. Objects from Earth—a streetlamp, a bench, a chunk of what looked like asphalt—phased into existence before dissolving away again.

And there, in the center of it all, was Leon.

The human knelt within a circle of glowing symbols etched into the ground. His eyes were closed, his hands pressed flat against the earth. Energy pulsed from him, feeding the ritual that swirled around him like a vortex.

“Leon,” Daniel called, starting forward.

Caelen’s arm shot out, holding him back. “Wait.”

Behind Leon stood a tall figure with midnight blue hair and eyes that shone like stars. Yuri. The rogue Barrier Keeper watched them approach, his expression calm, almost satisfied.

“You’re earlier than I expected,” Yuri said, voice carrying easily despite the distance. “But not unwelcome. In fact, your presence here completes something I’ve been working toward.”

“Let him go,” Daniel demanded, straining against Caelen’s arm.

Yuri smiled. “Leon isn’t a prisoner. He’s a collaborator.”

“Collaborator in what?” Caelen’s voice held dangerous calm. “Breaking down the barriers between worlds? Creating chaos?”

“Creating healing,” Yuri corrected. “The barriers are unnatural constructs—prison walls between realms that were meant to be one.”

Zev studied the ritual circle. The symbols were unfamiliar but clearly powerful. “And what happens to those caught in the collapse when your healing destroys everything they know?”

“Everything will be reborn,” Yuri replied. “Everything and everyone. Wouldn’t you like that, night fae?”

Zev’s hand moved to his sword. “Don’t pretend to know me.”

“But I do know you,” Yuri smiled. “I know all of you. I’ve been watching for longer than you realize.”

Daniel stepped forward, breaking free of Caelen’s grasp. “Leon! Leon, can you hear me?”

Leon’s eyes remained closed, his body rigid as energy continued to flow through him.

“He can hear you,” Yuri confirmed. “But he cannot respond. The mapping ritual requires his complete concentration.”

“Mapping?” Knox asked.

“The weak points between worlds.” Caelen’s eyes narrowed. “He’s using Leon to find where the barriers can be most easily broken.”

“Precisely.” Yuri inclined his head toward Caelen. “Shadow King, always so perceptive. Yes, I’m mapping the fracture points. Breaking something is always easiest when you know exactly where to stab your blade.”

“Why Leon?” Daniel demanded. “Why use him?”

Yuri smiled. “Leon and I have been working together for a very long time. I could not have accomplished all of this without him.”

“You’re lying!” Daniel insisted.

“Am I?” 

Zev felt the air shift as Yuri drew magic to himself. His hand went to his own blade, but Knox stopped him from attacking. 

“Not yet,” the incubus whispered. “We need to break the ritual first.”

Daniel called Leon’s name again, more desperately this time. For a moment, Leon’s concentration seemed to waver. His eyelids fluttered, and the energy flow faltered.

“Leon,” Daniel pressed. “It’s me. Look at me.”

Leon’s eyes opened, glazed and unfocused. “Daniel?” His voice sounded distant, confused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I didn’t….”

Yuri’s expression hardened. “Enough of this.” He made a sharp gesture, and the ritual circle flared with renewed power. Leon gasped, his back arching as energy surged through him once more.

Before any of them could move, a cold voice cut through the shifting reality of the Fields.

“Well, isn’t this convenient? All our targets in one place.”

Zev spun toward the voice, ice flooding his veins. Emerging from the mist were ten figures in the black and silver of the Night Court. At their head stood Andras, his grandmother’s half-fae lieutenant and commander of her personal guards.

“Prince Ashelon sends his regards,” Andras said with a mocking bow. “Particularly to you, traitor.” His eyes fixed on Zev.

“Take Leon and go,” Zev told the others, drawing his sword. “I’ll handle them.”

Knox cursed under his breath. “Don’t be stupid. There are too many.”

Caelen pushed Daniel behind him, ice crystallizing around his fingertips. “The incubus is right for once. We fight together.” His tone made it clear this was a tactical decision, not one born of camaraderie.

The Night Court soldiers attacked as one, their movements in perfect coordination. Zev blocked a thrust from the first to reach him, spinning to slash at a second. Beside him, Knox engaged three guards while Caelen’s ice magic lashed out at two more.

Daniel darted toward Leon, ducking beneath a soldier’s swing. He reached the ritual circle and grabbed Leon’s arm, trying to pull him away from the glowing symbols.

Yuri made no move to stop him. Instead, the Barrier Keeper stepped back, watching the chaos with calculated interest.

“The amulet,” Caelen shouted to Daniel. “It disrupts magic. Press it against the circle’s edge.”

Daniel fumbled for the pendant, then slammed it against the ground where one of the symbols glowed brightest. There was a flare of power, a sound like glass shattering, and the ritual circle went dark.

Leon collapsed forward, Daniel barely catching him before his head hit the ground.

Zev cut down another guard, spinning to check on Daniel’s progress. The human had managed to get Leon to his feet, though Leon looked dazed and disoriented.

“We need to go,” Knox called, his blade dripping with dark blood. “Now.”

Yuri observed them impassively. “This changes nothing.” He stepped backward, his form beginning to blur. “We will meet again, when the walls between worlds are thinner still.”

As Yuri faded from sight, the remaining Night Court soldiers pressed their attack with renewed fury.

“The way we came,” Caelen ordered, ice spears impaling two guards at once. “Stay together.”

They began to retreat, Daniel supporting Leon, while Caelen cleared a path with devastating ice magic. Knox covered their left flank, and Zev took the rear position, facing the remaining soldiers.

Andras stepped forward, his face twisted in contempt. “Running again, Zev? Just like when you fled without your werewolf?”

Zev’s grip tightened on his sword.

“Your father sends a message,” Andras continued, circling to Zev’s right. “About your human pet.”

Zev kept his expression neutral, though his heart hammered against his ribs.

“Such fascinating results from our experiments,” Andras’s smile was cruel. “He should be quite valuable to us. Lady Morvena has plans for him—assuming he survives the extraction process.”

Red edged Zev’s vision. Andras was obviously baiting him. 

Zev should ignore him. 

He should retreat. 

But Malik’s face flashed in his mind.

Promise you’ll come back. To me.

“Tell my father,” Zev said, voice lethally soft, “that if he touches Malik again, I will burn the Night Court to the ground and sow the ashes with salt.”

Andras laughed. “Bold words from a traitor who cannot even save himself.” He glanced past Zev. “Your friends are leaving you behind.”

Zev didn’t turn to look. He could hear the others retreating, their footsteps fading as the mist of the Fields thickened between them.

“You’ve always been a fool,” Andras said. “First for that mangy werewolf, now for a fragile human who will wither and die in an eyeblink. Pathetic.”

The pendant at Zev’s throat grew warm, pulsing with warning. Control your emotions. The Fields feed on emotion.

But rage—hot and demanding—surged through him despite the warning. Rage at what they’d done to Rhys, what they wanted to do to Malik.

Zev was going to shut this bastard up once and for all.

“Enough talk,” he snapped, and attacked.

Andras met his blade easily, their swords ringing in the strange silence of the Fields. The other guards hung back as if the two of them were putting on a spectacle for their viewing pleasure.

As if all of this had been planned. 

But Zev couldn’t give ground now.

He knew Andras’s techniques—they had once fought side by side. Zev also knew that he was stronger than the lieutenant, but Andras had clearly learned new tricks in the years since Zev’s desertion.

A slash opened Zev’s arm, another his cheek. He ignored the sharp pain as he landed his own blows, drawing bright blood from Andras’s thigh, shoulder, side. 

Under different circumstances, they might have been evenly matched, but Zev was fueled by something Andras could never understand.

“Your father has already begun preparations,” Andras said, blocking Zev’s thrust with casual ease. “We’ve got everything ready for your little pet.”

Zev’s nostrils flared. His next strike came harder, faster.

“We found that humans from Earth respond quite uniquely to the shadow paths.” Andras spun away from a slash, smirking. “By the time we’re done, your human will barely remember his own name, much less yours.”

Blood roared in Zev’s ears. His blade whistled through the air, missing Andras by mere inches.

“You know who had the honor of executing your lover?” Andras’s voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “It was me.”

“Liar!” Zev’s vision narrowed to a tunnel of red. His sword became an extension of his rage, each strike carrying the full force of his fury. The sound of metal striking metal echoed strangely in the misty air.

Andras retreated. Blood seeped from a new gash across his shoulder, but his smile never wavered.

“Why would I lie?” he taunted. “It’s such a happy memory for me, ruining your joy. You always thought you were better than me, but you’re just a traitor.”

Zev slashed at the filthy half-fae bastard again. His blade caught Andras across the thigh. The lieutenant hissed but kept moving backward, drawing Zev deeper into the swirling mist.

Knox shouted something, voice distant and muffled. 

A warning, maybe.

Zev would heed it later.

For now he needed to make Andras pay. For all the pain he’d caused Zev. For all the pain he’d caused Rhys. 

How dare he lay a finger on what was Zev’s? 

Mist closed in around them, a living thing that wrapped around Zev like a shroud. Andras’s form blurred, then split—doubling, tripling, multiplying until a ring of identical figures surrounded him.

Zev spun. 

What was this?

A trap? 

The path back to the others had vanished, swallowed by the hungry mist of the Fields.

He clutched the amulet at his throat, trying to clear his vision, but the pendant felt cold now, its protection weakened by his emotional outburst.

Damn it all. 

The Andrases around him laughed, an ugly, echoing sound.

Zev slashed through all of them. 

They vanished into mist, leaving him to stand there by himself, breathing hard, blood dripping from his wounds. He turned, trying to catch sight of the others, but it was hopeless.

“Knox?” he called. “Daniel?”

No answer. Just the soft sigh of thick fog sliding over silver grass.

There was nothing for it; he had to start walking. 

He tried to retrace his steps, but they didn’t lead him back where he’d come from. Instead, the mist seemed to stretch out forever in all directions.

But Zev wasn’t about to give up. 

He was not going to get lost here. He had to push through. He had to—

The mist parted, revealing a small clearing. In its center stood a tree—ancient, gnarled, stretching toward the sky. Zev froze, recognition washing over him like ice water.

This tree. He knew this tree.

It had been their meeting place. Their secret sanctuary when stolen moments were all they could have.

As if summoned by the thought, a figure stepped from behind the tree. Tall, broad-shouldered, with tawny hair that caught the strange light of the Fields. Brown eyes that still held warmth despite everything they had seen.

Rhys.

The werewolf smiled—that same mischievous smile that had undone Zev so many times before.

“You’re late,” Rhys said, scolding him softly as he had so often. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Zev’s sword trembled in his hand. “You’re not real.”

Rhys cocked his head, regarding Zev with fond exasperation. “Does it matter?”

And Zev—despite knowing better, despite the amulet’s warning pulse against his skin—found he had no answer to that question.

---

Malik’s head pounded. He pressed his fingertips against his temples, but the headache would not go away. 

And now Adrian wanted him to eat breakfast. 

His friend gestured at the tray on the small table beside his bed. “The cook said this would help restore strength.”

Malik glanced at the array of unfamiliar fruits and bread. His stomach turned at the thought of food, but he forced himself to pick up a slice of something that resembled a plum.

“How do you stand it?” Malik bit into the fruit. It tasted almost like honey. “The waiting.”

Adrian settled into a chair, though he didn’t look like he wanted to be sitting. He had a restless energy about him. “I don’t. Not really.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I just pretend I’m not falling apart until Knox returns. It’s all I can do for him right now.”

“It must be difficult.”

“It is.” Adrian studied him for a moment. “So. You and Zev.”

Malik nearly choked on the fruit. “What about us?”

“Come on. I’ve seen how you look at him. And how he tries not to look at you.”

Heat crawled up Malik’s neck. Everything that had happened last nigth still felt like a dream—the kind you wake from feeling both satisfied and hollow, knowing it wasn’t real. Except it had been. Zev’s hands on his skin, his mouth—

Did Malik’s thoughts show on his face even now?

“I don’t really know what’s going on,” he made himself say.

Adrian snorted. “Welcome to loving someone from Veridia.”

“I didn’t say anything about love.”

“I guess you didn’t.” Adrian’s expression softened. “But I know you’re worried about him.”

“I’m worried about all of them.” Except maybe for Caelen. Caelen could drop dead for all Malik cared. 

“Of course, but that’s not how I meant it.”

Malik nodded vaguely and picked at the bread, pulling it apart without eating. “Zev is still in love with someone else.” The words tasted bitter. 

He and Adrian had both read the webnovel obsessively. They both knew Zev’s story. They both knew Zev was never going to forget his first love, and Malik would never ask that of him. but…

“How do you compete with a ghost?”

“You don’t.” Adrian reached across the table, his hand covering Malik’s. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t ever be room for something new.”

Malik wanted to believe him, but doubt gnawed at his insides, sharper than hunger. Or maybe it wasn’t doubt at all. Something felt wrong today—more than just worry for Zev and the others. 

More than just the stupid headache that wouldn’t go away.

“They should have been back by now.”

Adrian squeezed his hand before letting go. “They’ll be fine. Knox has survived worse.” His confident tone didn’t match the worry lines between his brows.

“What if they’re not?”

“Then we’ll figure something out. That’s what we do.”

Malik nodded, but the dread coiling in his stomach only tightened. He rose from the bed, suddenly needing to move.

“I think I’ll walk a bit.” He tried to sound casual. “Sitting makes me restless.”

“Want company?”

“No.” Malik forced a smile. “I’m not great company right now anyway.”

Adrian looked like he might argue, but something in Malik’s expression made him relent. “Don’t overdo it.”

“I won’t.”

Malik slipped into the corridor, leaning against the wall once he was out of sight. The healers had warned him to rest, but how could he rest when Zev was out there, possibly in danger?

The thought of Zev made his chest ache, as if an invisible thread connected them—a thread being pulled taut to the point of breaking.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

And he didn’t have to wander long before the palace erupted into motion. Guards rushed past him, servants called to one another, and Malik’s heart beat faster.

They were back.

He pushed away from the wall, fighting the dizziness that threatened to send him to his knees. Following the commotion, he made his way to the palace’s main entrance, where a crowd had already gathered.

Caelen strode through the massive doors first, his silver-white hair caked with dirt and what looked unsettlingly like dried blood. Daniel clung to his side, pale but unharmed. Knox followed, supporting Leon, who could barely walk.

Malik searched the group, waiting for the tall, dark figure that should have been bringing up the rear.

Zev wasn’t with them.

The realization almost made him stagger.

“Where is he?” His voice came out sharp.

Knox’s head snapped up, eyes finding Malik in the crowd. Something in the incubus’s expression made Malik’s blood run cold.

“Get all these people to clear out,” Knox muttered to Caelen, tilting his head toward Malik.

The Shadow King looked more than a bit unhappy to be taking orders from Knox, but he didn’t argue. “Everyone out,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Now.”

Guards and servants scattered, leaving only their small group in the cavernous entryway. Caelen led them to a small chamber off the main hall—some kind of receiving room with low couches and flames crackling in the fireplace.

“Where’s Zev?” Malik demanded again, stronger this time.

Knox lowered Leon onto one of the couches. “He was separated from us in the Fields.”

“Separated?”

“The Night Court found us,” Daniel explained, his hand not leaving Caelen’s. “We were fighting them, and Zev… he got drawn deeper into the Fields.”

“Drawn?”

“He let his emotions get the better of him,” Caelen said. “He should have known better.”

“Caelen!” Daniel rebuked his mate sharply while Malik sank onto a chair, the room spinning around him. 

His worst fears were coming true. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Knox said firmly. “Not dead. Just… trapped.”

“Then we need to go back for him.”

“We can’t,” Knox refused to change his stance. “The Fields are crawling with Night Court soldiers, and you—” he gestured at Malik, “—are in no condition for a rescue mission.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” Knox said. “Zev would kill me if I let you get yourself killed trying to save him.”

“But we can’t abandon him. He would never abandon you.” 

“I know.” Knox’s eyes softened slightly. “Listen to me, Zev is strong. He’ll find his way out.”

Malik wasn’t so sure about that. Everyone assumed Zev was strong, but Malik had recently gotten a glimpse behind that strong exterior, and he didn’t want to leave Zev to battle his trauma by himself. He made to get up, but another wave of weakness washed over him. The room tilted dangerously, and he gripped the chair arms to steady himself.

“Keep sitting.” Adrian was by his side now. 

Malik rubbed his face. 

Damn it. Why did he have to be so useless?

“It’s the shadow paths,” Leon said, making Malik look up. “They’re feeding on you.”

All eyes turned to him.

“What do you mean?” Adrian asked.

Leon pushed himself upright with visible effort. His gaze met Malik’s. “You’re connected to Zev, aren’t you?” 

Malik’s cheeks grew warm again. How did Leon know that? And why did it matter now? 

“The Fields…,” Leon said. “They’re connected to the paths, and if they’re feeding on Zev… they’re feeding on you.”

Adrian went to Leon’s side as if to tell him to lie back down, but Leon waved him off. 

“This is part of Yuri’s plan,” he said. “The four of us,” he nodded to Daniel and Malik, “we’re descended from Barrier Keepers. From before the boundaries existed.”

“What?” Malik stared at Leon. 

“We’re beings of two worlds,” Leon explained with a faint look of wonder. “The paths react violently to us. It’ll help Yuri break down… the barriers.”

Malik needed a second—or several hours—to process all that, but since he didn’t have time, he asked his biggest question now.

“But why?” he demanded. “What does he gain by breaking down the barriers?”

“He believes an ancient deity created all realms as one,” Leon said. “The Barrier Keepers separated the worlds, and he wants to wake the deity to restore what he sees as the natural order.”

“He’s insane,” Knox growled. “Unmaking reality isn’t restoration, it’s destruction.”

Malik wanted to say something more, but the invisible thread in his chest pulled tighter, a nauseating pain spreading through his limbs. Something was drawing on him, draining him, just as it had in the shadow paths.

He stood abruptly, needing to escape the suffocating room, but his legs betrayed him. The floor rushed up to meet him.

Strong arms caught him before he hit the ground.

“Malik?” Knox’s voice sounded distant.

Leon’s sounded alarmed. “The connection must be stronger than I realized. If this continues…”

“Will it kill him?” Adrian’s voice.

Leon hesitated. “It might.”

“Then we need to do something!” Adrian insisted.

Knox growled. “We need to get Zev out of the Fields.” 

“Or break the connection,” Leon suggested carefully.

Malik shook his head, despite the pain it caused. “No. I won’t abandon him.”

“Malik—” Knox began.

“No.” He forced himself to sit up, gritting his teeth against the dizziness. “Zev didn’t abandon me in the Night Court. I’m not abandoning him now.”

Knox and Caelen exchanged a look that Malik couldn’t decipher.

“He needs rest,” Caelen finally said. “Take him to his chambers. We’ll discuss our options once we’ve all had time to recover.”

Malik wanted to protest, but his body betrayed him. He could barely keep his eyes open now. The last thing he remembered was being lifted again, carried through the palace corridors as consciousness slipped away.

---

Malik drifted in darkness. His body was weightless, disconnected from everything except the pain in his chest—that persistent tug that had been growing stronger since Zev disappeared into the Fields.

The pain sharpened, becoming an insistent pull that dragged him deeper into unconsciousness. Not toward sleep, but toward something else—something vast and hungry that whispered at the edges of his awareness.

The shadow paths.

The realization came with a chill that spread through him. 

He’d never wanted to go near the paths again, and yet…

The darkness twisted around him, coalescing into shapes, colors bleeding into existence. Malik found himself standing in a forest clearing, silver grass beneath his feet. He spotted a massive gnarled tree, and beneath it, Zev.

Zev as Malik had never seen him.

Not the cold, controlled warrior he’d first met, nor the desperate, fierce protector who had pulled him through the shadow paths. This Zev looked younger somehow, his features softer, his posture lacking its usual rigid vigilance.

Malik stepped forward instinctively, but his feet made no sound on the forest floor. 

“Zev!” he tried te call, but no sound emerged from his throat.

He was here but not here—an observer, nothing more.

And Zev wasn’t alone. A broad-shouldered man was with him, regarding Zev with a smile that transformed his rugged face into something beautiful. The man wore simple clothing—a loose white shirt and worn leather pants—but carried himself with the easy confidence of someone comfortable in his own skin.

Rhys.

Of course it was Rhys.

“You always overthink everything,” Rhys said, his voice deep and warm. He reached out, catching Zev’s wrist and pulling him closer. “Some things just are.”

“Nothing just is,” Zev countered. “Everything has a price.”

“Not this.” Rhys brushed his fingers along Zev’s jaw. “Not us.”

“Especially us,” Zev argued, but he didn’t resist the touch.

Something twisted in Malik’s chest, sharp and painful. 

Was that jealousy?

He didn’t want to be jealous, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never seen Zev like this—guard down, eyes soft, leaning into someone’s touch without hesitation.

Rhys pulled Zev into an embrace, and Zev’s arms wrapped around him naturally, as if they’d done this a thousand times before. 

“I’ve missed you,” Zev whispered.

“I know.” Rhys pressed his forehead against Zev’s. “I’ve been waiting.”

Malik wanted to look away. This wasn’t meant for him to see—this raw, private moment. But he couldn’t turn from the naked emotion on Zev’s face, the grief and longing and relief all mingled together.

“I failed you,” Zev said, his voice breaking.

“No.” Rhys cupped Zev’s face in his hands. “Never think that. I chose my path, just as you chose yours.”

“But if I had been there—”

“You would have died too.” Rhys’s voice turned firm. “And that was never what I wanted.”

Malik’s jealousy dissolved, replaced by an ache that wasn’t entirely his own. The pain in his chest resonated with Zev’s grief, making it difficult to breathe. This was the weight Zev carried—the ghost of a love cut short, of promises unfulfilled.

Malik might have been happy for Zev, for this moment of absolution, but something was wrong. 

Once Malik noticed the shadow tendrils, they were everywhere. 

They were so fine they were nearly invisible, but they curled around Zev’s ankles, his wrists, his throat. 

The Fields were feeding on him.

No!

Panic seized Malik. “Zev!” he tried again to call out again, but his voice wouldn’t carry in the dreamscape.

Zev didn’t noticed him at all. He just kept talking to Rhys. 

“I killed a werewolf,” he confessed. “To protect someone else. They made me choose.”

Rhys’s expression softened with understanding. “The Court has always excelled at impossible choices.”

“He was from your pack.”

“Of course.”

“How can you not hate me for that?”

“Because I know you.” Rhys traced the curve of Zev’s ear, the line of his jaw. “Because I’ve seen inside you, the parts you hide from everyone else. You carry enough hatred for yourself—I won’t add mine to that burden.”

The shadow tendrils thickened, winding more tightly around Zev, who seemed completely unaware of their presence. They pulsed, and Zev’s form seemed to fade, as if he were being slowly erased from existence.

Malik couldn’t let this happen. 

He needed to do something. To break Zev out of this. 

But there wasn’t anything he could do.

And the shadows had nearly engulfed Zev now, winding around his chest, his throat, seeping into his skin like ink in water. His outline flickered.

Malik stared in panic. 

“Let him go!” he screamed, even though he knew he wouldn’t be heard.

One of the shadow tendrils twitched.

Malik froze. Had he done that?

He took a second, just a second, to study the tendrils. They seemed to flow from the silver grass, connecting to a larger darkness beneath. The shadow paths. 

Hadn’t Leon said something about the paths reacting violently to them?

If Malik was somehow linked to the paths because of his heritage…

Malik concentrated on the nearest tendril, imagining himself reaching for it, grasping it. To his shock, the shadow rippled, as if disturbed by an unseen hand.

He tried again, focusing harder. This time, the tendril twitched, momentarily loosening its grip on Zev’s arm.

Rhys—or whatever wore Rhys’s face—frowned, looking around. “Someone’s here.” His expression darkened. “Something interferes.”

Zev seemed barely conscious now, leaning heavily against Rhys. The shadow tendrils had nearly covered him completely, only his face still visible.

Desperation lending him strength, Malik focused on the largest tendril wrapped around Zev’s chest. He imagined grasping it, tearing it away, freeing Zev from its grip.

The shadow shuddered violently, loosening for a moment. Zev gasped, a flash of awareness returning to his eyes.

“What—?” He looked down, finally noticing the darkness consuming him.

“Ignore it,” Rhys urged, turning Zev’s face back toward his own. “Look at me. Only at me.”

“No!” Malik shouted, but still, his voice was not getting through. “Zev! It’s feeding on you. The Fields—they’re draining you through your memories. It’s—”

His voice cut off as pressure closed around his throat. The dreamscape itself was fighting him now, the Fields rejecting his intrusion. 

But Malik wasn’t about to give up so easily.

He fought against the pressure constricting his form. The shadow paths had responded to his commands, however weakly. If he could just reach Zev—

He stretched out his hand toward one of the shadow tendrils, not trying to break it this time, but to grasp it, to use it.

His fingers closed around the tendril. It felt cold and alive, pulsing with stolen energy—Zev’s energy. Instead of pushing it away, Malik pulled on it, drawing the energy back through the connection between them.

The effect was immediate and shocking. Power surged through Malik, raw and electric, filling him with a strength he’d never known. 

But it was too late.

The clearing blurred around him, colors fading.

No! No, no no.

Malik woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in his bed in the Shadow Palace, heart pounding, the knowledge of what he had to do burning in his mind with perfect clarity.

He had to fight through the paths and bring Zev home.

---

Malik jerked awake with Zev’s name on his lips, his heart hammering against his ribs. He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt like lead weights. The room swam into focus—unfamiliar stone walls, thick curtains drawn against the light from outside, and two figures who turned toward him in unison.

“Zev’s trapped,” Malik gasped, not bothering with greetings. “The Fields are feeding on him. I saw it.”

Leon and Lyrian exchanged glances. Leon moved closer to the bed, his expression carefully neutral.

“You’ve been unconscious for nearly a day,” Leon said. 

“I saw him.” Malik struggled to push himself upright, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to pull him back under. “The shadow paths… I was there, watching. The Fields have him caught in some kind of memory with Rhys, but it’s not real.”

Lyrian stepped forward, his aquamarine hair falling over his shoulders. “Slow down. What exactly did you see?”

Malik described the vision in hasty sentences—the clearing, the ancient tree, the false Rhys, and most importantly, the shadow tendrils consuming Zev while he remained oblivious.

“I could touch them,” Malik said, touching his fingers together as if still feeling the cold pulse of the shadow tendril. “I grabbed one and it responded to me. I could control it, just for a moment.”

Leon’s expression shifted from confusion to skepticism. “Are you sure?”

“It’s possible,” Lyrian said, studying Malik with new intensity. “If he’s truly Barrier Keeper blood.”

“Where are the others?” Malik asked, looking past them toward the door. “Knox? Adrian?”

“They’ve gone to confront Yuri,” Lyrian said. “Leon helped us determine where he would strike next. They left at dawn.” While he spoke, he shot Leon a look that Malik couldn’t quite discern. 

But whatever Lyrian though about Leon, it didn’t matter now. 

Malik pushed the blankets aside. “Then I’m going after Zev myself.”

Leon moved to block him. “Don’t be foolish. The paths would consume you.”

“They already tried once and failed,” Malik countered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The floor seemed to shift beneath his feet, but he forced himself to stand anyway. “I’m not asking permission.”

“You’re barely strong enough to stand,” Lyrian pointed out. “Whatever connection you have to Zev—through the paths or otherwise—it’s draining you even now.”

Malik couldn’t deny it. The pull in his chest remained, a constant ache that ebbed and flowed like a tide. Right now, it was receding.

Did that mean Zev was fighting back against the tendrils?

Would he win?

Could he win without any help?

“I have to try,” Malik insisted. “Every minute we waste arguing is another minute those things are feeding on him.” 

Leon touched his arm. “At least eat something first. You won’t help Zev by collapsing five steps into your rescue attempt.”

Malik didn’t want food; he wanted to go to Zev, but his nannies were never going to let him get anywhere. 

Malik wished he had more skill points in stealth… or persuasion. 

“Fine,” he relented. “Food. Then I’m going.”

“We’ll discuss it after you’ve eaten,” Lyrian said, his tone making it clear he had no intention of letting Malik leave.

A servant brought a tray—bread, fruit, and some kind of broth that smelled strongly of herbs. Malik forced himself to eat some of it while his mind raced through everything he knew about the palace. 

The entry to the shadow path nexus would be somewhere in the basement. 

He had to slip away from his caretakers and find it. 

“At least let me wash and change,” Malik said when he’d finished eating. “I can’t think straight feeling like this.”

Lyrian glanced at Leon, who nodded slightly. “I’ll find you some clean clothes,” Lyrian said. 

Once Lyrian left, Leon moved to the window, pulling the curtain back slightly. “I get that this must be hard for you.”

“If you did, you’d let me go.”

Leon let the curtain fall closed. “Yuri wanted this, you know. These connections between worlds, between people who should never have met.”

“Why?” Malik asked. “What does he gain?”

“He lost someone,” Leon said softly. “Someone the other Barrier Keepers took from him. He believes reuniting the worlds will bring them back.”

Malik blinked. 

“How would that even work?”

Leon shook his head. “I don’t know the particulars.”

“You seem to know a lot, regardless.” Malik frowned. “What was it like to be Yuri’s captive? Did he do anything to you?”

Before Leon could respond, Lyrian returned with a stack of clothes. “Here. These should fit well enough.”

Malik took them. Clothes would be nice to have when he made his escape. “I need a moment of privacy.”

Lyrian and Leon exchanged glances again, then stepped outside.

Once alone, Malik moved as quickly as his weakened body would allow. He dressed, splashed water on his face from the basin beside the bed, and then he looked around the room.

Sadly the window was too high for escape. 

He’d have to find another way out. 

It came sooner than expected. When Malik left the room, Leon and Lyrian were standing next to the door, arguing. 

“I know my grandmother’s vision wasn’t wrong,” Lyrian said, voice sharp. “She saw you with Yuri, working willingly at his side.”

Leons expression pulled tight. “Your grandmother sees fragments of truth through a distorted lens.”

“So tell me what fragments was she seeing?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Leon responded. 

Lyrian took a step closer to Leon. “I swear, if you sent our friends into a trap…”

As their voices rose, Malik inched down the hall and around the corner. 

Turned out you didn’t need to be very stealthy. You just needed the other people to fail their perception check.

Still, Malik’s heart was pounding he thought they would have to hear him. 

Licking his lips, he tried to orient himself. 

No use. He had no idea where he was in relation to anything. 

But he knew he had to find stairs down to the basement. That pulling sensation in his chest made him push onward, made him head east. 

As quietly as possible, he made himself move, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. 

It was as if he was holding an invisible compass that whispered to him where to go. 

East. Always east.

He found a narrow staircase winding downward and descended carefully, pausing at each landing to listen for guards or servants. The air grew cooler and damper the deeper he went, until finally he reached the lowest level.

At the bottom of the stairs, Malik found himself in a wide hallway lit by blue-flamed torches. At the far end stood two guards in Caelen’s silver and black livery, stationed before a set of heavy iron doors.

The shadow path entrance. It had to be. 

Malik needed to get through that door.

Malik stared at the guards, mind racing. He’d never get past them without help or a distraction.

“Of course you’d come here,” came Leon’s voice from behind him.

Malik spun around, heart leaping into his throat. Leon and Lyrian stood there, arms crossed, looking more irritated than concerned.

“I’m not going back,” Malik said, keeping his voice low but firm.

Lyrian stepped forward. “The paths are going to tear you apart.”

“I have to try.” Malik met their gazes. “You didn’t see what I saw. Those tendrils are consuming him. They’re using his memories of Rhys to keep him trapped while they feed.”

“And throwing yourself into the same trap helps how?” Leon asked.

Malik straightened. “I can manipulate the paths. I felt it in the vision—the tendrils responded to me.”

“Even if that’s true, your connection to Zev is killing you,” Lyrian pointed out. “Going deeper would only accelerate the process.”

“Then I’ll die trying,” Malik said, his voice breaking slightly. “What would you do if it were someone you cared about? If it were Knox trapped there?” He looked at Lyrian, then turned to Leon. “Would you abandon your friends to the Fields?”

Both men fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances.

“Listen to me,” Malik continued, desperation making him bolder. “I know it’s dangerous, but I also know I’m the only one who can find him. The connection is draining me, yes, but it’s also guiding me to him.”

Leon’s expression shifted subtly. “And if you do find him? What then? You have no offensive magic, no weapons, no training.”

“I have something better,” Malik replied. “I have the truth. Those illusions are powerful because Zev wants them to be real. But I’m real too, and unlike Rhys, I’m still alive.”

The bluntness of his statement seemed to catch them off guard.

Malik knew he had to press on. “I love him,” he stated, “and nothing will stop me from going to him.” 

Something in Lyrian’s expression softened. “Going into the paths unprepared is suicide.”

“Then prepare me,” Malik challenged. “You both know things about the shadow paths. Tell me what I need to know to survive.”

The two of them studied him for another moment, both clearly uncertain what to do.

Finally, Leon sighed. “The shadows will target your worst fears first. Whatever nightmares you face, remember they’re not real.”

“Move quickly,” Lyrian added. “Don’t linger in any vision, no matter how compelling. The longer you stay, the harder it becomes to leave.”

“And the connection between you and Zev,” Leon said, “use it like a lifeline. When everything else fails, follow that thread.”

Malik looked from one to the other, hardly daring to believe they were actually helping. “Thank you. Now about those guards…”

Lyrian looked at the guards. “I’ll sing them a little song to lure them away from their station.”

Before Malik could comment on that, Lyrian strode down the corridor with confident steps. The guards stiffened, hands moving to weapons until they recognized him.

“Gentlemen,” Lyrian called, his voice carrying a strange undercurrent that made Malik’s ears tingle. He went on to describe a disturbance in the west wing that required their assistance, and as he spoke, his voice shifted into something more than speech—a melody that wound through his words, almost shimmering in the air. 

The guards’ expressions went slack, then alert with purpose. Without question, they abandoned their post, following Lyrian as he led them away.

“Now,” Leon whispered. 

Malik nodded and hurried to the iron doors, finding them surprisingly light despite their imposing appearance. Beyond lay a circular chamber with a pool of absolute darkness at its center—a darkness that seemed to swallow the blue torchlight.

The pull in his chest intensified to an almost painful degree as he approached the edge of the pool. The shadow path sensed him, rippling like disturbed water.

“Remember,” Leon said from the doorway, “find the thread that connects you to Zev and don’t let go, no matter what the paths show you.”

Malik nodded, watching the darkness pulse beneath him. “If I don’t make it back—”

“Save the heroic speeches for when you return,” Leon cut him off. “The paths feed on drama.”

Despite everything, Malik almost smiled. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped forward into nothingness.

Cold enveloped him. The darkness wasn’t empty—it pressed against him, hungry and alive. Malik fought the instinct to struggle, focusing instead on the tugging he felt in his chest, the invisible thread connecting him to Zev.

The darkness gave way reluctantly, like wading through tar. Shapes formed at the edges of his vision—indistinct at first, then clearer. The shadow paths were creating a scene around him, pulling it from his memories.

A familiar road materialized beneath his feet. Rain slicked the asphalt, headlights cutting through the darkness. 

It was an all too familiar scene. The mountain highway where his family had died.

He was in the backseat of his parents’ car, his twin sister Maya beside him, arguing about something trivial. He couldn’t remember what now, but they’d been so angry at each other. Up front, his mother turned around.

“Will you two please stop? Your father is trying to concentrate in this rain.”

But Malik knew what was coming. 

And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. 

“It’s not real,” Malik told himself, even as the memory enveloped him with perfect clarity—the song playing on the radio, the smell of his mother’s perfume, the way his father drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

The crash happened in slow motion. The scream of tires. The sickening crunch of metal. The world spinning. Malik’s voice rose in warning, but the words died in his throat. He’d lived this moment too many times in his nightmares to believe he could change it.

As he lay trapped in the wreckage, his family turned to him, their bodies broken, faces bloodied, but eyes clear and accusing.

“You lived,” his sister said, her voice hollow. “Why just you?”

“I didn’t choose this,” Malik whispered.

“You’re choosing it now,” his mother said, reaching for him with a hand bent at an impossible angle. “Choosing him over us.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then stay,” his father urged. “Stay with us. We can be together again.”

Shadows pressed in around Malik. 

Were they trying to feed on his grief, his guilt?

How many times had he secretly wished he’d died with his family? How many nights had he lain awake, wondering why he’d been spared when they hadn’t?

But Zev’s face flashed in his mind—not the cold, controlled assassin, but the vulnerable man who had held him in the darkness, who had sacrificed his freedom to protect Malik.

“I’m sorry,” Malik told his family, tears streaming down his face. “I loved you. I still love you. But I have to keep going.” He looked at his sister. “I did everything I could. And I’ve punished myself enough.”

The illusion wavered. Maya’s face flickered like a bad transmission.

“I survived for a reason,” Malik continued, finding strength in his own words. “And part of that reason is waiting for me.”

He pulled himself out of the wreckage, fighting through the tendrils that tried to hold him back. The metal of the car dissolved until Malik found himself kneeling in darkness, alone. 

He got up and kept moving.

The cold closed around him, deeper this time. The thread connecting him to Zev pulled him forward, but the paths had not given up feeding on him yet. 

The scene shifted around him.

Something colder than the darkness cut into Malik’s arms. 

Chains. 

Suddenly he was kneeling on the floor with Zev standing over him holding a blade.

“Choose,” Lord Darius said from somewhere behind Zev. “Your loyalty to the Court, or your human pet.”

Zev’s face was blank, eyes cold and empty as he raised the blade.

“This isn’t real either,” Malik said firmly, though his heart raced. “Zev would never hurt me.”

“Wouldn’t he?” the shadow-Zev asked, his voice unnervingly familiar. “You’ve known me for what—weeks? What makes you think you matter more than my family?”

“Because you risked everything to protect me,” Malik answered. “You killed for me, even though it broke something inside you.”

“And now you’ve seen what I truly am,” shadow-Zev continued, pressing the blade against Malik’s throat. “A killer. A monster. Did you really believe I could care for someone like you?”

Malik swallowed, feeling the cold edge against his skin. “This isn’t you talking. The real Zev is trapped in the Fields, caught in his own nightmare.”

“And if you free me?” shadow-Zev asked, leaning closer. “What then? Do you think I’ll fall into your arms, grateful and loving? I will never love you as I loved Rhys. Never.”

The words cut deeper than any blade, striking at Malik’s deepest fear. But this was a trap.

This was the shadow path trying to exploit his doubts. 

Would Zev ever truly love him?

“Maybe not,” Malik admitted, doing his damnedest to keep his voice steady. “But that doesn’t matter now. I’m not saving him to make him love me. I’m saving him because he deserves to be free—because no one deserves to be trapped in their grief forever.”

The shadow-Zev faltered, the blade wavering.

“And even if he never feels for me what he felt for Rhys,” Malik pushed on, “that doesn’t make what we have any less real. Different doesn’t mean less.”

The vision shattered around him, dissolving back into darkness. The connection in Malik’s chest burned brighter now, almost painfully strong. He was getting closer.

“I reject your illusions,” he said out loud, and then he repeated his words, like a mantra as he kept going. 

The paths no longer felt like they were fighting him; instead, they seemed to bend around him, guiding him deeper.

The darkness gradually lightened to a misty gray. Malik sensed he was nearing the Fields of Memories. The pull in his chest had become almost painful again, but in a different way—not draining, but urgent.

I’m coming, Zev. Hold on.

The mist parted, revealing the silver-grass clearing he’d seen in his vision. The ancient gnarled tree loomed ahead, and beneath it stood Zev and the false Rhys, surrounded by shadow tendrils that had nearly consumed Zev completely.

Time to fight for what was real.

---

Zev floated in a silver haze of memory and desire, reality dissolving around him until nothing remained but Rhys’s face, his touch, the sound of his voice. They sat together beneath their tree—their place, the secret clearing where they’d first dared to believe in something beyond duty and survival.

“I’ve missed you,” Zev whispered again, because it was the truest thing he knew.

“I know.” Rhys pressed his forehead against Zev’s. “I’ve been waiting.”

Time meant nothing here. Had it been minutes or hours since he’d confessed to killing a werewolf from Rhys’s pack? The memory should have brought pain, but instead, it faded like mist in sunlight, replaced by the warmth of Rhys’s forgiveness.

“You always knew what I was,” Zev said.

“I knew what they made you,” Rhys corrected. His fingers traced the curve of Zev’s ear, the line of his jaw—familiar touches that Zev had thought lost forever. “And I knew what you could become.”

A distant part of Zev’s mind registered that something wasn’t right. The silver grass beneath them glowed too brightly. The air tasted of nothing—no pine resin, no earthy scents of the forest. But he pushed the doubts away.

They were inconsequential.

“Tell me again,” Zev said, “about the cabin you wanted to build.”

Rhys smiled, something flickering behind his eyes. “The one by the lake?”

Zev frowned. “The one in the mountains. You said we’d… we’d build it where no one would find us.”

“Yes, of course. The mountain cabin.” Rhys’s smile never faltered. “With a stone hearth and windows facing east to catch the sunrise.”

But that wasn’t right either. Rhys had wanted western windows to watch the sunset. He’d been specific about that—said the sunset reminded him of Zev’s eyes glowing in the dark.

A sudden cold crept through Zev’s veins.

“That’s not what you said,” he murmured.

Rhys’s hands tightened on his arms. “Does it matter? We’re together now.”

“It matters.” Zev pulled back slightly, studying Rhys’s face. Perfect and familiar in every detail, and yet… “The cabin in the mountains. West-facing windows.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“No, you didn’t.”

The air around them thickened. Behind Rhys, the tree’s branches seemed to twist, reaching downward like grasping fingers.

“Why are you doing this?” Rhys asked, his voice taking on an unfamiliar edge. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“I am. But you’re not—”

“Zev!”

A new voice cut through the silver haze. Zev’s head snapped up, searching for its source.

“You’re ignoring me now?” Rhys cupped Zev’s face, turning it back toward him. 

But Zev had heard that voice. Impossible as it seemed, he’d heard—

“ZEV!”

Malik. It was Malik’s voice, calling to him from somewhere beyond the clearing. Zev tried to rise, but his limbs were so heavy.

“He’s not real,” Rhys whispered, his breath unnaturally cold against Zev’s ear. “I’m the only real thing here. Stay with me.”

Was that true? Could Malik’s voice be an illusion?

But what if it wasn’t?

“After everything we meant to each other, you’d choose him?” Rhys’s voice dropped lower, taking on a hurt tone that pierced Zev’s heart. “Some human boy you barely know over what we had?”

The word “had” caught in Zev’s mind. Past tense. Because Rhys was gone. Had been gone for years. And this—whatever this was—couldn’t be him.

As the realization formed, the clearing darkened. The silver light dimmed, shadows creeping in from the edges. Zev noticed for the first time that his body felt wrong—numb in places, burning in others. He looked down. Darkness wrapped around his legs, his torso, tendrils of it crawling up his chest toward his throat.

“What is this?” He tried to pull away from the shadow tendrils, but they only tightened their grip.

“Nothing,” Rhys claimed. “Just an echo of your power. Remember when you lost control of your magic? It’s like that.”

But it wasn’t like that at all.

The tendrils pulsed, and with each pulse, Zev felt himself growing weaker, memories draining away like water through cupped hands. Important memories—his escape from the Court, finding Knox and the others, saving Malik from his father.

Malik.

Something tore through the fabric of the clearing—not a physical thing, but a disturbance in whatever magic held this place together. Through the rift, Zev glimpsed a figure moving toward them, struggling against the silver mist.

“Ignore it,” Rhys commanded, his voice no longer gentle. “Focus on me.”

But Zev’s eyes kept returning to the approaching figure. Malik fought through the mist, determination etched on his face.

“He’s not real,” Rhys insisted. “He can’t be here.”

“But he is,” Zev countered, strength returning to his voice. “And I don’t think you’re real either.”

The moment the words left his mouth, pain shot through him. The shadow tendrils constricted, digging into his flesh, and Rhys’s face flickered, features momentarily replaced by something hollow and hungry.

“Don’t say that,” Rhys—or whatever wore his face—hissed. “I’m the only thing that’s real here.”

“No.” Malik’s voice was closer now. “You’re feeding on him. The Fields are using his memories of Rhys to drain him.”

Zev turned toward Malik’s voice, fighting against the tendrils that tried to hold him in place. Through gaps in the silver mist, he saw Malik more clearly—pale, exhausted, but always pressing on. The sight of him sent a jolt through Zev’s body, like lightning striking parched earth.

“Malik,” he called, his voice weaker than he expected. “How did you make it here?”

“I followed you,” Malik answered, still pushing through the mist. “Through the shadow paths.”

The shadow paths. Right. They were connected to… to the Fields of Memories. They’d gone there to find Leon. And then there’d been Andras… leading him deeper into the mist. It all came back in a disorienting rush.

By all the gods… he’d let himself be trapped here. And now Malik was here too.

“You have to get out of here,” Zev yelled at him.

“So do you,” Malik countered. He was close enough now that Zev could see the strain in his face, the way he moved as if every step caused pain. “Those things are feeding on you.”

The false Rhys stood, placing himself between Zev and Malik. “He chose to stay,” it said, its voice a perfect imitation of Rhys’s warmth. “Leave us.”

“He didn’t choose anything,” Malik responded. “You tricked him.”

The tendrils tightened around Zev’s throat. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t call out. The pain intensified as the thing wearing Rhys’s face grew angry.

“He’s mine,” it growled. “He’s always been mine.”

“No,” Malik said calmly. “He belongs to himself.”

The false Rhys moved toward Malik with unnatural speed. Zev tried to shout a warning, but the tendrils choked the words before they could form. Helpless, he watched as Rhys—no, not Rhys, the thing that had stolen Rhys’s face—lunged.

But instead of attacking, it passed through Malik like smoke.

“You’re not really here,” the false Rhys snarled, whirling to face Malik again. “You’re a projection, a dream-walker.”

“I’m more real than you,” Malik replied. His gaze locked with Zev’s. “And I came to bring him home.”

Home.

The word echoed in Zev’s mind. When was the last time he’d thought of anywhere as home?

The false Rhys’s form began to shift, the familiar features melting away to reveal something much darker underneath—a creature made of shadow and hunger, shaped by Zev’s grief and longing.

“He’ll never love you as he loved me,” it said, voice no longer Rhys’s but a hollow imitation. “You’re nothing but a temporary distraction, a pale shadow of what we had.”

Pain flashed across Malik’s face, so brief Zev might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching so intently. But then Malik straightened, meeting the creature’s gaze without flinching.

“I know,” he said softly. “And that doesn’t matter.”

The simple honesty in those words struck Zev with unexpected force. The tendrils around his throat loosened slightly, allowing him to draw a ragged breath.

“Then why are you here?” the creature demanded.

“Because he deserves to be free,” Malik answered. “Because no one deserves to be trapped in their grief forever.” He took another step toward Zev. “Even if he never feels for me what he felt for Rhys.”

The creature howled, its form distorting further. It lunged toward Malik again, claws of shadow extending from what had once been hands.

This time, Malik didn’t remain intangible. The shadow claws raked across his chest, tearing through his shirt, drawing blood. He stumbled backward, one hand pressed to the wound.

“Malik!” Zev shouted, finding his voice at last. He strained against the tendrils, fighting their hold with renewed strength. “Leave him alone!”

The creature turned back to Zev, its features constantly shifting between Rhys’s face and something monstrous. “Choose,” it demanded. “Him or me.” Rhys’s face solidified once more, perfect and beloved. “Stay with me,” it pleaded, using Rhys’s voice again. “I can be everything you want me to be.”

Zev didn’t have to think about it. “You’re not Rhys,” he said, his voice gaining strength with each word. “Rhys was never what I wanted him to be. He was himself—stubborn, principled, infuriating.” 

The tendrils constricted painfully, but Zev continued. “Rhys would never have used my love as a chain.”

The clearing darkened further, the silver grass withering beneath them.

“And Rhys,” Zev finished, meeting the creature’s gaze, “would have liked Malik.”

The words struck the creature like a spell. The image of Rhys wavered, revealing more of the hollow shadow beneath.

“You would abandon me again?” it asked.

“I never abandoned Rhys,” Zev said quietly. “He was taken from me. And whatever you are, you’re not him.”

The creature snarled, lunging toward Zev, but Malik moved faster. He threw himself between them, one hand outstretched toward the nearest shadow tendril wrapped around Zev’s arm. To Zev’s astonishment, Malik’s fingers closed around the tendril as if it were solid.

Power surged through the clearing, a shock wave that rippled outward from the point where Malik touched the shadow. The tendril writhed, trying to escape his grasp, but Malik held firm, his face contorted with effort.

“Let. Him. Go.” Malik ground out each word, and with each one, the tendril grew thinner, weaker.

The creature shrieked, its form dissolving at the edges. The other tendrils loosened their grip on Zev, retreating like startled serpents.

Malik pulled harder on the tendril he held, and to Zev’s amazement, it began to unravel, energy flowing back from it into Malik’s hand, then from Malik to Zev through their connection.

Strength returned to Zev’s limbs in a rush. He tore free from the remaining tendrils, staggering to his feet. The clearing around them was disintegrating, the silver grass fading to gray, the ancient tree crumbling into dirt.

The creature made one last attempt, reforming Rhys’s face, reaching for Zev with familiar hands. “Please,” it begged. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

The words cut through Zev’s heart, but he turned away, forcing himself to focus on Malik instead.

“How do we get out of here?” he asked, gripping Malik’s shoulder.

“The shadow paths,” Malik gasped, clearly exhausted. “I can… I can guide us back.”

The creature howled, the sound of it tearing through the fabric of the clearing. The ground beneath them began to split open, darkness welling up from the cracks.

“Now would be good,” Zev said, supporting Malik as the human swayed on his feet.

Malik nodded, closing his eyes. He reached out blindly, hand passing through the air until it connected with something Zev couldn’t see—something that made Malik’s fingers curl as if grasping a rope.

“Hold onto me,” Malik ordered. “Don’t let go, no matter what.”

Zev wrapped his arms around Malik’s waist, pulling him close as the clearing collapsed around them. The creature that had worn Rhys’s face dissolved into the encroaching darkness, its howl fading to a whisper and then to nothing.

Cold enveloped them as they fell into the shadow paths. Zev tightened his grip on Malik, feeling the human’s heartbeat against his chest—too fast, too weak, but alive.

“I’ve got you,” Zev promised as darkness swallowed them completely.

---

The shadow paths twisted around them, tendrils reaching for memories, emotions, anything they could consume. Zev felt them prodding at his mind, tasting his grief, his guilt, his lingering fear. He shielded Malik as best he could, using his body as a barrier between the human and the hungering dark.

Time lost meaning in the paths. Had they been falling for seconds or hours? Zev couldn’t tell. Malik’s body grew heavier in his arms, his breathing more labored.

“Malik,” Zev whispered against his ear. “Stay with me.”

Malik stirred slightly. “Need to… find the thread.” His voice was barely audible, even to Zev’s enhanced hearing. “Connection to… Shadow Palace.”

The paths shifted around them, responding to Malik’s words. Zev sensed the change—a current pulling them in a new direction.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Show me how.”

Malik’s hand fumbled for Zev’s, guiding it to grasp something Zev couldn’t see—an invisible cord stretching through the darkness. The moment Zev touched it, energy surged between them. The path ahead clarified, a thread of darker black against the surrounding void.

“Hold on,” Zev murmured, taking more of Malik’s weight as the human sagged against him. “I’ll get us there.”

He followed the thread, pulling them along its length. The darkness fought him, currents of shadow pushing them off course, tendrils snaking toward Malik’s unprotected mind. Zev swatted them away, baring his teeth in silent challenge.

You can’t have him.

A tendril brushed Zev’s face, bringing with it a whisper of Rhys’s voice.

You left me behind.

Zev flinched but didn’t slow down. “Not real,” he reminded himself.

Another tendril—this one tasting of Malik’s memories. The car crash. His family’s bodies. The hollow emptiness after the shadow paths had fed on him at the excavation site.

Zev grabbed the tendril and ripped it away from Malik’s mind. “Stop fighting,” he growled at the darkness. “We’re leaving.”

The paths recoiled briefly, then surged back stronger. Images flickered around them—Rhys’s blood-covered body after the Court had finished with him; Malik lying lifeless in the Snow Palace; Lord Darius standing over them both, victorious.

“Illusions,” Zev told Malik, unsure if he could even hear. “Don’t look.”

Malik’s grip on his arm tightened fractionally. “Already… seen them. Keep… moving.”

They pushed onward, following the thread. Gradually, the resistance of the paths lessened. The darkness thinned, becoming misty rather than solid. Ahead, Zev could sense something—not light precisely, but an ending.

With a final surge of effort, he pulled them toward it. The shadows parted reluctantly, and they tumbled out onto cold stone floor.

Zev twisted in midair, making sure his body hit the ground first with Malik protected against his chest. Pain shot through his shoulder as they landed, but he hardly noticed. 

They had emerged in a circular chamber—the shadow path nexus beneath the Shadow Palace. The pool of darkness behind them rippled like disturbed water, then settled into ominous stillness.

Zev lay still for a moment, catching his breath, Malik’s weight solid against his chest. The stone floor beneath them was cold, but it felt wonderfully real after the nothingness of the paths.

“We made it,” he murmured, loosening his grip slightly to check on Malik.

Malik pushed himself up on shaking arms, his face pale but determined. Blood from the creature’s attack had soaked through his shirt, leaving dark stains across his chest.

“Are you alright?” Zev asked, reaching to examine the wounds.

“Been better.” Malik managed a weak smile. “But I’ll live.”

Footsteps echoed through the chamber. Zev tensed, automatically positioning himself between Malik and the potential threat. His hand went to his belt, but his weapons were gone—lost somewhere in the Fields or the shadow paths.

“They’re back!” Lyrian’s voice rang out, followed by the siren himself appearing in the doorway, his aquamarine hair disheveled. Leon was right behind him, his normally composed face showing clear relief.

“By all the gods,” Lyrian breathed, rushing toward them. “We thought you were lost to the paths.”

Malik sat up fully, wincing at the movement. “I wasn’t sure we’d make it either.”

Zev rose to his feet, then reached down to help Malik up. The human swayed slightly but remained standing, one hand pressed against his wounded chest.

“He pulled me out of the Fields,” Zev said, his voice rough. “The shadow paths were… feeding on me through memories of Rhys.”

Leon’s expression darkened. “We know. Your connection to Malik was draining him too. We could see it happening.”

“Which is why this one,” Lyrian gestured at Malik with exasperation, “decided to dive into the most dangerous place in Veridia to find you.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Malik countered, though his attempt at defiance was undermined by his obvious exhaustion.

Zev studied Malik’s face, noting the shadows under his eyes, the strain still evident in every line of his body. Something twisted in his chest—not the hollow grief he’d carried for so long, but something sharper, more immediate.

“You should lie down,” Zev said, not taking his eyes off Malik.

“Yes,” Lyrian said. “You both should. Come on, let’s get you to your chambers. Then a healer can look at you.”

Zev nodded and slid an arm around Malik’s waist. “Can you walk?” 

“Do I have a choice?” Malik replied—so naturally, Zev picked him up, hooking one arm under his knees to sweep him off the floor. “Hey!” Malik protested. “I didn’t say you needed to carry me.” 

“You didn’t have to say it,” Zev responded easily. He looked to Lyrian. “Lead the way.”

The siren walked ahead. 

As they made their way through the palace corridors, Zev tried to figure out what happened in his absence. “Where is Knox?” Zev asked as they climbed a sweeping staircase to the east wing.

“He and Caelen went after Yuri,” Leon explained. “We think he’s trying to trigger some kind of cascade failure in the paths.”

“To what end?” Zev frowned.

“To break down the barriers between worlds completely,” Lyrian said from behind them. 

Zev processed this quietly. He didn’t know why anyone would want that, but the why wasn’t important. He only wanted to stop it. Mentally, he moved on to the next question. “What about the Night Court?”

Leon and Lyrian exchanged glances.

“We don’t know,” Leon admitted. “After you disappeared into the Fields, they retreated.”

They reached the chamber Zev had been staying in. Lyrian opened the door and gestured inside. “I’ll send for a healer immediately.”

“I’ll go,” Leon volunteered. “I know which one treated Malik before.”

As Leon departed, Zev carried Malik to the bed, easing him down gently. Still, Malik winced, blood still seeping through his torn shirt.

“Let me see,” Zev said, carefully helping Malik remove the damaged garment.

The claw marks across Malik’s chest weren’t deep, but they had an unnatural darkness around their edges.

“This needs treatment soon,” he muttered, tearing a clean section from the bottom of his own shirt to press against the worst of the bleeding.

Lyrian approached with a basin of water he’d found in the adjoining washroom. “Here, this might help until the healer arrives.”

Zev dampened the cloth and gently cleaned around the wounds while Malik watched him with an unreadable expression.

“Those things in the Fields,” Malik finally said. “They were using Rhys against you.”

Zev’s hands stilled momentarily before continuing their work. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Saving me?” Zev asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“No,” Malik said quietly. “For having to see him like that. Used as a weapon against you.”

Zev wrung out the cloth, the water in the basin turning pink with Malik’s blood. “It wasn’t him.”

“I know. But it still must have hurt.”

Lyrian cleared his throat. “I’ll wait outside for the healer,” he said, tactfully retreating from the room and closing the door behind him.

Alone with Malik, Zev felt suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, his eyes, his words. The intimacy of the moment struck him—Malik shirtless and wounded because of him, because he’d been brave enough, foolish enough, to follow Zev into darkness.

“Why did you come after me?” Zev finally asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You knew what the paths would do to you.”

Malik met his gaze steadily. “I’ve lost so many people I love. I didn’t want to add your name that list.”

Zev could only stare in response to that. He remembered what Malik had said to the creature in the Fields: Even if he never feels for me what he felt for Rhys, that doesn’t matter.

“You know…” Malik looked aside. “There’s this game I love. Dungeons and Dragons. In that game, you can bring someone back from the dead if only you can afford to buy the diamonds to be used in the spell.” Malik licked his lips. “In real life, I have so much money, but nothing can bring back the dead. So I have to protect my loved ones with all I’ve got.”

Even though he was talking about a game, what Malik said made a horrible amount of sense. Zev could agree with that logic all too easily.

“About what happened in the Fields…” Zev began.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Leon returned with a severe-looking woman with silver-streaked black hair.

“This is Healer Narissa,” Leon explained. “She’s the best in the Shadow King’s service.”

The healer approached immediately, her sharp eyes assessing Malik’s condition.

“Field’s corruption,” she diagnosed after examining the wounds, her fingers probing the edges where shadow taint darkened the skin. “Not deep, but it needs to be drawn out before it spreads.”

She selected several herbs from her kit, crushing them in a small mortar she extracted from her bag. The mixture released a sharp, medicinal scent that cut through the air.

“This will draw out the shadow taint,” she explained as she applied the poultice to Malik’s wounds. “Keep it on until morning.”

When she was done with Malik, Narissa fixed her stern gaze on Zev. “And what about you? The Fields leave their mark even when there’s no physical wound.”

“I’m fine,” Zev dismissed.

“He’s not,” Malik contradicted from the bed. “The Fields were feeding on him for hours.”

“I’m stronger than you,” Zev reminded him.

The healer snorted. “Strong enough to ignore treatment and collapse later? Or would you prefer to be sensible now?”

Lyrian poked his head in the doorway. “I like her.”

Narissa shot Lyrian a quick smile, and then she selected some more herbs to mix a bitter smelling drink in two cups, handing one each to Malik and Zev. “Drink. All of it.”

Malik grimaced at the taste but drained his cup. 

Zev wrinkled his nose, but figured he could not refuse the medicine when Malik had taken his so easily. He downed the contents of the cup quickly.

“Rest,” Narissa ordered. “Both of you. The Field’s influence lingers in mind and body.” She gathered her supplies. “I’ll return in the morning to check the human’s wound.”

After the healer left, Leon and Lyrian lingered awkwardly by the door.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Leon said finally. “When Knox and Caelen get back, we all need to be rested.”

“Go,” Zev said. “We’ll be fine.”

After the door closed behind them, silence fell over the chamber. 

Malik was the first to break it. “I can go back to my own chamber.”

Zev’s head snapped up. “What?”

“If you need space. After… everything.” Malik gestured vaguely. “I understand.”

Something close to anger flared in Zev’s chest. “You think I would leave you alone after what just happened?”

That sounded wholly wrong. 

“I don’t know,” Malik admitted quietly, and Zev hated that uncertain look on his face.

Maybe he’d been keeping his distance a little too well if this human still thought Zev might not care about him. It was time to let his guard down, at least a little.

He moved closer, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. “When I was trapped in the Fields, caught in memories of Rhys… I wasn’t fighting to get out.”

Malik’s face fell slightly, but he nodded. “I know. That’s why they were able to feed on you so easily.”

“But when I heard your voice,” Zev made himself continue, “something changed. I remembered there was something beyond grief.”

Malik’s eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Zev paused. It was so difficult to put his feelings into words, but he owed it this brave little human who had come to his rescue. “The Rhys I loved would never have wanted me trapped in memories of him. He would have wanted me to live, to find… something more.”

“Something more,” Malik repeated softly.

“When you were in the Night Court, I killed to keep you safe,” Zev said, his voice low. “In the Fields, you risked everything to free me. There’s magic between us. There’s… a connection.”

Malik reached out slowly, giving Zev time to pull away. When he didn’t, Malik’s fingers found his, twining together.

“Yes,” Malik agreed. “There is.”

Zev looked at their joined hands, let himself feel the warmth of Malik’s touch. The other night, after they’d given in to carnal desires, he’d briefly thought of Malik as his mate. 

He’d be blessed to have someone so fierce by his side. 

He hadn’t been ready for it, though.

Was he now?

“I’m not asking for promises,” Malik said. “Just don’t push me away.”

It was the simplicity of the request that resonated with Zev. Not promises of love or forever, just presence. Acceptance of whatever lay between them, however complicated or uncertain.

“I won’t,” Zev said finally, tightening his grip on Malik’s hand. “Not anymore.”

---

Malik woke to unfamiliar warmth. For a moment, he couldn’t place where he was —then he felt the weight across his midsection, the solid presence at his side, and memory flooded back.

Zev.

Carefully, Malik turned his head. Zev slept beside him, one arm draped across Malik’s body. In sleep, the harsh lines of his face had softened. He seemed at peace in a way Malik had never seen him before.

He wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, convince himself that this moment was real, but he didn’t want to wake the fae.

As if sensing Malik’s thoughts, Zev stirred. His eyes opened—bright, violet, and for once not immediately sharp with alertness. For a precious few seconds, Zev simply looked at Malik with an open, unguarded expression.

Then awareness returned. Zev’s eyes widened slightly, but instead of pulling away as Malik half-expected, his arm tightened almost imperceptibly.

“You’re still here,” Zev said, his voice rough with sleep.

“Where else would I be?” Malik asked.

A shadow passed across Zev’s face. “The Fields… I thought perhaps…”

“That was real,” Malik confirmed. “But so is this.”

Zev’s gaze traveled to the bandages visible above the blanket. He reached out, fingers hovering just above the edge of the poultice. “How does it feel?”

“Better. Still strange. Like… pins and needles, but not painful.”

“The healer knew what she was doing. Shadow taint can linger without proper treatment.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“In a way.” Zev’s fingers finally made contact, tracing the edge of the bandage with a touch so light Malik barely felt it. “You can’t grow up in the Court without being tainted once or twice.”

“And yet, here you are.”

The faintest smile touched Zev’s lips. “Here I am. Lying in bed with a human who threw himself into the shadow paths to save me.”

“When you put it that way, it does sound a bit dramatic.”

“It was foolish,” Zev agreed, but there was no rebuke in his tone. “And brave. And I—” He paused, seeming to struggle with words that didn’t come easily. “I am grateful.”

Malik turned onto his side to face Zev fully, ignoring the twinge from his wounds. “You would have done the same for me. You did do the same, in the Night Court.”

“That was different. I was—”

“Protecting me. The same way I was protecting you.”

Zev fell silent, his gaze searching Malik’s face as if looking for something hidden there. Whatever he sought, he seemed to find it. His hand moved from the bandage to Malik’s face, fingers light against his cheek.

“I didn’t think,” Zev said quietly, “that I would find someone like you.”

Malik’s heart beat faster. “Someone like me?”

“Stubborn. Reckless.” Zev’s thumb brushed across Malik’s lower lip. “Willing to see past all the crimes I have committed.”

“I know they don’t define you.”

“Rhys claimed that too,” Zev admitted. 

The comparison should have hurt, but instead, Malik felt a wave of unexpected kinship with the werewolf he’d never meet. They had both seen something in Zev worth saving, worth fighting for.

“Tell me about him,” Malik said. “Not what happened at the end. Tell me who he was.”

Zev’s hand stilled. “Why would you want to know that?”

“Because he was important to you. Because he helped shape who you are.”

“Didn’t you read about that in your book?”

“That was just a story someone else wrote,” Malik insisted. “I want to hear it from you.”

For a moment, Malik thought he’d pushed too far. Zev’s expression closed off, the familiar mask of indifference sliding into place. But then, surprisingly, it fell away again.

“He was… strangely happy,” Zev began haltingly. “Even in darkness. He found joy in simple things—the first snow of winter, the taste of wild berries, the sound of rain on leaves.” His voice grew stronger as his expression grew distant. “He had no patience for formality or pretense. When I told him my position in the Court, he laughed and said titles were just fancy ways to avoid saying who you really are.”

Malik listened, absorbing every word, every nuance in Zev’s voice as he spoke of the man he’d loved and lost.

“He saw through the glamour from the beginning,” Zev continued. “Somehow he could always tell how I really felt. He was never afraid of me, even when he should have been. And he’d wait for me in that clearing, no matter how long it took for me to arrive, no matter the weather.” A hint of wonder entered his voice. “I never understood why.”

“I do,” Malik said simply.

Zev’s eyes met his, a question in their depths.

“You’re worth waiting for,” Malik explained.

Something shifted in Zev’s expression—a surrender of sorts, the last barrier falling. He moved closer, his hand sliding to the back of Malik’s neck, and kissed him.

There was no desperation in this kiss, no frantic need born of fear or impending separation. This was deliberate, an offering freely given. Zev kissed him with a gentleness Malik hadn’t known he possessed, as if Malik were something precious that might break under too much pressure.

Malik responded in kind, his hand coming up to trace the pointed tip of Zev’s ear, earning a soft intake of breath against his lips. 

“Careful,” Zev murmured against his mouth. “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine,” Malik countered, fingers continuing their exploration.

Zev caught his wrist, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. “Your wounds—”

“Will heal.” Malik twisted his hand in Zev’s grasp until their fingers intertwined. “I didn’t follow you into the shadow paths to lie here and do nothing when I finally have you to myself.”

A hint of amusement flickered in Zev’s violet eyes. “You have me,” he acknowledged, voice dropping lower. “But the question is what you plan to do with me.”

The teasing note in his voice was new—a playfulness Malik had never heard from him before. It emboldened him. He pushed against Zev’s chest, gently but firmly, until the fae was on his back with Malik leaning over him.

“I have some ideas,” Malik said.

The movement pulled at his wounds, and he couldn’t quite suppress a wince. Immediately, Zev’s expression changed from desire to concern.

“You’re in pain.”

“Worth it,” Malik insisted, but Zev was already shifting, reversing their positions with such care that Malik barely felt the movement until he was the one on his back, Zev poised above him.

“Let me,” Zev said, his voice soft but commanding. “I still have my strength. You need time to recover yours.”

There was logic in that argument that Malik couldn’t deny, especially when Zev’s lips found the sensitive spot below his ear, trailing down the side of his neck. He let out a shuddering breath as he felt the press of teeth against skin, not a bite, but the hint of one.

Zev continued his descent downward, and in a moment, his  tongue circled Malik’s nipple, drawing it into his mouth. The warm suction sent heat straight to Malik’s groin, hardening him. He arched his back, seeking more contact.

He was so distracted by the feel of Zev’s mouth that he missed his fingers working the buttons of his pants until cool air brushed bare skin. Then Zev’s hand wrapped around his cock, thumb stroking the head in a way that had him biting back a cry.

Zev lifted himself onto one elbow, free hand brushing lightly across Malik’s stomach, avoiding the bandaged areas. His gaze swept across Malik, taking in every detail, and he looked almost hungry in his appraisal. As if he were committing Malik to memory, savoring the sight before him.

Again, Malik had the strange notion that the pull between them wasn’t purely physical–not even purely emotional either. There was something else too. The magic Zev had mentioned. The bond that connected them, drawing them together.

“What is it?” Zev asked quietly.

Malik blinked, realizing that he’d been staring at Zev without saying anything. “Nothing.” He reached up, pulling Zev’s face closer for a brief kiss. “Just… thinking.”

He didn’t say what those thoughts entailed, but somehow, Zev seemed to guess. Or maybe Malik was right—maybe it wasn’t only him who felt this connection. Zev’s expression softened as he kissed Malik again, deeper, longer. His hand resumed its slow strokes along Malik’s length. When his thumb slid over the head again, spreading the precum leaking from the tip and making everything slicker, Malik groaned against his mouth.

He could feel the answering press of Zev’s erection against his hip—heated, insistent, begging for attention. He tried to reach for him, to return the pleasure he was experiencing, but Zev pulled away slightly, denying him the access. He shook his head when Malik made a sound of protest.

“You can repay me later,” he whispered huskily, punctuating his words with another stroke. “Right now, I want only this. I want to watch you come undone.”

And there was nothing for Malik to do except close his eyes and submit—surrendering to the sensations as Zev’s hand continued its attempt to make Malik unravel. The rhythmic motion of his hand soon became too much, sending him spiraling upward toward climax. But it wasn’t just that—there was the scent of Zev filling his nose, the heat of his body, the soft sound of breathing and rustling sheets. The intimacy of sharing something so simple, yet so intimate, was nearly overwhelming after all that had passed between them.

Malik came with a gasp, hips thrusting into Zev’s hand. Zev stroked him through his release, prolonging the sensation until Malik collapsed against the mattress, breathless and spent.

He lay there for a long moment as the last waves of pleasure faded, leaving behind a deep-seated contentedness that went beyond the satisfaction of his orgasm.

“We’ll have to change your dressing,” Zev murmured, his breath warm against Malik’s skin.

“Mmm,” Malik agreed, not particularly concerned about bandages at the moment. His body felt pleasantly heavy, muscles relaxed in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. “Later.”

Zev lifted his head slightly to look at him. “You’re different.”

“How so?”

“More… at peace. Despite everything.”

Malik considered this. “I think… I’ve been carrying this fear for so long. Fear of losing more people. Fear of being alone.” He met Zev’s gaze. “I’m still afraid of those things. But I’m not letting the fear control me anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I did.” Malik reached up to touch Zev’s face, fingers tracing the proud line of his cheekbone. “When I thought I was going to lose you too… I realized I couldn’t save you by being afraid. I had to act, regardless of the cost.”

Zev turned his face into Malik’s touch. “You’ve always been brave.”

“Not brave. Just stubborn.”

“Both,” Zev amended. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Malik more fully. “When this is over—”

“Don’t,” Malik interrupted gently. “Let’s not talk about ‘when this is over’ yet. I don’t want to make plans the universe can sabotage.”

A shadow of understanding crossed Zev’s face. “Superstitious?”

“Cautious. I know better than to tempt fate.”

“Fair enough.” Zev settled back down, his arm draped across Malik’s waist. “Then for now, we just… are.”

“That’s enough,” Malik agreed, closing his eyes.

They dozed, drifting in and out of a light sleep, until a knock at the door startled them fully awake. Zev was on his feet in an instant, a dagger in his hand that Malik hadn’t even seen him reach for.

“Who is it?” Zev called, positioning himself between the door and the bed.

“It’s Lyrian,” came the reply. “Knox and the others have returned. There’s news.”

Zev glanced back at Malik, a silent question in his eyes.

“Give us a few minutes,” Malik called.

“I’ll tell them,” Lyrian responded. “But… hurry. It’s not good.”

Footsteps retreated from the door. Zev lowered the dagger, his expression hardening back into the warrior’s mask Malik had grown familiar with.

“And so it begins again,” Zev said, reaching for his discarded clothing.

Malik sat up slowly, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounds. “Help me with these bandages? If we’re going to face whatever’s coming, I’d rather not be half-naked when we do it.”

Zev nodded, setting aside his own preparations to help Malik. His hands were gentle as he carefully peeled away the poultice. The wounds beneath looked better—the shadow taint had receded, leaving only thin red lines where the creature’s claws had torn Malik’s skin.

“They’re healing well,” Zev observed, reaching for the clean bandages the healer had left.

“Fast, too.”

“The healer’s work, yes, but also something in you.” Zev’s fingers brushed one of the marks. “Your connection to the paths may have some unexpected benefits.”

Malik hadn’t considered that. “You think my barrier keeper blood helped me heal?”

“It’s possible.” Zev finished securing the fresh bandage. “Though I’m no expert in such matters.”

Once they were both dressed, Zev helped Malik to his feet. Before opening the door, he paused, his hand on Malik’s arm.

“Whatever awaits us out there,” Zev said quietly, “know that I will protect you with everything I have.”

“I know,” Malik replied. “But remember that it goes both ways. I protect you too.”

The corner of Zev’s mouth lifted in a small smile. “I’m beginning to understand that.”

He opened the door, and they stepped out together to face whatever new danger had arrived.

They found the others gathered in a large chamber Malik hadn’t seen before—a war room of sorts, with a massive table at its center upon which maps and scrolls were spread. Knox, Adrian, and Caelen looked exhausted, their clothing torn and dirty. Daniel hovered at Caelen’s side, speaking to him in a low, urgent voice. Lyrian and Leon stood slightly apart from the group, tension evident in their postures.

Knox looked up as Zev and Malik entered. “You’re both recovered, I see.”

“Mostly,” Malik admitted. “What happened? Did you find Yuri?”

“We found him,” Caelen said grimly. “Too late. He’s destabilized another nexus point—a major one at the border of my kingdom and the Siren territories.”

“Villages are disappearing,” Adrian added, his face pale. “Not just buildings—the people too. Whole sections of countryside being replaced with… nothing. Empty space that seems to fold in on itself.”

Malik felt a chill run through him. “How many nexus points are left?”

“Three that we know of,” Knox answered. “The one beneath this palace, one near the Night Court territories, and one at the heart of the Barrier Temple.”

“And we have no way of knowing which one he’ll target next,” Daniel said, frustration evident in his voice.

“Actually,” Leon spoke up, his voice strangely flat, “we do.”

All eyes turned to him. Lyrian took a step back, watching Leon warily.

“What do you mean?” Caelen demanded.

Leon squared his shoulders, a look of resignation crossing his face. “I know where he’ll go next because I’m connected to him. I’ve been connected to him for years.”

A shocked silence fell over the room. Knox was the first to recover, taking a threatening step toward Leon.

“Explain,” he growled. “Now.”

“It’s a long story,” Leon said, “but the short version is that Yuri has been sending me visions since I was a child. Visions of Veridia, of all of you.” He swallowed hard. “I thought I was imagining them. I thought I was creating these stories in my head.”

“Stories?” Daniel stared at Leon.

Leon turned to him, genuine regret in his eyes. “I’m N.N., Daniel. I wrote ‘Monsters of Veridia.'”

Daniel staggered back as if struck. “You… what? How is that possible?”

“I didn’t know what was happening,” Leon insisted. “I just had these vivid dreams, these visions of another world. I wrote them down, turned them into stories. I never imagined they were real.”

“But they were,” Knox said coldly. “And by writing them, by spreading them to readers on Earth, you helped weaken the barriers between worlds.”

Adrian stepped between them, one hand on Knox’s chest. “Let him explain.”

Leon took a deep breath. “The visions started when I was a child. Fragments at first… glimpses of strange creatures and fantastical landscapes. As I got older, they became more detailed. I saw people… events… entire lives unfolding.” His gaze flickered to Knox, then Caelen. “Your lives.”

“Yuri sent you these visions,” Lyrian stated, keeping a wary distance.

“I didn’t know that then. I thought I had an overactive imagination. Writing them down was… therapeutic. Publishing them was never the plan, but a friend found my manuscript and insisted… I didn’t really think the story would catch on the way it did when I put it online…” Leon trailed off, seeing the accusation in their faces. 

Daniel shook his head, betrayal etched across his features. “Why N.N? Those are ot your initials? Or are they? What else have you been lying about?” 

“They’re not my initials.” Leon met Daniel’s gaze. “It was an internet name. I chose it for my pets. Nutmeg and Nugget.”

Malik stared at Leon.

How could that be the answer to the mystery they’d been trying to solve all this time?

Before anyone could say any more, a palace guard burst into the chamber, face pale beneath his helm. “Your Majesty! Reports from the borders—territories are vanishing across Veridia!”

“What do you mean, ‘vanishing’?” Caelen demanded.

“Just… gone, Sire. Villages, forests, entire regions—replaced by empty space. The messengers describe it as… nothingness.”

Knox cursed under his breath. “The barrier collapse is accelerating.”

Another messenger arrived, breathing hard from running. “My lords—half the Night Court territory has disappeared into nothingness. Refugees are flooding south.”

Zev tensed beside Malik, his violet eyes darkening. “My father and grandmother won’t sit idle while their lands vanish.”

“They’ll be looking for someone to blame,” Knox agreed grimly.

Leon closed his eyes, his expression distant. After a moment, they snapped open. “I can sense him. Yuri. He’s… he’s been working his way inward, destabilizing outer points first.”

He moved to the map spread across the table. His finger traced a spiral pattern inward across Veridia. “The Barrier Temple is at the center. If he destabilizes that nexus, all worlds will begin to merge.”

“When?” Caelen asked.

Leon’s face paled. “Soon. I can feel his anticipation. But he’s not there yet, he’s…” Leon held his head as if suddenly hit with stabbing pain.

Adrian moved to his side. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon took a breath. “He just doesn’t want me in his head right now.”

Caelen’s expression hardened. “We have to intercept him at the temple.”

Daniel looked at his mate. “That’s in our kingdom, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Caelen straightened, taking on the air of someone in control. “Knox, Zev—gather whatever weapons and protection you can find in the armory. Lyrian, work with the palace healers to prepare healing potions and bandages. We’ll need them.”

“I should study the temple,” Leon said. “If I’m going to counter Yuri’s plan, I need to understand what he knows.”

Malik stepped forward. “I’ll help.”

Caelen nodded. “Daniel, coordinate with the kitchen staff. Everyone will need food before we depart, and provisions for the journey.”

As everyone moved to fulfill their assigned tasks, Malik caught Zev’s arm. “Wait.”

Zev paused, violet eyes questioning.

“Will you be okay?” Malik asked softly. “If we face your family?”

Something cold stirred behind Zev’s eyes. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Zev’s expression softened fractionally. “I know.” He touched Malik’s face briefly. “We’ll talk tonight. I promise.”

As Zev left with Knox, Malik turned to find Leon watching him, a strange expression on his face.

“What?” Malik asked.

“I was just thinking that it’s frightening how well Yuri’s plan has worked so far… bringing humans and Veridians together to weaken the barriers…”

“We won’t let him get away with it.”

“Right.” Leon gestured to the door. “Let’s do some research, then. There might be something in the texts about people like us—humans with Barrier Keeper ancestry.”

Malik hesitated, glancing in the direction Zev had gone, then nodded. “Lead the way.”

Naturally, Leon had no trouble navigating Caelen’s palace. 

Even as he poured over old texts, Malik couldn’t help wondering how often he’d visited this place in his dreams. 

But that wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about now. He needed to focus on the task.

Still… “Why did you never say anything?” he asked Leon.

Leon looked up from the text he was reading. “Can you even imagine how weird it was for me when the characters I created started roaming the city? I didn’t know what to think, what to make of it. Were these even my creations or real people whose lives I’d somehow observed? Or real people whose lives I’d somehow created?” He exhaled. “I’m glad to know now that it’s not the latter, but I was scared for a while. It was something I needed to process by myself.”

“I think I get that.” Malik glanced down at the book he was holding. He’d never written a novel himself, but he’d come up with stories and characters for his Dungeon and Dragons campaigns. He’d be pretty weirded out himself if those characters suddenly appeared in the real world. 

Especially if he thought he might be responsible for all the trauma they’d faced in their lives. 

“Now we just need to set things right,” Leon said, turning back to his texts. “Yuri might have used me, but I can make use of all the knowledge he gave me to stop him.”

“We’ll all stop him,” Malik reminded him. “Together.”

Leon nodded gratefully.

“Listen to this,” he said after another moment, reciting: “‘At the nexus of all shadow paths stands the temple not built to divide worlds, but to contain that which exists between them.'” He looked up at Malik. “The temple wasn’t just built to separate worlds. It was built to contain something.”

“Contain what?”

Leon’s finger traced further down the page. “‘That which was one, divided across many, seeks ever to reunite.'” He frowned. “Could it be—”

A commotion outside interrupted them. Heavy footfalls running through the corridor. 

They exchanged a glance and hurried out of the library to find a scout reporting to Caelen nearby.

“I’m quite sure,” the scout said to his grim-faced king. “Night Court forces are on the move. Prince Ashelon leads one contingent. Lord Darius and Lady Morvena another.”

“Direction?” Caelen demanded.

“All heading toward the Barrier Temple, Your Majesty.”

Zev appeared from an adjacent corridor, arms laden with weapons. His expression darkened at the scout’s words.

“They’ll try to stop Yuri their own way,” he said.

“Or take advantage of the chaos,” Caelen added.

Malik moved to Zev’s side as the scout departed. “How bad is this?”

“Everything the Night Court does is bad.”

Caelen nodded, visibly displeased. “We depart at dawn tomorrow. Rest while you can—we’ll need our strength.”

As the others dispersed to make final preparations, Malik found himself alone with Zev in a quiet alcove off the main corridor.

“You’re thinking about them, aren’t you?” Malik asked. “Your family?”

Zev’s hands continued methodically checking the edge of a blade. “If they’re at the temple, I’ll finish what I should have done years ago.”

Malik placed his hand over Zev’s, stilling its motion. “Whatever happens, don’t let them win.”

Zev’s eyes met his, something vulnerable beneath the steel. “I won’t. Not again.” His voice softened. “I have too much to lose now.”

The simple admission made Malik’s chest tighten. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Zev’s. “You’d better keep that in mind.”

“I promise I will.”

Malik’s heart thumped painfully against his ribcage. A promise from Zev.

Wasn’t that all he’d ever wanted?

---

Ribbons of light danced across the sky above the Shadow Kingdom as night descended. Waves of emerald, violet, and sapphire blue rippled through the darkness, casting a glow over the land below. 

Under different circumstances, it might have been beautiful.

But these weren’t natural aurora. They were a sign of foreboding. A sign of something going very very wrong with the world. With all the worlds, in truth.

Throughout the palace, preparations continued for tomorrow’s journey to the Barrier Temple, but as midnight approached, even the most dedicated soldiers paused to stare at the haunting spectacle above.

In the royal chambers, Daniel stood at the window, transfixed by the light show that painted the courtyard below in shifting colors. Guards patrolled with enchanted lanterns that cast golden light against the supernatural glow, their faces turned skyward every now and then. 

Daniel couldn’t blame them. They were all witnessing the beginning of the end.

And somewhere out there was his brother.

Had he been in one of the territories that vanished?

“We should sleep,” Caelen said from behind him.

Daniel turned to find his mate watching him from their bed, white hair loose around his shoulders, green eyes reflecting the firelight.

“I couldn’t,” Daniel said. “My brain won’t shut up.”

Caelen extended a hand. “Come here.”

Daniel crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Caelen reached up to brush a strand of faded blue hair from Daniel’s face.

“Your roots are showing,” Caelen observed. 

“I haven’t had the time to even try to find hair dye here.”

“I like it.”

“You like everything about me.”

“True.” Caelen took Daniel’s hand, running his thumb across the knuckles. “What’s on your mind? Besides the obvious.”

Daniel glanced toward the window again. Which ones of his worries were not obvious? “I keep thinking about what happens after,” he said finally. “If we survive this… if we manage to stop Yuri and fix the barriers—then what?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do I stay here? Go back to Earth? Will we even get a choice? Will Jamie? Or any of the others?”

Understanding softened Caelen’s expression. He pulled Daniel closer until they were both lying on the bed next to each other. “These are questions I’ve been asking myself as well,” he admitted. “I have no easy answers. No one can tell what’s going to happen. What was impossible before may become possible, or what was easy may become difficult.”

“That’s a very diplomatic non-answer, Your Majesty.”

Caelen’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Would you prefer I lie? You know I can’t.”

“No.” Daniel sighed, settling his head against Caelen’s chest. “I just wish things were simpler.”

“Nothing about us has ever been simple.” Caelen’s fingers combed through Daniel’s hair, a soothing rhythm. “But I know one thing with absolute certainty.”

“What’s that?”

“Wherever you are, that’s where I belong.” The simple declaration carried more weight than flowery promises. “If you need to return to Earth, I will find a way to follow. If you choose to stay in Veridia, I will make this place your home in truth. We will not be separated.”

Daniel lifted his head to look at Caelen. “You’d leave your kingdom? For me?”

“I would.” Caelen’s hand cupped Daniel’s cheek. “Elucia has survived worse kings than whoever would follow me.”

The offer stunned Daniel into silence. Caelen, who had fought so hard to reclaim his throne, who had suffered possession by a dark god rather than surrender his kingdom—would give it all up for him?

“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Daniel said finally.

“You didn’t ask. I offered.”

“Still.” Daniel leaned in, pressing his forehead against Caelen’s. “I don’t think I’d mind living here with you. As long as I can find some good bright hair dye.”

Caelen laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Is that a promise to stay, then?”

“It’s a promise to figure it out together.” Daniel closed the distance between them, sealing the words with a kiss. “After we save both our worlds.”

Caelen’s arms tightened around him, the kiss deepening into something more urgent, more desperate. Tomorrow they would face unknown dangers. Tonight, they had this—each other, the warmth of their bed, the certainty of their bond. As Caelen rolled him onto his back, Daniel surrendered to the moment, letting everything else fall away.

* * *

In their own chambers, Knox and Adrian sat close together on a window seat, shoulders touching as they gazed at the distorted night sky. A notebook lay open in Adrian’s lap. He’d been trying to journal his thoughts to get them all out, but it wasn’t working to make him feel less agitated. 

“It feels wrong,” he said, “sitting here comfortably while reality falls apart outside.”

Knox turned to him. “There’s no point in rushing into battle when you’re not fully prepared. Didn’t you call me foolish for doing so in the past?”

Adrian couldn’t deny that. He sighed. “I get that. But I don’t like it.”

“Part of being prepared is being rested.” Knox reached over, taking the notebook from him and closing it. 

“I can’t stop thinking about what’s coming. If we fail—”

“We won’t.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Knox took Adrian’s hand, running his thumb over the knuckles. “Because I refuse to accept any other outcome.”

The simple conviction in his voice made Adrian smile despite himself. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Adrian shifted to lean into Knox. The incubus was his anchor in this strange world—this reality where fiction and truth had blended together in ways he still struggled to comprehend.

“Remember when you crashed through my skylight?” he asked, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

Knox’s lips quirked. “Not my most dignified entrance.”

“I thought I was hallucinating. Or dreaming.” Adrian’s fingers traced the line of Knox’s jaw, the curve of his ear, the sharp angle of his horn. “Sometimes I still wonder if I am.”

“If this is a dream,” Knox said, capturing Adrian’s hand and pressing a kiss to his palm, “then I never want to wake.”

“How romantic of you.”

“I have my moments.”

Adrian laughed softly, then grew serious once more. “What happens after? If we succeed? Do we go back to Earth, or stay here?”

Knox was quiet for a moment, considering. “Where do you want to be?”

“With you.” The answer came without hesitation. “Everything else is negotiable.”

Something fierce and protective flashed in Knox’s eyes. He pulled Adrian closer, one hand cradling the back of his head as their lips met. The kiss deepened, Adrian melting against him, hands finding purchase on broad shoulders. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist—there was only this, only them.

When they separated, Adrian felt the familiar heat in his cheeks, the way his pulse sped up. Knox’s eyes took on a golden glow.

“We should sleep,” Adrian said, though his actions contradicted his words as he leaned in for another kiss.

Knox smiled against his lips. “Later.”

* * *

Zev stood by the window, watching the aurora writhe across the night sky. Streaks of violet and emerald twisting together, then shattering into fragments before reforming. Occasional flashes of other landscapes appeared and disappeared within the lights—glimpses of Earth, perhaps, or other realms beyond. 

The sight chilled him in a way few things could.

“Anything out there?” Malik asked from the bed, where he sat propped against the headboard, a book of shadow path lore open in his lap.

“Nothing good.” Zev turned away from the window. “The sky is tearing apart above us.”

“We’ll stop that in the morning,” Malik said, closing his book. “At the Barrier Temple.”

“Where my family will be waiting.” Zev’s expression hardened. “Along with whatever Yuri has planned.”

Malik set the book aside, studying Zev’s face. “Are you worried about facing your father? Your grandmother?”

“No.” The answer came quickly, definitively. “I’ve been ready to end them since the day they killed Rhys. Since long before that, if I’m honest with myself.”

“Then what?”

Zev crossed to the bed, settling near Malik. “I’m worried about losing control again,” he said openly. It had never been his nature to soften his words. “In the shadow paths, I nearly killed you because I couldn’t stop feeding on your energy. I became a monster. In the battle tomorrow, I may need power—more than I have on my own.”

Understanding dawned in Malik’s eyes. “You’re afraid you’ll take from me again.”

“Yes.” The admission cost Zev, but Malik deserved to know what they were facing. “When we face Yuri, when magic flies and blood is shed… the temptation will be there. Power calls to power, and yours…” He paused, struggling to find the right words to describe Malik’s unique energy. “Yours tastes like nothing I’ve ever known.”

Malik studied him quietly. “You don’t have to be so afraid. I’m not.”

“I would have killed you if Knox hadn’t ripped me away from you.” Zev’s fingers curled into fists in his lap. “What if there’s no one to stop me next time? What if I lose myself in the moment and take too much?”

Malik’s hand reached for Zev’s, anchoring him. “I trust you, Zev. More importantly, I know you. You’re not some mindless creature of hunger. You were in a dark place when you lost control. I don’t think it’ll happen again.”

Something in Zev rebelled against Malik’s easy trust. “Imagine the most addictive substance you can think of. Now imagine it multiplied by a thousand. That’s what your energy feels like to me.”

“And you can have it,” Malik insisted. “You won’t kill me.”

“How can you be so sure? What if I lose myself again?”

“Then I’ll help you find back to yourself, just like I did in the fields.” Malik squeezed Zev’s hand. “I’m not totally helpless.”

Zev wanted to sigh in exasperation, but his human wasn’t done talking.

“Let’s practice,” he said. “Now, tonight.” Determination replaced the gentleness in Malik’s voice. “Take a little of my energy. Just enough to feel it, then stop.”

Zev recoiled. “No. After what happened in the shadow paths—”

“This is different.” Malik moved closer, eliminating the space between them. “I’m not weak or unconscious. I’m asking you, deliberately, to try. To prove to yourself that you can control it.”

Zev searched Malik’s face for any sign of doubt but found only steadfast confidence. It humbled him, this human’s trust, especially knowing what Zev was capable of.

“You would risk this? After everything?” 

“I would risk much more for what matters.” Malik took Zev’s hand and placed it against his chest, over his heart. “Just a little. Then stop.”

Zev hesitated, then slowly nodded. He closed his eyes, focusing on the connection between them. He’d never attempted this with such deliberate control before—always it had been desperate need or unintentional feeding. Now he reached for the bright thread that bound them together, barely touching it.

Energy flowed immediately—warm, intoxicating, infinitely tempting. Malik’s life force tasted of everything Zev had been denied for most of his life—acceptance, belonging, possibility. It would be so easy to take more, to drink deeply until he was drunk on it. The craving built instantly, a monstrous thing rising in his chest.

Zev’s fingers curled against Malik’s shirt, his body tensing with the effort of restraint. Three heartbeats later—he counted each one—he severed the connection and pulled back.

His eyes opened to find Malik watching him, smiling.

“See?” Malik said softly. “You can do it.”

The weight of Malik’s encouragement hit Zev with unexpected force. This human—this remarkable, stubborn human—saw him for what he was and accepted him anyway. Not despite his darkness, but with full knowledge of it.

“Rhys taught me I could love,” Zev said quietly. “You’re teaching me I still can.”

The words hung between them, an admission Zev hadn’t planned to make. But once spoken, he couldn’t regret them. They were true in a way few things in his life had been.

Malik’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t retreat from the declaration. Instead, his smile grew even more brilliant. “If I’d known that earlier, I might have felt less insecure about competing with a ghost.”

“There was never any competition,” Zev assured him. “Just different chapters of the same story.”

“That’s unexpectedly poetic.”

“Don’t tell anyone. Lyrian would have a field day with that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Malik leaned forward, his lips brushing against Zev’s in a kiss that felt like a promise. “All your secrets are.”

Zev deepened the kiss, one hand moving to the back of Malik’s neck while the other pulled him closer. Something seemed to glow between them—not just metaphorically, but literally. A golden thread of light, visible for just a moment, connecting them heart to heart.

When they finally broke apart, neither mentioned the phenomenon, though both had seen it. Some things didn’t need explanation.

“Stay with me tonight,” Malik whispered against Zev’s lips. 

“Always,” Zev whispered back.

And as the otherworldly lights continued their dance across the fractured sky, they found their own connection in each other’s arms, a different kind of power to carry them into whatever chaos awaited.

---

Dawn broke over the Shadow Kingdom in shards of crimson and gold, a bleeding wound in the sky rather than the gentle awakening of a new day. The unnatural auroras had faded with the night, but the wrongness remained.

In the courtyard, Caelen’s soldiers assembled, readying weapons and supplies for the journey ahead. 

Zev stood to the side, checking his own weapons one final time. The weight of his daggers against his thighs provided a familiar comfort, anchoring him to reality while the world around them frayed at the edges. Against his side, protected in a leather sheath, rested a longer blade—one he’d selected specifically for his father.

Knox approached, leading two horses. “We leave in ten minutes.”

“Any word from the scouts?”

“Nothing new,” Knox replied, his expression grim. “Just more reports of vanishing territories.”

Zev nodded, taking the reins of one of the horses. The creature snorted and pawed at the ground, sensing the tension in the air. Across the courtyard, Caelen spoke with his generals while Daniel stood at his side, uncharacteristically silent.

Adrian joined them, carrying a satchel that clinked with glass vials. “The healers gave us these,” he explained, distributing small bottles filled with dark red liquid. “For injuries. They said it’s particularly effective against shadow magic.”

Knox took one, examining it skeptically. “Let’s hope we don’t need to test that.”

When Malik and Leon finished their conversation, Malik crossed to Zev’s side. “Leon says the Barrier Temple is at the center of all shadow paths. If Yuri destabilizes it—”

“We won’t let him,” Zev cut in, unwilling to entertain the possibility of failure.

Malik didn’t argue. He glanced at the horse, apprehension flashing across his face. “I’m riding with you?”

“None of you humans have enough experience to handle these mounts alone,” Zev confirmed. “Not in these conditions.”

Relief softened Malik’s features. “Good.”

Despite everything, Zev felt his mouth quirk into a small smile. “Stay close behind me. Hold tight to my waist.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Malik replied, his fingers brushing against Zev’s.

A horn sounded, drawing their attention to where Caelen now sat astride a massive warhorse. The Shadow King raised his hand, and a hush fell over the courtyard.

“Today we ride not just for Elucia,” he called, his voice carrying to every corner, “but for all Veridia. For Earth. For every world threatened by what’s coming.” His green eyes swept across the assembled company. “We face dangers beyond imagining. Some of us may not return. But if we fail, there will be nothing to return to.”

Silence followed his words. No cheers, no battle cries—just the weight of understanding passing through the gathered forces.

“We ride!” Caelen ordered, turning his mount toward the gates.

The column moved out, armor glinting in the unnatural morning light. Zev and Malik fell into position near Knox and Adrian, with Leon riding slightly ahead behind Lyrian, his eyes distant as he maintained his tenuous connection to Yuri. Daniel sat confidently behind Caelen at the front, while Adrian’s arms wrapped tightly around Knox’s waist.

Malik pressed against Zev’s back, arms locked around his midsection. The steady rhythm of the horse beneath them brought them into unconscious synchronicity, their bodies swaying together with each step.

As they passed through the palace gates and onto the main road, Zev felt Malik’s chin rest briefly on his shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked without turning his head.

“Nothing,” Malik replied, his breath warm against Zev’s ear. “Just…” He hesitated. “Be careful today.”

Zev’s eyes shifted to meet Malik’s. “I don’t intend to lose.”

The simple declaration seemed to satisfy Malik, who nodded and faced forward again.

They rode in relative silence after that, conserving energy and watching the landscape for signs of disturbance. 

The terrain grew increasingly odd the farther they traveled from the Shadow Palace. Trees bent at impossible angles. Streams flowed uphill.

But it wasn’t until midday that they came across the most astonishing sight. They crested a hill and stopped, unable to go on. 

Before them stretched an enormous chasm—a perfect semicircle carved from the landscape as though a giant had taken a bite from the earth itself. Trees, rocks, even the air seemed to end abruptly at its edge, revealing nothing but empty blackness beyond.

“By all the gods,” Lyrian whispered, dismounting to approach the edge. “It’s just… gone.”

“Don’t touch that!” Malik called.

“What could do this?” Adrian asked, his face pale.

“The collapse of a nexus point,” Leon answered. “It can’t have been anything else.”

Adrian continued to stare. “How many people were caught in this?”

“Impossible to know,” Caelen said grimly. “This area was sparsely populated, at least. Mainly forest and a few hunting lodges.”

They skirted the edge of the chasm, forced to take a longer route around its perimeter.

A few hours later, they encountered the first refugees—a group of bedraggled fae fleeing southward, their belongings strapped to their backs or loaded onto handcarts. Most wore the distinctive silver and black of Night Court citizens, their faces drawn with exhaustion and fear.

Zev tensed at their approach, but none seemed to pay him any mind. Caelen called for a brief halt, dismounting to speak with the refugees while the others kept watch.

“What news from the north?” the Shadow King asked.

An elderly fae woman stepped forward, her silver hair tangled and dirty. “Half the Night Court is gone, Your Majesty. Just vanished overnight. First the outer territories, then closer and closer to the inner sanctum.”

“The Prince?” Caelen inquired.

“Left with his personal guard before the worst of it. Headed toward the temple, they said.” Her eyes flickered toward Caelen’s companions, lingering briefly on the humans among them. “Lord Darius and Lady Morvena followed not long after with their own forces.”

Zev exchanged a look with Malik. “They’re there. All of them.”

Malik’s hand found his, squeezing briefly. “We knew this was coming.”

“I will think of it as fate being kind for once, putting them all in one place for me to kill.” Zev’s voice took on a vicious edge that would have frightened most, but only earned a nod of understanding from Malik.

Caelen returned, offering what supplies they could spare to the refugees and directing them toward his palace. 

A rare show of generosity from the Shadow King.

Zev couldn’t help but wonder if it had been prompted by his mate, or if Daniel had already changed Caelen so much. 

“What are you thinking?” Malik asked. 

Zev shook his head. “Mates are a wondrous thing.”

Malik blinked at him in confusion. Zev ruffled his hair. 

As they prepared to resume their journey, though, Leon suddenly doubled over in his saddle, clutching his head while Lyrian looked at him in concern. 

“Leon!” Daniel cried, dismounting to rush to his side.

Leon’s face had gone ashen, his eyes unfocused. “The temple,” he gasped. “Yuri—he’s in pain. Something’s happening there.”

Lyrian steadied Leon as he swayed. “What do you see?”

“Conflict.” Leon’s voice sounded distant, as though part of him was elsewhere. “There’s fighting. And something else—something powerful stirring beneath the temple floor.”

“We need to hurry,” Caelen decided. 

Leon nodded weakly. “Yes. There’s not much time.”

They pushed their horses harder after that, across increasingly unstable landscape. 

Reality grew more distorted the closer they came to the temple. The sky shifted colors rapidly, from normal blue to vivid purple to sickly green and back again. 

“We’re getting close,” Leon announced as they approached a dense forest. “The temple lies at the center.”

They had to dismount to continue through the thick undergrowth. The trees here looked old and the moss that grew on them glowed faintly, even in the daylight. 

The path ended abruptly at a circular clearing, at the center of which stood the Barrier Temple—a structure that defied simple description. It appeared to be made of white stone, but the surface rippled like water when viewed from certain angles. Its architecture combined elements of countless different styles, as though the builders had drawn inspiration from every culture across multiple worlds. Columns stretched impossibly tall, supporting a roof that seemed to both exist and not exist simultaneously.

Steps led up to a massive entrance, beyond which lay darkness. And scattered across those steps were bodies—the remains of warriors caught in a battle that had clearly ended not long before their arrival.

Knox approached the nearest fallen figure, studying the distinctive armor. “Night Court scouts,” he confirmed. 

Looking at the bodies scattered across the temple steps, Zev noticed distinctive marks on their throats and chests—burns in the shape of handprints that glowed with a faint silver light.

“This wasn’t the work of the Night Court,” Zev said, kneeling beside one of the bodies. “These are Barrier Keeper kills.”

Knox examined another fallen scout. “Yuri did this?”

“They must have been trying to stop him,” Caelen suggested, surveying the scene. “But they were took weak to do it.”

The bodies showed signs of a fierce but brief battle. Some had weapons still clutched in their hands, others appeared to have been struck down while fleeing.

As they surveyed the carnage, Leon suddenly clutched his head and cried out in pain, dropping to his knees. Lyrian rushed to his side, but Leon’s eyes had gone distant, unfocused.

“Yuri!” Leon gasped. “He’s…”

Without waiting for the others, Leon staggered to his feet and ran toward the temple entrance, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

“Leon, wait!” Daniel called after him, but it was too late.

Caelen drew his sword. “After him. Now.”

They hurried up the steps, stepping carefully around the fallen bodies. Knox and Adrian followed close behind, with Zev and Malik taking up the rear. Zev kept one hand on his dagger, the other positioned protectively in front of Malik.

The interior of the temple opened into a vast chamber that defied the dimensions of the structure they’d seen from outside. The ceiling soared hundreds of feet overhead, lost in shadow. Ancient symbols covered the walls and floor, pulsing with bright blue light.

At the center of the chamber stood Prince Ashelon, his figure striking even from a distance. The Prince of the Night Court remained as beautiful and terrible as Zev remembered—midnight-black eyes with silver pupils, features sculpted to inhuman perfection. At his feet lay a crumpled form that could only be Yuri.

Behind Ashelon stood Lord Darius and Lady Morvena—Zev’s father and grandmother—surrounded by a contingent of Night Court warriors.

Leon had already rushed forward and now knelt beside Yuri’s bleeding form, frantically trying to stem the flow of blood from a wound in the Barrier Keeper’s chest.

“Too late,” Ashelon observed coolly as the others approached. “The traitor’s life is measured in minutes now.”

“What happened here?” Caelen demanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. “What are you doing in my territory?”

Ashelon’s silver pupils flashed. “What you could not, Shadow King. I’ve prevented catastrophe.”

“By murdering the last Barrier Keeper?” Knox challenged.

“By stopping a madman from destroying reality itself.” Ashelon gestured carelessly toward Yuri. “He was attempting to awaken something that should remain dormant.”

On the floor, Yuri’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on Leon with startling clarity despite his failing body. His bloodied hand reached up, grasping Leon’s wrist.

“You understand now, don’t you?” Yuri whispered. “Why it must be done?”

Leon shook his head. “Not like this. There has to be another way.”

Yuri’s grip tightened. “Finish what we started…”

With those words, silver energy began flowing from Yuri’s body into Leon’s, a visible transfer of power that made the air around them crackle. Leon gasped, his back arching as the energy filled him.

“Stop him!” Lord Darius commanded, but it was too late.

Yuri’s body went still, his purpose fulfilled even in death. Leon stood slowly, his eyes now glowing with the same silver light that had filled Yuri’s.

“I understand now,” Leon said, his voice resonating strangely through the chamber. “All of it.”

The temple floor began to activate, ancient symbols lighting up in sequence as energy surged through patterns carved into the stone. The entire structure trembled.

“It’s waking up,” Leon warned, a hint of awe and terror in his voice. “The ancient deity that exists between all worlds.”

As he spoke, reality fractured around them. The temple walls seemed to dissolve in places, revealing glimpses into other dimensions—a modern city inhabited by people with dragon wings, a primordial forest, a town on a floating island. Each vision flickered for mere seconds before being replaced by another.

“What is happening?” Malik demanded, edging closer to Zev.

Leon turned to face them all, his expression caught between wonder and horror. “The barriers weren’t created to separate our worlds,” he explained. “They were created to divide IT.”

---

“Divide what?” Adrian asked.

“A consciousness too vast for any single reality,” Leon continued. “The shadow paths are its veins, spread across different worlds. And now, thanks to the weakening barriers, it’s reforming.”

Lord Darius stepped forward, his cold eyes fixed on Leon. “Then we must strengthen those barriers immediately.”

“Yes,” Lady Morvena agreed, her calculating gaze sweeping across the group. “And we already have the means to do so.” Her eyes lingered on the four humans—Leon, Adrian, Daniel, and Malik. “Four humans with Barrier Keeper ancestry. Four points to anchor a binding ritual.”

Zev stiffened. He was always wary of whatever that woman wanted, and even more so where Malik was involved. “What are you talking about?”

Caelen stepped forward as well, ice crystals forming at his fingertips. “Explain yourselves.”

Lady Morvena smiled, the expression never reaching her eyes. “These four carry the blood of the original Barrier Keepers in their veins, diluted through generations but still potent.”

“That’s why the shadow paths react so strongly to them,” Lord Darius added. “Why they can manipulate the paths in ways others cannot.”

Leon nodded slowly, the silver glow in his eyes pulsing. “He’s right. Yuri knew this all along. It’s why he orchestrated our meetings with Veridians—to weaken the barriers.” His expression shifted to one of determination. “But we can use that same connection to repair them.”

The temple shuddered again. A section of wall vanished completely, revealing a vast starless void beyond. 

Prince Ashelon barked orders to his remaining guards, who spread out to secure the perimeter of the chamber.

“We have little time,” the Prince declared. “The entity stirs beneath our feet.”

Malik moved closer to Zev, his voice low. “Do you trust them?”

“Never,” Zev growled, his hand moving to his dagger. “This is exactly how they work—creating chaos, then positioning themselves as the solution.”

Knox stepped forward, placing himself between the Night Court contingent and their group. “Why should we believe anything you say? For all we know, you orchestrated this.”

Prince Ashelon turned to him. “If we wanted reality destroyed, we would simply wait. Your distrust, while predictable, wastes what little time remains.”

Before anyone could respond, a violent tremor shook the temple.

Malik yelped, and even Zev almost fell over.

The floor beneath them cracked, shadows spilling through the fissures like bubbling liquid.

One of the Night Court guards was too slow to move—the ground opened beneath him, swallowing him in a flash of energy that left nothing behind, not even a scream.

“What was that?” Daniel cried, clutching Caelen’s arm.

Leon staggered, the silver energy around him pulsing erratically. “The deity is pushing through the weakening barriers. It’s happening faster than Yuri predicted.”

Another violent tremor sent them all struggling for balance. Near the temple’s entrance, columns began to crumble.

“We need to act now,” Ashelon insisted, his usual arrogance tempered by genuine urgency. “Or there will be nothing left to argue over.”

“The center seal is activating on its own,” Leon pointed to the intensifying pattern on the floor. “The four of us need to take positions before it’s fully awake.”

Zev still hesitated, years of survival instinct screaming at him not to follow his family’s direction. But Malik’s hand found his, squeezing gently.

“I don’t trust them,” Malik whispered. “But I trust Leon. And I trust you to protect me if this is a trap.”

Another section of the temple collapsed inward, reality warping around the impact point. Night Court guards scrambled to avoid being pulled into the distortion.

“We have no choice,” Knox acknowledged reluctantly.

Leon moved toward the ritual circle without waiting for them. “Stand with your partners!” 

Zev’s jaw tightened. “And what about you?”

“He carries the barrier keeper’s power now,” Lady Morvena answered. “He will stand alone.”

Zev shot her a glare, cut off by a massive crack that split the ceiling and rained debris onto the temple floor. 

Caelen pulled Daniel closer, his voice raised over the growing chaos. “Your forces should maintain the perimeter. Whatever’s trying to break through may send manifestations to stop us.”

The Prince inclined his head in agreement and barked out orders.

Malik tugged on Zev’s arm, pulling him toward the ritual circle as the others began to move as well. 

Zev’s eyes never left his father and grandmother. They might be cooperating now, but he knew them too well to believe their motives were pure.

The four humans took their positions at the cardinal points of the central seal—Daniel to the north, Adrian to the east, Malik to the south, and Leon to the west. Caelen stood behind Daniel, his hands on his mate’s shoulders. Knox positioned himself similarly behind Adrian, while Zev reluctantly let himself be guided to the southern position by Malik.

“What do we do now?” Malik asked as blue light began to swirl around their feet.

“Focus on the center,” Leon instructed, the silver energy from Yuri still pulsing around him. “Feel the connection to your Veridian partner and channel it toward the seal.”

As the ritual began, faint lines of light stretched between the four humans, forming a square around the central pattern. The temple’s shaking subsided slightly as the pattern stabilized, but something wasn’t right. The energy seemed to flow unevenly, stronger in some places than others.

“It’s not enough,” Lady Morvena announced, her eyes fixed on the center seal. “The entity is too powerful for such a simple binding.”

Lord Darius nodded in agreement, exchanging a meaningful look with his mother. 

The two Night Court elders circled the ritual space, examining the energy patterns with calculating eyes. Their gazes repeatedly returned to Zev, who tensed under their scrutiny.

“What are they doing?” Malik whispered, not breaking his concentration on the ritual.

“Nothing good,” Zev replied, instinctively moving closer to shield Malik.

As if coming to a decision, Lord Darius approached Zev with unexpected formality. Lady Morvena followed a step behind, her silver robes rustling against the stone floor.

“The time has come for you to redeem yourself,” Darius announced.

Zev’s gaze narrowed. He’d known the man was planning something. “Not interested.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Morvena joined the conversation. “You will serve a greater purpose.” Her eyes gleamed with anticipation. “The ritual needs a focal point. A vessel strong enough to channel and redirect the entity’s power.”

Zev looked between the two of them. 

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

Did they mean…? 

“You want me to serve as that vessel.”

“This way you can still serve your family!” Darius’s voice took on an edge of excitement. “Your whole life we’ve taught you to compartmentalize your mind, to separate yourself from your emotions. You’re perfect for this!”

Zev backed away. “No.”

They couldn’t be serious.

But Darius and Morvena had already begun chanting, their hands weaving complex patterns in the air. Before anyone could do anything, shadow matter coalesced around them, responding to their call.

“Stop!” Malik shouted.

Nobody listened.

The shadows surged forward, wrapping around Zev’s body like liquid ropes. 

No, he couldn’t let this happen.

He was not going to be a slave to his family again. He was never going to be a slave to his family again.

Never!

He roared, his own shadow powers flaring in resistance, but whatever Darius and Morvena were doing made a different kind of power seep into his skin, tracing his veins in black lines. 

Pain crashed through him—unlike anything he had experienced before. Not physical agony but the pressure of an ancient consciousness pressing against his mind, seeking entry.

“The ritual circle is faltering,” Knox called out.

Energy diverted from the binding pattern toward Zev.

“The perfect vessel,” Morvena observed with cold pride, maintaining her spell.

But through the haze of pain and the noise of incomprehensible thoughts in his mind, Zev felt a different sensation—a bright thread of warmth cutting through the invasion. 

Malik.

It had to be. 

Zev recognized that gentle energy, pushing back against the entity trying to claim him.

“What interference is this?” Darius demanded.

Morvena’s voice took on a note of outrage. “They’ve formed a mate bond! Impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible when it comes to Zev,” Malik gritted out, grasping Zev’s arm firmly.

Darius snarled, redirecting his spell to slash at Malik instead. 

It was all the impetus Zev needed to break free of the magic that bound him. 

No one threatened Malik. Not while Zev still had breath in his body.

The darkness that had invaded his veins began to change—black lines brightening to a vibrant shade of violet. Energy surged through him, and Zev used it to push his father back.

“This can’t be happening,” Darius hissed. 

“You never understood,” Zev said, straightening as the last of the invasive shadows transformed within him. “And now your time has come.”

Darius abandoned his attack on Malik and redirected his power back toward Zev, shadows sharpening into blades. “You are still our blood! You will serve your purpose!”

No, he would not.

Zev moved with inhuman speed, ducking beneath his father’s shadow blades. 

All the tricks they’d taught him, he would now turn on them.

With Malik’s energy reinforcing his own, Zev struck at Morvena first—the architect of so much suffering. His magic sliced through her defenses, purple-edged shadows piercing her chest. “For every nightmare you fed on.”

She collapsed, dark robes pooling around her as blood spread across the fabric, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Darius roared in fury, summoning a maelstrom of shadow. “You ungrateful child! After everything we’ve given you!”

Zev didn’t honor his words with a response. 

Darius’s magic converged on Zev from all directions, but his new purple-tinged power formed a protective barrier. With a gesture, he redirected the storm back toward its creator.

Darius barely managed to deflect his own attack, but the effort left him vulnerable. Zev closed the distance between them in an instant, blade poised to strike.

“For Rhys,” Zev said, his voice deadly quiet. “For Malik.” His hand drove forward with unerring precision. “For myself.”

Then he stood and watched the life fade from his father’s eyes. 

It was the most satisfying kill of his life.

---

Zev couldn’t linger in the moment for long.

With the Night Court’s vessel spell disrupted, unleashed magic exploded outward. 

The temple floor cracked with a deafening roar, fissures spreading like lightning across the stone. More black liquid bubbled up through the cracks, hissing where it touched air.

“Move!” Knox shouted, yanking Adrian away as the floor beneath him dissolved into nothingness.

Reality itself began to tear. The ceiling ripped open like fabric, revealing a churning void of colors. From those tears, torrential rain fell—not water, but glittering fragments that burned where they touched skin.

“Take cover!” Caelen commanded, pulling Daniel beneath a stone archway as part of the temple wall simply vanished to be replaced with nothing.

Zev grabbed Malik’s arm, dragging him behind a fallen column as the ground where they’d stood seconds before erupted in black flame. The air itself became difficult to breathe, thick with the scent of ozone and rot.

“What’s happening?” Malik shouted over the cacophony of collapsing stone.

“The borders are collapsing completely,” Leon called back, eyes wide with terror. The floor beneath him surged upward, forcing him to leap to safety as it twisted into a spiral. “The deity is waking up!”

At the center of the chamber, darkness gathered, coalescing into a massive entity that pulsed and shifted—sometimes appearing with too many tentacle-like limbs, sometimes with none at all, never maintaining a single form for more than seconds.

A howl of hunger echoed through the temple—not a sound made by any creature of flesh, but the cry of something that had been separated from itself for eons and now sensed reunion.

From the entity, shadow tendrils lashed out, smashing pillars and grabbing Night Court soldiers. Those caught were not killed but transformed, their bodies twisting and elongating until they became shadow creatures themselves, immediately turning on their former comrades.

“We need to complete the binding!” Leon shouted, dodging a falling chunk of ceiling.

“How?” Adrian yelled back, pressed against Knox.

The ground beneath them bucked violently, throwing several of Ashelon’s guards into a yawning chasm that hadn’t existed moments before. Prince Ashelon himself clung to a pillar as half the floor beneath him ceased to exist.

“The cardinal points!” Leon pointed desperately at the four symbols that still glowed through the chaos. “It’s now or never!” Leon scrambled back toward the northern point.

Zev pulled Malik close as a shadow creature lunged at them. Without thinking, he channeled power, pushing the monster back. It recoiled, hissing in pain.

Zev stared down at his hand. 

He still had some of the deity’s power inside himself. “We can use it against itself.”

“What do you mean?” Malik asked.

The others seemed confused as well. “Whatever you’re planning, do it quickly!” the Shadow King shouted, freezing a shadow creature mid-lunge as he and Daniel defended the eastern point.

Knox and Adrian took up the west spot again. “Leon! What exactly do we do?”

“Channel everything through the bond! Let it flow through you, not into you!”

“This is madness!” Prince Ashelon called. “We need a vessel to contain it!”

“No,” Zev countered, blasting back another shadow creature. “I’ll serve as a conduit.”

Malik whipped around to him. “Are you sure?” 

“Trust me.”

At the northern symbol, Leon raised his hands, silver energy coursing down his arms. “Follow my lead! Touch the symbols!”

The humans each placed their hands on the symbols before them. Instantly, light erupted from the points, connecting them in a geometric pattern that cut through the chaos. 

But the deity fought against the binding with tremendous force. The pattern flickered, threatening to collapse under the strain.

“It’s too strong!” Daniel cried out, his face contorted with effort.

“We need more power!” Adrian echoed, his knees buckling.

Zev touched his hands down next to Malik’s. “I’ll redirect its own energy back into the binding.”

Malik’s voice sounded strained. “Do you mean to sacrifice yourself?”

“No,” Zev assured him. “I won’t do anything so noble.”

Through their bond, Malik’s emotions crashed into him—the sharp edge of his fear, the granite of his determination, and beneath it all, a current of trust so steady it kept him grounded against the chaos. 

When had anyone ever trusted him so completely? That connection became his lifeline as he summoned the deity’s residual power still burning through his veins.

Magic erupted from his hands, shadows inlaid with a purple glow. 

The binding framework strengthened, slicing through the entity’s darkness. At the center, the deity contorted violently—its form expanding and contracting as it resisted. 

Zev felt each struggle as a corresponding pain in his chest, the power channeling through him threatening to tear him apart from inside.

A sudden absence at his side made him turn. 

Malik had collapsed to one knee, skin drained of color, eyes half-closed. Without hesitation, Zev redirected a thread of power back through their bond, instinctively knowing how to modulate the flow. He watched color return to Malik’s face as their energies synchronized, relief flooding through him with unexpected intensity.

“We don’t need separation—we need balance!” Leon’s words registered dimly as Zev concentrated on the delicate equilibrium between power and control.

Across the chamber, the others maintained their positions, but Zev barely registered them. His world had narrowed to three things: the power flowing through him, the pattern they were creating, and Malik beside him. Everything else faded to background noise.

Shadow creatures surged toward them in desperate waves. Zev sensed rather than saw them, feeling their hunger as an echo of the entity’s rage. Night Court soldiers fought the monsters.

Good.

Zev had no energy to divert to them. 

The deity’s essence seared through him like molten metal, threatening to unmake him. It was the strangest sensation. As if he was unraveling, dissolving into the energy he channeled. 

Was this how it would end? 

No, he would not sacrifice himself. 

He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Zev!” Malik’s voice pierced through his disintegrating consciousness, raw panic making it almost unrecognizable. “You’re disappearing!”

“Still here,” Zev forced out, though he wasn’t entirely certain how true that was. His awareness floated, untethered, as the power consumed more of his physical form.

Malik’s fingers dug into what remained of his arm with desperate strength. “I didn’t pull you from the Fields to lose you now!”

Through their connection flooded something entirely different from the magical energy he’d been channeling—Malik’s essence, the stubborn humanity that had saved him before. Not just emotion but substance, a tether to physical reality that refused to let him dissolve. Zev felt himself solidify, molecule by molecule, pulled back together by nothing more complicated than Malik’s refusal to let go.

“Complete the binding!” Leon’s command barely registered as Zev focused on maintaining the flow of power without losing himself again.

The binding pattern surged inward, encompassing the deity. Where shadow touched light, transformation occurred. 

Zev felt each shift and realignment as physical sensation—pressure and release, tension and resolution.

One final surge of resistance tested the framework, reality buckling around them. Zev channeled everything he had left into the pattern, past pain, past exhaustion, into a place where only will remained.

Finally, the deity submitted.

The release of tension was so sudden that Zev’s legs gave out. Warm arms caught him before he hit the ground. Malik. Always there, somehow. They crumpled to the cracked stone floor together, Zev’s consciousness swimming in and out of focus.

“Is it finished?” Daniel’s voice sounded distant.

Zev didn’t hear Leon’s response. He concentrated instead on the sensation of fingers threading through his hair. Malik’s hand.

“Are you alright?” 

Zev considered the question. His family lay dead by his hand. The Court that had shaped and tormented him held no more power over him. Freedom stretched before him—and beside him knelt a human who had risked everything to save him, twice.

“I’m more than all right,” he answered, surprised to find he meant it.

Prince Ashelon approached, his presence bringing Zev’s awareness back to their surroundings. His muscles tensed out of habit, preparing for a fight despite his exhaustion.

“The Night Court acknowledges your deeds,” Ashelon declared.

Zev met the Prince’s silver-pupiled eyes without flinching. “I want nothing more to do with your Court.” 

Something flickered across Ashelon’s perfect features. “Consider yourself severed from all obligations, Zevran vel Nacht. Or whatever name you choose to claim now.”

The impact of those words hit Zev with unexpected force. No longer vel Nacht. No longer bound by blood or oath to the Night Court. 

He was tempted to spit in the prince’s face for good measure.

Sadly, Ashelon moved away before Zev could give in to that urge. 

Around them, the temple had begun to settle. The violent quaking subsided to mere tremors, then to stillness. The tears in reality slowly mended themselves, edges knitting together like healing wounds. Where the deity had manifested, a complex geometric pattern now pulsed with steady light, embedded in the stone floor.

Leon approached, looking drained but resolute. “The binding is stable,” he confirmed. “The deity’s consciousness is properly distributed across the barriers again.”

“And the shadow paths?” Daniel asked, leaning heavily against Caelen.

“Tamed, I think,” Leon replied. “They’re still there—they need to be for the barriers to function.”

Knox helped Adrian to his feet, both looking exhausted but unharmed. “So we can return home? Travel between worlds?”

Leon shrugged a little helplessly. “That remains to be seen.”

Zev listened to their conversation with only mild interest. A strange sensation had settled over him. The ever-present weight he’d carried since escaping the Court years ago had vanished. That constant vigilance, the knowledge that they were out there and would never truly let him go—it was gone.

Malik’s hand found his. “You did it,” he said quietly.

“We did it,” Zev corrected.

Malik studied his face. “What are you thinking?”

Zev considered the question. “I thought I’d freed myself years ago when I left the Court. But part of me was always looking over my shoulder, waiting for them to find me.” His gaze drifted to the bodies of his father and grandmother. “I never truly believed they would let me go.”

“And now?”

“Now they have no choice.” A grim satisfaction colored his voice.

Prince Ashelon approached again, this time with several of his remaining guards. “The Night Court will withdraw from Shadow Kingdom territory,” he announced to Caelen, ignoring Zev completely. “We have much to rebuild.”

“As do we all,” Caelen replied coldly.

As the Night Court contingent prepared to depart, Zev felt a peculiar urge. He rose to his feet, steadier than he expected, and called out, “Ashelon.”

The Prince paused, turning with a raised eyebrow.

“If you ever come near Malik or me again, I’ll finish what I started today. The Night Court will need a new prince.”

Ashelon’s perfect features remained impassive, but something flickered in his silver-pupiled eyes. He nodded once before turning away.

Zev felt Malik’s surprise through their bond. “Was that necessary?” Malik asked as he stood beside him.

“Yes,” Zev said simply. “They respect only power and threats. It’s the only language they understand.”

“And what language do you understand now?” 

Zev turned to him, suddenly aware of how close they stood, of the bright thread of connection between them that had saved not just worlds, but Zev himself from dissolution.

“I’m still learning,” he admitted, his voice low enough that only Malik could hear. “But I understand this.” He raised their joined hands slightly, indicating the bond between them.

Around them, the others were beginning to gather their strength, discussing plans for returning to the Shadow Palace. But Zev savored the moment—standing in the aftermath of destruction with someone who had seen his darkness and stayed anyway.

“What now?” Malik asked.

Zev drew him close. “Now we forge our own path ahead.”

---

The journey back to the Shadow Palace passed in a blur of exhaustion.

After the chaos at the Barrier Temple settled, they’d gathered their strength and made camp for the night in a clearing just beyond the temple grounds. No one had the energy for the full journey back immediately. Malik had slept deeply for the first time in what felt like months, pressed close to Zev.

When dawn broke, they found the landscape transformed. Where reality had been fracturing just a day before, now the world seemed more vivid, more stable. 

The unnatural auroras were gone from the sky, and when they rode through the woods, Malik thought the air smelled clean and full of promise.

Villagers emerged from hiding here and there, staring at them in wonder. Word had already begun to spread—the Shadow King and his allies had repaired the broken world. 

By the time they drew close to Caelen’s palace, people lined the roads, offering food and drink to the returning heroes.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Malik commented quietly to Zev as a young fae child presented them with a crown of silver flowers.

“Wear it proudly,” Zev replied with a half-mocking smile that was full of warmth.

Malik did as he was told. 

When they reached the palace gates, Caelen made an announcement: a victory feast would be held that night. “We’ve earned this,” he told them all, his arm around Daniel’s shoulders. “Our moment of glory.”

Knox didn’t seem convinced of this plan, but before anyone could grumble too much, servants whisked them away to chambers prepared with hot baths and fresh clothing. Healers checked their wounds and offered potions for recovery. Within hours, the palace got ready for a celebration.

Despite his exhaustion, Malik found himself swept up in the excitement of it all. After all they’d been through, a night to simply breathe—to celebrate being alive—felt not just welcome but necessary.

That night, the great hall of the Shadow Palace sparkled with more light than seemed possible given its name, hundreds of crystal orbs suspended from the ceiling containing dancing magefire in shifting colors. 

Music drifted through the air, a hopeful melody that spoke of their victory. Malik couldn’t locate where it was coming from, even though he sat at one of the high tables overlooking the hall. 

Whoever was playing, though, it was beautiful. The whole scenery before Malik was. 

He could hardly believe how much his life had changed in so short a time. 

“Is something wrong?” Zev asked, sat by his side. “You haven’t touched your wine.”

“No.” Malik picked up his glass. “Just lost in thought.”

Zev’s eyes softened, and Malik felt the warmth of their connection humming between them, their mate bond a constant reassurance.

“Too much to process?” Zev asked quietly.

“A little,” Malik agreed. “Mostly I’m wondering what happens next.”

Before Zev could answer, a commotion erupted at the entrance to the hall. 

Lyrian strode in, resplendent in shimmering aquamarine formal wear that matched his hair. Behind him tottered a diminutive elderly woman with the same aquatic coloring but weathered like driftwood left too long in the sun. Her white hair was arranged in elaborate coils studded with pearls, and despite her age, she moved with surprising vigor.

Lyrian was saying something to her, but Malik couldn’t make out what. 

He could make out the response, though. 

“Nonsense!” The elderly siren’s voice carried across the hall with impressive volume. “I didn’t travel all this way to sit quietly in a corner. Where’s the Shadow King who finally got himself a proper mate?”

A hush fell over the gathering. Caelen, who had been engaged in conversation with several dignitaries, turned toward the commotion with a raised eyebrow. Daniel, at his side, grinned widely.

“That,” Zev murmured, “is Madam Nyrissa, Oracle of the Western Seas and Lyrian’s grandmother.”

Malik remembered her from the novel. “Isn’t she the most powerful seer in all of Veridia?”

“Yes,” Zev agreed. “She’s also the most tactless one.”

Madam Nyrissa spotted Caelen and marched directly toward him, parting the crowd through sheer force of personality. She stopped before the Shadow King, squinting up at him critically.

“Hmph. You look better without that shadow god squatting in your head,” she announced, then turned to Daniel. “And you! Skinny little human. Good job not dying.”

Daniel blinked in surprise. “Um, thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” she said, patting his cheek with surprising affection. “Now, where’s the good liquor in this place? That ceremonial swill they served at the temple dedication was like diluted seaweed.”

Caelen, to his credit, recovered quickly. “Madam Nyrissa, we’re honored by your presence. I’ll have the steward bring out our finest reserves.”

“You’d better,” she sniffed, then spotted Malik and Zev across the room. “Ah! There’s the dreamwalker and his human!”

Malik felt Zev tense beside him as Nyrissa made her way toward their table, Lyrian trailing behind her with an expression of resigned embarrassment.

“Grandmother, please—”

“Hush, child. I want to meet the one who pulled this gloomy fae out of the Fields.” She planted herself before Malik, eyes sharp and knowing despite her irreverent demeanor. “So you’re the one. Hmm. Not what I expected.”

Malik wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m… sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry. Be proud,” she waved him off. Then she reached out and patted Zev’s cheek much as she had Daniel’s. “You’re looking less constipated than last time I saw you. Good for you.”

Zev raised an eyebrow at the siren. “Meanwhile,” he said, “you look just as close to expiry.”

“That is only because your eyes are useless,” Nyrissa chided Zev. “You see death everywhere, and I must say, I do wish you’d killed that preening prince while you were at it. Would have saved us trouble down the line.”

“Grandmother!” Lyrian looked horrified.

“What? It’s true. That one has ambitions that’ll cause problems.” She waved dismissively. “But that’s for another day. Where’s the food? I haven’t traveled between courts in fifty years, and I’m famished.”

As if summoned by her words, servants began bringing out the first course. Nyrissa claimed the seat next to Malik without invitation, leaning in conspiratorially.

“You’ve got questions buzzing around your head like hungry moths,” she observed. “Ask.”

Malik glanced at Zev, who gave a small nod of encouragement.

“Will the barriers remain stable now?” Malik asked, voicing the concern that had been foremost in his mind.

Nyrissa’s eyes clouded over briefly, the irises swirling like water in a whirlpool. “Stable enough,” she answered. “Your friend with the stolen power will see to that.”

“Leon?” Malik looked around the hall, suddenly realizing he hadn’t seen Leon since they’d returned from the temple. “Where is he?”

Nyrissa shrugged, helping herself to Malik’s untouched wine. “Doing what barrier keepers do, I imagine. Sticking his fingers in the holes in reality.” She drank deeply, then smacked her lips. “Not bad. For Elucian wine.”

Throughout the meal, Nyrissa continued to offer unfiltered commentary on everything from the food to the various court dignitaries (“That one’s sleeping with his wife’s sister—and the sister’s husband”).

Malik found himself growing increasingly fond of her, especially as he watched Lyrian’s ongoing embarrassment. At one point, she launched into a story about how Lyrian had once tried to charm a school of special fish to perform synchronized swimming patterns and instead caused them to beach themselves in formation.

“He cried for three days straight,” she concluded, as Lyrian sank lower in his seat. “Wouldn’t eat seafood for a year!”

As the evening wore on, the crowd began to thin. Soon, only the core group remained.

Malik noticed Zev growing increasingly pensive, his gaze distant. Through their bond, Malik sensed not distress but contemplation, as if Zev were turning over possibilities in his mind.

“What is it?” Malik asked softly.

Zev’s eyes refocused on him. “I was thinking we should go to bed soon.”

“Oh, did you?” Malik shot him a smile.

Before Zev could answer, one of the tall doors to the hall swung open. Leon stood there, but not as Malik had last seen him. Something about him had changed fundamentally. His posture was straighter, more confident, and faint silver light seemed to shimmer around him.

But his companions drew even more attention than he did. Trailing him were two striking Veridian men, a tall one with dark skin and golden antlers sprouting from his temples and a leaner one with blue skin and a long tail wrapped around his own leg. 

And between them, Jamie.

Daniel shot to his feet. “Jamie?” His voice cracked with emotion.

Jamie grinned and spread his arms wide. “Surprise?”

Daniel rushed across the hall and crashed into his brother, nearly knocking him over with the force of his embrace. “I thought—we couldn’t find you—how did you—”

“Get here? Meet them?” Jamie gestured to the Veridians flanking him. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I found my bookstore in an unusual spot. And they were inside.”

The antlered man stepped forward with a formal bow. “Erlan of the Wild Hunt.”

The smaller man inclined his head. “Tirell.”

Daniel smiled warmly at the two Veridians. “Thank you so much for taking care of my brother.”

“Oh no,” Erlan said. “He’s the one who took care of us.” A small grin lifted the corner of his lips. “Your brother is quite remarkable.”

“Quite so!” Tirell echoed.

“You two…” Jamie shook his head slightly.

Daniel stared between the three of them, understanding slowly dawning on his face. “Wait… are you…?”

Jamie shrugged. “I made myself part of the community I was thrust into.”

Daniel’s eyebrows rose. “Part of the community?”

Erlan slung an arm around Jamie’s waist and drew him close while Tirell’s tail abandoned his own leg to coil around Jamie’s. 

The message was fairly clear, even from where Malik was sitting.

Beside him, Nyrissa cackled. “This human sure found himself interesting company. You would not believe what the Saphiri can do with their tails.”

Malik blinked and tried very hard not to imagine what the old siren was implying. 

Fortunately, Leon stepped forward, drawing attention back to himself. The silver glow around him had intensified slightly. “I found him,” he explained. “With… I’m not sure what to call it. The awareness that came with Yuri’s power. I could sense Jamie’s presence in Veridia.”

“You went after him alone?” Adrian asked, concerned.

“I traveled the shadow paths,” Leon said simply. “It was easy.”

Nyrissa snorted. “Of course it is, for you. How does it feel like to have one foot in every world?”

Leon looked at her briefly, then focused on Adrian and the others again. “I think I need to stay here.”

“Stay where?” Daniel asked.

“Here. In Veridia. At the Barrier Temple.” Leon’s expression was resolute. “Someone needs to maintain the balance we created.”

“You can’t go home?” Adrian asked.

Leon smiled faintly. “I am home. Or rather, I’m between homes. It’s where I belong now.”

Malik felt Zev’s hand find his under the table, fingers intertwining. He glanced at Zev, who was watching Leon with something akin to sympathy.

“So you’re the new Barrier Keeper,” Knox said, stating rather than asking.

“Yes. And part of that role will be ensuring that those with connections across worlds can still maintain them.” Leon looked around at the gathered couples—Daniel and Caelen, Adrian and Knox, Zev and Malik. “Travel between worlds won’t be simple or common, but for those who have reasons… I’ll keep the path open.”

That sounded reassuring, but Adrian wasn’t convinced. “There used to be four Barrier Keepers,” he said. “Can you do it by yourself?”

“For now, yes. As long as things remain this stable.” Leon looked pensive. “In time I’ll find others to help me. There are more barriers than the one we just kept from shattering, more worlds out there than you can imagine. There must be more keepers somewhere.” He licked his lips. “Yuri eliminated a good number of them.”

“Why did he do it?” Malik found himself asking.

“I don’t want to excuse his actions,” Leon said. 

Malik nodded. “I only want to understand.”

Leon hesitated, but then he said, “He thought all the separate worlds would be reborn as one, as a whole, as a better, optimal world. He believed all life would be reset, including the souls of the departed.”

“He was mourning someone,” Malik concluded. 

Leon nodded. “He had a child he was not supposed to have. It was against the rules for Barrier Keepers to procreate.” An unamused smile twisted Leon’s features. “They didn’t like that it led to creatures like us. People with mixed heritage who destabilize the barriers by existing. The effect isn’t as pronounced in us since we’re so grounded in our home worlds now, but Yuri’s child…” Leon lowered his gaze. “They executed her.”   

Malik didn’t know how to respond to that. 

Daniel did. “That’s bullshit. I don’t like this organization.”

“Me neither,” Adrian agreed. “But that doesn’t mean it’s okay to kill everyone and throw the world into chaos.”

“No,” Leon said. “None of what he did was okay.”

Nyrissa’s voice cut through the gloom. “See that you’ll be a better keeper than he was. I don’t want another apocalypse in my lifetime, thank you very much.” She raised her wine glass. “To a brighter future!”

With that, she brought the discussion to a close. 

---

Later that night, Malik stood by the window in their chamber, gazing out at the night sky of Veridia. Even with the aurora gone, the stars shone brighter here than they did back home. 

Zev moved behind him, arms sliding around Malik’s waist. “What are you thinking about?”

“Yuri,” Malik admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about what Leon told us.”

Zev rested his chin on Malik’s shoulder. “That he threw worlds into chaos because he lost someone he loved?”

“Yes.” Malik leaned back into Zev’s embrace. “I keep wondering what I might have done in his place.”

“You would never have killed anyone. You don’t have it in you,” Zev pointed out.

“No.” Malik turned in Zev’s arms to face him. “But if I’d really thought I could bring my family back?”

Zev’s violet eyes studied him. “What then?”

“I think…” Malik licked his lips. “I would have been tempted. Anyone would be. But grief can twist our perception of what’s right.”

“It can make monsters of us all,” Zev agreed softly. “When I lost Rhys, I wanted to burn the world to the ground. And today I finally did kill my father and grandmother.”

“That was different,” Malik said firmly. “You were protecting everyone, including me.”

“Is that how you see it?” Zev’s lips lifted at the corner. “I would have killed them regardless. I was not raised to hesitate when an opportunity presents itself.”

Malik placed his hand against Zev’s cheek. “Your father and grandmother deserved what they got.”

“I agree.” There was no hint of regret in Zev’s features, but he turned contemplative onec more. “If someone offered to bring back Rhys or your family right now, in exchange for the kind of destruction Yuri caused—”

“I wouldn’t take it,” Malik said with certainty. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve found something worth protecting in the present.” Malik’s eyes held Zev’s gaze. “And I think the people we’ve lost would want us to choose life, not destruction in their name.”

Zev was silent for a long moment. “Rhys would have liked you,” he said finally.

“You said that in the Fields,” Malik reminded him with a small smile.

“I meant it then. I mean it now.” Zev drew him closer. “His strength was finding joy in the darkest circumstances. In creating something new rather than dwelling on a past that couldn’t be changed.”

“Sounds like a wise man.”

“He was.” Zev’s voice held no pain now, only quiet acknowledgment. “He would have wanted us to be happy.”

Malik felt the truth of it through their bond, warm and certain. “So what happens now? Do we stay here? Go back to Earth? Leon said the paths would remain open for us.”

“Does it matter where we are?” Zev asked, his arms tightening around Malik. “As long as we’re together?”

Malik laughed softly. “That was unexpectedly romantic of you.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Zev murmured, leaning down to press his forehead against Malik’s. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Malik grinned at him. “You’d better seal my lips then.”

Zev’s mouth quirked into a half-smile as he leaned in, capturing Malik’s lips with his own. The kiss was gentle at first, then deeper, making low heat spread through Malik’s body. 

This was what he wanted.

Now that the crisis of worlds merging had been averted, now that they had nothing left to fear, they could finally focus on each other. 

They could finally just be.

“Come to bed,” Zev murmured, leading him toward the massive four-poster that dominated the chamber.

Malik followed willingly, anticipation building as Zev started helping him undress.

“You must be tired,” Zev said. 

Not quite the words Malik had expected to hear. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” Zev replied, taking off his own clothes. “We should sleep. It’s been days since either of us had proper rest.”

Malik blinked. “Sleep? Just sleep?”

Something mischievous flickered in Zev’s violet eyes. “Were you thinking of something else?”

“You know I was.”

Zev brushed his knuckles against Malik’s cheek. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then sleep,” Zev said, guiding Malik beneath the covers. “And let me meet you in your dreams.”

Understanding dawned, finally.

Zev wanted to…

Oh.

Well, this was going to be different.

“Dreams have certain advantages,” Zev said, sliding in beside him.

“Such as?”

Zev’s lips curved against Malik’s neck. “No physical limitations. No interruptions. And I can do things to you that wouldn’t be possible in the waking world.”

Heat pooled in Malik’s stomach at the promise in those words. “I didn’t know dream sex was a thing.”

Zev’s hand traced a path down Malik’s side, gentle but possessive. “It requires a very intimate connection.”

Like ours. Even the thought made Malik’s heart beat a little faster as he settled against Zev. 

How was he supposed to fall asleep like this?

The events of the past days had left him bone-tired, but now excitement warred with exhaustion.

“Just relax,” Zev whispered, his fingers threading through Malik’s hair. “Let yourself drift. I’ll find you.”

There must have been some magic in that touch, because Malik’s lids felt heavy, suddenly, and the last thing he felt before sleep claimed him was Zev’s consciousness brushing against his mind, a gentle caress that promised much more to come.

When Malik opened his eyes, he stood in a garden unlike any he’d ever seen. Colorful flowers bloomed around him, shifting subtly in the gentle breeze. The sky above wasn’t blue but a deep violet, scattered with stars.

“Do you like it?” Zev’s voice came from behind him.

Malik turned toward it, drinking in the sight of him. He looked exactly as he always did: beautiful and deadly and entirely irresistible.

“I do,” Malik answered. “But where are we?”

“A place of my choosing,” Zev explained. “Where nothing bad can ever happen. Where we’re free to do as we please without worrying about anything else.” He smiled at Malik. “I thought you might need it after everything that’s happened.”

“All I need is you.” As soon as he spoke the words aloud, Malik wondered if they sounded trite or silly, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. Zev stepped forward and kissed him until his head swam, leaving his thoughts scattered to the wind.

“You’ll have me,” Zev promised. “For all your days.”

Malik shivered, desire sparking through him as their gazes met. “Show me what you can do here.”

Zev’s lips formed a wicked smile, and then he pushed Malik back onto the grass and kissed him again, harder this time. There was nothing sweet or gentle in the way his body moved against Malik’s, and the sudden intensity made Malik gasp for air.

The fact that their tumble to ground didn’t hurt reminded him that this was a dream–but everything else felt very real–every shift and press of Zev’s muscles, every point of contact. The scent of Zev’s hair filled his lungs, the warmth of his breath tickled Malik’s neck.

Zev pulled back enough to look down at him. “Do you want to be wearing this many clothes?”

Malik blinked. He was wearing a shirt and jeans. Something he hadn’t taken conscious note of before Zev had mentioned it, but now that he was aware, the clothes were very much in the way. He focused on the idea of being naked, and suddenly, his skin was bare under Zev’s touch.

“Better?” Malik teased, arching up into Zev with a smile.

Zev’s eyes went dark with want, and he pressed another hard kiss to Malik’s lips. “Almost perfect.”

He shifted closer, and suddenly, there was no space between them. No fabric separating his skin from Zev’s hot, bare cock. The feel of it sent sparks racing down Malik’s spine.

Zev rolled their hips together slowly. The drag of his cock against Malik’s own was delicious torture, and Malik couldn’t help the soft moan that fell from his lips. 

He didn’t even try to muffle it.

Why would he?

This was a space just for them. No one but Zev would hear him. 

“I love the sounds you make,” Zev murmured, kissing the spot where Malik’s jaw met his throat as he rocked his hips forward. “But I wonder what other sounds I could coax from you.”

Before Malik could form a reply, Zev slid his hand between their bodies, closing it around Malik’s cock and stroking slowly. The sensation was overwhelming–the firm, sure touch coupled with the pressure of Zev against his hipbone. Pleasure spiraled outward through Malik’s whole body, making him shudder helplessly.

He was vaguely aware of Zev murmuring something against his neck, too distracted by the slow glide of Zev’s palm along the length of his shaft. Then Zev’s thumb flicked over the sensitive tip of Malik’s cock and he shuddered again, gasping out loud as pleasure spiked sharply through him.

“Still not loud enough.” The words vibrated against Malik’s skin, sending shivers across his body. “Let’s change that, shall we?”

Before Malik could process Zev’s words, Zev was moving away from him and sliding down the length of his bod..

Malik gasped again as Zev’s lips enveloped his cock, heat and pressure wrapping around him. The dreamscape grass beneath him felt like silk, soft and warm and just textured enough to heighten every nerve along his spine. Above him, stars shifted lazily in the violet sky, but Malik couldn’t look at anything but Zev—kneeling between his legs like some beautifully dangerous thing, lips stretched around his length, violet eyes watching him.

Zev didn’t need to breathe. Not in this dream. Malik realized that quickly. The night fae just just took him deep and held him there with a slow, deliberate suction that made Malik’s thighs shake.

“Zev—” His voice broke. “I’m gonna—”

Zev pulled back just far enough to swirl his tongue around the head before swallowing him again. Malik gripped the grass at his sides, writhing, his orgasm teetering just out of reach.

He was right there. So close.

And then—nothing.

Zev’s mouth stayed warm and perfect, his hands roamed Malik’s thighs, fondling his balls, but that final push wouldn’t come. Something held him on the edge, panting and helpless, heat coiling tighter and tighter in his belly.

“Please,” he gasped.

Phantom hands answered.

Touches Malik could only feel but not see, teasing his nipples, stroking down his sides, across the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Zev didn’t move except to deepen his swallow, letting Malik fuck into his throat in short, desperate thrusts—encouraging it, even. 

Malik cried out when a ghostly touch slid between his ass cheeks, circling his hole with featherlight touches. The sensation was too much. Not enough. It left him wanting, begging, trembling with need. The pressure built, rising higher and hotter and more intense than anything he could ever have imagined. He was going to die from this. Die from how badly he needed release and how impossible it seemed to find it. He tried to beg again, but the sound that escaped was little more than broken whine—a wordless plea for mercy.

But maybe it was exactly what Zev had wanted to hear, because suddenly, the touch inside him became tangible as two fingers plunged deep. They crooked inside him, seeking and finding that bundle of nerves that made white light explode behind Malik’s eyes.

He came hard, crying out Zev’s name, hips lifting off the grass as pleasure burned through him like fire through dry tinder. His cock pulsed in Zev’s throat while his body clenched around Zev’s fingers.

And Zev never let him quite come down from that high.

He withdrew from Malik’s cock, but only to position himself between Malik’s legs. In one swift move, the fingers inside Malik were replaced with the thick head of Zev’s cock, pushing slowly but steadily inside him.

Malik gasped at the stretch, the fullness, his body still shuddering with aftershocks as Zev sank home.

The first slow roll of Zev’s hips made Malik’s vision go black for a moment. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of Zev’s body moving against and inside his, the steady slide filling him over and over again as Zev fucked him slow and sweet and so deeply that Malik felt it everywhere.

There was no pain, only overwhelming sensation.

Only connection.

Vaguely, Malik noted that he’d never gone soft after his climax the way he would have in the waking world. Here, it seemed he only wanted more. 

Zev gave it to him. 

He thrust into Malik with increasing force, each snap of his hips driving the air from Malik’s lungs until Malik was dizzy and delirious, lost somewhere beyond reason, caught somewhere in between reality and dream.

He came again with his nails raking red marks down Zev’s back, Zev’s name on his lips, Zev’s weight pressing him into the soft grass, their breaths intermingling.

But even that didn’t satisfy the hunger inside of him. If anything, the orgasm only made his want sharper, deeper, hungrier.

It was as though all his pent up desires and needs were coming loose now, breaking free of every barrier he’d erected against them.

“I need you,” he breathed, pulling Zev down for another searing kiss that made his toes curl. “I need—”

“I know what you need.” Zev kissed him again—and fucked him harder.

Malik’s body trembled, oversensitive and needy all at once. He felt Zev’s control begin to fray—felt his rhythm falter, his thrusts grow rougher.

The bond between them sparked.

Zev’s pleasure became his, layered over his own so completely he couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. The pressure built one last time—more intense than anything before it. Zev reached for his hands, lacing their fingers together as he thrust hard and deep, once, twice—

And they shattered.

Malik cried out, his orgasm ripping through him in one long, ecstatic wave just as Zev came inside him, the shared climax echoing through their bond until the dream itself seemed to dissolve under the weight of it.

He didn’t come down gently. He collapsed, boneless, trembling, his chest heaving for air he didn’t need. Zev followed him down, still inside him, arms tight around his body, anchoring them both.

“Holy shit,” Malik whispered after a while, his voice hoarse.

Zev chuckled against his throat. “Told you dreams had their advantages.”

---

A week after the battle at the Barrier Temple, the Shadow Palace still buzzed with activity. Dignitaries from territories across Veridia arrived daily to assess the new state of the world, diplomats shuttled between chambers with urgent messages, and mages worked tirelessly to monitor the stabilizing barriers.

Malik avoided most of it.

He stood on a secluded balcony overlooking the eastern gardens, watching servants tend to the flowers.

“Deep thoughts?” Zev’s voice came from behind him.

Malik turned to find him leaning against the doorway, dressed in the dark leathers he preferred. The past week had been good to him. The haunted look that had shadowed his violet eyes for so long had diminished, replaced by something calmer.

“Just thinking about home,” Malik admitted.

Zev crossed to the balcony rail. “You miss Earth.”

It wasn’t a question, but Malik nodded anyway. “I have unfinished business there.”

Zev didn’t take long to guess what was on his mind. “Your family’s fortune. You said you never touched it.”

“I couldn’t bear to. It felt tainted by grief.” Malik’s fingers traced the weathered stone of the balcony. “But now I’m thinking about all that wealth sitting idle when it could be used for something better.”

Zev studied him with that penetrating gaze that always made Malik feel as though his thoughts were being carefully cataloged. “What would you do with it?”

Before Malik could answer, a servant appeared at the doorway with a stiff bow.

“The Shadow King requests your presence in the council chamber. Both of you.”

Malik exchanged a glance with Zev. Another meeting. They’d attended three already this week, each filled with discussions of border realignments, shadow path regulations, and diplomatic arrangements that meant little to either of them.

“Tell King Caelen we’ll be there shortly,” Zev replied, dismissing the servant with a curt nod.

He servant retreated quickly.

“You still make them nervous,” Malik observed.

“Good.” Zev’s mouth quirked. 

Together they walked through the palace corridors.

“You never answered my question,” Zev reminded him as they approached the council chambers. “What would you do with your fortune on Earth?”

“Something useful,” Malik replied. “I have more money than I could spend in a lifetime.” He hesitated. “Maybe it’s time it helped people instead of sitting in accounts gathering interest.”

Zev’s hand brushed against his, a brief touch. “Then perhaps we should discuss returning.”

The massive doors to the council chamber stood open. Inside, voices already rose in discussion. Caelen sat at the head of the long stone table, Daniel beside him. Knox and Adrian occupied seats to his right, while Leon and Lyrian sat to his left. Maps and scrolls covered the table’s surface.

Malik hesitated at the threshold, his eyes meeting Caelen’s across the room. 

Thoughts of his home reminded Malik of the time Caelen had taken over it. 

The shadow king’s brows lifted slightly as if sensing Malik’s animosity. 

Zev’s hand pressed against the small of Malik’s back, grounding him. They entered together, taking the remaining seats.

“Good. We’re all here,” Caelen began. “Leon has news about the shadow paths.”

Leon nodded. “The stabilization is progressing faster than expected. The paths are no longer attempting to devour emotional energy from travelers. I’ve been able to establish consistent connections between five fixed points on Earth and their corresponding locations in Veridia.”

“What does that mean for us?” Adrian asked.

“It means controlled travel between worlds is now possible.” Leon slid a parchment across the table. “I’ve mapped the safe routes. With proper guidance, anyone can move between Earth and Veridia without the dangers we faced before.”

The implications settled over the room.

“So we can go home,” Adrian said quietly.

Knox’s hand covered his. “Or stay. Or both.”

“That’s why I called this meeting,” Caelen interjected. “We need to decide what happens next. Not just for Veridia and Earth, but for all of you.”

Daniel leaned forward. “I’m staying here,” he stated firmly. “With Caelen.”

No one seemed surprised by this.

“Knox and I have discussed returning to Earth,” Adrian said. “My grandmother needs me, and Knox is willing to try living there again.”

“The barriers would allow us to visit Veridia when needed,” Knox added.

All eyes turned to Malik and Zev.

Malik felt a sudden clarity. The past week had given him time to think, to consider what came after survival. “I need to go back, at least for a while,” he said. “I have resources that could help people. It’s time I used them.”

Caelen studied him with those unnervingly green eyes. “And you, Zev? Will you return to Earth as well?”

“I go where Malik goes,” Zev replied simply.

Next to Caelen, Daniel smiled at Malik. “Just keep him away from your appliances.”

Zev’s gaze narrowed. “Malik’s appliances have nothing to fear from me.”

Malik turned to him. “You nearly stabbed my microwave before we came here.”

“It made threatening noises.”

“It was heating soup.”

A ripple of laughter broke the tension in the room.

“I’ve survived the Night Court,” Zev said with dignity. “I can survive beeping boxes that heat soup.”

The discussion turned to practical matters—when they would travel, what supplies they would need, how they would maintain contact between worlds. Leon offered to escort each group through the shadow paths when they were ready.

As the meeting concluded, Caelen called for wine to be brought. “A toast,” he declared once each goblet was filled. “To new beginnings across two worlds.”

They drank, and Malik started to relax, but as conversations broke into smaller groups, Caelen approached him. Zev tensed beside Malik, wary.

“A word?” Caelen requested.

Malik did not really want to talk to Caelen, but he was intrigued. What could the Shadow King possibly want from him now?

He followed Caelen to a quieter corner of the chamber, the comforting weight of Zev’s gaze on his back.

“Daniel tells me I owe you an apology,” Caelen said without preamble.

“And what do you think?” Malik kept his voice neutral.

“I acknowledge that I’ve done some awful things to you.”

“You were possessed.”

“True,” Caelen agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I was never in control of my actions…or a willing participant in the crimes I committed.” He studied Malik with unexpected frankness. “I can’t pretend I am innocent, and I won’t. For the personal harm done to you, for taking your home and betraying your confidence—I am sorry.”

Never having expected an apology, Malik wasn’t sure how to process what he was hearing. “Are you going to say sorry to everyone else too?” He glanced toward Knox and Adrian on the other side of the room.

“Don’t push it.” With that, Caelen left Malik to return to his mate.

When Malik rejoined Zev, the fae raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“He actually apologized to me,” Malik explained.

“Did you accept?”

Malik shrugged. “He walked away before I could decide.”

Zev’s mouth quirked. “Guess none of us can become someone completely different.”

“Different enough. For now.” Malik picked up his wine glass and took a sip, considering the transformation he himself had gone through. “So. Earth,” he said to Zev, “with all its beeping contraptions and confusing customs. Still sure you want to come?”

“I’ve managed living in your world before.”

“Barely. I don’t think you were happy.”

“I’ve grown since then.” Zev’s eyes softened slightly. “Besides, your purpose there matters to you. That makes it worth enduring Earth’s peculiarities.”

Something warm unfurled in Malik’s chest. They’d come so far from the Night Court cell where they’d first met—Zev cold and distant, Malik captive and afraid. Now they stood as equals, bound by choice rather than circumstance.

“I was thinking about starting a foundation,” Malik said. “For kids who lost their families.” His voice grew quieter. “Everyone deserves a supportive community.”

Zev’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “A worthy purpose.”

“It’ll mean meetings. Paperwork. Public appearances.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“And what will you do while I’m busy?”

“I’ll find ways to occupy myself.” Zev’s expression grew thoughtful. “Even in your world there should be use for someone with my skills.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re running an underground crime syndicate I don’t know about.”

Those words did nothing to convince Malik that he didn’t need to worry, but the quirk of Zev’s lips did.

After a while, they joined the others as preparations were discussed for their respective journeys. Leon would take Knox and Adrian through the shadow paths tomorrow morning, with Malik and Zev to follow two days later. Daniel and Caelen would remain in the Shadow Palace together, though Daniel made Adrian promise to visit soon—and to bring hair dye.

Malik laughed, getting the distinct feeling that everything would be all right. 

What a strange and wonderful feeling that was.

Later, he and Zev settled by the fire in their room. “Tell me more about this foundation,” Zev said. “What will you call it?”

“I was thinking the Jahan Foundation for Displaced Youth,” Malik said, using his family name.

Zev nodded approval. “Your family would be proud.”

The simple statement hit Malik with unexpected force. For so long, thoughts of his deceased loved ones had brought only pain. Now, for the first time, he could imagine them approving of the path he’d chosen.

“I hope so,” he whispered.

Zev kissed him softly. “I know so.”

Through their connection, Malik felt his confidence as his own. They were going to be all right, and they were going to accomplish wonderful things—together.

---

Six months after returning to Earth, Malik’s mansion felt like a different place. Pictures of his family still hung on the walls, but others had joined them. Snapshots of new friends, of the life he was building with Zev. 

Malik glanced at them as he hurried down the hallway, arms laden with campaign notes, dice, and meticulously painted miniatures. His custom game master screen—crafted during those empty, hollow months after the accident—was tucked under one arm. From the kitchen came the unmistakable scent of pizza—four different kinds, because no one could agree on toppings.

“Zev?” he called out. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes!”

No response. Frowning, Malik set his burden down on the dining room table and went in search of his partner.

He found Zev in the kitchen, standing completely motionless in front of the high-tech refrigerator. The appliance’s touchscreen display was flashing with a digital message while making occasional beeping sounds. Zev stared at it with the intensity of someone facing a dangerous opponent.

“Not again,” Malik sighed.

“It won’t stop,” Zev stated flatly, never taking his eyes off the device. “Every thirty seconds, it lights up and makes that noise.”

“That’s just a water filter alert. It needs changing.”

“So you’ve said about the last three appliance warnings.” Zev’s tone made it clear he remained unconvinced of these explanations. “Your devices are unnecessarily demanding.”

Malik approached, slipping his hand into Zev’s and tugging gently. “Come on. I’ll show you how to clear the alert.”

“I know how to clear it,” Zev retorted, but his defensiveness carried no bite. “I simply don’t trust that it won’t start again the moment I turn my back.”

“The mighty fae warrior, defeated by household electronics.”

A muscle twitched in Zev’s jaw, but Malik caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes. Half a year of living together had taught them both when the other was truly annoyed versus playing along.

“Fine.” Zev reached for the control panel. “But if it starts beeping again after I clear this alert, I make no promises about its continued existence.”

Malik moved to retrieve the replacement filter from under the sink. “If it keeps beeping after we change the filter, I’ll let you destroy it.”

Zev looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”

“No.” Malik laughed at Zev’s expression. “But you can pick the movie tomorrow night.”

The doorbell rang just then. Malik pressed a quick kiss to Zev’s cheek before greeting their friends.

Adrian and Knox were the first to arrive, bearing drinks and dessert. Adrian embraced Malik warmly while Knox offered a nod that, for him, counted as effusive greeting.

“How’s the Jahan Foundation?” Adrian asked as they moved to the living room.

“Growing faster than I expected,” Malik replied. “We’ve secured three properties for youth housing and hired staff for the first counseling center.”

“He’s working too hard,” Zev commented, joining them. “The foundation won’t collapse if he takes a day off.”

The doorbell rang again—this time announcing Daniel and Caelen’s arrival. Daniel bounded in with his usual energy, hugging everyone except Zev, who received a bright smile and a friendly pat instead. 

Caelen followed with more restraint, looking oddly elegant in fitted jeans and a black button-down. 

“Leon texted,” Daniel announced, checking his phone. “He’s running late. Something about traffic.”

“And Lyrian?” Adrian asked.

“Fashionably late as always.”

They migrated downstairs to the gaming room, where Malik had a custom table for his games with inbuilt dice trays. 

“You have the best set-up,” Adrian observed, picking up some of the dice that lay on the table.

“After the accident,” Malik said, arranging his notes, “D&D became my escape. Easier to manage fantasy worlds than face the real one.” A small, self-deprecating smile crossed his face. “At one point I ran five different campaigns with random groups I found online.”

“And now?” Adrian asked gently.

Malik glanced toward Zev, who was setting down the last pizza box. “Now I don’t need to escape. But I still love the game.”

Zev drew Malik against his side. “If it brings you joy, it’s a good game,” he said, even though he still didn’t understand the rules, no matter how many times Malik tried to explain. 

By the time Lyrian finally strode in and Leon followed twenty minutes later (apologizing profusely about traffic), the group had settled around the table with character sheets, dice, and food. 

“Before we start,” Daniel asked, reaching for his character sheet, “did everyone come up with back stories for their characters?”

“I’m still not convinced my character needs a backstory,” Knox said, examining his sheet with narrowed eyes.

“Everyone needs a backstory!” Daniel protested.

Adrian patted Knox’s arm. “Your rogue can just be mysterious. It fits.”

“I’ve optimized for maximum sneak attack damage,” Knox added, with just enough pride to betray his investment.

Daniel clutched his heart dramatically. “My bard comes from a long line of performers who lost everything when their ancestral theater burned down during a rival family’s sabotage attempt…”

“We know,” everyone except Caelen chorused.

“You’ve told us three times,” Lyrian added.

“It’s important context for my motivations!” Daniel defended.

Leon adjusted his glasses. “My wizard’s primary goal is cataloging magical phenomena across multiple planes, which aligns with my personal interests in—”

“Nerd,” Daniel interrupted with a smile.

Malik cleared his throat, slipping easily into the game master voice that had guided him through his darkest days. “If everyone’s ready?”

The group quieted, focusing on Malik as he began to weave the tale of their adventure. “Your party finds itself in the coastal town of Silverbrook, where locals speak of strange lights seen over the ancient ruins to the north…”

Malik had run countless campaigns during those years of grief and isolation, creating increasingly colorful worlds as a refuge from his own pain. But nothing could have prepared him for the chaos that this particular group laid to his plans.

Within twenty minutes, Daniel’s bard had attempted to seduce an innkeeper, Knox’s rogue had gotten arrested for stealing from the town mayor, and Lyrian’s druid had accidentally set fire to a stable while trying to impress the horses.

“I still don’t understand why we can’t resolve this with diplomacy,” Caelen’s paladin declared after Zev suggested breaking into the mayor’s house to force him to release Knox.

“Because Adrian’s cleric already punched the guard captain,” Knox pointed out.

Adrian looked sheepish. “He was rude to an old lady!”

Malik tried to maintain control of the narrative, but soon gave up and simply adapted to their unpredictable choices.

When Zev rolled his first natural twenty to intimidate a group of bandits, he examined the dice with satisfaction. “I like this game.”

“You get it now?” Malik asked.

“I get that this means I win,” Zev replied, indicating the twenty. “I like that.”

Hours flew by. Pizza boxes emptied, character dynamics evolved, and even Caelen became invested enough to argue with Knox about proper tactics. Lyrian expressed interest in being the game master for the next session, and Daniel documented everything with excessive notes for his character’s “memoirs.”

Near midnight, as the adventure reached a natural pause, Malik looked around the table at his friends—his family—and felt something settle in his chest. These people from two worlds, once strangers thrust together by chaos and danger, now gathered around his table for nothing more serious than shared stories and laughter.

Later, after everyone had left with promises to continue the campaign next week, Malik and Zev stood in the quiet kitchen.

“Did you enjoy it?” Malik asked, loading plates into the dishwasher.

Zev leaned against the counter, violet eyes thoughtful. “It was… illuminating.”

“Illuminating?”

“To see them all like this. At peace.” He crossed his arms, an unconscious habit when processing emotions. “Next to me, Knox used to be one of the Court’s most valuable weapons. Now he argues about fictional tactics while eating pepperoni pizza.”

Malik closed the dishwasher and straightened. “People change.”

“Yes,” Zev agreed softly. “They do.”

They moved through the house, turning off lights and locking doors—a domestic ritual that had become comfortable over the past months. As they passed the kitchen, Zev eyed the refrigerator with what might have been a nod of grudging respect. At least for tonight, it had remained obediently silent after the filter change.

In their bedroom, Malik sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Zev methodically removed weapons that, despite Malik’s protests, he still carried even on Earth. Old habits died hard.

“The Jahan Foundation received official nonprofit status today,” Malik said. “We can start accepting major donations next week.”

“That’s good news.” Zev placed a dagger on the nightstand. “What does that mean for your schedule?”

“More meetings. Press conferences eventually.” Malik hesitated. “Will you come with me? To some of them?”

Zev stilled, turning to look at him. “You want me there?”

“Of course I do.”

Something vulnerable flickered across Zev’s face before he controlled it. “I’m not exactly a comforting presence for traumatized youths.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Malik rose, crossing to Zev. “You understand survival in a way few do. You understand what it means to rebuild yourself from nothing.” He took Zev’s hands in his. “Besides, I need you there.”

Zev’s fingers tightened around his. “Then I’ll be there.”

They remained like that for a moment, the simple contact conveying more than words could.

“Did you ever imagine this?” Malik asked eventually. “When we were prisoners in the Night Court?”

Zev’s mouth quirked. “That I’d be living on Earth, playing games with the Shadow King, and battling household appliances?” His expression grew more serious. “No. I imagined either our deaths or an existence of constant running.”

“And now?”

“Now,” Zev said, drawing Malik closer, “I imagine many more game nights. More foundation launches. More bratty appliances.”

“More us,” Malik supplied.

Zev nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “More us.”

Zev kissed Malik softly, then with growing intensity. As they moved toward the bed, a beep sounded from downstairs.

Zev froze. “The dishwasher,” he growled.

Malik laughed, pulling him back. “It’s just finishing its cycle. Ignore it.”

“Your appliances have terrible timing,” Zev murmured against Malik’s lips.

“Let them,” Malik whispered back. “We have better things to focus on.”

The dishwasher beeped its cycle-complete tone once more, then fell silent, as if conceding the point. Tonight, at least, the household technologies would not disturb their peace.

They had earned it.