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.”