Bite Of Winter (Fae's Captive #3)(2)

Para blinks, then nods slowly. “Yes. That’s exactly what it is. Too many of my people suffer it, and you’re the way to change all that. I can’t let you leave.”

My ice grows, coating everything and cracking the red dirt beneath it. I should slay them all and leave nothing alive. And then I will comfort my mate, assure her that she will never go hungry again.

Taylor squeezes my arm and whispers, “Hang on. Give me a chance, please.”

I keep the magic at bay, the ice stopping like the edge of a frozen lake just in front of the Vundi.

Taylor raises her voice again and addresses Para. “I don’t know you, but I don’t want you to die. And maybe you haven’t noticed, but Leander is on the verge of freezing all of you to death. Can we all just pull back and talk about this? Everyone put their weapons down.”

Para finally breaks her eye contact with Taylor and looks up at me. Her brows furrow and she lets out a low sigh, as if she’s defeated, disgusted, or just tired. Based on the circles under her eyes and her gaunt cheeks, no longer hidden by the scarf, I would guess the latter. She seems to weigh Taylor’s words, then says, “Winter king, give me your word you will keep your magic in abeyance during our talks, and I will have my people stand down. But I make no promises, not to you or your changeling, about what happens after we meet with the council and the high priestess.”

“We can’t trust her,” I growl.

“Leander, please. Hasn’t there been enough death?” Taylor rests her forehead against my back, her warmth soothing the cold heart of winter inside me. “If there’s a chance we can talk our way out of this, we should at least try.”

I wrestle with my need to destroy them, to freeze their hearts until the threat is gone. But the non-feral part of me is yelling to stand down. With every day that passes, that voice gets quieter and quieter, the feral side of me growing louder.

“Leander.” She strokes her hand down my back. “Please, for me.”

“Anything for you.” Even the feral fae can agree to that, though it still sneaks in a whisper of “claim her, here on the ground in front of them all” before dissipating along with my ice. “Gareth.” I give him a nod.

“Weapons down, all of you.” He shrinks the ball of destruction between his palms until it disappears.

Para whistles high and sharp, and her warriors sheathe their blades and drop back, but not far.

“The storm is almost here.” The warrior who wields Taylor’s obsidian blade steps to Para’s side. Light brown scales fan out from beneath his crimson scarf, ending along the lower parts of his cheeks.

“We’ve called destruction to us with the scent of blood.” He surveys the dead along the ground.

Para spares a glance over her shoulder. “The Ancestors are punishing me.”

“Dust storm.” Gareth whistles, and Sabre hurries to him. “We need to make camp before it hits.”

Kyrin walks over and nuzzles Taylor. She rubs his muzzle like an old friend.

“So we’re running from the storm, yeah? Because it doesn’t look like fun.” Beth peers into the distance.

“You can’t run from the wrath of the Ancestors.” Para motions to her warriors. They disperse, dragging their dead with them and seeping into the red oblivion on either side of the road before disappearing. The one with the scales and the obsidian blade remains, guarding Para’s back.

“Wait. I need your oath.” I’m asking for more than simple words. An oath among the fae is so serious as to be unbreakable. Any fae who ignores this fact will be branded an outcast and never allowed to speak amongst their brethren without reproach. And if the oath is serious enough, it can kill the fae who breaks it. “A promise to the Ancestors that we will be safe in your realm and that you will not attempt to take my mate.”

Para bristles, then gives a curt nod. “I will give my oath to the Ancestors that you shall not be harmed and will be treated as honored guests if you promise to never speak of what you see during your time with the Vundi.”

“And my mate?”

“She will not be harmed.”

“And you will not attempt to take her.” It’s not a question.

“We will allow you to speak to the high priestess and the council of elders. You have my word that she will not be taken before that time.”

Her companion’s eyes, now slitted like a snake’s, narrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And after?”

She presses her lips into a fine line.

A growl rises in my chest, bloodlust bursting in my veins.

“She can’t promise that, Leander. Not yet,” Taylor says softly. “But that’s what the talks are for. It gives us a chance.”

A guttural shriek tears across the wide plains.

“Decide quickly,” the male Vundi says. “There’s more in the storm than simply dust.”

“Do you agree, winter king?” Para presses.

Taylor leans against me, a silent promise that she isn’t going anywhere. “Please, Leander.”

I bend to the will of my mate, because she is the only reason my heart beats and my breath stirs. “I agree.” The sizzle of magic whips through the air, and the deal is struck.

“Follow me.” Para turns and heads into the low brush as her companion eyes us.