Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,106
dip my head in recognition of his authority. I pitch my voice low. “I want to talk about Talia.”
Sylas’s jaw tenses. He steps away from the tree, letting his hand fall to his side. With one word, the breeze ripples around us, and I know he’s persuaded the air to muffle our conversation as an extra precaution.
He returns his attention to me. “What’s there to talk about?”
He thinks he can still sidestep the issue, does he? A prickle of frustration wears at my sense of respect. This kind of evasion isn’t like the brother who guided so much of my upbringing or the lord I swore to serve—at least, I don’t want to believe it’s like him. The loss of our former domain and the shattering of his mate-bond and his pack have taken their toll, possibly to a greater extent than I’ve seen.
I keep my stance firm. “We brought her back last night. You didn’t even give her the option of continuing on to make her way home. It’s almost the full moon. What are we going to do with her?”
Sylas sighs. My heart starts to sink, preparing for him to dodge the subject even more blatantly, but instead he says, “What do you think, August? It isn’t really a choice even for us, especially now that we have Tristan’s cadre sniffing around more than they should. We must turn her over to the arch-lords.”
I wanted a straight answer, but now that I have it, everything in me resists. “We can’t. They might throw her into a cage no better than the one Aerik shut her away in. They won’t care about anything but keeping her alive enough so they can harvest her blood.”
“Skies above, don’t let yourself ever talk about them so carelessly in anyone else’s company.” Sylas frowns. He isn’t happy with the decision, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s made it. “You think too little of our overlords. Celia isn’t known for unnecessary violence, and Donovan has some kindness for humans—his servants have always been well-treated when I’ve visited his domain. I intend to approach him, to see that she goes into his care.”
“But none of them will see her as worthy of having an actual life, not when she’s the answer to this unsolvable problem all our kin are facing. And if they let Ambrose take the lead regardless…”
Tristan’s second-cousin, the most recent of the arch-lords to claim his spot by the Heart, has never made a secret of his disdain for all things mortal. He might lack Kellan’s concentrated hostility, but I saw plenty of casual cruelty when we were held in high enough esteem to call on the arch courts.
He’ll probably insist on taking lead when he finds out it’s us offering up this gift. He was the one who spoke the most harshly against Sylas when the judgment was laid down. Not surprising, Whitt said at the time. Those who usurp their way to a throne are always the most offended by any whiff of treason from anyone else.
“Do you think I wouldn’t send her off to live in peace in her own world if I could?” Sylas demands. “She lost that chance the moment Aerik tasted her blood. Even if we returned her and gave up what she offers us, how long would it take before he tracked her down again and she was even worse off than before? He found her once without even meaning to. You know he’ll never give up.”
I do, and the knowledge angers me more than the pronouncement Sylas made. But Sylas is the one in front of me—Sylas is the only one I can argue with.
“Then we keep her here where she’s protected and we figure out the rest from there.”
“I can’t see any way to protect our pack and keep word from getting back to the arch-lords—and she’ll be treated much more harshly if she’s taken through force.”
“Then we don’t use her at all. Whatever caused this curse, it’s ours to bear, not hers. She deserves better.”
“We can’t offer any better.” Sylas motions for me to head back toward the keep. “Enough, August. You’ve said your piece. I’ve made my decision, and believe me, I wasn’t hasty in it.”
I should stand down. The instincts honed through decades of service wrench at me. But this once, something stronger holds me in place: the memory of Talia’s mouth against mine, her taste on my lips, her body both delicate and unimaginably strong pressed to