him, Bron told himself, as he had many times as a little boy.
But it was hard not to look at Cullen. He had always drawn the spotlight to himself, seemingly without effort.
Bron reached deep within himself and called to the very roots beneath his feet, and to the branches above.
Rise, my brothers, he said to the trees. If I cannot protect you, you must fight for yourselves.
There was a groaning in the forest as roots tore themselves free from the loamy soil and trunks moved out of the path of the equipment.
“Whoa,” he heard Sara breathe behind him.
A giant oak wrenched itself from the ground and slammed a massive branch down on a backhoe, which crumpled, smashing its shadowy rider into a fine mist.
A shadow fae driving a bulldozer realized what was going on and tried to turn away from the copper beech tree it was attempting to topple. But the clever beech shivered and bent in the middle, stabbing the bulldozer with dozens of sharp branches.
Bron felt the magic blasting out of his body, as if the forest were sucking it in as hard as he was pushing it out. It wanted to survive. It wasn’t ready to go down without a fight.
He pushed a surge of energy out of himself, feeding the trees until the earth seemed to rumble beneath his feet.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had never pushed himself this way before.
But none of it mattered.
Miranda was coming back. He was sure of it. He couldn’t allow his queen to return to this kind of danger.
As soon as his brother realized what she meant to Bron, he would break her.
And Bron couldn’t bear that.
He pushed even harder, drawing on reserves of strength he never knew he had.
But when he opened his eyes, he could see his strength was slipping.
A dump truck plowed through a stand of saplings and hit a big maple so hard it nearly doubled over.
Tristan moved to help, but the light in his hands was smaller now, more like a sunset than a midday blaze.
They were fading, all of them.
How had Cullen amassed such power?
A familiar tug at some deep part of him made Bron wheel around. In the noise of the battle, he must have missed the sound of a car’s engine approaching.
Miranda stood at the head of the driveway, clutching something in her hand and looking out over the trees in horror.
21
Miranda
Miranda could see that something strange was happening as soon as she pulled into the drive.
The trees were thrashing, and darkness hung over the woods like a raging storm, though she had driven through nothing but blue skies and sunshine for the last half an hour.
She parked and dashed out of the car, taking the steps down to the rose garden two at a time, where an unbelievable, horrific scene unfolded before her eyes.
Sara, Dorian, Tristan, and Tabitha stood shoulder to shoulder, launching small balls of light at something that writhed and shivered like a shadow in the trees.
Bron stood before them, his big arms stretched to the heavens, muscles trembling with effort.
His brow was furrowed and sweat poured down his chest.
All around him, the trees were uprooting themselves as if he were lifting them from the ground himself.
She had never seen anyone make an effort like this. It didn’t look like he could keep it up much longer. What would happen when he had nothing left to give?
“Bron,” she screamed.
His eyes met hers for one agonizing second.
And then she noticed something familiar, but out of place.
“Miranda Cannon,” Cullen Ward said smoothly, turning to her from where he stood.
“M-Mr. Ward?” she stammered.
“Are you involved in this in some way?” he asked politely.
He glanced at her hand and his eyes widened slightly.
“You’re the consort to the King of the Wilds?” he chuckled, recovering. “Oh, Miranda, how could you stoop so low?”
“She’s not my consort,” Bron roared with strength Miranda didn’t think he could spare. “She is my queen.”
“Not yet she’s not, brother,” Ward said coolly. “I only see a ring, a promise of what could be. Perhaps what will be. If you agree to take her through the veil along with Tristan and Dorian, and then let me destroy the doorway with you on the other side.”
“Her life is here,” Bron gasped. “And this world deserves our protection.”
“Suit yourself,” Mr. Ward said.
Miranda had heard that tone from him many times - usually in the boardroom, just before Cullen Ward ruined a company or a career.
“No,” she cried,