“Seth?” Ani looked up at him. “I’ve never been here and… help?”

“Give me a minute.” Seth shuddered, looking as pained as Devlin had.

As she watched, he became different. Mortal. Suddenly, Ani was crouched on the ground in Faerie with no one strong enough to fight beside her. Rabbit was more mortal than not in his strength, and while he could fight, it wasn’t his greatest skill. Devlin appeared comatose, and Seth was a mortal.

“Well, this is going beautifully so far,” Ani muttered.

“It’s going to get worse if we don’t wake his ass up.” Seth sat down beside Ani. He was still shivering and sweating, but he looked less like he might vomit. “You trust me?”

Do I? He wasn’t Dark Court, but Rabbit trusted him. The Dark King trusted him. He’s not Pack. The Dark Kings’ mortal beloved, Ani—and Tish’s—friend Leslie, trusted him. He might not be ours, but he fought with the Hunt. And he wants to kill Bananach. Devlin trusted him.

“For now,” she said.

“Good enough. We probably only have a few minutes till she comes.” He reached out for her sgian dubh. “Can I take that?”

“Borrow.”

He flicked his tongue at his lip ring. “Fair correction. Borrow.”

She extended the blade, hilt first.

“He needs blood, Ani. That’s the part he didn’t want you to know.”

“Blood?” She’d watched the Ly Ergs absorb blood through their palms, seen her own family blend it into ink and wear art in their skin with it. The Gabriel always carried his king’s—or queen’s—blood in the living oghams on his forearm.

Blood feeds the magick. The words whispered in the air. Blood binds, and blood promises.

“Devlin requires blood to live,” Seth confirmed. “He has always required the blood of both who made him.”

Ani let her gaze roam over their surroundings, assuring that no one attacked without their noticing, verifying where her brother was, but she listened to Seth’s words.

“I see the future, Ani.” Seth stared up at her. “I see things that… are secret.”

Ani froze. Seth’s eyes held unspoken knowledge. He knew things he shouldn’t, things he hadn’t told her.

“Your blood is different.” Seth glanced at Devlin, who was motionless, and then continued, “It’s what they fight over. It’s what Irial tests…. And it’s unusual enough to nourish Devlin.”

“If I… What does it mean if I give him my blood?” She felt as much as saw the world shifting.

“You’d be bound to him,” Seth said. “It’s… your choice, but if you do this, he’s bound to you, not them.”

Behind him, the world was changing. A dead landscape was bursting into spring all around them. Trees were blossoming in a riot of scents. The grass under them was growing, brightening into a vibrant green. It was a world waking from dormancy.

Faerie will survive now that Seth has returned to Sorcha.

Seth didn’t look at any of that, though. “It’s the oldest magick, and the future will shift if you do this.”

“For the better?” she asked.

“I see threads, not answers.” Seth tugged his lip ring into his mouth. “I’m new to this world, Ani. Still guessing and hoping.”

She heard the things he wasn’t saying, the words he didn’t offer to her. “You think it’ll be for the better, though.”

“For the people I care about? Yes,” he admitted.

She glanced at her brother, who stood silently gazing on the peculiar landscape around them. “That includes Devlin? And Rabbit?”

“Yes. And others you don’t care for.” Seth gave her a very serious look. “And not better for Bananach.”

“Okay.” Ani took the sgian dubh and slashed open her forearm. She knelt on the soil beside Devlin and clasped his hand in hers, so that their arms were resting bloody sides together.

Seth told her the words and she repeated, “Blood to blood, I am yours. Bone to bone. Breath to breath. My hungers yours to feed, and yours mine to feed.”

The world shifted to shades of gray all around her as her blood flowed into Devlin’s wounded arm. Her wolves, the feral things she’d dreamed so often, lay alongside them in the grass. Their eyes were no longer green but red. No longer of the mortal world. The part of the Hunt that she carried was different here. Ours.

From the earth beside them, a hazel tree burst forth. It stretched to the sky, shading them with twisted boughs from which flowers hung. As she watched, a copse of smaller hazel trees surrounded them.

“And I am yours,” Devlin said.

She looked at him.

He had opened his eyes and was staring at her with the same eyes as their wolves. “Blood to blood. Bone to bone. Breath to breath. My hungers yours to feed, and yours mine to feed.”

He kissed her, swallowing her energy as she’d taken his, but it did not drain her—or him.

The growling of wolves pulled her attention. The creatures she’d dreamt of weren’t merely dream now: they were alive and snarling at the silver-eyed faery who approached.

Sorcha.

Her dress was that of some long-gone era; everything about her bespoke a more formal time. She was corseted and coiffed, and as she walked, veiled attendants accompanied her. This is the faery I’ve feared? She was utterly unlike the mad raven-faery.