When I push Shade onto his back for a better look, I find his cock somehow even larger than I remembered. Erect. Throbbing. Dressed in a bead of enticing moisture, the sight of which sends a zing of want right down to my sex. Stars. Reaching out, I brush the cock’s velvety underside.

Shade whimpers.

A wicked delight blooms inside me, fueled by the memory of a certain male who made me beg in a certain bathing room.

“Cub—” Shade’s eyes widen as he sees my grin, but my hands are already gripping the bare crests of his hips, my gaze teasing his twitching cock.

Bringing my mouth a hair’s breadth from the head, I blow gently over his skin, starting with ruffling the curly tufts of coarse black hair and ending squarely on the tip of my target. Then, with no warning, I flick my tongue and lap that thick, salty droplet right off.

Shade jerks, his strangled whine so wolfish that my heart speeds with feral excitement. The thrill of taking him into my mouth, of tasting him, fills me to the brim.

I lick him again, this time caressing his cock all the way along its glorious length, feeling the thick vessels hugging its underside, luscious and firm beneath my tongue. I pull away, replacing my tongue with my hands and rubbing the shaft only long enough to tease a breath from him. And then . . . then I take the whole of him into my mouth, suckling greedily.

Shade’s body shakes with a tension I recognize all too well from when he once did this to me. Each of his noises, his flinches of pleasure, fuels my own need.

“You . . . are . . . evil,” Shade manages to say, his hands curling in my hair and shaking as much as the rest of him.

I stop, find his yellow eyes, glazed with strain, and hold them as I take him deeper. Withdraw. Nip the sensitive underside of his cock, just below the head.

That, I discover a moment later, proves a strategic mistake.

With a roar of need, Shade yanks me up, tossing me onto my belly atop a quickly recruited flake of hay. I gasp at the feeling of my backside suddenly in the air, my sex raised for the taking. All thought leaves with the next breath as Shade settles on top of me, his knees spreading my wet thighs. Gripping my hips, the male sheathes himself inside me with a single, glorious thrust. His thickness fills a void inside me so thoroughly that when his hand comes around to stroke my bud, my whole body already hangs on the cliff’s edge.

The same edge that Shade rides himself.

We move together, again, again, holding on for the last heartbeats of unbearable strain. Then Shade’s lips find my ear, his voice raw. “I love you, mate,” he growls, sending us both tumbling off the cliff into an abyss of pleasure and agony and stars.

I find no words to utter in the wake of release, but none need be said. Shade pulls me up and settles me into the hollow of his shoulder, the thin sheen of sweat on his skin carrying his wonderful male musk.

The utter joy of our connection is as warm as a blanket, as warm as the male wrapping me in his arms. As I close my eyes, content in Shade’s strength, I wonder if the wolf’s mating bond hasn’t seeped into me as well.

I wake to the infant rays of a chilly dawn piercing my eyes. For a moment, as memories of last night wash over me, twin fires of pleasure and guilt kindle in my chest. The latter, a condition of encouraging Shade’s shift from wolf form, sputters out as quickly as it came.

Having wisely shifted back before returning from the stable, Shade’s wolf has somehow evicted me not only to a scrap of mattress but to the worst scrap of the lot. Trying to pull the blanket over my head to ward off the rays, I discover that this too has been coveted by the two-hundred-pound lump of lupine insolence.

My skin prickling with scratches from tumbling in straw and hay, I prod the beast with my foot. Judging from the sky’s soft red cast, I still have a good hour before I need to rise—and I want to spend it in comfort.

Shade’s ear twitches, the only sign he gives of being anything but a plush toy. He certainly does not condescend to open his eyes or—stars forbid—move.

“Canine parasite.” I jab his rump harder with my foot. “If you don’t move over, I’m going into Tye’s room.”

One yellow eye opens, blinking at me unhappily. With a slowness to match growing grass, the wolf climbs to his feet and lazily stretches his back paws. Then his front paws. Then his back, arching it up, up, up like a cat, then down, raising his tail toward the ceiling. Then—

“Shade!”

Giving me a long-suffering sigh, the wolf takes two steps away from the center of the bed before falling over on his side like a log.

Accepting the compromise, I settle into the newly vacated space. Small but warm and smelling wonderfully of fur and forest. Shade’s wolf shuffles himself, curling perfectly against my back, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest soothing my thoughts. That is, until I feel something prickling my skin and brush the sheet to discover . . . “You’re shedding?” I rub stray bits of gray fur off my skin and accept that all hopes of sleep are now gone.

I slip onto the floor, its stone cool and pleasantly rough beneath my bare soles, and take the few steps over to my dresser to pull free a uniform. Loose black breeches, a wine-colored tunic with a wide-open collar—the tailor still not having gotten around to taking in any of the shirts, even the smallest of which are too big on my small frame—and soft leather boots. I take extra care in wrapping a wide sash around my middle, the small touch transforming the uniform into a reasonably tasteful ensemble. I almost toss my nightshirt onto the bed, then remember Shade’s fur and think better of it. Of all the countless hazards I’d imagined of bonding with four elite fae warriors, dealing with shedding was somehow never one of them.

When I start the search for my hairbrush, Shade hops down from the bed and out the window, his body a streak of gray fur.

“What—?” I start to say, cutting off with a curse as I finally find my brush.

On the floor. Its once gorgeously carved wooden handle now a tangle of splinters and teeth marks.

Despite the early hour, River and Autumn are already in the common room, the male’s large body dominating the space without effort. Even sitting behind a worktable, his sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful, corded forearms, River’s simple movements as he turns sheets of paper are an exercise in control. When he lifts his gray eyes to me, my bones soften in spite of themselves.

“Leralynn.” River rises, the wide sash around his middle tightening against chiseled muscles. “Good morning.”

My name in River’s low voice echoes through me. Stupid. I’m stupid to let the male get under my skin. To harp on a simple kiss. To want him when he has other things on his mind. When we both do.

“It’s good to have you back.” I take a step toward him and kiss his cheek, feeling his body go rigid at the touch of my lips. “What did Klarissa want yesterday?”

“Aside from discussing our upcoming trial, nothing of consequence.” River pulls a chair out for me across the table, his clean, earthy scent wafting off him.

Putting my hand on the chair’s back, I meet River’s gaze. Tell me. Let me in.

The smooth angles of his face don’t budge, his set jaw giving me nothing.

I try not to let the hurt spiraling through me make it to my face.

“Good morning, Lera,” Autumn calls from the couch, balancing a book in one hand and chocolate pastry in the other. The female’s myriad silver-blond braids cascade down her delicate shoulders, one of which is bare beneath a wide-necked purple top that skims her bellybutton. “There is coffee if you hurry, before the rest of the vultures descend upon it.” She points to a tray on the side table, laden with coffee, tea, sweet breads, and fruit. The rich, bitter smell of roasted beans fills my nose as I pour the hot liquid into a delicate painted cup.

“I fear Autumn has already laid claim to the chocolate bread,” River says, passing a scone to me. “I was smart enough not to argue.”

“See, so you can be reasonable, rare as the occasion is,” Autumn says. “Speaking of reasonable, Klarissa told Kora last night that her quint is ready for the third trial. Which is horseshit.”

Returning to his seat, River takes a sip of coffee, setting the cup down carefully to avoid the documents. “If Klarissa says the quint is ready, I imagine they are.” His gaze returns to his reading. “The female is practical to a fault. As I see no reason why she might wish Kora’s quint dead, her decree of readiness is likely genuine.”

“I don’t like ‘likely,’” Autumn says, her body tight.

River turns over a page. “Liking it is not a requirement.”

I frown at the male. Being a jerk to me is one thing. Adding Autumn into the mix is unacceptable.

“What are you reading?” I ask, laying my palm flat over his damn papers. “And don’t you dare answer ‘nothing of consequence.’”

River looks from my hand to me and lifts a questioning brow. “A report from the council.” He waves at the text, his words calm. Conversational. “You are welcome to read for yourself, Leralynn. In short, the Night Guard attacked a mining village on Blaze Court’s northern border. Witnesses now claim to have seen a qoru in the mix.”

“Witnesses.” Autumn wrinkles her nose. “They probably saw dark hounds and jumped to bards’ tales. If the qoru found an open corridor from Mors to Lunos, I don’t imagine they’d waste the passage on raiding a few miners.” Her brows pull together, that keen intelligence sparkling in her eyes. “Though if Klarissa wanted to get your attention, River, the mention of a qoru or two would not go amiss.”

“Agreed.” River’s jaw tightens, something hidden and grim settling over his shoulders. A layer to this news that he refuses to share. “I’ll speak to her.”

“I’ll come with you,” I say, careful not to phrase it as a question. River may be the commander of this quint, but I’m not about to stop fighting for him. For us. Catching his gaze, I hold it tightly, raising my chin. My heart quickens. “When you go to meet with Klarissa, I’m going with you.”

“No need.” Breaking the gaze, River takes another sip of coffee. “Train. Your magic—your weaving—is the priority until both of the remaining trials are behind us. Shade’s magic is still recovering, so go with Coal.”

Heat rises to my face, the fire inside me growing to match River’s ice. “I wish to come with you.” My voice is even. Hard. “I will somehow endeavor not to distract the adults.”

Autumn snorts.

“I don’t want me distracting you,” River says, eyes flashing. “You can involve yourself in politics and strategy after you master your powers. Learning control is a better use of your time than listening to me explain all the nuances of these reports—without which the conversation with Klarissa would make little sense to you.”

Go play with Coal while the grownups talk. “If training my magic is so important, how come we’ve not attempted to work with your earth affinity?” I ask sweetly. “Not since before we even knew me to be a weaver.”

River runs a hand through his hair. A tell. The prince is worried. About me? The reports? Something else? My body tightens, the not knowing like a scrape of nails on stone.

“You cannot catch up on three centuries of political intrigue in three weeks, Leralynn,” he says finally. No apology, not even a hint of one, shining behind his gray eyes. “We all have our duties. Just now, yours is to harness magic and mine is to confer with Klarissa on these reports she sent me.”

My blood sizzles. “And if I insist, Prince?”

Reaching across the table, River takes hold of my chin, his grip tightening when I attempt to jerk free. “Then I will order you to stand down, Leralynn,” he says without blinking an eye. “And you will obey.”