Isa’s mind and soul slammed back into her body with enough force to make her convulse again.

Her back arched, her heart started—its rhythm a staccato beat—and her lungs contracted. She opened her mouth, hauled in air with a strangled wheeze. She flailed, flailed, her arms and legs twitching, every single nerve overloaded with too much sensation.

“Isa.”

Darkness still, this one harsher than the stygian velvet she’d just floated in. Colder, except…for the heat of the arms that held her.

“I’m here. Isa, baby. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” His voice broke. “You’re okay.”

She opened her eyes, and the world was gold and light and sunshine, finely honed beauty, and myriad shades of brown, and love in the tears that ran down his cheeks.

Basil.

Her hand rose to touch his face, trembling fingers brushing his lips. “I was…”

“I know.” Hoarse, his voice was so hoarse.

“But you brought me back.” She frowned. “How?”

A jerky shake of his head. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

She blinked, remembering, her frown deepening. “You…unmade me.” A tiny gasp. “And wove me back together…”

“Whatever I did,” he whispered, “whatever it was, I don’t care, as long as you’re here, you’re back…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I couldn’t lose you. You’re my life. You’re everything. I need you here, with me. When I saw you die…” He shook, shook so hard he made her tremble as well.

“Shh.” She brought her other hand to his face, too, cupped his cheeks, stroked up into that hair of spun gold. “You came for me. You brought me back. I’m here now.”

He clutched her to him then, his embrace speaking of despair in the face of death, of an abyss of loss in his soul that gaped so devastatingly, it threatened to drag her down into the void of his excruciating pain. She inhaled on a shudder, grabbed onto him with all the force of her newly sparked life, to let him know, down to his bones and the marrow of his soul, that she was going to hold on to him as hard as he did to her.

“I will always come for you.” A harsh whisper against her ear, a vow that was a balm to her battered heart. “I’ll never let you go, Isa. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and not even Death will take you from me.”

It broke out of her on a sob. All the fear and the anger, the guilt and the despair, the greedy, insatiable, selfishly selfless love, the hope for the impossible, the rush of disbelieving joy, it poured out of her with the waning of adrenaline in her veins, and she was left shaking in Basil’s arms, crying into his neck.

He held her, and rocked her, and together they cried, for what could have been minutes, or hours, or eternity.

Only when Basil eventually lifted his head and spoke to someone else did Isa realize they weren’t alone. With a start, she twisted in Basil’s arms, glanced around.

Calâr’s lifeless body—or what was left of it—lay several feet away, but two other people stood in the temple—a demon and a witch. The male she recognized immediately, her stomach dropping with acidic fear. The way he glared at her…he, too, remembered how they met before, and under what circumstances.

“It’s okay,” Basil said. “He won’t harm you. Aren’t I right…Father?”

Those amber eyes sparked in a face so similar to the male she loved, and yet so very, very different. Slowly, the demon inclined his head. “Since you…care for her.”

Basil gave him a sharp nod. “Isa,” he then said, “meet my mother, Hazel.”

A flash of warmest joy crossed the witch’s face when he introduced her—and Isa noticed, too, the fact he hadn’t said adoptive—before she stepped closer, smiled at Isa. “It’s good to meet you. Basil will have to tell me all about you.”

“Later,” he said. “First, we need to get Rose.”

Hazel’s expression tensed, the air around her darkened.

“Mom,” Basil rasped. “I know where she is. I’ve seen her.”

“How? Where?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure how to explain it. When I…went for Isa, I kind of…connected with all fae in Faerie. It’s like I had a direct link into their minds, their thoughts, their memories. There were so many of them, so much information, but I saw…Lily, just different. Someone who looks exactly like her, and—” He frowned. “Witch. I picked up on the word, and it was connected to her.”

Hazel’s lips trembled. “That has to be Rose.” She inhaled sharply, her eyes hardening. “Think you’ve seen enough to lead us to her?”

Basil gave her a grim nod.

“Then let’s go.”