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  Julia surveys what her power did—that her prayer was answered.

  The liquified demonic are sludge against stones that now have veins like runaway alabaster.

  Hades is changing.

  Julia is changed: Ghostly in form. Renewed. Triumphant.

  Scott begins to stride back the way they came, then jog.

  Then he runs.

  The walls of Hades blur on either side as he races toward the crater that allowed them entry. The tunnel narrows as Scott sprints the distance of what was the longest trek of Julia’s life.

  Bellowing reaches their ears, and Scott drives harder, carrying his soul-meld around his body and a warrior fey over his shoulder.

  When they reach the pit, Scott backs up several steps and runs to the bottom of the crater.

  He leaps. Fingers biting into the stone, he begins to scale the pit.

  Julia’s arms tighten around his neck, her breathing shallow.

  First, he sets one foot into the crevice of stone upon stone. His fingertips sinking as he climbs, he repeats the process, creating upward motion.

  Lachlan’s white braid smacks Julia as Scott makes his way to the top.

  Scott’s head breaches the entrance of the veil separating realms, a womb-like membrane bisecting the two, as he punches his fist upward. His flesh erupts through the material from Below and Between, and he gently shrugs Lachlan to the ground surrounding the deep pit.

  Scott’s powerful shoulders bunch as he heaves himself and Julia to safety and out of the crater.

  Julia continues to cling to him.

  “It’s okay, Julia,” Scott says in a voice that sounds like gravel rubbing together. Taking her hands from around his neck, he gently pries her off his body.

  With immense tenderness, he sets Julia on her feet.

  Julia looks down.

  Her lower legs are back. She wiggles her toes.

  Dark Master amputated her feet. She’d felt the blood leave her body and the pain of her body separating.

  But no more. She’s whole again. The way Scott is.

  She hikes her chin to look up at the Combatant, afraid to feel the relief that threatens to overtake her. Scott now stands nearly seven feet tall, and she cranes her neck to search his gaze, though his feelings still move through her.

  “I—are we safe?” Julia asks, delicate hope coloring her tone.

  Scott gives a single grave nod.

  Julia’s gaze lingers on his red irises for another moment before she turns away, sinking to her knees beside a still Lachlan.

  “Oh, Lachlan.”

  His skin is shriveled, like a human raisin. The pores of his skin are open like small wounds peppering his face everywhere she looks.

  “Why is this happening?”

  Hot tears roll down her face, dropping on Lachlan’s parched skin.

  Scott kneels beside her, taking her hand in his. “Why is any of this happening?”

  He raises her hand, and she can see the veins pulsing within the opaque skin in shimmering tones of silver and gold.

  Julia’s head whips to Lachlan, and her tears have become diamonds on his skin.

  They fell wet and dried to precious gems.

  As she watches, they smooth out like multi-faceted pools, spreading and intersecting with one another until they bathe his decaying skin, dipping into the fissures like rainwater seeking crevices in the parched desert.

  More tears fall as Julia covers her mouth to stifle her grief. But that emotion is a river now. The dam of her fingers does nothing to stop the flow of her grief. The more she cries over Lachlan’s body, the more her sadness shrouds Lachlan’s sacrifice to her.

  She has not a single doubt that Lachlan gave his life essence in exchange for Julia’s freedom from Hades, which in turn, she gave to Scott through their meld, allowing him to shift form so he could rescue them all.

  Essentially, Lachlan killed himself, saving them.

  Her eyes burn with what he gave up for them. “Brave” doesn’t begin to cover it.

  “Julia, listen to me.”

  She turns to Scott, seeing he’s returned to his natural form, but dark circles rim his eyes, and his lips and skin aren’t back to their normal state. The toll of what he just went through and the subsequent changing is proof.

  She feels his emotions through their tie and denies his thoughts, crying out, “He can’t die!”

  Scott dips his forehead until it presses against hers, pulling her close. “The sacrifice of one for the many is an ancient thing. The fey are wise, Julia. He had to save you for the greater good.”

  Julia hates the logic, the loss of the one fey who seemed selfless.

  “She saved herself,” a hoarse voice says from behind them, and they startle, breaking apart.

  Julia gasps at the sight of a fully restored Lachlan. His white hair is brilliant against the murk that hangs around this transition of realms. Lachlan’s eyes are equally striking—the silver rims of his irises shine like tinsel inside his severe face.

  “How?” Julia finds herself laughing and crying at the same moment, sudden euphoria from the shift of circumstances making her giddy.

  “It is all you, Blooded Queen—I but facilitated our energy exchange.”

  Julia flattens her palm on his chest. “I didn’t take your energy, Lachlan.”

  He gives a soft shake of his head. “Not of a purpose, no. Perhaps you instinctively used what you’ve been given.”

  Scott announces, “I don’t give a damn—as long as we got out of there and Julia is safe.”

  Julia arches a brow in Scott’s direction. “You must be feeling better.”

  He gives a rough exhale, swiping a palm over his dark hair. “I think it’s a huge bonus Lachlan made it, but I’m a practical guy, Julia—”

  Lachlan breaks in. “What Scott is trying to say so ineloquently is our lives do not matter as yours does. And in that, we’re in perfect agreement.”

  Julia fights her emotions for a long moment, unable to agree with Lachlan’s assessment of her importance, but does finally confess, “I prayed. I prayed to God.”

  “The ruler of us all.” Lachlan inclines his head.

  Julia twists her fingers together. Her voice is contemplative. “I don’t know that I’ve ever gone to church or expressed that I even believed in God.”

  Lachlan’s pure-white eyebrows rise. “Yet you are of angelic blood. Clearly, your lack of belief did not infringe itself when you needed to have faith.”

  Julia shakes her head.

  “I’m speculating here, but maybe God has his plan and sees it out when he wants and with whom.”

  “I don’t think I’m the right vehicle for all this,” Julia admits.

  “He doesn’t see it that way, Julia.” Scott swipes a lock of hair from her chest, tossing it behind her shoulder.

  “You saved yourself, and if you used me to accomplish that, it is as it should be, my Blooded Queen.”

  “I’m going to hug you now, Lachlan.”

  A fey blushing is a sight to behold.

  Julia wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes him. Julia thanks him from the deepest recesses of her mind.

  Lachlan gives an imperceptible nod and returns, And I thank thee for your healing sorrow.

  They pull apart, and Scott stands above them, holding his palms out.

  Lachlan and Julia slide their hands inside his and are tugged to standing, once again safe and sound in the realm of Between, where they belong.

  Scott

  Scott feels like day-old shit.

  Lachlan holds the front position, Scott the rear. A subdued Julia picks her way cautiously forward between them.

  He’s not thrilled with how drawn she looks. However, Scott understands that her looks have more to do with an emotional drain than physical.

  He took the time to survey her body from head to toe before they got going.

  Zero spore.

  No damage from what she refers to as “blowing up,” while she
took a dip in the molten fire pit while they were in hell and the Dark Master chopping off her lower legs to keep her there.

  Sorry, Hades.

  Scott is very glad he was out of it for the amputation of Julia's body parts. He's ashamed to admit it, but he's not sure he could’ve bore it.

  He shakes off the horrific memories, concentrating instead on what has to happen in the near future.

  They’ll need a memorial service for Victor. Clearly Dark Master somehow took over his body.

  Victor is no more. Friend, fellow Combatant, and yet another grave blow to Region One.

  Scott tries not to let yet another loss get to him. He’s got a shit ton to feel grateful for and should concentrate on that, not things he can’t change.

  Julia’s okay.

  That’s the biggie, but Lachlan got creamed, and there’s an unanswered question as to how Julia was able to save herself, leach energy from Lachlan, kill all those demons, and heal Lachlan with a batch of tears.

  Yeah.

  Why did Julia need to go to Hades to get rid of a demonic spore that saved her in the end? Was she being used to right some imbalance Below?

  Maybe they would never know.

  Or perhaps what Lachlan said was true: God had a grand plan all along. All those events needed to transpire to put everyone where they were at this precise moment—headed to Region One. Julia has already mentally contacted Cyn, who told everyone where to meet them.

  Scott can’t wait to get back home. It feels like forever since Victor dropped them off at the sithen’s doorstop. But it’s only been days.

  You okay? Scott reaches through their meld.

  Julia gives a tired nod, but her mental voice trembles through their connection. Just need to get back to One. I’ll feel so much better.

  Scott lets his love pour through the connection, his affirmation, everything he’s got.

  Julia stops, and he reaches her in a few strides, twining his arms around her small frame.

  “It’s okay, Julia—it’ll all be okay.”

  Her doubt pulses through their connection. Promise?

  I do. His telepathic reply resonates through the cord that binds them, and he senses her eyes close at his mental reassurance.

  They stand there so long, Lachlan turns and walks back.

  The trio are found where they stand, having come far enough in their journey that the remaining Combatants find them easily.

  Alone in the woods, but not lonely.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jenni

  I know that,” Jenni bites out. She’s suddenly pissed. She and Quillon are mated—she’s not entirely sure what that means, but it sounds pretty damn permanent. He bit her, and she made a fool of herself. She’s ticked that she endangered everyone.

  Then Jenni’s extra pissed because she can’t get over anything, and she keeps playing the same stupid crap over in her mind like a broken record.

  Quillon crosses his arms, planting his feet wide and glaring down at her.

  Fine. He can be mad.

  He’s not the one seeing out of one eye and doesn’t know which way is up.

  Jenni bites down hard on her lip to keep it from trembling, and dammit if she doesn’t bursts into tears—just like a girl—that burn her bad eye as a healing cut reopens.

  Quillon doesn’t rush in to comfort her, and Jenni’s grateful, because she doesn’t want it.

  Jenni wants a good cry and to be left alone to do it.

  Minutes pass, and Jenni yanks her fourth tissue from the holder. When she’s sopped up her mess and the pity party she just threw herself is over, Jenni dares to glare back at Quillon.

  His shoulders are shaking.

  With laughter.

  “Not one thing is funny about this,” Jenni says, folding her arms across her chest.

  Prick.

  Quillon dips his chin, rubbing the bronze stubble that peppers his square jaw. “No. But here’s the thing. I’m trying to do all the right things without a manual, and I’ve got the female I’m mated to falling apart, and I don’t know the first damn thing to do to make it right. And you’re not exactly approachable.” His lips twist.

  He might have a small point. Jenni drops her arms into her lap.

  After a full minute has passed, she finally asks, “What does this mated thing mean for us?”

  Quillon shifts his weight, letting his arms fall to his sides.

  Not good. Jenni can smell his discomfort, and that’s a first since she met him. Quillon is confidence personified.

  “Well… your lack of reaction is bad.”

  Quillon shakes his head. “No. It’s wonderful to be mated,” he says in a low voice, dragging a hand through his red hair. The gesture makes the short strands stand on end. “But mating a female doesn’t usually happen like it did between you and me.”

  Jenni glances at him then away. “Did you want to be mated to me?” she whispers.

  Quillon sits on the bed beside her, and leaning down, he cups her chin so gently, she can barely feel his touch. Softly, he presses his lips to hers.

  Fire tears through Jenni and she gasps.

  Quillon’s tongue softly breaches the seam of her lips, and with a tenderness that brings tears again, he slides his tongue along the lower lip she just bit. The tiny lap of his tongue heals the small wound she made.

  Leaning back, he creates a small distance between them, searching her eyes. “What do you think?”

  A shaky laugh escapes Jenni. “Maybe.”

  Quillon’s smile is sly. “There’s no maybes in Lycan culture. Our beasts often choose the females for us. We’re helpless in the process. We can have sex with any female, but our wolf chooses our mate, Jenni.”

  “But how—I mean, I just landed here and my life’s a mess and I was human, like, five seconds ago—”

  Quillon puts a fingertip to her lips. “None of those circumstances are important in the world of Lycan. Everything is about instinct. If we had to think it out, we’d all be dead.”

  “So you… what?” Jenni gives a helpless little shrug. “Met me and knew?”

  Quillon chuckles, tucking a thick strand of hair behind her ear, and Jenni has a sudden, insane urge to kiss the forearm that brushes her cheek with the motion and resists.

  “Suspected,” he admits, giving a short laugh. “But then my beast let me know, big time—and there was no question. Plus”—he scrubs his chin again—“when my body produced essence to heal you, the choosing was already over with. Decided.”

  Jenni scoots back, and Quillon’s eyes tighten.

  She just needs some space.

  “So now what?” Jenni rolls her bottom lip inside her mouth for a second then suddenly thinks of something. “I’m sorry, where are my manners?” Jenni rises to her knees, wincing at her still-sore bodily injuries, and leaning forward, she wraps her arms around Quillon’s thick neck, surprising him.

  He returns the gesture cautiously.

  “Thank you for my life, Quillon.”

  She feels his Adam’s apple work against her temple, and he replies, “It’s just Quill, Jenni.”

  Jenni withdraws, sitting on her knees, and this close, she can see little flecks of navy within the deep green of his irises. “I’m sorry. I should have said that first before anything else.”

  “It’s okay.”

  The tension is so thick, she could cut it with a knife. “Um, I still want to know what our new status means. Are we married or what?”

  Quill barks out a laugh. “Being mated is married, all right.”

  “But I don’t know you.”

  His gaze moves to serious instantly. “Your beast knows mine. Watch.”

  Instinctively, Jenni moves to retreat, and in a blur, Quill’s arms circle her, gently drawing her against his body.

  Quill wraps a strong hand around Jenni’s nape and lowers his face to her neck—exactly over the healing scar where his teeth were when he saved her.

  At the press of his flesh against hers, a
pulse starts like a thread of arousal; that string unravels from where his lips press, right to her sex.

  She groans, and Quill’s deep-emerald eyes roll to meet hers. After he releases her flesh, Jenni can still feel the touch of his lips like a brand of fire.

  Jenni gives a wobbly laugh, pulling back slightly. “What the hell was that?”

  “That,” Quill says, “is the meeting of our wolves. When two Were are meant to be together, it’s like a melody to harmony.” Quill links his fingers together.

  “That’s poetic.” Jenni can’t help but feel a little jaded.

  He lifts a powerful shoulder. “It’s difficult to explain. If you were born Lycan, this would all be unspoken knowledge. Right now, I’m having to explain things that are difficult to express.”

  Jenni frowns. “Does Adi know all this?”

  Quill’s chin jerks back. “Of course. She would have felt the beast choosing with Slash. And it sounds like Slash resisted his beast for a while with that female.” He grunts.

  “Adi’s a lot,” Jenni admits, not without affection.

  “Yes,” Quill agrees. “We’ll figure this out together, but right now, I want to help your eye.”

  “Yeah,” Jenni says, self-consciously touching the injured eye. “I can’t see.”

  “I know,” he says softly. “I can fix it.”

  “Does this involve me having another orgasm?” Jenni asks, her clinical side peeking through.

  A flaming-red wash spreads across the back of Quill’s neck. “Maybe.”

  Jenni laughs, impulsively leaning forward again and giving Quill a peck on the lips. “I guess you can say we’ve broken the ice, right?”

  Quill scrubs a hand over his fiery nape. “Yeah, I suppose you could.” His eyes roam her features, and his face grows stoic again. “Hey, I want to kiss you again.”

  Jenni tries for bravery and, in the end, just says what she’s thinking. “And I want you to.”

  “Thank Moon,” he mutters.

  Jenni gives a little yelp when he plucks her from where she sits on the bed and puts her on his lap.

  He stills. “What—did I hurt you?”

  She shakes her head, lightly resting her palms on the tops of his wide shoulders for balance. “No, I just wasn’t expecting to get tossed on your lap so easily.”