Prologue
Wylder
The night before…
“I’m half-Fae?” Wylder wasn’t shouting, but it was a close thing. Sigurd, his uncle, had been his only parent his whole life. He’d been too young to remember his mother before her death, but Sig had always been there, and he’d always told Wylder the truth. Or so he thought. “What the fuck, Sig! You didn’t think I needed to know that?”
Sigurd seemed to gather himself, straightening his back and clenching his hands into fists at his sides. Through the haze of betrayal and confusion, Wylder realized he’d never seen Sigurd look so afraid, but there it was—absolute terror shining back at him out of Sigurd’s clear blue eyes.
“I’m sorry, Wyld. I…” Sigurd faltered, running a hand down his face. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you. I just…I didn’t knowhow, and some selfish part of me thought you’d be safer if you didn’t know. Didn’t have to live with that hanging over you.”
“Butyoudid.” Wylder blew out a hard breath. “You’ve lived with it hanging over me, and I understand not telling me when I was younger. I really do. But I’m grown now. You didn’t have to be vigilant on your own.”
Sigurd’s eyes went shiny. “On my own or not, I’ll always be vigilant over you, kid. I hear it’s what parents do.”
Walking across the room, Wylder pulled his uncle into a hug. Because he might be mad, but Sig wasn’t wrong. HewasWylder’s parent. His family. It’d been the two of them all of Wylder’s life, and even if he’d sometimes wished for a family like most of the other kids had, he’d also realized early on how very lucky he was. Sigurd loved him. Put him first. Took care of him. Was always there.
Pulling back, he gripped Sig’s shoulders. They were almost the exact same height and build now—tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. It’d been strange to wake up one morning and suddenly be able to look Sig straight in the eyes, but he really wasn’t a kid anymore. Thirty years old and a man of his own. “I love you, Sig. Yeah, I’m upset. It’s a lot to take in. I do wish you’d told me sooner, but I’m glad to know now.”
Sig nodded, resting a hand on the side of Wylder’s neck. “You’re a good kid. I love you too.”
Wylder let out a breath and went to sit on the edge of his bed. “So I’m half-Fae? My mom was a badass who helped seal the door to the Fae world, and somehow, I’m the key to opening that door. Which would be a bad thing?”
“Yes.” Sigurd spun the desk chair around and sat to face him. “You’re the key because you’re half-Fae with no manifested power. Your poweristhe ability to open the door. We sealed the door because the Wild Hunt had set its sights on this realm.”
“Okay. Obviously, I’ve heard of the Hunt, but what’s the real story?”
“As far as I know, no one knows exactly how it came to be. No human, anyway. It’s driven by the collective magic of Fae storms and its riders. The leader changes. When we closed the door, the current Hunter was more bloodthirsty than any Fae had seen in centuries, and he was determined to bring the Hunt here.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know. Although, I’m not sure there’s even a reason beyond a new hunting ground.”
“Who else knows about this? About me?”
“Silva, Lenette, and Kerak.”
“The Demon King?” Wylder’s brain was spinning. He’d seen Kerak, of course, when Derek and Hollis got married, but it felt weird thinking he knew something so personal about Wylder. Something Wylder hadn’t even known himself.
Sigurd snorted a laugh. “Yes. Silva was hesitant to bring him in, but at the time, we needed the help. Kerak is a powerful ally.”
“You said Silva is a Fae.”
“He is, and you’ll meet him soon. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
Silva
Silva had been in Sigurd’s house hundreds of times before, but not once since Wylder had been born. Maybe it was Wylder’s half-Fae heritage or just a general unease in the presence of small children that had prompted Silva to leave Solston when Wylder was born. He’d gone to gather information they could use to stop the Hunt and monitor any other Fae in this realm, as well as any smaller cracks between the realms. Cracks like those came and went, sometimes opening naturally and sometimes with magic. They weren’t big enough for the Hunt or any being to pass through, but Silva was convinced that’s how rumors of the Hunt or any other bogeyman started. Fae liked mischief, and similar to old wives’ tales in the human world, they could whisper enough truth to spark the rumor mill into action.
He’d come back to help close the door, but he’d gone right back to what he considered his duties as soon as the battle was done. Perhaps a better friend would’ve stayed to help Sigurd navigate the loss of his sister and grow into the new parental role he’d found himself in, but Silva had his own grief to work through. The Fae realm may have been a dangerous place, and closing the door had absolutely been the right thing to do, but knowing he may never go home again was…hard.
When he’d arrived at Sigurd’s house tonight, he’d found the most bizarre thing hanging from the back doorknob—a mini noose strangling a red rose. It was close to Halloween, but this didn’t seem like Sigurd’s style of decor. After Sigurd had confirmed it wasn’t, he’d sent Silva up to the third floor to wake Wylder.
Now, standing outside the only room on the third floor with a slow, steady heartbeat inside, Silva took a breath. Wylder’s scent was warm, similar to Sigurd’s but richer, spicy in a way that sent tendrils of heat crawling through Silva’s belly.
Slowly, he pushed open Wylder’s door. The dim glow of early morning light filled the room from the double windows in the far wall. Across from them, Wylder lay on the bed on his stomach, arms tucked up under his pillow and the sheet bunched at his waist, revealing a broad back with defined muscle resting under tanned skin.
Silva swallowed. The searing warmth speeding through his veins and lighting up his whole body should’ve surprised him. He should be shocked, but he wasn’t. Wylder was his mate, and somehow he’d known. And there he was, gorgeous and vulnerable in his sleep while Silva stood and let the feeling wash over him.