A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 55

Time matched the fierce rhythm of her heart. A steady thrum, a marching cadence. A war drum on a beat, echoing a sole sentiment. A single word.

Mine.

A step forward.

Mine.

Another.

Mine.

The heat of flaming tendrils blew back strands of her hair as Gwyn lifted her hands. Poised at the one who dared to lay her own upon him. A primal force inside stoked the embers of anger into a veritable firestorm. Those brown eyes stared back, ones the Valkyrie once considered gentle and tending. Perhaps deep down they still were. She did not give a thought to that. Not now.

Someone on her right snarled a warning she didn't quite catch. No matter. Nothing was going to stop her from protecting him.

Growling, Gwyn lunged for the golden-haired female, those warm brown eyes now displaying signs of distress. Good. But hazel ones instantly replaced those pupils, widened with fear and astonishment.

Azriel. Her—her mate. Poised between her and the other who had dared to put her hands on him. Dared to insinuate such cruelties. Gwyn peered over his broad shoulder, around his wing. Elain was hurriedly stepping backward in retreat.

Her feet wobbled. Was—was he protecting her?

And Gwyn's hands blazed.

Despite her attempts to maneuver, Azriel sprinted to block her path, arms spread and raised. But she didn't see him. All Gwyn could see—could sense —was a force. Ancient, cold magic whispered around the girl ahead. The true threat.

Shadows darted around and between them, their murmurs chaotic and as panicked as she felt. She reached out, fingers gripping his forearms. There was no other choice.

Gwyn needed him to move .

"Gwyn!" Azriel bellowed, his voice thin and strangled. Even so, he held firm, immovable as both of them trembled.

"Let me pass," Gwyn snarled. But with every shift, Azriel followed, even as her grasp tightened. Someone in the room screamed.

"You—you don't want to do this," the shadowsinger said.

"Gwyn," a voice called from her right, a silent order, steady as a blade, and bade her to follow. "Gwyn, look at me."

"Don't you dare touch her, Vanserra!" Azriel's hissed warning turned into a horrifying wail.

"I need to step in. She's burning you!"

Burning? Who was burning?

"Gwyn, I need you to let go," Lucien spoke again, his voice dripping with a decadent, calming presence.

At once, her hands released their hold.

"Good, now, I need you to look at me, Gwyn." His whisper was the sweetest command.

Gwyn had no choice. She couldn't disobey the power in his words. She turned to the male with red hair not so unlike her own, appearing like molten copper in the light of her flames.

Oh, gods. Flames .

Gwyn blinked, her eyes darting back and forth between Lucien's russet, reflecting the glow emitting from his own.

Her hands were ablaze. Licks of heat erupted from her fingers. Oh, sweet Mother above. How? Why?

Her chest constricted as if choking on smoke. Her heart pounded frantically, violently.