ground before moving forward.
Custo kept close behind. “How did you find me?”
“You were making a racket. Anyone could find you.” They moved deeper into Shadow, the variegated shades growing less distinct. Adam slowed marginally, but seemed to have no problem with the pressing darkness.
Which was good, because Custo could think of little more than getting to Annabella, and quick. And all he had to do was follow.
“Does the wolf have Annabella?” Custo asked. He could guess the answer.
“Yes, but I couldn’t get to her without help.”
They hit a deep ravine, and crossed via a thick, fallen tree trunk, a black void yawning on either side. Sweat dampened Custo’s body by the time they hit the forest wall again.
“How much farther?” Custo asked. If Adam were following a trail, Custo couldn’t see it.
“Just ahead,” Adam answered.
But “just ahead” seemed like more of the same passionless trees.
And damn if that one didn’t look exactly like the gnarled trunk from before.
The gnarled trunk.
Shock halted Custo in his tracks, dread icing the blood in his veins. The whispers rose around him and, out of the corner of his eye, he could see slender figures watching, darting behind the ancient trunks. They’d probably been there all along.
Adam pressed forward a few steps, then turned back. “What’s the matter?”
Custo swallowed hard. “What are you?”
He would have followed Adam for hours, forever even.
Stupid.
The man in front of him couldn’t be Adam. Custo should’ve known right away. Adam would have never stepped through the painting into the treacherous Shadowlands, leaving Talia and his babies behind. Not for anything or anyone. Adam was going to warn Luca about the wraiths, even if Luca had denied him aid before.
The whispers rose to loud chatters, like chirping cicadas hidden in the leaves, near deafening.
“Come on,” Adam said, making to start off again. “The wolf has her.”
Custo steeled himself, doubts crowding his mind, but turned the other direction. Leaving Adam. Denying his presence. The fragrant air resisted his change of course, sheering at his body as he tore himself away from years of friendship and trust. The act was excruciating, every cell in his body rebelling.
Not Adam. This was a ploy, a game, or a test. Not Adam.
Custo pressed on. The direction didn’t matter, not with the trees and fae messing with his mind. The only thing to do was continue searching. Annabella was here, somewhere. And he would find her if he stayed his course, in his mind, if not in the forest itself.
The trees opened somewhat, and Custo upped his pace, only to come to a second tripping stop.
His father. Evan Rotherford, standing in his fine suit, his white sleeves peeking out, the Rotherford family cuff links that Custo would never own glinting where there was no light.
Custo knew his father for what he was, another test, but it still took a deep breath to form the question, “What do you want?”
“I want my son back,” his father said, extending his hand.
Years of resentment and anger condensed into a bitter rebuke that burned on Custo’s tongue,
Custo closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. His hate would keep him rooted in the same spot, and the roots went deep. Soul deep.
But this was not his father, just like Adam had not been Adam. It was a trick he had to solve, or he wouldn’t be able to move on.
Think of Annabella.
Annabella, his future, as this man was his past.
The air took on that uncompromising quality again, the kind that resisted change, insight, and clarity. With effort Custo inhaled a lungful of the stuff, and like swallowing a mouthful of shit, Custo worked his tongue and teeth to transmute the
His father, surprised, tried to flinch back, but Custo held tight. The illusion failed, and a fae woman trembled in Custo’s grip. She was pale and lovely, her skin washed in moon glow. Her long hair fell in a veil over her lower face, but her eyes took on a shape of pain.
He didn’t buy it. He’d caught a fae, and he wasn’t letting go.
“Where is she?” Custo demanded.
“She doesn’t belong here,” the faery said, staring with anguish at her clasped hand. He would not allow himself to be moved by it.
“Well, stop fucking with me and show me where she is,” Custo returned. The woman’s fingers were slight and cold, her contact numbing.
“It is not our nature to reveal,” she said, turning haughty.
“Even if you want to get rid of her?” The contradiction was just like Shadow, eschewing reason for madness.
“She dances with the wolf and belongs to him now.” The fae woman’s lowered lids and the cruel twist of her mouth said she didn’t like the union one bit.
“She belonged to me first,” Custo argued, “and I’m taking her back. Help me find her.”
“I can’t,” she cut back, as though she hated it herself.
The heavy air stirred, blew, rustling the branches of the trees with a high whine not unlike…violins. Another breeze took up the lower notes and formed the opening measures of Giselle’s ghostly dance.
Annabella.
Custo’s heart lurched. He squeezed the fae woman’s hand. “Is this another trick?”
“Perhaps,” she answered, with a sneer.
Custo peered into the dark trees, which stood like great sentinels blocking his path and his view. The Shadowlands defied logic, so he had to follow his heart.
His heart was through those trees.
He released the faery. She pulled her hand from his grasp with lightning quickness, her nails cutting a deep, long gash across his palm.
Pain lanced through Custo’s hand and his blood flowed thick and free onto the forest floor. Looking up, he found the faery woman gone. She’d exacted her revenge and disappeared. He gripped his wrist above the wound, waiting for the burn of healing to start.
No burn came in Shadow’s domain. Custo’s blood fell in slick, fat drops to the ground. Ripping a misshapen band of cloth from his shirt, he bound his palm tightly to stop the gush. He didn’t have time for this. Annabella was just through there.
Custo ran toward the music. When he saw the first flicker of movement, he slowed, creeping forward to hide in a dark copse and watch Annabella dance with…Jasper? The blond hair, lean body, ridiculous tights, and near-feminine shirt all belonged to Jasper. Custo couldn’t get a good look at his face, but he was sure it had the pretty boy’s features.
It took no effort to recognize this lie, though Annabella seemed lost to it. The man, the creature, holding her could only be the wolf. His hands were all over her, lifting, spinning, embracing Annabella. The wolf had just set her down again when he cocked his head, sniffing the air. He held Annabella’s waist, but his nose lifted, sniffing again. Distracted. Scenting something.
Custo looked down at his bandage and recalled the scoring rip of the fae woman’s fingertips. She’d helped him after all, the best way she could. She wanted Annabella
