EVANGELINE

"Their stew is going to get cold."

Minutes after the males vanished into thin air, Evangeline cocked her head at their food and then pursed her lips and closed her eyes, as if she had tasted something sour.

"Is there somewhere I can stay for the night?" She asked, tucking her leather-gloved hands into her lap and inclining her head. "Or will I be returning to my...residence?" She said the word carefully, as if the taste of it in her tongue d her blanching in disgust.

"You'll be staying with us," Mor said. "That is, for as long as you'd like. If you'd like," she added.

"I would." Until I find somewhere else, Evangeline thought to herself. Until I learn how to be something other than ruined.

"Then it's settled. You'll come with us in the morning."

"To Velaris?"

Mor stopped mid-sip of wine, swallowing. "What's Velaris?"

"Please." Evangeline sighed deeply through her nose. "I'm not another Illyrian fool. I know what I know."

"How?" Feyre asked.

"An old story. My mother told me of a city nestled between mountains, glorious and free and colorful. I'm not foolish enough to think that she simply made that up."

"Why not?" Mor prodded.

"Because my father ripped the imagination from my mother with his own two hands." Evangeline swirled her spoon around the half-congealed stew, not meeting any of the females' eyes. "She was not one for such nonsense." Her face twitched, and, for a moment, she could once again feel her hands on the blade, her skin peeling apart.

There was a moment of silence.

"Yes," Mor finally said. "To Velaris. You'll like it there."

Evangeline pushed back from the table and stood. "I have belongings to be collected. May I?"

"Of course." Feyre stood. "Would you like one of us to go with you?"

Evangeline simply turned, dismissing both females, wings tucked in tight. "If you wish."

—————

The hut made of stone was bigger than Evangeline remembered, even though she'd seen it that very morning.

But now, standing before it, it felt so large, and she, so minuscule.

"Would you like us to come in?" Feyre asked from behind Evangeline.

Evangeline closed her eyes, steeling herself. "No."

She walked into the house.

—————

MOR

"Do you think he's okay?"

Feyre asked the question as Evangeline entered the house—it took a moment for Mor to figure out that she was talking about Azriel. About what half the dinner table had scented, the other half assumed.

"I think it will take him some time," Mor said carefully. "To adjust. But a bond like that is a powerful thing. It is not something you get over."

"And Evangeline? Do you think she knows?"

"I'm not sure." Mor cocked her head at the house. "I don't think so. You didn't know."

"True."

Mor and Feyre stared at the house for a while longer, restless. There was no sound from inside—at least, nothing that they could hear. Even with their Fae hearing, they couldn't pick anything up.

It was disquieting. With the snow that still drifted through the air and the cold gusts that blew through, Mor was thoroughly discouraged.

That was, until the door to the house swung open.

Mor stilled.

Evangeline stood, head held high as she kept her gaze on Morrigan, steps labored. Her breathing was shallow, but her green eyes were stunning as she strode forward. One had a bruise forming around it, angry and red and hot, outshining her split lip, cracked and dry. Mor was surprised at everything she saw.

But the most surprising?

Evangeline carried a child a child at her hip—the slip of a girl couldn't be older than eight—and nothing else.

Both were covered—head-to-toe—with blood.

Evangeline seemed to be dripping the stuff. There wasn't a speck of unblemished skin showing: just blood and gore, coating her very being as the child on her hip wrapped her arms around Evangeline's neck. As she shifted, Evangeline spoke sharply to her.

"Keep them closed."

Her eyes, then. A small mercy, perhaps. Whatever had gone on inside that cabin...at least the girl had not seen it. Her eyes were screwed shut, face shoved into Evangeline's shoulder.

"Who—?" Mor began before Evangeline cut her off.

"We should go to Velaris." She swallowed, face still hard. "Right now."

Mor didn't object—just grabbed Evangeline's hand, then Feyre's—and winnowed.

——————

AZRIEL

The only thing he could feel through the bond was fear.

Pure, unadulterated fear. The raw emotion almost crippled him as he got vague flashes from the bond.

Blood.

Carnage.

Stone.

Screams.

As quickly as it had come on, it was gone. A hand braced on the banister of the stairs, Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, reaching for the other side of the bond that had haunted him for the last few hours, but it was strangely still and silent. Perhaps she was blocking him out—perhaps she knew a bit about mental shields.

The thought of someone being able to waltz into Evangeline's mind and take what they wanted, when they wanted, if they so pleased made Azriel a bit nauseous again.

But there wasn't time for that, because Rhysand was opening the door to reveal three women, and Azriel was straightening, and everything was moving so fast again.