I tapped a finger on the page of an old tome filled with lines of ink that had smudged and faded over the centuries. A dull thud-thud-thud rang out as I thought it through, and forced the exhilaration and hope burning through my blood to extinguish itself.

Running a fingertip up and down the middle of the splayed book where the pages joined, my mind flipped from my mother to Nelle and back again. I carefully considered what each needed while dog-earring the page's corner, then flipping it right to smooth the crease out—back and forth—crease then smooth.

Sweet smoke curled through the air from the blunt pinched between my fingers. I took a drag, relishing the pungent smoke. Tipped my head back on the armchair's headrest, held then released the smoke in billowing plumes of white-gray clouds, watching with mild curiosity as it swirled upward toward the stained-glass mural, its colors deeper and richer with the darkness of the evening. As the drug spiked my blood, I sank further in my leather armchair while I picked through my thoughts—how all of this was connected and how I was even going to make it work. Nelle and my mother were connected. Deep down in the marrow of my bones, I knew it.

Warmth radiated from the fire as logs burned with red and orange flames, crackling and popping. My body soaked up the heat, turning my mind and lax limbs even more languid. My legs were stretched out before me, crossed at the ankles. I'd dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, not bothered with my sparkly boots, and wandered into the library barefoot a few hours earlier.

While Nelle had been in the bathroom cursing herself for being caught out, I'd given her the space she needed and headed out to the balcony, trying to tame my wild heartbeat and wipe the grin off my face. She'd more than liked our kiss. Cold stone scraped against my feet as I circled the tower, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air untainted by my little bird and her mind-bending arousal. The fortress, lit up like a city with golden light flooding from the myriad of glass, brightened the night sky, turning it a dusky gray but for the crescent of black high above the Keep, which sparkled with starlight. A shiver rippled across my skin from the chilly temperature as the autumnal wind bit my naked body. I'd stood there, my palms braced against the balcony railing long enough to release the tension winding my body tight from not going any further than a kiss with Nelle, and for my godsdamned cock to soften.

It was either that or grabbing a handful of fucking ice and shoving it against my groin.

Dressing, then whipping around the bedroom, I'd finished rearranging the new furniture, tidying up and storing my clothes neatly into drawers or on hangers, and then headed to the library. Before I met my brothers to get ink tattooed across our bodies there was some research I needed to do, and I hoped I'd find something of worth amongst old crumbling parchment.

But this book reminded me of my mother.

And her memory had kept me company in the library.

I closed my eyes and let my mind drift...

Drift back to the fragmented dream I'd had last night.

Our library gave me a similar feeling to what I had experienced in the dream. Wherever I'd been in my dream world, I'd been standing somewhere ancient, in a treasure trove of some sort.

Mom, a hand on her hip, long hair twirled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, stepped toward me. Gloom shadowed one side of her, feeble light illuminated the other. The light shifting and dancing on her sun-kissed skin came, not from a lightbulb, but candles.

Though she tried to remain stern, a twinkle in her green eyes gave her away as she leaned down and waved a finger in my face. "Graysen Crowther, you stand here with your hands in your pockets where I can see you." She'd straightened and twisted away to speak to someone else. "He's a natural born thief."

And whomever it was replied with a raspy voice, "As he should be. Wouldn't be a child of the Houses if he wasn't. Taking after someone else, is he, little thief?"

In the murky recesses of the room, I caught a glimpse of blood-red eyes and a sound. The pattern of it was much like rapping fingers except it was sharper. Talons perhaps, rapping on a wooden surface?

"He's a better thief than I ever was," my mother shot back with a wide grin, her cheek dimpled.

"You did well enough. You stole my friendship when you were only a little older than this one."

"True." My mother raised her hand, and in her grip was a brown paper bag. "A friend who brought your favorite snack..." Her smile dimmed as she lowered the paper bag and her voice became urgent and worried. She used her free hand to fish something out of her handbag that hung off a shoulder, and held it aloft. Pinched between her fingertips was a small flat stone. Simple and ordinary. But for the fact, it glowed a bright red crimson. "But first, you need my help, Florin. I came as quickly as I could."

My mother hurried away and I was left alone. It took ten seconds before I disobeyed her.

Wherever I was seemed cavernous and old. I had the faintest impression of stale air. And power, such vast unfathomable power vibrated through the air and raked against my skin like needled fangs, making the blood flowing in my veins thrum with excitement.

A Horned God?

The rugs were soft and uneven beneath my polished shoes as I strolled off, curious because I'd never been to this place before. I was young too. Pale candlelight from enormous candelabras wavered near polished surfaces and struck off in streams of weak yellow to scatter across...What? What did they illuminate?

There was something hanging high. A wooden placard with silver lettering. I saw the first letters P.U.R. before something else stole my attention and I wandered away.

The space was filled with haphazard shelves and bookcases, surrounded by rich opulent colors and rows and rows of glass jars, with my reflection staring back at me, smaller and distorted. I was in formal attire, a black suit specially tailored for a five-year-old. My hair was smoothed back but for the hank of unruly hair hanging down my forehead.

Wherever this place was, it reminded me of the library. Not stored with information, and not the kind of trove that hoarded gems and gold—but artifacts and strange oddities. Antiquities perhaps?

In my periphery, I caught something golden and bright like threads of magic quivering in the air. Golden strands...

The strange memory split apart as a sudden loud thumping noise resounded within the library.

I jolted. My eyes flashed open and my gaze sliced over to where Penn wobbled on a ladder, a large book at the base of its feet. Kenton was there in a heartbeat, steadying her with his hands—one on her arm, the other at the dip in her spine.

My mind remained briefly with my mother as the strange memory dissolved.

The leather seat groaned beneath my shifting weight as I straightened. My eyebrows nudged together as I rubbed my curled fingers across my chin, staring into the fire burning bright in the hearth. Had my mother been stealing someone's pain?

Who the hells had she visited in Ascendria the day she'd been stolen?

And why the fuck did I not remember visiting this place?

I needed to ask my brothers about that day, in particular, Jett. Luckily, and somewhat un-fucking-luckily, he was here.

My siblings had descended upon the library an hour after I'd arrived. It was then I'd chosen to tell them what I'd learned from my little bird earlier. That Silas Boon was connected to those creepy warriors—the Children of Harbinger—who had hunted down Nelle in the catacombs beneath Ascendria. And that Silas knew Nelle was a wyrm.

The knowledge stirred up a fuck ton more questions between my siblings, before they finally settled down to dig through the vast shelves of books, trying to find anything on wyrm taming. They'd find nothing, just like I had when I learned I was a tamer at a young age. Through the following years, I scoured this room and turned up very little. There was barely anything amongst our ancestors' books that was worth noting.

Jett tossed his book down on the other end of the table with an irritated slap near the stack Kenton and Penn were adding to while he and Caidan went through them and then discarded those they didn't find any information within. I could have helped them out and told them which books would yield information, but I was a prick and didn't give a fuck.

Ferne was busy with her cell phone. Her forehead creased in concentration as she rapidly typed. She was in charge of organizing the upcoming family reunion. A morbid celebration, for sure, since the timing of it had been planned to coincide with Nelle's twentieth birthday.

A flush of pink stained Penn's cheeks as she descended the ladder with a gilded book hooked into the crook of her elbow.

Kenton bent down and scooped up the one she'd accidentally dropped. His deep voice rumbled, "You don't need to help us."

"It's no bother," she replied, heading with silent footsteps to the long table we were all gathered around. Her dark brown hair hung down her back and had been brushed until it shone like metal. The denim of her skinny jeans whispered with her movement. Her feet were in white ballet flats and she wore a long-sleeved shirt. Outside of her uniform, she was always neat and tidy with crisp shirts pressed to perfection. I'd never seen her in anything with short sleeves, not even a t-shirt. Her shirts were always long-sleeved and buttoned right to the collar.

I ignored the pointed glances between Caidan and Jett, and their sharp murmurings as they looked at Penn with faint frowns marring their features.

It made them uncomfortable that Penn was assisting since it was related to the Witches Ball, and she was a living reminder this was happening to Nelle.

But maybe, as I considered Penn who fidgeted with the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt, this was what she intended. I'd watched her interactions with Nelle over the past week. There was a sense of comradery she shared with my little bird. Yet, Penn beheld my family with both quiet challenge and absolute faith.

She shouldn't have faith in us. What had happened to my mother, to my family, was too deeply rooted, especially with the way my aunt had nurtured our only hope and twisted us for the past five years. Aunt Valarie couldn't risk us failing like we'd faltered the last time with the Witches Ball.

That was what I'd suggested to Nelle in my mother's gardens, to look deeper.

She needed to unearth why my brothers needed to dislike her so intensely.

You couldn't falter if you believed in what you were doing.

Which was why my brothers were more than uncomfortable with Nelle being up in my rooms. Why Kenton didn't want her wandering the Keep. He wanted her locked up down below. Out of sight, out of mind. So he didn't have to face up to what he was part of.

What he'd done seven years ago.

He'd faltered back then. As we all had.

We couldn't hesitate this time and not follow through. Aunt Valarie wouldn't allow it. She'd manipulated us for many years to ensure we wouldn't.

Penn's soft voice stole my attention as she placed the book on the table beside Caidan, and addressed me. "New shoes will be arriving tomorrow."

I gave her my thanks and ignored the smarmy laughter from Jett, instead blowing out a thick cloud of smoke right in his face, making him cough and disperse it with a frantic wave of his hand. "Fuck you," he scowled.

I flipped him off, not even bothering to look his way. Penn fixed the tall stack of books so they sat in a neat tidy tower, and then she stood still, awaiting instructions.

Deathly still.

Penn always reminded me of a living doll. She would hold herself stock still for ridiculously long periods of time. Endure aching muscles hidden behind a serene expression. I'd often wondered if it had been bred into her. Perhaps she'd been afraid to draw attention to herself. Perhaps if she moved or looked or even breathed the wrong way something terrible would happen.

She stood at the head of the table, directly across from me, those youthful-old eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking, only her chest rising and falling gently. Almost as if she were in a trance, or gone somewhere else inside her head, not aware of what she was doing until Kenton nudged her with an elbow, making her sway off-kilter and correct her balance with a stumbling footstep.

She righted herself, passing a panicked hand over her hair to smooth the strands and fix her shirt collar and sleeves. "I'm sorry. I forget sometimes," she replied, flustered.

Kenton reached out a hand and flipped a lock of her hair out of place so it hung over her shoulder and down her chest.

She automatically went to flick it back and re-smooth her hair, when he gently urged, "Leave it as it is, Penn."

She snatched her fingers back, anxiously sliding them up and down her thighs as if to distract herself from reaching for the stray lock of hair. "It's hard," she murmured back softly, her big eyes lifting to meet my brother's, who towered over her.

"I know," he replied quietly with a small smile. When she looked away, he clenched his jaw and fisted his fingers at his sides. Rage briefly shadowed his features, as if he wanted to slay whatever haunted her. Whatever it was, whatever had happened to her, was between them. He knew, but he'd never shared her secret.

Technically Penn was off duty and had the weekend to do whatever she felt like. She didn't need to be in the library helping my siblings. However, since she'd joined our hidden world, she was part of our family whether she wanted it or not, purely because of my older brother Kenton.

Guilt.

We all carried it in some way.

And he carried it in spades.

And a deep longing for the mortal who could break him with one cruel word. Not that I thought Penn had it in her to be cruel, certainly not on purpose. She was just as guarded as Kenton but in a different way. Guarded as if she wasn't good enough for him, good enough for anyone. While they were comfortable in each other's orbit, at the same time they weren't. Both of them performed a silent dance, moving around one another, watching while the other didn't. It was fucking fascinating to watch.

Just as fascinating as it had been all those years ago when they'd met for the very first time as young children.

Deep in a wild forest far away from our family estate, my father had taken me and my older brother hunting. We were young—Kenton had been eight and I'd not yet turned six. Clad in child-sized armor and strapped with small blades we'd raced through the forest, tracking the faint trail of a tjolk, until my brother had been diverted from the hunt by the sight of a young girl out collecting firewood amongst the tangle of trees. He'd stopped to observe her, hidden amongst the gloomy understory of the forest

Even stranger, she'd detected his presence.

Which was something no one should have been able to do—not easily at least. My family was very good at concealing ourselves when we wished not to be found.

I'd hung back in the murky shadows watching the curiosity burning in both their gazes as she approached, stretching out a finger to touch him as if to convince herself he was real...

...before my father's call for us had broken the moment.

Unknown to myself, to all of us, as a young child my brother had found a friend.

And then to my shock, years later as a teenager, I saw her again when Kenton carried her blood-soaked and seemingly lifeless body up into our cargo plane when we'd been out of State on a mission.

Kenton loved her.

And I knew Penn loved him.

But soon after the rather unusual circumstances that brought her into our family, something or someone had come between them.

The sound of a chair creaking brought me out of long-ago memories.

Kenton had brought in a tray of food he'd sourced from the kitchen and a bottle of whiskey with crystal tumblers. Caidan reached over, plucking the 40-year-old Glenfiddich from the middle of the table, pouring it in a stream of amber into his tumbler. He raked a hand through his hair and quietly loosened a weary sigh before he swallowed down a large mouthful. His cell phone beside him was lit up with a gazillion messages.

I tapped the blunt over the ashtray, watching the fine flakes of ash scattered upon the dish. It reminded me of the catacombs beneath Ascendria when I'd carried Sage's limp body back into the cavern, my heart in my throat, wondering if my little bird was alive or not. If she'd been abducted or free. Ash had drifted like snow as if winter had reached the bowels of the earth after Nelle had burned through those creepy motherfuckers out to capture her.

Jett had his feet braced on the edge of the tabletop, pushing back so his chair stood on two legs. He tossed his dagger up and down, catching it by the hilt and tossing it back up again. He seemed bored, but he was also quietly simmering with the usual Jett-pissed-off anger. Whatever the fuck it might be this time.

Probably me.

A sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead, and as his dagger flew upward, light struck off its thin blade and he shot me a challenging look. I was used to his bullshit, but keeping up the bored and indifferent act around my own family was wearing on me. The only time I had any kind of respite these days was up in the tower with Nelle.

I had to make sure my brothers weren't going to doubt my familial loyalty, nor suspect what I was up to. They were watching me just as closely as I watched him.

The memory of Jett threatening Sage had me flexing the book I had open on my lap wider, and my fingers tightened around its cover as I recalled Jett's features twisting in fury as he tried to intimidate Nelle in our Great Hall.

Perfect for what I needed to do.

The spine of the book cracked.

I shut the old tome. The pages folded in on one another and the worn hardcover closed with a thunk. Sliding the book at the end of the table where I sat, I lined the spine up precisely with the table's edge.