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He had planned to rule through Ayla, use her as a puppet. She did not have the knowledge or the ability
to run the Faery Court. But now, his path to the throne was so much clearer. He would not have to rule
through a Queene. He could break with tradition and rule in her stead.
The Dragons might give him problems. The creatures were too clever for their own good. He would put
it about immediately that the Darkling who d infiltrated the border had been disguised as a Dragon
messenger. He even had the creature s cloak to prove it. That would cast enough suspicion toward them
to suppress any allegations they would make, at least until after the coronation.
He found that when he reached the Palace gates, he was reluctant to leave. What a strange, possessive
feeling was inspired by becoming King. Foreboding nagged him as he stepped across the threshold, into
the streets of the Lightworld. He crushed it down.
The throne awaited him. All that was left was to claim it.
Left. Another left. A right. Through a sharp bend.
A man with wings. I see a man with wings.
Ayla shook her head, swiped at the dirty air before her. She stumbled over the hem of her gown for
what seemed like the thousandth time, crashed to her knees in the mire.
He will destroy you.
She pushed the Human s warning behind her, climbed to her feet with a cry of pain that came as much
from her aching legs as from the gnawing hole in her chest, as real as if someone had cut her heart out
with a knife.
A knife. She had no knife. No weapon. No defense. She could easily die here, in the Darkworld,
without anyone to know or care.
And whose fault was that? Throughout her life she d done all she could to keep distance between herself
and the world outside of her. Those who had wished to protect her Garret and her father she had
rejected. Those who could have been friends, she d bristled to. There had never been a lover, a
confidant, never anyone to wonder where she d gone.
A lifetime spent trying desperately to be a part of and apart from a world that would have happily been
done with her years ago.
The water rose over her feet, weighing down her gown. The life of fine things and comfort that had
lasted all of a day became more of a weight on her now than it had been before.
A part and apart. Left in the middle, as always.
Ahead, she saw the water shadows she d memorized before. Water kept its own secrets, and they
could be learned by careful observation. Now, these gentle ripples reflected in eerie black-blue on the
dim wall of the tunnel pointed her to the Darkling.
If he d survived. No, he had survived. If he had not, Garret would have found her by now, gloated to
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her, beat her. But if the Darkling did not want her, then what? She d given up her world forever, and she
could not survive in the Darkworld with a Guild mark on her body.
That was not true; she could survive, but it would be another hollow existence. Her heart had grown less
fond of those, now that she found she had a heart.
Left, into deeper water, up to her waist. Something bumped her below the surface, and she hastened her
step as much as she could, wading through the muck.
The Human healer had been just that; Human, foolish, as likely wrong as she was right. There was more
than one male Ayla could name who had wings. It might not be the Darkling that would be her doom.
At the mouth of the tunnel that would bring her at last to Malachi, her stomach went weak. She pressed
the heels of her hands hard against her cramping middle, willed the nervousness away. Had he felt this
way, when he d come to her?
She gritted her teeth and moved on protesting legs through the resistance of the water. She d set out to
make this journey, and she would not let a moment of doubt stop her. She hadn t so far.
The door to the dingy room he lived in blended so well with the concrete of the tunnel wall that she
almost missed it before the water shadows lapped upon themselves and commanded her back. She
stood for a long moment, the damp creeping up the thirsty fabric of her gown, hands flexing in the air on
nothing. Then, timidly, she stretched a hand out. Her fingers had scarcely brushed the rusted metal when
the door swung open with a deafening screech and Malachi grabbed her, pulling her into his arms without
a word, crushing his mouth over hers.
Her dirty, wet gown slapped against his bare legs; it did not matter. Her hair tangled in front of her face
and he had to push it aside; still, he did not stop, did not set her on her feet again. The door closed,
though she did not feel the strength of his arms leave her for even a moment.
Of course he would not reject her. He had followed her into the Lightworld, had risked his mortal
existence to find her. How could she have expected anything else?
They were bound, by some strange, indescribable force, had been since the moment her touch had
made him mortal. Now, that bond caused an ache in her that made no sense; now that she was close to
him, their separation seemed more painful. Now that he touched her, it seemed they would never be
close enough.
He carried her to where the Human slept, although he was not there now. The little alcove was empty,
aside from a pile of torn blankets on the bare concrete. Malachi set her down there, ripped the filthy
gown from her body.
With Garret, it had all happened so fast as to cause her to panic. The suddenness of this did not frighten
her as much as it excited her. If she closed her eyes, she felt she was falling. If she opened them, she felt
she would break apart.
His hands were on her everywhere, and hers on him. His body, so strange and ugly in comparison to the
smooth, lean lines of a Faery male, was surprisingly exciting to the touch. The hard rounds of muscle
beneath tightly stretched skin teased her fingertips as she dragged her hands down his arms, his chest, his
stomach. She gripped that part of him that made him male, and a harsh sound wrenched from his throat.
She opened her wings and let him push her back onto the blankets, where he fell between her legs.
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He was huge, longer and thicker than Garret had been. She rose to meet him, the breath forced from her
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