Page 289 of Sky’s Edge

“No,” he clipped. “You did not.”

All right then.

He wasn’t mad at me.

He was mad I’d been attacked and hadn’t had time to don something more appropriate.

I heard his Palm go in the other room.

He stalked that way.

Hurley was at odds as to who to stay with, but as ever (and rightly), he picked his daddy.

Hurley left. I toweled down. Put on undies and a bralette. Eschewed the mane-mate to comb out my own hair. And finally, I tugged on the creamy, knit, loose-fitting pants and off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved top my male had picked for me.

Clothed, I walked into the bedchamber, summoning the lights in the rooms behind me to extinguish along the way.

Tanyn was standing at the window, and instantly, I knew he was angrier than I’d ever seen him.

A casual observer might not make this call. He was standing straight. His expression was bland.

But his wrath was rolling off him in blistering waves.

“Right, keep me informed,” he said tightly into the Palm he held to his ear. When he rang off, he turned to me. “I was wrong. Two confirmed dead. The castle’s medi-unit is full. There are only four bays there. Seven other warriors have been ambu-lifted to Blackheart.”

Considering their attackers were virtually invisible, as tragic as these casualties were, I thought this said a great deal, and all of it was stellar, about our guard. It could have been much worse. In fact, it should have been.

However, at this juncture, I didn’t share this thought.

I moved to him, put my hands on his chest, and leaned into him before I whispered, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“They were cloaked.”

I nodded. “The ones we fought were too.”

“Someone gave them a potion to glamor.”

I nodded again.

“That was what was in that pic,” he stated.

I nodded yet again.

“If Nay and I hadn’t clocked it…” He shook his head. “No, if you hadn’t pointed it out so Nay and I could clock it, what happened in my own fucking garden would have been a massacre.”

I should have known he’d have the same thoughts as me.

Even so, I flinched at his words, but decided not to say anything, or think about that at all.

Ever.

“Were there survivors on their side?” I asked.

Another shake of his head. “It was clear they were ordered to fight to the death. Even the final few, who’d been severely wounded and lost their glamor, fought on. In the end, it was suicidal.”

More shitty news.

“Glamor magic like that is outlawed,” he told me something I knew.