Bruise was dashingly gorgeous. I would give them that much. But I wouldn’tsayas much. They seemed like the type of creature to like compliments—and the more they received, the more annoying they would become.
The way they smiled at me spoke of universal truths. Just behind those lips were the darkest recesses of the ocean, caverns overflowing with life undiscovered. And they knew it, too. They knew one word of those worlds could blow my damn mind apart.
“I mean no harm,” they assured as they slid in the booth beside me. “Not to your mate either.”
“She’s not my mate,” I bit. “She’s my friend.”
They shrugged. “It’s of no consequence to me what you choose to call each other. That’s powerful. Liberating, even.”
Rose raised her eyebrows. “But we’re not mates. I don’t have the mark.”
Bruise observed her neck carefully. If my irritation could expand any further, I wasn’t sure I could express it in a subtle enough manner to frighten Bruise away from Rose.
The fae chortled. “Right—because that’s the only indicator of a mate bond.”
“And how would you know that?” I retorted, enough salt in my tone to fill the ocean tenfold. “From experience?”
They shrugged, unmoved by my shade. “Sure. I’ve had four mates in my lifetime. Each one as good, if not better, than the last. As fae, I don’t limit myself by species or—” They grinned playfully. “Or whatever gender constraints exist on this plane.”
“Alright, enough,” Rose teased. “Stop hitting on my—I mean, leave him alone.”
Bruise bowed their head. “As you wish, Miss Rose.”
“We need to know about this medallion.” She patted her pajama pants and then huffed. “Heavens, I left the picture in the other room. Hang on.”
Don’t leave me with this jerk, I begged quietly.
But Rose had already left the room, the door swinging rhythmically behind her. She wasn’t gone for long, but the seconds seemed to pass so slowly like Bruise was slowing time itself. And maybe they had been doing that.
Rose flushed red as she flopped on the bench across from us. She dropped the photograph on the table.
Bruise frowned. “Why didn’t Sasha mention this?”
“Funny enough, none of us could remember the damn thing until Matéo touched it. And none of us could touch it either,” Rose explained. “But now that he’s touched it, we know it.”
“Sounds like our magic,” they said softly while touching the picture. “What happens if you touch it now?”
“Burns like wolfsbane,” Rose replied. “Matéo is the only one who can hold it and—” Her gaze flickered to the table almost bashfully. “Well, go on, Matty. Tell Bruise about it.”
The fae settled their curious gaze on me.
I folded my hands on the table, swallowing the lump in my throat. “My family was murdered when I was a teenager by vampires. Slaughtered.” I looked out the window. “My father’s last name is the name on the medallion. It’s the name I share. But I typically use my mother’s maiden name.”
“You’re a Beauchamp,” Bruise stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, that explains your size.”
“Pardon?”
Bruise spread their hands on the table. “There was a species of dire wolves that mated with your typical werewolves some ages ago. Influenced the size of the shift. Sasha told me about your wolf form. It’s about three to four times that of a typical wolf, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“The Beauchamps are rumored to be part of that line. Of course, none of it can be confirmed since theArchiveshave been shut down, but…” A crease formed between their brows. “I memorized many trees in my time. I saw the Beauchamp name appear in quite a few larger packs.”
Air escaped my lungs so fast that I hissed. I think I turned blue when I asked, “You know about my line?”
“Not enough to tell you much, I’m afraid.” They bowed their head. “Apologies, Black Wolf. I would have been honored to show you family names if I had access to the right magical technologies.”
“How long will theArchivesbe under construction?” Rose inquired. “Domingo wants Matéo, Bruise. He wants to dosomethingto Matéo using the medallion.”