Page 123 of Abducted By the Silver Fae

She responds in kind, her fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

Then her legs loosen from around my waist.

I lower her slowly until her feet meet the floor, unwilling to surrender even this small measure of contact. She stays close, her body pressed to mine as she walks me backward one step.

Then another.

“Hold for us,” she whispers into my mouth. “Be the anchor we return to.”

Before I can respond, her hands flatten on my chest.

Magic surges between us, not gentle now but forceful, shoving through my defenses. I recognize her intent a heartbeat too late as the mirror’s surface ripples at my back.

“Amalia, no—” The protest dies as she shoves me backward with unexpected strength.

My body crosses the threshold between realms, the cold shock of transition stealing my breath. For one suspended moment, I see her standing on the other side, one hand extended as if to touch me one last time.

Then I crash onto the marble floor in the Silver Spire. The connection between us stretches thin by the distance between realms.

I lunge to my feet and reach for the mirror just as its surface solidifies.

“No!” My palm slams into the glass, Silver magic pouring from my fingertips in desperate streams.

The mirror absorbs the power without response, and only my frantic reflection remains.

Whatever allowed the passage is gone, and I am no mirrorthane who can create another.

Even now, the heat of her lips fades, leaving nothing but salt lingering on my tongue and a realm demanding a King.

SHARDS OF BECOMING

AMALIA

The magic crackles in the air as the mirror solidifies, cutting off my last glimpse of Caelan’s shocked betrayal. My palms burn from driving him back through the portal, tingling with residual Silver energy.

I stand frozen, arm still extended, fingers splayed as though I might reach through and touch him one more time.

Silver traces of Caelan’s magic still cling to the frame, but they fade with every heartbeat. My fingertips hover over the surface, trembling with the memory of his kiss, the desperate heat of his body wrapped around mine.

“Damn you,” I mutter, unsure if I curse Caelan for coming, myself for sending him away, or the fates for thrusting us all into this nightmare.

Rage explodes through me without warning. My fist slams into the mirror with the full force of my fear and fury, and the glass explodes outward with a satisfying crack.

Shards spray across the chamber floor, each fragment catching the dim light and refracting it back with unnatural opal hues.

Blood trickles down my knuckles in warm contrast to the chill in the room. It drips onto the scattered mirror pieces, each drop sizzling as it touches the enchanted glass, little wisps of steam rising and dissipating.

I stumble backward, away from the destruction, my boots crunching over broken glass.

The silence closes in around me, cold chasing away Caelan’s warmth.

The basin calls to me, a place to wash away the blood and clear my head before Theron returns and demands an explanation for the destruction.

I brace my hands on the basin, head hanging as I try to gather the scattered pieces of my resolve.

When I lift my head, expecting to confront my own haunted reflection, my breath catches.