I kissed him. As I did, I pulled something from my pocket and pressed it into his hand. “For you.”

He looked down at the boar’s tusk.

“It’s not mine,” I said. “That’s for you from what’s-his-name.”

“They don’t have names?”

“I haven’t asked. That would imply that I care.”

He laughed. “Okay. So this is what I’m supposed to keep on me to avoid elves and wights?”

“Apparently, though he wasn’t clear on that when he gave me mine. They aren’t clear on anything.”

He lifted the tusk and turned it over in his fingers. Then he stopped. “If this is from them, then these symbols . . .” He touched the moon. “That’s the Wild Hunt. The night and the moon.”

I nodded.

“Then that’s you.” He pointed at the intertwined moon and sun. “Sun for the fae, moon for the Hunt. You’re both. Blood from both. And the moon is mine.” He touched my necklace. “That’s why you hesitated when I gave it to you.”

“Guilt,” I said. “You sensed what you are, and I wasn’t telling you. I meant to—”

He kissed me to silence. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Liv. I’m just making connections. You knew what this was”—he pointed to the moon on the tusk—“when you said you wanted it for your tattoo. You knew what it symbolized. Me. The Hunt. Arawn. All of it—how it fits together, what it means.”

“I still want to get it, if that’s okay with you.”

He paused and I held my breath.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” he said. “If I’m honest, and I say yes, then you’ll feel obligated to go through with it. Which I don’t want. So I’ll just say that the fact you considered putting that on your body, permanently, is enough. It means enough.”

—

When we returned, the Cwn Annwn had disposed of Beau. The Huntsman assured us that no one from the clubhouse would have heard the commotion.

I told the Huntsman what I’d learned about my parents and their crimes, finishing with, “Meaning they did it because someone promised them the cure for me.”

“And delivered.”

“So it was you. Or your kind.”

“Yes.”

I’d expected a denial, and when I didn’t get one, my questions dried up.

Ricky took over. “You made the deal with the Larsens?”

“Yes.”

“You specifically?”

“Yes.”

“You cured Liv?”

“I orchestrated the events that led to her cure. I cannot heal or I’d fix that bite on your neck. I’d strongly suggest washing it well, with antiseptic. I’m not well versed in the exact nature of elf-to-human transformations, but I wouldn’t discount the possibility of bacterial transfer.”

“I know how to treat a fight bite.”

He smiled at Ricky. “I’m sure you do.”