She shook her head, before reaching up and ripping the wool hat from her silky hair. “Nope, it was pretty quiet on the walk down the mountain, and now we are just waiting to cross the zones.”

Waiting for what? I peered around the broad shoulders blocking my line of sight. Jacob might not be as big as his brothers, but he was still huge. And he was in the road. Finally, as I scooted to the side I was able to see Cloaky. He was no longer alone. The fey was in a serious looking conversation with four other males, all wearing blue cloaks. Great, it was a freaking cult or something.

I sidled closer to Braxton. He looked relaxed, but his attention was firmly locked on that group. He never glanced my way, but still knew I was there, reaching around to tuck me under his arm. “Can you hear anything?” I managed to mumble.

“They’re discussing you and your mark.”

I pulled back enough to see his expression. Stormy eyes, chiseled features, furrowed brows … okay, my first assessment was very wrong, not relaxed at all. He was pissed. And throwing off heat like a goddamned fire.

I started to wiggle out from under his arm. The warmth was smothering me.

“I’m wearing too many clothes,” I said as I continued to maneuver myself so I could get the thick jacket off.

“Hells yes you are.” Jacob the jackass was back. I’d missed him.

“Screw you,” I growled.

Tyson joined his fey brother, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Well, you do love sex, remember.” Tyson’s eyes twinkled, which was about the only thing to save him from having his testicles permanently lodged up into his throat.

Our joking was interrupted by the convergence of cloaked figures. For the first time the hoods of their cloaks were down, so I could really see their faces. The five of them were all different, but I was surprised to see one similarity: each had a head of pure silver hair, sort of like old people gray but more shimmery. This especially stood out because their faces were young.

Could you only join this cult if you were prematurely gray?

Original dude from the tunnel still seemed to be the spokes-gray. “My name is Gerard, I am the second in charge of this sanctuar … sanctuary.” I noticed he lapsed into what sounded like Romanian at times, but there was no indication if this was his native language or not.

I stepped forward, my jacket draped over my arm crinkling loudly. “We need to speak with Quale.”

No more screwing around. I was tired, hungry, worried about my family back in Stratford, and … mostly hungry. Identical expressions of rapidly blinking eyes and open mouths descended over the five grays’ faces. I had taken them by surprise.