None of the other symbols on the left post pulled him, so he turned to the right. His finger traced the outline of the symbol for female.

The male triangle was the core of a court, but the Queen, the female, was always its heart.

He sank to his knees and traced the last symbol carved into the post, the Blood’s most revered symbol—the symbol for the Darkness.

The Blood honored the Darkness because it meant endings and beginnings; it was the fertile dark of land and womb that nurtured the seeds of life; it was the psychic river the Blood came from and returned to; it was the abyss the Self descended into to reach its own strength; it was the vastness that contained the spiderweb-shaped psychic roadways called the Winds. It was all those things, and more.

As the last line filled with witchlight, Jared felt the jolt of power funneling into the stone posts. The witchlight in the symbols became so bright he had to squint. It flashed once and then faded, the little bit of power he’d used to create it already expended.

In that moment after the flash, Jared saw a pale triangle form between the three symbols before it, too, faded.

The protection spells quieted. The psychic storm quickly dissipated. Rekeyed, the illusion spell turned a wood pole strung with vines into thick, unpassable undergrowth.

Jared stayed on his knees, too tired and shaken to stand up. He sank back on his heels, his head bent, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. This exhaustion wasn’t caused by draining too much of his power. He used more than that for everyday living. It wasn’t even caused by the sharp fear he’d felt.

For a few moments when the wild stranger had filled him, he had felt so alive and whole. Now he felt empty and hollowed out again, and it cut at him. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to fully embrace that part of himself, to bind himself to that kind of responsibility, and until he was . . .

Strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him up. Blaed smiled solemnly. Brock looked respectful.

“Let’s get you inside,” Brock said.

“The horses.” Jared’s voice sounded thick.

“I’ll help Thayne and Randolf with the horses.”

“I can—”

“You’ve done enough,” Brock said sharply.

“You’ve done enough,” Blaed agreed quietly.

Jared gave in, needing their support more than he wanted to admit.

As they walked toward the one-story stone building, Garth hurried up to them, stopping just short of barreling into Jared. The big man studied Jared’s face for a moment, then made a sound like a grunt of satisfaction, and hurried away.

Thayne smiled shyly and raised his hand in a casual salute.

Randolf stood by the corral, watching Garth, his expression unreadable.