(Sean's Perspective)
Somehow 'vindicating' isn't quite sufficient as a descriptor for the look on Dorian's face when he hears my answer. To say that it's rewarding doesn't quite cut it either. Despite my efforts to keep her awake until we can get her back to the Desert packhouse and the physicians there—or to Darby, who's no slouch at healing either— Sandy's crystalline blue eyes flutter closed, but at least she's still breathing.
"Fae," Dorian repeats.
"Yes. Fae. As in Faerykind. You and all those PhD's you have know what that is, right?" Scooping her limp body into my arms, I rise and cast a fleeting look at Silas. "We need to get her home. Soon. I've never seen her leverage that much magic."
"'Faerykind'. 'Magic'," Dorian repeats again, then his golden eyes blaze and his brows draw together in a savage frown. Facing Silas, he demands, "Do you mean to tell me that she's been capable of this all along?"
