The others who came with the Grand Sage seem to understand the horrors this dream-eater brings. "Do they know about dream-eaters?" I ask the Magister, who glances behind him.
They all shake their heads, but they still look horrified.
One steps forward. Vaguely familiar. Red hair. Super long, pointy ears. Weirdly wearing what looks like clothes you would buy out of any sort of outdoorsy sports store, not stuff people wear in the Fae Ward. Seeing a giant, fur-lined winter coat, jeans, and boots on a Fae definitely feels weird.
"Mistress Ava—"
The snarls ripple through the air before I even process what happened. My people bare their teeth, chests out and eyes dark, metaphorical hackles raised at the red-haired Fae's words. My stomach drops at the sudden hostility.
Magister Orion steps between his companion and the wolves, his voice booming. "Why such aggression to one of mine, wolf?"
"She is our Luna," Kellan says, his words frigid. "She is no mistress."
