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would be pushing her paper-thin luck.
    Not that she had any issue with spending the last six hours here to help deal with their dead. Helping to prepare each body to be sent back to families for proper burial had broken her heart. But those fallen had known the jeopardy of accepting the duties and risks that came with being a Belador warrior. Beladors were a race of beings living in the mortal world, but who were far more than regular mortal humans. They were born under the PRIN star and had inherited powers passed down through the blood from ancestors two thousand years ago.
    Those ancestors had been bloodthirsty killers who would have enjoyed the carnage from the battle fought mere hours ago here on Treoir against the Medb coven of warlocks and witches, but in today’s world things were different. Modern day Beladors upheld a vow to act with honor or face possible death, with their entire families subject to the same punishment.
    Macha meant it when she swore that her Beladors would never take a life dishonorably again.
    But every warrior standing here–and those back home in the mortal world–wanted retribution for the bloodbath Treoir had just suffered at the hands of the Medb.
    And for the attack on their warrior queen, Brina.
    This place no longer reminded Evalle of a fairytale world. Not the kind with happy endings, anyway. The Medb had declared war with their attack, and Beladors all over the world were suffering the loss of everything from kinetic powers to telepathy.
    Their greatest enemy, the Medb, had changed the Belador power base in one day.
    Evalle would find a way to save Brina, but she couldn’t do it without Storm, who should be at his house waiting for Evalle to return, but no. According to the note he’d left for her, he’d gone after that blasted South American witch doctor.
    If that miserable witch doctor harmed one hair on Storm, Evalle would ...
    Power surged inside her and cartilage shoved the skin up her arms in advance of her shifting.
    She froze, cutting her eyes around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, these warriors were more focused on receiving orders and making someone pay for violating the Belador stronghold than on her.
    They might not even care if she shifted into a gryphon again after she’d saved lives in that form during the battle, but no one shifted into an altered state while on Treoir without Macha’s permission. Not unless they wanted to tick off an already enraged goddess, which was why Evalle needed to get a grip on her anxiety over Storm before Macha zapped her with enough energy to light up North America.
    “What’s the holdup?”
    Evalle jumped at the deep voice right behind her then turned, wishing she had the power to zap Tristan. “What are you doing in human form without getting Macha’s okay?”
    “You didn’t say anything about needing her rubber stamp to shift back to human form. Why would she be pissed off about that?”
    He had a point, but it would have been nice if he’d waited until Macha made up her mind how she was going to deal with the gryphons since they had not been accepted into Macha’s pantheon yet.
    It was a question of if, not when, at the moment.
    Was it too much to ask Tristan not to draw Macha’s attention until Evalle had a chance to ask the goddess where she stood on gryphons, since they carried half Belador and half Medb blood in their veins? Just like Evalle, Tristan and the other gryphons had started out as Alterants, then evolved into powerful flying creatures, a race with no clear status as of yet.
    Several warriors had turned her way to listen, which wouldn’t take much with their sensitive hearing, unless that Belador power was also out of order. Evalle would speak to Tristan telepathically, but Macha might consider it rude if she stepped out onto the front steps in the midst of their speaking mind to mind.
    Who knew with a goddess who created her own version of Miss Manners’ rules as she went?
    Evalle angled her