Power pulses beyond. More than I’ve ever felt—more than I think might exist in the entirety of this realm. I swallow a whimper; I’m here now, and I’m determined to see this through. I know what’s coming. I’ve seen the veil before.
The magic begins to settle, still powerful but not as overwhelming, and I duck even lower when the first fae steps through the tear.
High fae. They blink dark eyes, looking around the space, and I don’t know if it’s whatever magic I have or the fact that here is dark and the Otherworld looks light, but they don’t see me at first.
Another steps through and joins them. Both wear shimmering robes, with light hair that reaches down to their hips. They speak to each other in low tones, in a language I don’t recognise.
The Huntsman should be here. If I can sense this, I don’t know why he can’t, but maybe he’s too far away. I don’t need to breathe, but my breaths are coming faster now, heart beating so fast I think it might just explode.
I’ve seen the Huntsman without his glamour, and he doesn’t look like either of these fae or the few that step through after. Magic flares with each one that steps into this world. I need to go. I don’t have long before they notice me, and vampires are faster than fae, I think, but I don’t want to bet on it.
The first two to emerge turn to the others, and all talk to each other in low, urgent tones. I want to get closer, but I’m not certain I’ll make out any of the words. And that urge is warring with the one to run, to get as far away as possible.
I need to get to Vlad. Vlad will keep me safe.
No.
Vlad needs to know that the veil is open. That the twins’ plan ultimately succeeded. The Hunt needs to know.
I take a small step back. I know where the window is behind me, and I’m certain that the wards keeping the power in won’t trap me, too. I just have to make it before any of the fae notice me because they’ll be able to use glamours or magic to keep me here, and then there’s no hope for me at all.
Another step. No more fae have come through for a few seconds, but the tear remains, a pulsing, throbbing wound. I let out a breath. Now or never.
“Wait,” calls a silky voice before I can move. It sounds like the faint tinkling of bells, and I freeze more out of surprise than a desire to listen. Perhaps they aren’t speaking to me at all. Perhaps I heard something and just thought it was in English.
Except when I look up, the first fae to emerge is standing a little way from the others, dark eyes fixed on me. The shadows surrounding me flex and tremble. They’re trying their best to stay, but when I tilt my head and focus, I can feel the insidious reach of this fae’s magic, so subtle as to hardly be detectable at all.
“Wait, wait, little creature,” the fae says, taking a few steps closer. “What’s that magic you have?”
Oh, fuck. Oh, no. The other fae are looking now, heads tipped slightly back like predators scenting prey.
I push away with a snarl and race for the window. A growl sounds behind me, and magic flares, but my body knows what to do, and I haul myself up and out, then throw myself to thepavement. It scrapes the side of my face, my hands, but I don’t stop.
I run and run and run, sure that the fae are right on my heels, breathing down my neck, and by the time I stop, I’m standing outside the base, the magic of the wards reaching for me as I tremble all over.
Vlad opens the door and stares out. I’ve seen him worried for me, but when he takes in the sheer panic on my face now, it echoes on his own. He opens his mouth, but I shake my head.
“The high fae are here,” I say. “They’ve broken through. We need to call the Huntsman.”
i
hurts it hurts, teeth digging in, but the worst part is thesoundof it, even as the world fades in and out, jagged pain shooting through my trapped legs and back and one arm.
He drinks hungrily, gorging on me, and a sound escapes me, something pained and desperate because I think I made the wrong choice now that I’m dying—dyingfaster—and I just want this all to end.
Each blink is slower. Eyes heavy. The sounds stop, all of them except for my own heartbeat, and it’s thudding slowly, enough time between each beat for me to suck in a too-wet breath.
His fingers touch my face. Dark eyes fill my vision, a red smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. My blood. I blink and his skin touches my lips, bumping against them clumsily.
Maybe that’s me.
Drink.The word rattles strangely around my skull because my head is full of cotton wool, so full and light that it might floataway if I let it.Drink.I can hardly catch my breath. Fear ebbs away with each drumbeat of my heart. It’s coming.
DRINK.
Did he speak? It sounds the way it sometimes does when I’m walking that tightrope between sleep and wakefulness—a sound I can’t be sure truly exists outside my own skull. Seems urgent, though. I part my lips on my next breath. Blood fills my mouth, salty and warm, and that should be disgusting, shouldn’t it?
I drink. The taste is nothing compared to thefeeling, which is being clawed back from the brink and everything hurts again and my heart begins to flutter in time with my panic, but there’s a hand moving gently through my hair, keeping me in place as I drink until my stomach hurts.
