Any Unseelie would flip her on her back, pin her down, and have his way with her. Fae bodies are different from humans: stronger and more resilient, and people might get hurt in the passionate games with us. In the eyes of my kind, she’s just another human, after all, the pest we’ve been controlling and exploiting for centuries.
The temptation to pull her in even closer, feel more of her soft skin, makes me restless.
Elders, I need to get away from her.
Carefully peeling myself from her, I pull the cover over her shoulders, throw the last piece of wood in the fire, and open the door.
Frigid air hits my face at the doorframe. The cold wind howls between the trunks of the dead trees. The moon has set, and the bottomless night sky shimmers above me; the stars flicker like distant reflections from another world on the surface of an endless inky well. Before heading into the freezing gloom, I turn around one last time. Talysse lies there, drenched in the golden light of the dying fire, her lips parted, her dark hair framing her freckled face, her impossibly long lashes casting shadows over the apples of her cheeks. Something stirs inside me, something better left undisturbed, whose power frightens me.
The door closes without making a sound, and the night swallows me. I rub my face with the heels of my hands and take deep, controlled breaths. The chilly air floods my lungs and restores some of my lost self-control.
It’s past the Dead Hour, and the night creatures are tired of their songs and struggles. Like all living beings, they withdraw for some rest and pick up their music later, as if Cymmetra herself has planted tiny mechanical clocks in their heads.
But this silence is unnatural.
I venture deeper into the woods, the clearing with the hut behind me. The distant chirping of crickets mutes with an odd pace, as if a large animal is moving, scaring the tiny critters.
Heroy, stand by me; this might be a Shadowfeeder.
The Shadowblade soundlessly slips into my hand.
Then its scent hits me.
A concealed stench of death and decay, of cruelty and bloodlust, masquerading as innocence. An ancient evil is making its way toward the hut.
And I know very well what it’s after.
A tiny silhouette—something one could easily mistake for a small animal and underestimate the immense danger—glides between the trunks.
“Lord Deirhaîm, you can walk freely,” I shout into the night. “If it is me you seek, you’ve found me.”
The boy smiles timidly, his crimson eyes capturing the starlight in an unsettling way. He would have grown into a fine male.
Too bad his kind doesn’t grow.
“No need to stick to the shadows, Lord Deirhaîm,” I repeat, leaning on my Shadowblade. The coolness of my sword, made of condensed magic and shadows, is a comfort in my palm.
“A fine night to stroll and spill some blood, Prince Aeidas. Some...human blood.” His voice is anything but childlike; it’s a voice you’d expect from something that just crept out of a crypt. The boy approaches me, sniffing the air like an animal, then licks his ruby lips. “Mmmm. I can smell her from here. Delicious, isn’t she?”
I casually lean the blade on my bare shoulders and plant my feet firmly in the scorched soil.
Lord Deirhaîm barely reaches my waist but grins at my defiant stand. “Let’s share her. Let’s hunt her together, Prince Aeidas. You can have your ways with her, and then—then I’ll have mine. I’ve noticed how you look at her.” His words slither from his mouth like a viper unfurling. The thought of Talysse with her throat torn out by this monster, drowning in her blood, unsettles me. Wouldn’t that be the perfect solution, though? Letting someone else do the dirty work instead of delaying the inevitable?
The clarity of the answer strikes me like a lightning bolt.
No.
She hates me, and she has every right. But I’ll be damned if I let her die.
“No.”
The air shifts around him, the distance between us crackles with tension.
“Do you think I need your permission to get her, Princeling?” He sounds more like a beast now, a reminder of his true nature. Without giving in to his taunting, I raise my blade.
“Will you—” he licks his lips in anticipation, and his canines—ivory daggers—flash in the scarce light, “fight me for her?” A flicker of savage excitement ripples through his face.
Instincts kick in. My feet assume a fighting position, and the Shadowblade drops to the boy’s face.
