All around us, wraiths followed. They moved as silently as shadows, some so close I could have reached out and touched them. Their scythes gleamed silver in the moonlight, and their bodies were voids of all color but night.
Every one of them was hunting me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The clouds slidover the moon again, partly obscuring it and rendering the wraiths almost invisible. But now that I’d seen them, it made no difference. I knew the only thing holding them at bay was the fae carrying me.
At least the wraiths didn’t make noise. But something else did.
All at once, my ears filled with a howl. The sound was violent, serrated, terrible.
It came from everywhere, rising to a crescendo that nearly made me let go of Dorian’s neck and clap my hands to my ears. But I clung tighter, forcing myself to endure it. The howl went on and on. It was a wolf, but not.
The Hunt.
Dorian didn’t look back, didn’t acknowledge the wraiths or the wolves. He only ran. Somehow he didn’t tire; his breath came at the same steady interval as it had when he’d spoken to me inside the citadel.
But I could feel his heart beating. It pulsed at his neck like it might break free.
I didn’t know how far we ran. Five hundred paces? A span? Myworld shrank to his breath and his heartbeat and his pistoning legs until, ahead, a shape appeared. Unmoving, geometric, large.
I stared into the night, eyes narrowed on it.
A house—it was a house, hunched and half-swallowed by the trees. And Dorian ran straight toward it. He stopped only to slap his palm to the door, and fae symbols flared across the wood.
The hinges groaned, the door swung inward, and Dorian ducked us inside. He shut it behind him with his foot, then turned and set both hands to it, leaning into it like he was holding it shut. In the dark, he finally breathed hard and ragged against my arms.
I didn’t know where we were, but silence pressed against me like a second skin. I imagined one whisper would bring the scythes or the wolves down on us.
Another howl split the air. This one was closer, so close my teeth clenched against the warbling pain in my ears.
Dorian’s hand left the door and found my wrist. His fingers curled around it, pulling my arm tight against his collarbone. At first I thought he was guiding me, but when his hand didn’t move, I understood.
He was comforting me.
The howl finally faded, leaving only a high ringing in my ears. Even so, I heard movement beyond the door: footsteps crushing leaves, snuffling through the grass. They approached, close enough that I could make out the deep, rattling inhales as whatever hunted us scented the air.
I closed my eyes. I knew, bone-deep, that if I did anything else, anything but stay frozen as I was, it would be the death of us.
Other movement sounded to our left, and I heard a horse’s nicker. It passed alongside whatever structure stood between us and it. Slowly, the snuffling shifted to the right. We were surrounded, scented.
A cursed fae, her horse, and her wolves.
This was them. The Hunt.
I didn’t know why they didn’t break down the door. Maybe the Wild Hunt didn’t need doors. Maybe they could pass through walls. But neither happened. The door stayed untouched, and the interior remained empty except for the two of us.
Eventually, a grasping cry echoed deep in the forest. It sounded fae.
The reaction came at once. Another howl, this one louder than before. It hammered against my skull, making my lips curl back as I gnashed my teeth. The horses and wolves struck off toward the source of the cry.
We listened. My ears rang, high and tinny. We didn’t move.
Minutes passed before Dorian’s hand finally dropped from my wrist. “You can let go now. It’s safe.”
Only then did I realize how much my arms and hands ached, how raw my grip had been. My fingers refused to unclench at first. When they did, I slid from his back, my boots tapping lightly on the wooden floor. Every part of me shook—hands, arms, knees.
We should be captured. We should be dead. I didn’t understand why we weren’t.
