It’s that warrior.
Rust.
He’s around somewhere, lurking in the dark.
But I have no idea where.
I lift my hand in front of my face—and I don’t see a thing. Not the pale, freckled complexion that should poke out between the sleeve of the rain jacket and the cuff of the glove; not the blueand grey of the inhaler that Samick presses against my palm a heartbeat later.
When I look down, I don’t see my boots kicking through puddles. If I look over my shoulder, I won’t see the captives probably huddled in the cold, pushing against the wind to keep up with the steadily marching unit.
The blackout is as dense as ever.
But I don’t need to see anything to know that Rust is in the dark, watching us—as he has been since he came back to the unit.
A lot of staring.
A lot of watching.
A lot of plotting.
I’m sure of it.
He’s probably figuring out the gaps in my constant fae-shield, a warped vendetta propelling him into some fucked up obsession with me.
Guess logic doesn’t sit with the fae too well.
It was Ramona who shot the guy, not me.
He knows that. And still, he’s a stubborn psycho about it.
Maybe I should relax a little, let the stiffness loosen from my tight shoulders, let the breaths ease a bit in my tight chest, maybe stop clenching my teeth so much that they’re starting to ache.
I am, after all, surrounded by a shield.
When we left the cemetery behind, that shield formed around me—and it hasn’t changed. Not in all the treks and marches since.
Mika moved in front of me.
I remember the way the torch-flames bounced off of her, how the plaited rope of her hair fell down her spine like a glass sword, glinting over the rippling ink of her leathers. A gold dagger was firm in her left fist, and in her right, a black knife.
Arwyn, the other icy fae, the one that echoes that same cold indifference as Samick, came to my right—and there, he walks.
The darkness can hide the fae from me all it wants. I still feel them, the cold ones, the ones fashioned from ice, born of winter.
I’m used to Samick now, but having Arwyn on my other side gives me chills. Literally, my skin pebbles, it prickles all over, and I fight back the occasional shudder, like it’s too much to be around more than one of them at a time.
Shark follows behind, the wilder fae with rows of jagged teeth that look like they could melt flesh with a single, slow bite.
While we walk, they don’t leave me, not more than an inch.
They aren’t creating a barrier between me and Rust out of the kindness of their hearts.
For whatever reason, they use their bodies to shield me—for the sake of Samick.
And he has his reasons and bargains with Dare.
I shouldn’t let the protection fool me.
