Page 4 of Dark Fate

A shriek hops out of my mouth before I can wrangle it back in, and my arms are suddenly coiled around his neck.

"Faster travel," he spits out like we're discussing the weather, not him going full superhero. I want to argue because of pride, but the guy's got a point.

Huffing out a sigh, I resign myself to the close encounter and sink into his abs of steel.

As we walk, the river water chills my bones, and it's like my clothes morphed into a wet suit without consulting me. The breeze? More like an icy brush-off, and I'm convulsing in a not-so-hot shiver marathon.

Faderyn catches on to my shivering act without missing a beat, pulling me closer with his arms, which feel chiseled from stone. Wrapped up in his heat, I've got to admit it's a solid move—not that I'm about to say it out loud.

Here I am, trying to stay focused on anything but the concrete wall of his chest and the steel of his abs pressing against me. Every molecule in the air around him is practically flexing in my direction. It smells like a forest after a storm, rugged and raw.

Keep your head in the game; I silently reprimand myself as I feel the heat rise in my cheeks — a ridiculous reaction under dire circumstances. I’m blaming the wind, not the close quarters with Mystery Fae Uber, Mr. Fantasy himself.

His hair whips around his fine-as-knife-point ears, and okay, yeah, he could cut glass with that jawline. His eyes? They're like peering straight into a fairytale—too epic to be real. Oh, and now he's caught me ogling like it's my day job: eyes forward, all business. Focus on the mission. That’s the game plan.

Cheeks on fire, I launch a question in his direction like a life raft for my dignity. "How long have you been a local in these parts?" I ask because conversation is a great human tradition for 'please forget I was just gaping at you.'

I swear I see a smirk twitch on his face—stupid charming Fae.

"Centuries," he responds, his expression shadowed by a heavy contemplation. "Fae lifespan is different. However, winds are changing, carrying whispers of a threatening storm."

That feeling is like stepping into a freezer—his warning sends shivers down my toes. Could he be hinting at Moretemis's grand entrance? But now’s not the time for twenty questions; I will stash them for later interrogation.

I crane my neck to soak in the fantasy extravaganza around us. The Fae terrain unfolds like a painter's wild dream splashed across an endless canvas. Trees that hit every imaginable green and then some, blues that might’ve been plucked from the midsummer sky, purples deep enough to get lost in—all of them reach for the sky, their leafy hands clasping each other in an arboreal high five. Rock spires sparkle like the world's most go-getting crystals, and islands hover in the air as if they've forgotten gravity's a thing, sending water tumbling down into the great unknown.

Between limping and Faderyn carrying me for hours—we finally zero in on this rugged balcony of rock tucked away like a secret in the middle of tree mageddon.

He guides me through trees that can't keep a secret, rustling about every which way. "You require rest," he insists, his tone gentle and commanding.

Before us, a secret panel reveals a tunnel carved straight into storybooks, lit by crystals that twinkle like they're up to something. I pause; the cave mouth gapes a big ol' 'Enter if you dare,' and I'm not exactly doing cartwheels to get in there. Fadeyrn catches the look, probably a mix of 'Help!' and 'Nope!' and pins me with a look, all earnest and vowing protection. "Your safety's on my honor," he declares, and something in the solemn way he says it has me believing him. I scope out his face, expecting to find some sly twist, but apparently, Fae Boy Scouts do exist.

My brain is all 'Red alert! Bad idea!'— Hit the 'Find My Viking' app, but what can you do when your energy bar blinks red? Apparently, you can nod and follow.

As if reading my mind, he says gently, "We will begin our search at first light. But you need to recover your strength."

So, dragging what's left of me, I tail him down into his earthy bachelor pad. And will you look at that? His place is less cave, a more cozy cavern with squishy rugs and wooden furniture that smells like a forest’s day spa.

Collapsing into the comforting embrace of a cushioned seat by the hearth, I surrender to the penetrating warmth that begins to chase the stubborn chill from my bones.

A woman appears, providing sustenance and aid without a word, her presence a ballet of efficiency. Alone once more with Faderyn, I indulge in the unexpected feast, each flavor a revelation, awakening senses dulled by hardship.

His calm presence is a balm, and as he tends to my injuries with skilled hands, the pain yields to his healing touch. His actions—a mix of duty and something unspoken—blur as my eyelids grow weighty with the pull of sleep.

Guided to a chamber, the soft bedding calls to the fatigue that wraps my body like a shroud. "Sleep well," Faderyn whispers, his silhouette receding into the shadows of the closing door.

Alone in the chamber, I desperately reach for Rhyland through our bond. The empty silence in my mind drives icy fear into my heart.

Then, faintly, I feel him—fractured pain, confusion, primal urgency. It guts me. The thread slips away before I can grasp hold, leaving a cold void again.

The raw cocktail of emotions is a rough brew to swallow. It's like trying to hear a favorite song over static; the connection with Rhyland is frayed and fuzzy, offering no hints or whispers of where he might be or how he's faring. The urgency pokes at my insides, a constant reminder that time might be running out.

And here lies the cruel joke—my body's screaming for the shutdown while my brain's all lit up like a marquee on opening night.

My muscles are mutinying, throwing in the towel, no matter how I mentally prod them. The human vessel waves a white flag while the will within me kicks and screams, itching to break free and sprint into action.

The dark waves of sleep start pulling me under, and there, riding those waves, Rhyland's image burns bright. It's a silent prayer, a vow just shy of a shout—Hang in there.

I'm coming, I promise. ...wait for me.

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