Page 41 of Song of the Dark Wood

“Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather I stayed?” She tried to make the words sound seductive, but only sounded uncertain.

She ran her fingers over her collarbone, and Conor’s eyes followed the movement with heated interest. She didn’t really know how to be sexy. Rowan had spent years learning about every depraved and sexual thing the Wolf might want to do, but she felt ill-equipped to flirt. None of her training assumed thatshewould need to pursuehim.

“Wouldyourather that?” Conor asked skeptically.

“Yes,” she said, allowing her fingers to trail down the lace neckline of her dress.

Conor’s throat bobbed as her hand fell away. He ran a finger down her neck to the center of her chest, pausing between her breasts—her skin tingling in the wake of his touch.

He froze as he ran his tongue over his lips. “Liar,” he murmured. He shook his head. “While I enjoy the sweetness of those burnt-sugar lies, I don’t like being lied to.”

He looked away. His face shuttered and all the ground Rowan felt she had gained slipped away under her feet. She was entirely out of her depth with Conor.

“Go home, little Red. Get some sleep and stop trying to be someone you aren’t.”

A violent flush heated Rowan’s cheeks as she turned away and dashed into the hall.

She scolded herself for being such a clumsy, awkward woman. She was mortified by her lack of experience. Worse, she was desperate to get it over with so that she could stop worrying about the elders—so she could stop worrying about the experience itself. The dread of it stalked her daily like a specter. She was haunted by a fate she knew awaited her, and unlike the actual spirits in her life, she did not know how to put the anxiety of what awaited her to rest.

Rowan opened the entryway closet and grabbed her cloak, pulling it over her shoulders. She froze, her gaze locked on something red in the shadows of the closet. Grabbing it, she held it up to the lantern light.

It was a Red Maiden’s cloak. Rowan’s mind drew up the image of Orla splayed out on the forest floor without her cloak. Searching the neckline, she found Orla’s initials along with a dried blood stain.

Rowan’s hands shook. She’d believed Conor when he said he didn’t hurt Orla, but now she felt foolish for taking him at his word.

She flung the cloak back to where it had been poorly hidden and dashed out of Wolf’s Keep.

10

ROWAN

Rowan rushed down the stone stairs of Wolf’s Keep and through the ornate gates, checking over her shoulder to make sure Conor hadn’t followed.

The path to town seemed to stretch on endlessly. Her heart pounded and she wished there were markers to let her know how far she had to go. Fear coiled and uncoiled like a snake in her belly.

Conor hadn’t directly said that he didn’t kill Orla.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt the eyes of the monsters of the forest on her. She had the strangest sense that there was almost nothing holding them at bay. The usual symphonic pulse of the Dark Wood’s magic had ceased once again.

The wood was nearly silent. There was only the whisper of leaves begging the breeze for mercy.

She hurried her pace, wishing she hadn’t left Cade with Aeoife.

A loud crack sounded behind Rowan. She spun, hands uselessly held out in front of her, as if she meant to punch someone. Her eyes darted to the left, where the sound hadoriginated, but she couldn’t see anything in the velvety darkness. She turned back and continued down the trail faster. Another crack behind her sent her into a sprint. She tore down the path, praying to the Mother that the lantern light of the trailhead would soon come into sight.

The cold night air viciously burned her lungs. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as her boots pounded the forest floor. There was a distinct and horrifying sound of heavy footsteps behind her.

Rowan ran as fast as she could, but nothing seemed to put distance between her and whatever pursued.

Her mind spun. If the Wolf had discovered that she knew about Orla’s cloak, he could have been coming to stop her from sharing what she knew with the elders. The only weapon she had was the lantern in her hand. It suddenly felt foolish to walk through the woods at night with nothing to defend herself.

A loud screech cut through the air, chilling her blood. It was more a screech than the howl of a wolf, but she didn’t dare turn to look.

Claws closed over her shoulder and something barreled into her. She screamed as her attacker tackled her. Her bones creaked beneath the weight of whatever monster landed on her. She fought to draw in another breath and whispered a prayer to the Mother.

Rowan searched, hands clawing wildly at the damp earth. Her lantern had landed a few feet away, and she was utterly defenseless. The beast screeched again. She winced as hot, rancid breath and spittle hit her cheek. Tears streamed down her face, and she closed her eyes, too choked with regret to scream.

A brilliant light cut through the dark, and her eyes shot open. The light pulsed, blinding and golden.

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