Page 29 of Deliverance

His companion nods, already moving into the hallway. With one last look at me, Alaric slips from the room, and I am left alone.

Fear makes my hands sweat, but I tell myself that some of that is leftover terror from my nightmare. He was so close to me before Blaise entered the room, looking concerned for me, his hands making my skin tingle where he touched me. Now he is gone, and I feel unsure about everything, my mind still clinging to sleep.

I search through the pile of clothes left for me and pull on a floral dress. It is too big for me, but I take a borrowed belt and tie it around my waist, pulling it in so I look less like a child playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. There is a warm-looking pair of leggings that I pull on as well, knowing we are going to be riding for some time.

While I get dressed, my mind continues to play over my interaction with Alaric. He looked reluctant to leave me just now, but that is probably because he doesn’t want me to be on my own due to what I mean to his kingdom. I need to get thisstupid girlie notion from my mind that he has any romantic intentions towards me.

Looking out the window, I see Alaric talking to some of the humans, assisting with carrying buckets of water from the well to help put out the rest of the fire. His hood is up, hiding his ears, yet as he flits around, it is clear from his speed and strength that he is more than human. The humans either don’t notice or don’t care.

I don’t know how long I wait, but it feels like an eternity. Alternating between watching out the window and pacing the room, I release a huff of breath as I lean against the window frame. A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead, and I realise just how hot it is getting. Now that I think about it, there is a strange noise that is growing too. At first it just blended into the background, but now it’s more like a dull roar.

The fire, it must have spread. Why is no one over on this side of the inn to put it out? Alaric was going to contain the fire, but something must have happened, as they don’t seem to know. None of this seems right. How have they not realised that the other side of the inn is burning? Can they not hear the fire?

Fear turns my stomach as I realise I am going to have to get out of this myself. If I wait around to be rescued, I may well be dead by the time they get to me. Hurrying over to the door, I go to swing it open, only to cry out as the door handle burns my palm. Heat hits me like a physical blow, and I back away quickly, slamming the door shut with my right shoulder, my left still screaming with pain from my fall.

Backing away from the door, I look down at the angry red burn on my palm. Pain lances through me, but it is overshadowed by the despair that threatens to consume me. I gape at my one hope of escape, watching as it burns and turns my chances of survival into ashes.

Thick black smoke begins to fill the room, causing great, racking coughs to shake my body, my lungs screaming at the invasion.

No, I refuse to just give up, lie down, and die. I am stronger than that. A deep, primal part of myself roars with approval and urges me to get moving. There is no time to waste, though, if I want to survive. Grabbing the bedding, I throw the jug of water over it, trying to make it as wet as possible, and stuff it under the door to block any entrance for the smoke that is making its way up to me. It won’t keep it at bay for long, but it should afford me a little more time.

Now all I have to figure out is how to get out of here. Glancing around, I run over to the window, a plan forming in my mind. I can shout for help, let fresh air in to clear my lungs, and hopefully climb from it to safety. Chest heaving, I look for a latch or way to open the window, uselessly pressing against the glass in futile attempts of making it budge. Nothing. How is it possible that the only window in the room does not open?

A frustrated, desperate cry leaves my lips. I am panicking now, my body trembling with adrenaline. My instincts are telling me to stop and calm down so I do not use up too much oxygen with my frantic breathing. Panic is only going to cloud my mind and make this harder. Closing my eyes for a second, I reach for that calm, ancient part of me and channel it, clearing my thoughts. Opening my eyes once more, I decide to break the glass.

Running over to the bed, I grab a blanket and wrap it around my fist before returning to the window. Summoning all my strength, I smash my hand into the glass repeatedly, even as my knuckles scream in protest. The glass remains unbroken. Desperate gasps escape me as I keep punching, throwing all of my weight into it as tears roll down my cheeks.

A high-pitched scream comes from above me, causing me to flinch. Am I about to be crushed by the beams holding up the roof? A thatched roof will burn quickly, and I don’t know how good the structural integrity of the building is. However, as I look up, I realise the noise I hear is scrabbling, as though something is trying to dig its way through the roof. The question is, are they friend or foe? I have no idea, but I need to get out of here, and the window is still my best option. I scan the room for a heavy object, and my eyes settle on a candlestick holder, the heavy metal base looking perfect.

The room is becoming more and more smoky, and my breaths are getting shallow and laboured. Fighting through a cough, I raise my hand and throw the candlestick holder at the glass… only for it to bounce off and land on the floor with a thud.

“Why won’t you break?” I scream at the window in frustration. A coughing fit takes over me, and I bend over as I try to catch my breath. The smoke stings my eyes, and my head feels stuffy from inhaling so much smoke.

“Iris!” a deep male voice calls urgently.

Jerking towards the voice, I realise there is now a hole in the roof where the scrabbling sound came from. A hand is extended through that hole. Without thinking about who it is, I stumble over and reach up to the pale hand. At this point, any help is essential.

Long, slender fingers wrap around my arm and pull me up and onto the roof as easily as if lifting a bag of feathers. Hunching over, I press my hands against the thatching and take long, deep breaths of the cool night air.

“We cannot stay here,” a familiar voice says, his body close to mine but not touching. “In case you didn’t notice, the building is on fire.”

I slowly begin to register the presence of the male. There are only a handful of males whose voices I would recognise, andhe is neither Alaric nor Blaise. I turn rapidly to confirm my suspicions, making myself dizzy, and have to plant my hands against the roof again to make sure I don’t topple off.

Ciaran, the Unseelie fae and next in line for the throne.

“Steady,” he murmurs, raising a pale hand to stabilise me.

“You!” I accuse. “Did you do this?” I gesture to the burning building, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Shifting forward, he wraps his arms around me without warning and pulls me against his chest. I cry out in fear, but all I can do is hold on as he stands and leaps from the roof.

As soon as we are on the ground, I fight my way out of his arms, struggling like my life depends on it. I buck and kick, relishing his curses as I make contact. Finally breaking free, I stumble away, desperate to put some distance between us.

“Stay away from me.” Teeth clenched and hands balled into fists at my sides, I move backward, keeping my eyes on him like the predator he is.

“I cannot do that, Iris.” He takes a step closer, the look in his eyes dark and possessive. “We need you, and I will do anything to get you.” He is not apologetic in the slightest, and although I should be horrified, there is a part of me that swoons a little at his words. He did just rescue me from the fire.

What is wrong with me? He is evil and trying to abduct me, I should not feel anything towards him other than disgust and horror. Why then do Istillfeel this pull towards him? The connection between the two of us is still present, and I don’t understand it. The spell, that must be it. I am the doe that they need to lift their curse, and it must be linking us together somehow. That is the only rational explanation.

Something moves in my peripheral vision, and I glance over. I wish I hadn’t. Creatures that look to be made of gnarled tree branches and shadows run across the clearing. Tall, long-limbed creatures like the one I saw with Ciaran that day are stalkingthe grounds, and terrifying dog-like fae chase down humans. A horrified realisation hits me. They managed to break through the spell. I can see they are already moving back to the forest, though, many of them looking like they are being dragged by an invisible force—the curse.

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