Page 158 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

The Night Folk rose to its full height and dragged Caiden toward the fire. Panic and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He would not let this creature beat him.

The Folk dropped him near the fire. Caiden’s vision blurred. He tried to will his legs to move, but they felt leaden, and his eyes grew heavy. Caiden searched his mind for anything he could remember about the Night Folk. Were their bites venomous? He couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter now.

The clanking of wood being thrown into the flames startled him, but his body did not flinch. Why was Illya’s gift not protecting him? He should have run. He should not have tried to save the mercenary. Now, they’d both be a meal for this preternatural creature.

His breaths shallowed as his lungs filled with blood. He thought of his wife—of her golden hair and rosy cheeks. The reaper would appear any moment to take his soul. Or perhaps he would be punished to endure the cooking of his flesh.

The Folk appeared over the top of him, speaking to itself in the low clicking tone he’d heard before.

The creature cocked its head at him, and Caiden shut his eyes, hoping death would take him quickly.

The sound of metal crunching through bone, followed by a howl, echoed through the chamber. Blood sprayed onto Caiden’s face. Through his blurry vision, he saw the end of the mercenary’s curved sword sticking through the monster’s gaunt abdomen. Shock radiated through its red eyes. It reached for the sword, but it was too late. The mercenary pulled the blade from the Folk only to ram it back through its chest with a feral wail.

The creature toppled over into the fire. Flames consumed its ancient body.

The mercenary dragged Caiden’s body away from the gruesome scene. He couldn’t move. His whole body was paralyzed.

“Don’t worry, prince. No Night Folk is going to get in between me and my payment.”

He wanted to nod, but he couldn’t.

“Shit,” the mercenary said, applying pressure to his wound. “Guess we’ll have to find a healer.”

37THARAN

Tharan kneeledbefore a small statue of Illya in his study,Trinity let her be alright. Let her be safe.Tears welled behind his eyes. He should have protected her. Should have known they would come for her. His heart ached, and rage boiled in his veins. Whoever took her would pay dearly.

His ears perked and he cracked an eye.

“Do you have news, Hopper?”

Hopper’s mouth flattened into a straight line.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Caiden has not returned to the Woodlands.”

Tharan got to his feet, wiping any dirt from his pants.

“I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”

“As was I.”

“Call the others in. Let’s make a plan.” He took a drag off his cigarette.

Hopper nodded and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Hopper?”

“Yes?”

“Fetch a scholar who is familiar with the Court of Screams.”

Hopper bowed and excused himself.

Tharan flicked the butt of his cigarette out the window into the last remnants of snow before taking a seat at his desk.

Amolie and Roderick entered, holding three mugs of spiced cider.

“Thought you could use this,” Amolie said, setting the copper mug down on Tharan’s desk. The aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the room.

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