Page 76 of Defy the Fae

The filaments have been harvested from a nasty plant that grows close to The Deep’s entrance. Scorpio and his cult are quite the industrious fuckers.

It takes forever and a fucking day to wind through the lattice of wires, expertly camouflaged like a Fae ring. I step and twist. At one point, I duck while ushering the deer beneath a strand affixed high off the ground.

One touch, and the fibers will slice deep enough to cleave through bone.

One stumble, and I can say goodbye to my cock. It’s that kind of trap.

My eyes narrow, scrolling across the dense environment as we keep moving. Countless threads later, we trail over the last one—and I whip out the longbow.

Leaping in front of Sylvan, I nock it, swerve, and let my arrow fly. It punctures the dryad charging my way. A scream peals from his mouth, the staff dropping from his hand and blood spraying from his chest.

The rest of them leap from the shadows. More dryads and fauns and leprechauns, armed with bows, staffs, hammers, axes, saw blades, and throwing stars. I can’t help the disappointed sigh—“Ah, fuck,” I mutter—before I shove the deer out of harm’s way and throw myself into it.

Sylvan totters backward. The Solitaries won’t hurt her, but they might snare my friend as leverage.

I dodge and spin while firing another round. I tumble forward, pop up, and two arrows through a pair of throats, crimson splattering the wilderness.

An axe flares in my direction, but it falls from the leprechaun’s fingers as a dagger hacks through his wrist. Foxglove straightens from her throwing stance and races into the scene.

An arrow with illuminated fletching spears through and puts a crater into a faun aiming at the nymph’s back. The earth shakes as Cypress smashes through the foliage, his weapon braced and the splayed horns of his helmet dotted in red specks.

Sensing a figure behind him, he rears and stamps his hooves into a dryad, launching the Fae into the sky.

I pivot while entreating the roots of a tree, which break from the ground. Muscled cords of bark throw clumps of soil across the forest. Completing a full turn, I ram my free palm in front of me, launching the roots toward an incoming body like a battering arm. The second the Fae lands, the bark clamps around their form and crushes what’s left, bones audibly crunching.

Another figure jets my way. I flick out my hand, lobbing a single root that belts around the leprechaun’s throat. As my splayed fingers curl into a fist, the root squeezes. And when I jolt my arm backward, the bark twists the assailant’s neck.

I’ve asked enough of this tree, so I relax my arm. The root drops along with its brethren, and the cords stitch themselves back under the earth.

My bow does the rest. I sweep under a flying axe, then flip an arrow between my fingers and jolt the tip over my shoulder, the arrow piercing through another Fae’s larynx.

A javelin spirals through the air and pins a faun to the nearest trunk. The outline of wings shears across the woods, the quills sharp and seizing the enemy’s attention. Cerulean swoops down. Lark jumps from his arms, her boots hitting the grass as my brother snatches his weapon and soars toward another faun.

Lark hooks a female dryad and brings her down. In a fluid series of moves, my brother’s mate reels in her whip and lashes backward through the gap in her legs, striking a charging leprechaun heading her way.

“Fables almighty,” one of the fauns gasps, the fear bright and authentic in his eyes as he perceives my brother and his mate.

Then the Fae glimpses me, as if the reality of this surge—against the ones who’ve reigned over this land for the last nine years—is only now striking him.

I want to explain. I want him to understand, to see it all differently, to realize it doesn’t need to go down like this, to know I’m still here, fighting for this world, if only from another angle.

The faun wavers. He whirls and dashes into the trees.

Shit. If he reaches his clan, if he reaches Scorpio, more will come, more will intercept. If I let that happen, we’ll risk getting to the Evermore Blossom.

My arrow is up and firing before my head catches up. The arrow lodges into the faun’s spine, launching him into a hedge.

By the time he lands with a thud and a final screech, it’s over. Fatal silence sweeps through the forest, punctured only by the harsh pants coming from each of us. Blood clots the foliage, the stench thick in my nostrils. We stand, heaving among the slaughter.

Humility bites into Foxglove’s face. She nods to Cypress for saving her, and he bows his head. I manage the same to the nymph, seeing as the female had shielded me from a leprechaun’s axe. Besides, I’m too shredded to hold a grudge right now.

I glance at the faun lying still in the bushes. I targeted him while he’d been fleeing. I’d done that to an unarmed Fae, who’d once been my kin.

The longbow drops from my hands. “Fuck,” I grit out while dicing through my hair.

“Brother,” Cerulean murmurs.

“Puck,” Cypress says.

---