Page 54 of Cursed Shadows 2

Eamon smirks, cuts his gaze to the pair ahead, then back at me. Leaning closer, he whispers softly, “Took you long enough.”

We don’t go into detail.

Rune will hear our words, no matter how whispered. But it has clicked like a puzzle piece in my mind. Rune and Aleana.

I mouth my answer, ‘Daxeel?’

Does Daxeel know?

That small smile still playing on Eamon’s lips, he shrugs.

I tuck the thought away for another time, because as we reach the landing, Eamon’s hand presses harder into the small of my back, his sharper nails scraping over the flimsy fabric of my purple bodice.

His head snaps to the side, away from me.

I lean forward to look around him, to see what tenses him and gives him pause.

My lashes lower over my eyes as a familiar sneer greets me.

Some steps down the landing’s corridor, Taroh walks towards us with those two lordsons he’s often with, like they are sewn at the legs.

My mouth purses on instinct as I flicker my gaze over the one I just now decide is named Boil. He would be ordinary in my eyes, with his sandy hair, dull brown irises, muted complexion—but the boil on his proud, slender face stands out. Not a kind of boil that a healer could tend to, no it’s thatangry sort, a red lump on the point of his chin—it's a Fae Mark, utterly useless, and part disgusting.

The sight of it scrunches my face.

Taroh advances on me, and he steals back my attention like a fishhook through my fucking cheek.

Our stares lock.

The slight flare of his nostrils betrays him. He catches Daxeel’s scent on me. Of course, to him, he might only smellamale on me, and he’s only guessing it’s Daxeel. An accurate guess with too real consequences.

“Your value descends each day, bedder.” Taroh’s drawl comes from around Eamon’s rigid body. “Are there any more dokkalves you’d like to add to your collection as you freelance as an unpaid whore?”

I throw a quiet snarl around Eamon’s hard chest. But before Taroh can say another word, before I can spit my own retort, Eamon twists with a growl.

His hand slips away from my back.

My wide eyes snap to my closest friend as he does the unthinkable.

Eamon moves too fast, faster than I’ve ever seen him move, and his fist is a blasted canon through the air. Coming from an angle, his knuckles crack into Taroh’s cheekbone.

I hear—no, Ifeel—the bone crunch.

Air rushes up all around me. Strands of my own hair whip my face, the short hem of my purple satin skirt lifts in the disturbed air of the landing.

It’s the force of Taroh hitting the wall, the sudden surge of tension in the nearby fae, and the speed of Rune flying down the steps to stand at my side.

Without so much as a glance at me, Rune snatches my wrist and yanks me hard. I’m thrown aside, the toes of my boots knocking into a step. I almost go tumbling over the stairs, almost smack into Aleana who reaches out flattened hands to halt me.

All that stops me from spilling over is the banister I grab onto.

Aleana’s hands find my forearm. Her clutched fingers are weak as she tugs me towards her, I follow into her pull until I’m up some steps and looking down on the landing.

Turns out, I was right about Rune coming to my aid.

Rune and Eamon are my shields as Taroh rights himself.

His eyes are wild forest fires.

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