Page 28 of Heart Cradle
It stepped into the clearing and Maeve felt the air rip from her lungs. Her soul recoiled, it was worse than a nightmare, it was wrong, so very wrong. The Glade Stalker was huge, easily the size of a horse but distorted, almost mutated. Its skin was dark green and black, slick with wet, pustulant patches that oozed foul fluid. Its limbs were too long, jointed wrong, ending in clawed digits that twitched constantly. Its face, elongated, lipless, with crooked rows of jutting teeth, dripped with saliva in long gleaming ropes. Its milky eyes were lidless and appeared as empty pits of hunger and hate. When it moved, its segmented tail slammed the ground hard enough to shake the earth.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Maeve realised it wasn’t searching, it was waiting. Savouring the scent of horror in the air. She froze, every instinct in her screamed for her to run, hide or vanish.
She met their eyes and Nolenne gave the ambush signal, just as she had shown her the day of their escape. There would be no mercy, there could be no show of fear or hesitation, only the cold mechanics of killing.
Nolenne moved first, launching herself from the tree with a hoarse battle cry, blades flashing as she slammed down onto the beast’s back, driving both weapons deep. The Glade Stalker shrieked, a bone-rattling blend of hissing, clicking, and unearthly noise that felt like it would make Maeve’s ears bleed. It reared violently and launched Nolenne into the air with terrifying force. She hit the ground with a sickening crack, shoulder, then skull and she rolled once before slamming against a tree. It turned on her instantly then, claws raked the ground and its jaws snapped, tearing up grass and soil, outraged at the assault.
“RUN!” Nolenne tried to scream, coughing blood.
Maeve didn’t run, neither did Aeilanna, they jumped in tandem. Aeilanna struck first, jamming her broken spear into one of the creature’s eyes. It howl now piercing and inhuman, staggering back, ichor gushing from its ruined face. Maeve landed awkwardly but shoved herself upright, powered solely on adrenaline. She ducked under its tail, beneath its jaws, and drove her dagger up and into its throat. Once, twice, a third time. Burying it to the hilt as the beast convulsed violently. Its death throes tore up the ground, tail lashing trees and ripping branches. Maeve flew backwards, hit the earth hard and her vision went white. When the roaring stopped, and the world stopped shaking, she finally opened her eyes.
The Glade Stalker lay in a twisted heap, black blood steaming and bubbling like acid. Maeve tried to rise from the ground, shaking uncontrollably. Aeilanna staggered towards Nolenne, bloodied but laughter cracking through her raw throat. “That… that’s one for the gods-damned family annals.”
Nolenne groaned from the edge of the clearing, raising a broken hand. “Remind me…to never…fucking jump…on one of those…again.”
?????
After a few hours the terrain softened, much short grass underfoot and strange flowers glowing faintly unfurling as they passed, petals curling open like tiny offerings. It felt similar to stepping into a dream as the trees parted and a secluded lagoon was cradled in a polished orange stone basin. A slender waterfall poured from the ridge above into water so impossibly blue it shimmered even beneath the dawn light. Maeve stopped dead, breath caught in her throat, half afraid it might vanish if she looked away too long. It was so peaceful, an oasis in the filth and desperation she had experienced in the last few weeks. “Oh, fuck yes,” she whispered.
Aeilanna appeared beside her, a wry, exhausted smirk ghosting her face. “I’m sure it will be warm,” she said softly. “Let’s get all this shit off us before we choke on the stench.”
They smelled like death and fire, and the gore had dried in their hair, crusted their skin and stiffened their clothes. Maeve let out a strangled laugh. “You had me at ‘it’ll be warm’.”
Nolenne and Aeilanna walked across the clearing, laying gear on a collection of stacked rocks and began to peel off ruined layers. Maeve reached into her pocket, her fingers brushed a familiar shape, the small velvet pouch. Slowly, she unfastened it, hands trembling, the Chain inside shifted with a soft metallic clink, settling heavy in her palm. Gold twisted like vines, dark stones pulsed faintly and coloured glass caught the dim lightand sparked. Her breath hitched as she brushed her fingertips across the metal, before placing it back carefully.
The sound of footsteps filled the clearing. Maeve spun, the pouch clutched to her chest. The air split in front of her, jagged light tearing through the clearing. They appeared like a wall of brawn between her and Aeilanna and Nolenne. Five men, armed, cloaked and panting from the strain of travel. Power rolling off them in waves so thick, it was suffocating. At their centre stood Eiran, he was so tall and wild with tension, dirt streaked his clothes and his hair was wind-tossed. His presence hit her like a deluge of emotion, his eyes, fuck, those eyes, locked onto her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Maeve couldn’t move, her knees gave out, dropping her to the ground. It wasn’t fear or shock, it was just, him. Everything else fell away, the pain, the anxiety and the fight. She had chosen him long before she understood what it meant.
Eiran stepped forwards slow and deliberate, something raw broke in his gaze, Maeve still clutching the pouch to her chest and tears blurred her vision. Voice trembling, she said, “you’re real, you found me.”
Chapter Thirteen – The Ones Who Return
The ground was cool beneath Maeve’s knees, as her heart thundered against her ribs and her mind tried to process the situation.
Here.
My mate.
Eiran didn’t hesitate, with three long strides, he crossed the space between them, and pulled her into his arms. Maeve clutched at his shirt, her fingers tangling in the torn fabric, and then his mouth was on hers. Desperately needing the taste of her to believe she was real, that she was found. There was no gentleness to it, no patience, just raw, aching necessity. A breathless, broken sound escaped him against her lips and Maeve felt the slight shake of his hands where they gripped her.
Behind them, someone coughed theatrically.
“Oh gods, get a room,” Soren muttered.
“Seriously,” Fenric added. “We trekked through hell for this?”
“Well, that’s burned into my eyes forever. I’d rather face another fleshroot than watch this,” Calen groaned, followed by an exaggerated gagging noise.
Branfil shot them a sharp look at the grinning trio, who then made an attempt at looking chastised. Maeve pulled back from Eiran, breathing hard. A stunned laugh bubbled up her throat, her gaze flicked to Bran’s gentle smile, then the three smirking faces, somehow familiar and mischievous, each with the same arrogant tilt to their smiles as their elder brother.
“Let me guess…” she rasped, her voice raw. “Your best friend and brother Branfil, and three insufferable younger brothers.” She pointed to each. “Soren, Calen, and Fenric, right?”
