Page 47 of Realm of Nightmares
Maeve refused to back down.
She would not be rendered helpless, she would not become a victim. Not again. She was more than a defenseless, vulnerable female. The soul of the goddess Danua ran through her veins. Her blood, her birthright, made her a High Princess of Autumn. She was the Dawnbringer.
And she was a fucking fae, damn it.
Movement snagged her gaze, and she pulled her Aurastone, spinning into the attack. The iridescent blade arced through the air, slicing the mist in half like a strand of silk, and she stabbed her dagger into the chest of one of the wolves. Its eyes went wild, rabid, the yelp that escaped it causing a slice of regret to cut through her.
She yanked the blade out, whipping around as another wolf charged. Warm blood splattered across her cheeks and chest, but she was already twisting away, avoiding the fangs of another ravenous mouth.
She jumped out of the way, stumbling over a fallen log, but she wasn’t fast enough. Four razor-sharp claws slashed across her thigh, ripping the fabric of her leggings and shredding the flesh beneath. A guttural scream ripped from her, and she staggered backward, disoriented as dizzying flashes of pain shot up and down her leg. Blood poured from the wounds, hot and sticky.
She stumbled forward, the hilt of the Aurastone tight in her grip. One arm jutting out, she speared the wolf with her dagger, driving the tip of the blade through the beast’s heart. It collapsed, the weight of the wolf dragging Maeve down with it.
Wrenching her arm free, Maeve shrieked, a battle cry scalding the back of her throat. She seized her Aurastone, tearing it from the mangled mess of fur and blood at her feet.
Howls echoed in the distance, each one growing closer. The hairs along the back of Maeve’s neck stood on end and she whirled around in a circle, dagger raised, ready to defend herself and her fallenmabvstalis.
Thundering hooves trembled the earth beneath Maeve’s feet, and she looked up. Racing toward her through the barrier of fog with the storm at his back was Rowan. He rode atop themabvstalis,the creature moving like wind and lightning. Lavender eyes glinted, fierce and raging. Raindrops slid down his face, plastering his hair to his forehead and cheeks.
Another howl. Closer.
Maeve shivered.
In one fluid motion, Rowan bent down, snagging her by the waist and hauling her onto themabvstalis. She collapsed in his arms as he urged them faster, streaking through the woods toward a clearing. Searing agony spread over her thigh as her magic desperately tried to heal her. Sharp, stabbing pangs dug into her side with every motion, and her head lolled against his shoulder.
“Almost there,” he murmured.
Eventually themabvstalisslowed, and the gentle swaying was almost enough to rock her to sleep. She felt herself drifting, slipping into a blissful abyss where there were no dire wolves, no dark fae, no dangers.
“How did you do that?” Rowan asked, his voice quiet over the whisper of the wind.
Maeve blinked her eyes open, staring at the underside of his jaw. It took her a moment to register his question. “How did I do what?”
“You were riding alongside me and then you were gone.” He shook his head, damp hair sticking up in every direction, then glanced down at her. “I’ve never seen amabvstalismove that fast.”
“Oh.” She shifted, wincing. Her hand had gone numb, but she still had a death grip on her Aurastone. Carefully, she sheathed it. “I saidbailh.”
His dark brow arched in question. “You told it to go home?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
Except the Ether wasn’t home. Not for her. Not for Rowan. Not even for Laurel.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, the world shimmered, transforming before her eyes. They were no longer riding through a field of damp grass and gray skies, and instead Maeve found herself bathed in sunlight. The warm breeze wrapped around her like an old friend and the palm leaves rustled overhead, bristling back and forth like they were sharing secrets. A long stretch of beach unraveled beneath them, the sands soft and squishy and pink. Crystalline ocean waves lapped lazily against the shoreline, coming back again and again, caressing the coast like a lover. Dazzling blue skies were blotted with wispy white clouds and the delicious sun kissed her skin.
The scent of warm sandalwood, sun-drenched palms, and plumeria washed over her. There was a violent tug in her heart, a deep, soul-searching longing. A strangled gasp escaped her, the Strand marking her chest burned as though it seared her skin. Unbidden tears sprung to her eyes.
This was her home,but it was only an illusion, a memory crafted for her by Rowan.
The tears continued to fall, all the way back to the House of Death.
ChapterFourteen
Tiernan kept his pace easy as he strolled through the Market District of Niahvess. He tried not to stare for too long at the sodden flower petals that littered the grimy waterways of the canals winding through the city. He ignored the way the curving streetlamps shaped like palm trees were constantly illuminated with faerie light, the difference between dawn and dusk no longer distinguishable. Most of the shops had darkened windows, the vibrancy of the city dimming with each passing day.
There was a distinctive chill in the air, the kind that crawled along the back of one’s neck, as though they stepped from the heat of Summer into a darkened, shady spot where the sun could no longer reach. The heart of his Court was barely beating.
Ceridwen had sent him on an errand into the city to one of the local crystal shops. She needed four specific stones for another scrying attempt, each one palm-sized and made of smooth black obsidian. He’d found the shop fairly easily, but describing the particular type of stone he was looking for had been more difficult than he’d imagined.
