Page 91 of The Shadow Fae Rhapsody
Her night terrors will definitely haunt Rhianelle tonight after that wretched experience. I will have to restrain her from hurting herself.
The silence of the night stretches for a small eternity as I wait for her demons to arrive… but her rumblings aren’t violent at all.
They’re worse.
Her frail frame trembles in the dark, quivering with every sharp little gasp. There is only so much sorrow a person can contain before they start falling apart. The small tremors continue wrecking through her body, as if her trapped emotions are searching for a way out.
A fiery flame burns in my guts when I see it for what it is.
Rhianelle is crying in her sleep.
I much prefer the nightmares where she is fighting and punching. Right now, she appears as fragile as a dandelion, scattering at the most delicate of touches. A fierce protectiveness triggers inside of me at the sight of her vulnerability.
My gaze lowers to the Rhunhraefn’s mark etched on her belly. Rhianelle is now at her lowest, the bottom of the abyss. It’s the perfect opportunity for the curse to influence her. I’ve decided that if the vile thing takes hold of her, I would hold no grudge. I’d willingly carved out my own heart if she so much asks me to.
I’m prepared for it.
Yet no desperate command or vicious orders arrive. Even if the curse is weakened, its decay should have been enough to corrupt the girl when she is out of her mind afraid. Once again, I’m mystified by little fawn’s resilience.
Another bout of shivers ripples through her. I run my fingers through her hair to soothe her. She curls into a fetal position underneath the blanket at the touch, her muscles relaxing.
The girl who was cheerful and excited for her birthday celebration this morning is now reduced to this shattered mess.I feel the unfairness of it all roaring in my veins like a violent hurricane.
“Svenn…” Rhianelle startles a little, then settles right back into her sleep like a wary small prey in the forest.
I heave a long breath and rest my forehead against hers. In the cold silence of the night, I vow a promise to the Elf Queen.
Chapter 13 Svenn
Silken black wings unfurl from my back before I leap from the window into the dark night. Regret sifts through me for leaving Rhianelle alone on the bed. But my headspace is a little too fucked up to stay around her anyway. The moment I see her tears, I know this night will end in violence.
A coppery tang infiltrates the air, drawing me to its source. I land near the thinning forest on the outskirts of Windhaven and trail the strange splatter on the ground.
It’s blood, tainted and twisted from its natural form from the drug eyepatch was talking about.
I start a brief trek through the woods, heading straight to where the scent becomes more prominent. Some of the elves somehow manage to capture the raiders. I look at the shredded pieces of the orcs, wondering if they were torn while alive or in death. The savagery does not matter to me. I’ve seen countless blood eagles and crucifixes in the human world.
The elves are too busy hacking their enemies, unaware of my looming presence in the woods. Their scalelike armors are pure obsidian, brutal, and dwarven-made. It allows them to move as efficiently as a reptile.
These guys are the Grimsbanes, hired swords belonging to Rhianelle’s uncle.
“Bring a few heads back,” one of them rasps through his blood-speckled mask. “Let the Silverra know his coins are put to good use.”
The mercenaries snap their heads toward me in tandem. They pause their ritual abruptly, recognizing the primal chaos that lurks within the confines of my mortal shell. I see it in their eyes, the fear, and in others the acceptance when they finally meet with the harbinger of apocalypse themselves.
The caste of assassins resume their guild’s vigil the moment they realize death has no qualms with them tonight. Shade is among their company. He has changed into the similar hunting leather and light armor, the night wind lashing against his smoky-grey hair.
His gaze flickers uncertainly when I turn to him. “The main group managed to get away. All two hundred twenty-three of them,” the male informs stoically. “But they’re not far.”
I launch straight into the cloudless night sky before he can point me in the direction. My heightened senses draw me straight to the traveling procession. The orcs had been marching all night, the clanking sound of their poorly made armor a discordant note in the cold, peaceful night.
I dive from the sky directly in front of them. Their lion chimeras go frantic over my appearance and the carriage screech to a grinding halt. Dead bodies hang from their coach, the raiders’ trophies of skulls and bones. I have no right to judge what the orcs did to the Valorians. What I’m about to do to them is probably worse.
The orkan foot soldiers dart between me and the wagon, weapons raised to protect whoever is inside. I angle my head, studying their pointed ear, hair, and features silently in the dark. There is something different about them from the ordinary orcsin Myrkheim. A strange corruption that flows in their veins. I can smell the toxic taint in the air.
A male orc steps out of the hideous ride. He must be the leader of this band of bandits. His face might as well be carved of stone, and those baleful yellow eyes cut to me immediately.
“So, the rumors are true, the Queen of Elves has whored herself to a vampire,” an orc in front of me remarks in his foul tongue. “Did the bitch send you?”
