Page 147 of Hunted By Fae
He sways, gentle, with the steady advancing steps of the steed.
I am mesmerised in horror. In terror.
I have seen the dark fae from afar more times than I can count. I have peered through binoculars at their burning cities, the blaze of fires illuminating them, and I have seen scarred faces, feral faces, beautiful faces, bloodied faces.
But this one is different.
His dark leathers glisten like ink, and it’s a striking contrast against his flawless porcelain complexion.Chiselled from marble—a statue in a cold room of a grand palace, smooth and polished, but come to life.
Faint streaks of blood darken some strands of his pale hair, too pale to be blond, too soft to be silver, but somewhere in between. The dark ruby stains speckle him, down the curve of his cheek, splattered over the inky blackness of his leathers, staining the blades sheathed to his belt; and his hands, pale, gloveless, are streaked in blood and scratches.
Ice.
That is what he is, just as that is what spreads through my chest at the sight of him. A dread colder than winter, a fear that tightens my lungs and shudders my breaths into mists at my face.
The only warmth I am given is the tear that falls down my cheek. It is silent, afraid, and lingers over my parted, trembling lips.
The breaths shuddering through me are serrated.
My lashes are fluttering over wet eyes.
I should run.
Run, run, run.
The only thought thrumming in my mind.
But I’m frozen.
Stuck to the black ice of the city road, I can’t move. I can only weep, silent, as the steed advances—and the ice fae has his sights locked onto me.
A warmth spreads through my jeans, and I know I have wet myself at the sight of him.
Fine leather reins looped around his ungloved finger, he tugs once—and the steed halts.
His eyes are unmoving from me as he presses one hand onto the beast’s back, then dismounts in a fluid move.
His boots hit the ice, hard.
It jolts me, curves my shoulders inwards.
I am pinned by his stare, those icy green eyes that somehow flare like lights of their own—and I can’t fucking move.
My twisted mouth trembles with each bootstep closer. The soles flatten on the ice without the slightest slip or sound. It’s his armour, his weapons that clang through my bones.
Clink, clink, clink.
I cringe against the sound, the wobble of my mouth salty with my falling tears.
Still, Emily is trapped in the net.
He spares her no look at all; and Bee might be knocked out between the cars, I don’t know, but he doesn’t bother with a glance her way.
He is locked in on me.
I shrink back, my shoulder blade pressing too hard into the nose of the car. The aches spring through me, but like the torn, fleshy sensation burning from the knife buried in my shoulder, it’s nothing compared to the ice searing at me from this fae.
His boots stop at mine.
