Page 74 of Howling Eve

ChapterForty-Four

MaryAnne wasn’t shocked that Raskyuil returned her to their tent. She wasn’t entirely happy with being left out, but she understood. What did she have to contribute to a fight against an elven lord? She was a human, and not an impressively strong one either. She smiled weakly at her mate as he cupped her head and drew her in to kiss her hair, his rumbling purr surrounding her.

He was trying to comfort her even now. Fuck, how could she not love him? Love was this terrifying thing looming over her, especially since she had no idea whether he could really return her love. She knew that he wanted it, but was it possible for him to truly feel it? She was terrified of making herself so vulnerable as to give him her heart completely without knowing if he could do the same. And yet her foolish heart had fallen in love with him anyway.

“I’ll be back,” he rasped as his hand dropped down to her cheek. “Keep the flap tied shut and wait for me. You will be safe. Nothing can get in here with the wards set. Just don’t let anyone convince you to come out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she admitted. She was still trembling from the aftereffects of shock. As sure as she’d been that children had been killed there, she hadn’t been prepared for finding their remains. “Just do what you need to do and hurry back.”

“I swear it, my mate,” Raskyuil growled as he lowered his head and very gently bumped her brow with his before straightening and stepping back. Giving her one last grim look, he ducked through the entrance, leaving her completely alone.

Her eyes followed him, her heart in her throat as the flap fell between them. She walked toward it woodenly, her fingers numb as she tied the lacings shut. With nothing else to do, she turned to face the empty tent and stared absently at her surroundings. It felt silly to heat up some water and make herself tea when she knew that Raskyuil was going to be confronting Elwyn. Who knew what fighting might break out then? And she would be doing what—sitting there enjoying a cup of tea?

She snorted softly to herself and sat on the edge of the bed. There wasn’t anything she could do that didn’t make her feel like she was simply wasting her time. Groaning, she flopped back, sprawling over the bed, and stared up at the tent’s ceiling. It shuddered against the wind.

She lay there, listening to the sound of the wind over the tent, straining to hear any hint of sound from anything that might be going on outside. She might as well have been the only person alive in the entire carnival. There were no sounds of life at all coming from outside, not even the eerie music from the carnival drifted on the air. There was nothing but the sound of the wind on the canvas.

And a strange scratching sound.

MaryAnne rolled up onto her side, her head cocking as she listened. There it was again… a little louder. A soft raspy sound followed after it, and she blinked in surprise as the flap over the entrance slowly fell open. Two long clawed legs curled over the sides of the entrance, the tips of the claws scratching lightly on the material, and Ayla stepped inside, her hair falling in messy strings around her head. MaryAnne stared at her, her breath coming out in sharp, fearful pants.

The drya were the only ones Raskyuil had grown to trust enough to give access past their wards. And with MaryAnne’s wholehearted agreement. Even with Ayla’s obvious aggression toward her sister as her breeding season progressed, never once had MaryAnne ever felt a reason to fear her. But she feared her now. The female’s face was paler than normal, her stringy hair tangling and clinging to her face as her outspread arachnid limbs twitched restlessly around her rather than curled sedately behind her back. Her frantic gaze swept the tent before finally coming to rest on MaryAnne.

“Thank the gods,” Ayla hissed.

She sagged a little, her clawed limbs going slightly lax, before bursting forward with a shocking speed that made MaryAnne gasp and jump with surprise. Ayla’s arachnid limbs curled around MaryAnne as her hand gripped hers in a bruising grasp. The drya tugged and dragged her toward the entrance. “Come with me. Come!” she snarled softly, her lips peeling back from her fangs.

“Wait! Go where? I’m supposed to remain here and wait for Raskyuil!” MaryAnne tried to hit the brakes, her heart beating wildly in fear at Ayla’s strange behavior.

A tremor ran through Ayla’s arachnid limbs and she shook her head. “You cannot! You must come. Hurry now! She’s coming. It’s time to go,” she crooned.

MaryAnne stared up at her and trembled despite her best attempt to control her fear. Who exactly was Ayla trying to take her to? The note of urgency in her voice and franticness of her movements warred with the sweet tones she attempted to cajole her with. There was obviously something very wrong with the drya, but she hadn’t a clue how to escape her. Ayla’s limbs curled in and tightened, dragging MaryAnne closer to her, the drya’s clawed fingers biting in the backs of MaryAnne’s hands and wrists.

“Come on. It will be all right. Everything will be fine. This world is not kind, but it is about to become much better. Just come with me.”

“Ayla, no. Please,” MaryAnne whispered, trying not to struggle too much so not to incite the female’s predatory instinct.

From the feverish look in her purple eyes, MaryAnne could see it just below the surface and feel it within the coil of nervous energy in the female’s body. Ayla hissed louder, scooping her up until she dangled from the grip of the drya’s numerous limbs.

“Poor little moth. So needlessly afraid. Ayla will save you from this nightmare,” she whispered.

A shift of the tent flap drew MaryAnne’s attention up and behind her captor, relief causing a momentary weakness to rush through her. Nivira met her eyes briefly, but they dropped to her twin and she smiled with exasperation as she pushed her way into the tent after her sister.

“Now, Ayla, what am I going to do with you?” she murmured. Her eyes shifted to MaryAnne and she tsked softly. “You’ve gone and frightened her. You should have taken your medicine as I suggested and rested. This was not necessary.”

To MaryAnne’s relief, Ayla placed her back on her feet and turned away from her, giving her full attention to her twin sister.

“I don’t want any of it,” Ayla spat, releasing twin streams of venom in her sister’s direction as she backed warily away. MaryAnne glanced between them, afraid that Nivira wouldn’t be able to help her in time before her twin tore her to shreds. “And it was necessary. All of it. You thought that you could deceive me forever with your little games and plans. My tricky, tricky sister. You thinkhewill stay beside you as I have?” She laughed loudly.

Nivira cocked her head, her eyes watching her sister dispassionately for a long moment and then she made a shushing sound as she wrapped her arms around her sister, drawing her into her embrace. MaryAnne watched, some of the tension draining from her when Ayla sank a little into her twin’s arms. Thank the gods it was over.

“You abandoned me to this pain forhim,” Ayla mumbled, her shoulder shaking with her grief, and her arachnid limbs curled in around herself. “You knew my need and still you took for yourself, leaving me to suffer.”

“Shh. Shh. I told you there was no one. You should have listened,” Nivira replied in a whisper, her clawed arachnid legs rising gracefully over her head to curl around Ayla with soft little strokes of their joints as she hugged her.

Her trembling sister suddenly stiffened and began to push away, but Nivira’s arms tightened on her. Ayla’s arachnid limbs rose defensively but not quick enough to block the sudden jab of the upper limbs, their long claws piercing through the female’s body entirely. MaryAnne stumbled back with a scream, her hand slapping over her mouth as she stared at the sisters in horror.

Nivira bent her head and brushed a kiss against her sister’s brow and then released her, Ayla’s body slipping free from the claws piercing her and dropping lifelessly to the ground. Nivira smiled as she walked quietly toward her, her arachnid limbs extending wide, blocking all possible points of exit before curling around her, carrying her within her grasp. “Come, little moth, it’s time. Let me take you to the children you so desperately seek.”

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