Page 79 of Howling Eve

Another tug on her bonds and another rip brought a covert smile to her face, but she immediately stilled when she heard the crow caw and its wings flap loudly as it flew away. She hung there, listening to her heartbeat and the sound of her breathing as Nathiel’s footsteps began to approach.

He stopped in front of her and gave her a hard, glittering smile. She stared back at him mutinously and flinched away when he reached for her and grabbed her chin between his fingers.

“You are almost more than you are worth, female,” he growled, and her lips quirked as she peered defiantly up at him.

“Sounds like someone is giving you trouble.”

His fist at his side tightened, as did the hand holding her chin until she finally managed to wrench if free. His eyes narrowed at her for a moment, but then he smirked. Where did he get his level of confidence, and how could she mangle it?

“There is some disruption at the bridge and heading inland, but I don’t expect it to last long, not now that the troll is dead.”

MaryAnne stared at him, her heart cracking and then shattering. Her entire body trembled with the grief pouring through her. He couldn’t be dead. Raskyuil was indestructible. She couldn’t lose him. Not now. She hadn’t even gotten to tell him yet that she loved him. Surely the gods wouldn’t take him away from her before she could do that.

“You’re lying,” she choked out, and the dryad tipped his head, a nasty smile curling his lips.

“Tell me, human, is the heartbreak of losing a mate tragic for your kind? Does the fracture of your Ha’shena cripple your soul?” He brushed a fingertip along her cheek, his claw drawing a thin line of blood. “It is quite amusing. Your kind measures everything with your puny human concepts of love and don’t realize how strongly and deeply a fae will feel. How pale and fleeting your emotion is compared to the pure devotion of a fae mate. Most don’t even live past the death of their mates,” he murmured.

MaryAnne curled her lip at him. “What a pity you didn’t follow that example.”

The blow wasn’t entirely unexpected, but he moved so fast that it came out of nowhere. He struck her so hard that the back of her head slammed against the wood behind her. Light flashed and black spots burst behind her eyes as a terrible pain lanced across her face, and the metallic bite of blood filled her mouth. She blinked in a daze trying to refocus and clear her vision as Nathiel chuckled.

“No, I didn’t, did I? But Nivira wasn’t truly my mate. I didn’t accept her as such and never would. It was amusing, but a drya is too cold and calculating to have the sort of passion that a nymph possesses. It was simply her delusion that I went along with because it satisfied my purpose.” He patted her stinging cheek and turned away. “Now be good. I must prepare. Dawn approaches. The grove shall have its feast at the holy table of the dark maiden and torn prince of the harvests and be stronger for it.” He moaned, tipping his head back. “I can already feel the rush of power. Can’t you?””

MaryAnne glared at him bitterly as she worked at the bonds of the spider silk, tugging them harder, a sense of foreboding washing over her. Even she could feel the churning pressure within the air that ran over her skin like little, hot electric sparks. But more, she could hear its ravenous, angry shriek as it rushed around the grove. The wind groaned with it, but the bloodcurdling sounds had far too much menace behind it—too much hunger and rage—to be anything natural. And it was drawing inward into the grove until she felt that there was a dark pulse in the stillness funneling directly into it.

The entire time, her gaze was focused on Nathiel, watching as he walked gracefully to the center of the room where a dark, greenish pool of magic bloomed. The dryad smiled as he stepped into it, a look of such happiness and longing on his face that for a moment she caught a glimpse of what he could have been if he hadn’t gone down the path he had. Slowly, elegantly, he lowered himself to the floor as pale, sickly roots sprung up from the wood and snared him. His eyes rolled back, a deep moan escaping him, and his hips jerked as if enjoying orgasmic bliss while the roots threaded over through him. He jerked and trembled for a moment and then stilled his eyes fluttering shut as the network of roots pulsed faintly in time with the glow that surrounded him.

She eyed him as she worked the silk loose, watching for any sign of movement or alertness. His lips started to move at some point, and she was almost certain that if she strained a little bit harder that she could hear the thrumming cadence of a chant.

She gave a harder tug, and more of the silk gave way with a louder rip. Her eyes snapped toward him, her senses prickling as she waited for the dryad to spring into action, but when he didn’t so much as move a muscle, she sneered at him and tore at her bindings harder. One final tear and she sagged, nearly slipping from the wall altogether and falling to the ground for her trouble. Catching herself on the ragged sheets of spider silk, she tried to control her fall, landing on her feet with only a minor stumble. She froze in place, her eyes glued to the dryad and the even movement of his chest amid his trance.

Good.

The reprieve was a temporary one. Sunrise would be soon, and then he would rise like death, with thoughts of nothing but killing her and every child there. She was most likely going to die, but she wasn’t going to cower. She wasn’t going down without a fight. MaryAnne looked around the room for a weapon. Spider silk clung to every surface, but there was little else in the room except the fire in the center and the children contained within the webbing along the walls.

She frowned, wondering if she could pull one of the twisted branches from along the walls, when her eyes fell upon Nivira’s broken body. She shrank back from the first impulse that came to her mind. It seemed wrong to pull one of the arachnid claws from the female—as if she were desecrating the remains—but what choice did she really have? Nivira hardly needed it… and she had intended to kill her.

Placing a foot against the female’s shoulder, MaryAnne bent over and grabbed one of the long claws. Pressing all of her weight down through her foot to keep the corpse steady, she pulled and twisted with all of her strength, grateful when she heard the hollow pop that preceded the removal of the limb. It tore free in her hand, and she stumbled back, just barely avoiding the knife that plunged past her as it struck through the air.

Whirling around, she lifted the long claw at the dryad as he slowly straightened and smirked. She backed away from him, dodging two more swipes of his blade even as she whipped the claw around threateningly. Her muscles ached from the weight and her awkward grip on it, and his smile grew wider.

“What do you think you will accomplish, human?” The dryad chuckled as he suddenly kicked out, the contact of his leg against her side sending an explosion of pain through her.

MaryAnne reacted instinctively, stabbing down into the male’s leg brutally as she savored the sound of his scream.

His fist struck the side of her head, sending her reeling, the claw still grasped tightly against her chest. “Human bitch,” he snarled, stalking toward her, his hand tangling into her hair, wrenching her neck back even as pain continued to pulse through her and tears of pain sprung to her eyes. “Pitiful,” he sneered down at her. “Did you really think that could kill a dryad? I am practically a god of a forest,” he hissed.

“No, but this could,” a deep voice growled furiously.

MaryAnne’s eyes rose just as the dryad swung toward the voice with a look of shock on his face. Raskyuil’s ax descending, cleaving through the air, and drove into the dryad’s chest. Bone broke audibly and blood splattered, spraying over those trees that made up the closest wall as the first rays of sunlight pierced the grove.

“God of the forest, my ass,” he spat.

Nathiel twitched, blood gurgling between his lips as she slowly stood and glared down at him with every ounce of hatred she possessed. He had terrorized her, but she had the grim satisfaction of knowing that she was the one who remained standing at the end.

Lifting the claw, she drove it deep into his heart with all of her strength. It slid wetly through muscle and tissue, cracking even more bone as the incredible sharp length tore through his chest, mangling it further. MaryAnne bent at the waist as she stood over him gasping for breath, but she didn’t have time to recover. Straightening as much as she could, she staggered over toward the wall where she’d seen him hide the blackened heart. She dug at the knotted root with the claw, cursing furiously when it didn’t open.

“MaryAnne?”

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