Page 67 of The Howling
My mate looks up at me, and the distrust in her eyes is something which pierces my heart.
“Reavely?”
“He was hurting you, Wynter, and no one hurts you.”
“What did you do?” Her voice is so quiet, and yet it rings around the great hall as if she is shouting.
“I tore off his wings and left him for dead,” I say through my fangs. “If not dead, then not able to hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
WYNTER
Istare up at Reavely. His chin is held high, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. But he doesn’t get to be stressed. My blood is boiling after what I overheard.
I’m angry at him, but I’m more angry at myself for not asking the questions, for not demanding answers, for allowing him to tell me everything is fineand believing himbecause the thought of an easier, Faerie free life was too tempting.
And because I thought I loved him. I do love him.
But Reavely hasn’t told me the truth.
What he did to Lord Guyzance, in Faerie terms, is the worst possible insult. It’s supposed to only be Faerie who can remove each other’s wings. It’s the one and only way they bother to fight. Losing your wings is tantamount to a death sentence for any Faerie.
For Reavely to have done such a thing to Lord Guyzance…he has powerful friends who will want to avenge the insult, but also it will leave a power vacuum which needs to be filled.
All of this, he did in an instant, and he did it…for me?
I shake my head.
“No,” I say in a croak I can’t hide. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”
The pit of ice in my stomach is spreading out through my limbs.
“I did,” Reavely says, imperiously. “And I’d do it again.”
I pull in a breath which hitches into a sob. “What have you done?” I rasp. “They will never let us be.”
“I am a Barghest,” Reavely says, eyes burning. “I amtheBarghest. I have as much power as them, and it’s about time the Faerie remembered the Yeavering doesn’t belong to them.”
“He started the war,” Linton says, his voice filled with a terrible glee. “Now we have to fight.”
Reavely turns to him.
“No one has to fight.”
Linton is shaking harder than ever. “Everyonehas to fight in this war, Barghest. Even you. Especially you.”
He has a dagger in each hand, but rather than being a threat, he looks positively unhinged and more of a danger to himself than anyone else, his blood red eyes darker than ever.
Reavely looks at me and over at Linton.
“If there is a war, it isn’t here yet,” he says, taking a step from me to the bristling Linton. “The fight isn’t here.”
For a moment I wonder if Reavely’s intervention has come too late. The mothman strikes out blindly with one of his daggers. Reavely grabs his wrist and narrowly avoids being stabbed in the side by the a dagger held in Linton’s other hand. Reavely thumps his huge bulk into Linton’s not inconsiderable body, and it seems this is enough to bring his psyche out of whatever has a grip.
The daggers disappear and Linton shrugs Reavely off as if he’s nothing.
“No war,” he mutters, sitting back down again. “Not yet.”
There’s something about thenot yetwhich tears at me inside. Linton is a creature who exists rather than lives.
