Page 139 of A Dance With Fire
“Let’sgo,” he barked, snapping his canines together.
He was not their leader by any means, but it was suffocating to be here, to stay with that hope that she would come running back. But they hadn’t seen the look in her eyes.
The finality.
It didn’t matter how long they waited.
The Fire Dancer wasn’t coming back.
46
Will-o’-the-Wisps
The further Shula walked, the quicker the tears threatened to form behind her eyelids. She blinked them away, scrubbing the back of her hand against her eyes furiously. She didn’t want to cry, refused to do it for them.
For Ryker.
And those damning words.
Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.
It didn’t matter. What was the point of crying over someone who didn’t want her? It wouldn’t make her feel any better, and there was no point contemplating whatcouldhave been. There was no room in life for what ifs. That was something she was starting to learn.
Things just happened, good or bad, and you dealt with them in any way you could.
That’s what Shula was doing. Fleeing before things could get bad. Because, eventually, the Emperor of Illyk would find them. He was actively looking for her and she would bring death down upon those around her.
She wouldn’t be the death of her friends. Her mate.
She stopped, leaning against a tree. Since when had she started thinking of them as her friends?
Sure, they’d kidnapped her, wouldn’t let her leave. But through it all, relationships had slowly built. She’d gotten to know them at a level that surpassed the surface.
Ryker, who healed those that were hurt and asked for nothing in exchange. Who bore the scars of cruelty with Fae pride. Who was rough and brutal and cranky, a personality born deep from heartbreak and sorrow.
Clay, who was the first to make her feel welcome. Who was kind and flirtatious, patient and quick to help. He’d lifted her up when she’d been kicked down, had stood up for her simply because it was right. Not because he wanted to use her, but because he loved women and treated them all with kindness.
Julius, who was rough, loud,funny.His antics made her laugh, and there was a protective side to him shown in those moments when their swords clashed, when he knocked her to the ground and screamed at her to do better. Because he believed that she could do better. He’d given her the means to fight with both precision and brutality.
Valerio, the Seelie Prince, he was… He was complicated. Their relationship hadn’t bloomed. She’d harbored a resentment towards him because of him taking her but it didn’t burn at hotly as it had then. Because she saw it. The pain in his eyes when they’d had to leave Imogen and Filomena. The softness in his expression as he’d confessed he thought Shula would possibly be his mate. Prince Valerio cared deeply, but he hid it behind masks of sharp glares and serious expressions.
She hadn’t gotten to know Uric beyond his standoffish demeanor, but he was made of loyalty through and through. The way he hovered over Valerio protectively, was alert at all times to any danger, the way he would put his own life at risk to protect his prince… He was good, and Shula knew she just couldn’t see it yet.
And Weylyn? Shula didn’t know what Weylyn was. She didn’t know what motivated him. Beyond the feral grin and prowling saunter, he was unreadable. Even while he could read everyone else.
And yet, they had all fit together. A perfect little unit. A family. And Shula had slowly felt herself being drawn into that, being included in their jokes, their banter, theirtraining.
Maybe she even felt a part of them already.
It took a moment for her to realize that the tears were falling. They slid down her cheeks, to her chin. Annoyed with herself at showing emotion, she swiped away the tears. Clear from her face, she looked up and promptly froze.
Her Papa had always told her stories of the faerie lights that guided travelers to their futures and made clear their destinies. His words were spoken whispers in the reservations, in the dark of the night where nothing illuminated their faces but the flickering campfires. He’d whisper tales of simple Fae travelers going through the wood and coming across the floating lights, following, and being led to greater things.
“There is one integral rule when it comes to will-o’-the-wisps, Shula,”he would say.“Alwaysfollow the lights.”He would precede to bump his finger against her nose.“You never know where they’ll take you.”
She would stay awake for hours after that, staring at the stars in the sky, wondering what the faerie lights actually looked like. If they were as bright as stars or if they burned hot like fire. If they danced or were gentle, if they were many lights clustered together to form a giant ball of illumination. Or were they something else entirely?
She didn’t know then.
