Page 97 of A Song of Air
The Unseelie Court
Hearing Weylyn’s voicespeak in the low, slow drawl, saying words she once hated, was like a balm against Bryson’s body. It soothed every ache and pain. It calmed her fears. And when she felt a connection, Mana’s bond, spark between them, she grasped at it with firm fingers, eager for the safety he cast out to her. And she held on for dear life.
“I’m here now,” he whispered.
She could only barely make out the outline of his form as he dropped to his knees in front of her. He smelt of blood, so overpowering she couldn’t hold back the bile any longer. She turned and began to retch, vomit spewing all across the floor in wet, clumpy splatters. Her stomach twisted and she heaved, over and over again. Vomit burned up her throat and shot out her nostrils as she expelled whatever she’d swallowed. Her entire body rebelled against the swarm of sensations. Against pain, taste, and stench. When she finally felt like she couldn’t get any more out, she weakly sat up, wiping the back of her hand across her lips.
“Weylyn...” A sob rose and she forced herself to choke it back down. To be strong. “Wh-what—?”
“It was a ghoul,” he said. His voice was hard, angry. “They glamor themselves as something they are not and use hypnotic magic to lure unsuspecting people into their lairs to eat them.”
Fear, cold and brittle, slid through her body. Her stomach twisted again, and she had to fight back the urge to heave.
“I’ve killed it,” he stated.
She’d heard the wet sloshing, had seen the shadowy forms of figures moving. It had been frightening, as the stench of rot had overpowered everything else, and she hadn’t made out Weylyn’s scent when he’d come in. It wasn’t until he’d spoken that she realized it was him.
“Weylyn, the iron in the air—I can’t see.” She hated how fearful her voice sounded. Hated to be perceived as weak, just like she’d always been perceived as weak because her sight wasn’t what it once was. And now, with iron invading, it was worse.
Weylyn’s hand cupped her cheek. She flinched before settling into the contact, sighing deeply. His thumb shoved away tears she hadn’t realized she was shedding, and she found comfort in the gesture, even when she knew she shouldn’t. It would only encourage him to believe there was something between them when there wasn’t.
“You are safe now,” he said firmly. “I am here.”
Her breath stuttered from her throat. “What did that thing give me?” The urge to know was suddenly gripping. Her stomach twisted once again.
Weylyn sighed. “Little mate—”
“What did it give me?!”
He was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Blood. Rotten meat.”
Bryson slammed her eyes closed and couldn’t stop the next spew of vomit. She turned away from Weylyn, the knowledge of what that thing made her ingest making her nauseous all over again. Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn’t asked. Or if he’d lied.
Weylyn’s fingers caressed her hair, pulling the dirty strands back to her nape as she heaved until there was nothing left in her stomach. Until she felt hollow and gross at once.
When she finished, she all but slumped against his body and his hands were strong as he held her up so she didn’t fall from the chair.
“Little mate.” His tone took on a new urgency. “We must leave this place.”
