Page 7 of What Whispers in the Dark
Then contact.
Alive.Burning-fucking-stars,shewas alive.
Profound relief washed through him. His considerable arms wrapped around her, cradling the newborn’s head. The tiniest thing he had ever held. He might have been afraid of crushing her, but time …timewas running out. Garrik’s lungs screamed the deeper they drifted, having not taken a single breath before diving in. The pressure in his head threatened to subdue him, which meant his shield, this one and all the rest, would fall.
Mighty wings of night ripped through water, extending from his back. And with the babe cooing, blowing spit bubbles from her mouth, those incredible Smokeshadow wings beat, launching them to the surface.
Then silence.
The only sounds: droplets pouring off him like rain.
Where…?
Movement to his left drew his attention.
Thalon stepped forward, carefully. Cautious of the animal in front of him.
But Garrik was not too far gone for the stillness to go unnoticed. For the motionless bodies littering the battlefield or the shape on the ground with a dagger at its heart to go unnoticed. For the countless younglings clinging to Jade, who held one in her arms barely old enough to walk. Was not entirely stolen by serpent darkness to not recognize?—
He said nothing. Only breathed as he laid the babe in Thalon’s arms, never removing his sight from the Raven still breathing and on his knees inches from the water.
Thalon and Jade. They had saved him for him.
Wicked delight bloomed in his chest.
Perhaps the male knew what came next. Garrik was tempted to ask him but …
A thousand daggers dawned into existence, claimed by the whirling tendrils mimicking his hands. All at once, they sliced the male’s flesh—mere surface wounds. Garrik’s eyes took on a villainous quality as crimson poured out, collecting at the edge of the pool until it was more blood than water.
Garrik fisted the male’s armor, pulled his graying face to meet death calling in his own. “Ever watched something disappear beneath the surface? It’s a slow, agonizing thing,” he repeated the male’s words from earlier. Then said, cruel and cold and final, “Deep breath now,” before shoving his face in the bloody pool.
Technically, Garrik had only told him tostay with her.
And he was—just … notwith herwith her.
As of yet, Alora hadn’t been troublesome. The pretty thing had been more restless than anything. Easily cured by a stroll to the arena and a little chat with Eldacar over a few books. He had no reason to suspect anything. No reason to check the tent beyond the occasional glance.
So, Aiden lounged by the fire, delighting in the evening air and his morning stew bubbling, unaware that behind him …
He never heard that quick slice of fabric. The footsteps. Never saw a shadow slip behind his tent and past Garrik’s. And he wouldn’t know that in his inevitable pursuit into the forest surrounding camp, his life would slip through his fingers …
Just as surely as Alora had.
This short encounterinvolving Aiden and Eldacar occurs between Chapters Fourteen and Sixteen when Alora escapes camp. This takes place after she encounters sentries outside Eldacar’s tent and then escapes into the forest.
“Good evening,” Eldacar announced between the crackling of the campfire, ambling toward Aiden, who had resumed his earlier lounging on the ground, folded, buckled boots draped over the fallen tree.
In way of greeting, Aiden drawled, “Eldy,” and lifted a crystal glass in the air, sloshing some contents down the glassy side. Hisparticular set of skills may have …acquiredit from a tent that wasn’t his own.
Mustn’t waste any, can we?Extending his tongue, he collected escaped droplets along the bottom, welcoming the rich, bold flavors. By the endless seas, heavenly depths of caramelized sugar that replicated a fine custard melted into his palate along with earthy tones of toasted nuts, dark cherries and figs, aged vanilla, and smoky, charred oak.
He could have groaned—did, which elicited an amused quirk of his brown-eyed, High Fae brother’s brow.
Garrik’s collection was … quite the experience.
Better than the swill on his ship, save for the few decades-old bottles fermenting deep below deck. Exquisite as the long, buttery legs of a female. As entrapping as pillowy lips. One to be enjoyed only when Mister Tall, Dark, and Scary wasn’t around to prevent his idle fingers from trailing along, say, a table of liquors and indulging in one … or a few. Besides, he had earned it for keeping his charge out of trouble all day.
Aiden hummed, licked the glass again, and mused, “Talk wordy to me, freckles. How are your books treating you this love-el-y evening?” With lazy effort, Aiden lifted his arm over the fire and stirred the bubbling liquid within the iron pot, wishing it were a seared, maple-glazed brisket pairing to enrich the caramel tones of the bourbon.Tomorrow—“I was just reading this afternoon about a spotted swamporc. Nasty little beasties,” he added. A touch of repulsion twisted his mouth.
