Page 19 of Crown of Roses
Then he urged his horse forward and matched pace with Casimir.
The memory of his touch through the thin fabric of her leggings was still fresh when Saoirse fell back and glanced over at her, a bright and searing smile on her face.
Maeve leaned to the left, away from the creepy grin on her friend’s face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Saoirse wiggled her eyebrows. “Rowan seems to have taken an interest in you.”
That was the most absurd thing Maeve ever heard. She shook her head in protest. “No. I think he sees me as a conquest. Something he wants but can’t have. Something he’d like to use, then discard.”
Saoirse rubbed her lips together and adjusted the blossom tucked behind her ear. Today it was a pale pink dahlia. “I’d let him use and discard me any day of the week.”
A flush bled into Maeve’s cheeks. She wasn’t a prude, but unfortunately, she was still pure. Men of worth were scarce in Kells, either too focused on training or already married, and she found most of them were intimidated by her. Or maybe it was because Casimir was always lurking in the background and scaring them away like a protective older brother.
“Saoirse,” Maeve chided. “He’s our enemy.”
“I don’t discriminate when it comes to the beauty of males.” She tossed her braid of moonlight over one shoulder. “Besides, he’s fae. He’s had years of practice. I bet he’s great in bed.”
Maeve laughed. No, choked. But when she finally caught her breath, the world shimmered. The sky darkened. And her blood ran cold.
“Movement to the left!” Rowan called out.
“What is it?” Casimir stalled his horse. “What do you see?”
“Dark fae,” Rowan muttered, his gaze trained on the trees of the Fieann Forest.
“Where?” Saoirse hopped off her horse, one hand on her sword and at the ready.
“In the shadows.” Rowan’s face was stone.
Maeve stared into the woods where shadows crawled and silence reigned. She hadn’t realized they’d reached the forest so quickly. She hadn’t noticed there were no more birds, or animals, or any breath of life at all. Just a deep and sinister stillness. She couldn’t see anything, but she knew. She could feel it in her bones, in the darkest part of her soul.
Like calls to like.
She shook the memory away. “We won’t be able to outrun them, will we?” she whispered.
“Not them. It.” Rowan slid off his horse and unsheathed his sword. “And no, we won’t.”
Maeve followed suit and pulled her sword as well. It was nothing spectacular, as she was far more proficient at handling a dagger, but it would have to be enough. Casimir joined her, with Saoirse on her opposite side. Casimir nodded once. “Stay with Maeve.”
She glared up at him. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.” His hand fell to her shoulder, and squeezed lightly. “But until we know what this thing is, I don’t want anyone getting separated. So, Maeve, you will stay with Saoirse, and keep to the back.” He issued orders like a man of worth, one who’d gone into battle plenty of times. The kind of man who had war in his blood and an invincible soul. “Fae, you’re coming with me.”
Rowan smirked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The last thing Maeve heard was Rowan saying, “Oh fuck,” before a wall of cold slammed into her and she was overcome by the sensation of a thousand lost souls.
Chapter Eight
Darkness pummeled Maeve. She blinked, but she couldn’t see. There was nothing. Nothing but cold. Dread cloaked her shoulders, hung around her neck. Something pulled her, tugged her. She was surrounded by emptiness. Unease crept over her, ran its slithering fingers along her skin. She clutched her sword with one hand, and her head swiveled in every direction, toward the harsh whispers that scraped across her cheek and past her ears like an old friend. There were so many words, but none she could understand.
“It’s a Hagla!” Rowan yelled.
The velvet of his voice reached for her and she threw her arms out blindly. Desperate to grab ahold of something, anything but the draining darkness. She remembered reading about Haglas in one of the books in the library. There wasn’t much to be said about the creature of shadow and gloom. It preyed on emotion and misery; it brought a person’s worst fears to life. A mortal could be lost in their own nightmares forever, trapped until madness took hold of their mind, leaving them to die of delirium.
Something warm brushed over her hand. Squeezed. “Keep moving!” Saoirse’s voice urged from beside her.
Her feet were cemented to the ground, gripped by the spongy earth. Then she saw it. The wall of impenetrable black, more fearsome than the darkest night.
