Page 50 of Realm of Nightmares
The look the female shot her was one of pure loathing, her eyes reflecting raw, gritty hate.
Maeve followed behind Rowan, relishing the tiny slice of smug satisfaction she felt as the furious female’s gaze needled its way into her back. Rowan yanked open one of the side doors, let Maeve exit first, and together they strode across the stone courtyard to where they trained. Ivory fountains stood off in the distance, enclosed by a garden overrun with the scent of acidic florals and misshapen trees whose branches groaned and creaked with every slight gust of wind. A dampness clung to the chilly air, causing loose tendrils of hair to curl around her forehead and stick to her neck.
Glancing around, Maeve fisted her hands on her hips. “I thought you said my presence was requested.”
Rowan lifted one shoulder, then let it fall. “It was.”
“Well, then.” Maeve spread her arms wide, stepping in a slow circle. “Where is he?”
“Right here.” The god of death’s deep voice whispered past her ear, sending goosebumps across her already chilled flesh.
Maeve lurched forward, stumbling into Rowan. He caught her with one hand, snaring her by the elbow, steadying her. She huffed out a breath, leveling the god of death with a harsh glare.
“Was that absolutely necessary?” she demanded.
He offered her a splendid, knee-weakening smile. The powerful silver in his eyes swirled, full of magic and intensity. “Only for you.”
From beside her, Rowan snapped to attention. His body went rigid, his jaw clenched tight, and each muscle tensed as though he was carved from granite.
“You needed to see me?” she ground the words out.
“Yes.” Aed ran a thumb along his chin, as though he was debating on how best to proceed with her. “I think you need to increase your training.”
Maeve balked. “Training won’t work. I tried to train with Rowan, but my magic is practically useless here. You know it’s true. In the Ether, I’m worthless.”
“It’s not your magic I’m worried about,” Aed countered.
She gaped at him. “You think I need to practicefighting?”
He couldn’t be serious. She’d just taken on an entire pack of dire wolves by herself. She fought off dark fae and defended innocent lives against the Hagla. If anything, she was highly competent in the art of combat, her skills expert enough to rival the most seasoned of warriors.
But the god of death’s face remained impassive. Her prior experience didn’t deter him. “There won’t always be someone around to save you, Dawnbringer.”
Maeve reared back like she’d been slapped. “I don’t need anyone to save me.”
“Then kindly explain to me what happened when you were attacked in the alley.” Aed’s voice boomed, ripe with power and anger. His eyes flashed, bolts of silver lightning ready to strike her down. Maeve didn’t shrink away, but it took every last shred of willpower not to cower next to Rowan, who had dutifully stepped up beside her. “Explain to me how you somehow forgot everything you’ve been taught, yet you accidentally broke open the realms.”
Maeve lifted her chin, refusing to back down from his accusations. “That was different.”
The god of death simply stared at her, his expression vacant.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered.
It was a pathetic excuse, but it was true. Neither of them would ever know what it was like, to feel such an overwhelming sense of crushing fear that even the most basic of instincts failed. Never before had she felt so helpless, so utterly incompetent. When the wandering souls attacked her, it was as though her will to live had been stolen. Every lesson, every strength, every inherent sense of defense had evaporated, leaving her with nothing but blinding terror.
But when Aed looked down at her, she was not met with pity.
“Fine,” she spat the word out and turned to face Rowan. Anticipation fired through her muscles and her heart rate kicked up. She’d battled with him before, she could do it again. She bounced lightly on her toes. “Alright, Nightweaver, whenever you’re ready.”
Rowan lifted his hands, the corner of his mouth barely curving into a smile. He took one step back, and then another. “Not me, Princess.”
Maeve frowned and looked up at Aed.
From across the training grounds, a door slammed, and the distinctive click of heels reverberated against the smooth, damp stone.
Stalking toward them, looking like she was ready to slay an army of dragons, was Laurel. Her dark purple hair was twisted back into one thick braid, with a bunch of tiny ones woven into the larger one. She wore a navy leather bodice with silver stitching and a sheer black blouse beneath it. Leggings the color of smoky quartz were encrusted with onyx beadwork and a silver necklace depicting the triple moon hung between her ample cleavage. She twirled a sword in each hand and her lips, painted a lush plum, were turned down in a scowl.
She took one look at Maeve and rolled her glittering, kohl-lined eyes to the cloudy heavens.
