Page 58 of Void of Endings
No. No, she didn’t have it under control. She was risking her life by taking on two giants all by herself. She had no idea about the kind of peril she faced.
Maeve marched across the snow toward him, a torrent of emotions etching into hard lines against the soft planes of her face, but Tiernan refused to let her any closer.
“Stand back!” he commanded and without thinking, his magic thieved its way into her body, throwing her backward against her own will.
Focusing on keeping Maeve safe, he unleashed the might of his wrath. Streaks of violet lightning ripped down from the tumultuous clouds, striking both of the giants at once. Their screams ruptured the heavens as their burned flesh melted from their bodies, as they jerked and flailed against the callous cruelty of his nature. He attacked them until the stench of burnt skin filled his nostrils, until their bones crumbled and turned to ash. Until he knew, without a doubt, they were both dead.
Then, only then, did his magic recede, did he release Maeve from his hold.
Tiernan stood, chest heaving from exertion, his magic nearly depleted. He’d gone too far. If Ceridwen had been here, instead of back in Niahvess helping Saoirse, she would’ve scolded him like a child for being so decidedly foolish.
But he’d kept Maeve out of harm’s way, and that was all that mattered.
Exhaustion bled into him, stealing his strength.
Out of the corner of his eye, he knew everyone was watching him, Summer and Winter warriors alike. Lir, Merrick, Brynn, Rowan, and even Malachy stood nearby, their gazes lingering on the grotesque mess littering the fields of the Winter Court.
And he thought what the Furies had done was heinous.
“Tiernan.”
At the sound of Maeve’s voice, he steeled his spine. He would have to grovel for her forgiveness, but if it meant she stayed alive, then so be it.
He turned to her and was met with the biting sting of her hand against his face.
“Fuck you,” she hissed, her sea-swept eyes darkening.
He staggered back a step, and she fisted her hands on her hips. Anger rolled off of her in waves so thick, he thought for sure she would smother him.
“Admit it right now,” she demanded, glaring at him. “You don’t trust me.”
Wrong. She was so fucking wrong.
He sensed it then. The culmination of all they’d endured without one another had been steadily simmering, and now it was ready to boil over, to scald them both.
Tiernan lifted his chin, anticipating her typical mannerism. “Only if you admit you have a goddess complex.”
“Iama goddess!” Maeve roared, her voice thunderous, and nearly every male in their general vicinity took a cautious step back. The females, however, stood their ground. “Your fear of losing me is preventing you from seeing it. You’re not helping me, Tiernan. You’re holding me back.”
Rowan stood off to the side, casually shifting his weight, and let out a low whistle.
Tiernan tossed his hands out to the side. “Why won’t you just let me help you!”
He meant it as a question, but again, it came out as more of a demand.
“Because I don’t need your help!” Maeve shouted. “I don’t need you at all!”
Without another word, she stormed off toward the forest, muttering a stream of foul swears. All of it directed at him.
“Damn,” Merrick mumbled, then raked a hand through his hair.
Tiernan glanced around at all the fae surrounding him. Many refused to meet his gaze, save for Brynn. She stared at him. Hard. Then shook her head once.
“Fucking gods.” Tiernan sought Lir in the crowd, and with less force, spoke into his commander’s mind.“Follow her. Whatever you do, don’t fucking help her. But follow her.”
Lir bowed, then set off after Maeve, his footfalls the only sound echoing across the vast expanse of snow and death.
Malachy strode up, rubbed one hand along the back of his neck. “Quite the spitfire you have on your hands.”
