Page 5 of Consumed
I leaned across him to take his hand tenderly in mine. “Allow me,” I said. I kissed the wound, tracing the tip of my tongue over the dewdrop of blood, savoring its taste.
“You’re too kind,” he murmured as the wound closed beneath my affection. I suppressed a shiver, desperate for more,more, but I couldn’t bear the thought of frightening him away. Not my Eoin. I released his hand.
“I suppose I should apologize for that,” I said, peering at the wickedly sharp thorns of the rose bush. “But the forest must protect itself, after all. What good is a plucked rose?”
He chuckled. “Don’t be so cynical. A cut rose is the sort of gift that makes my people happy.”
Sniffing, I shook my head. “A gift which withers for the sake of momentary wonder. How very mortal of you.” My hand floated up to trace his jawline with my fingertips. I stared hard into his eyes. “You sound far too familiar with the notion. Don’t tell me you’re offering such gifts to others?”
That hint of caution returned, hardening in the dawn light flecking across his face. He caught my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles tenderly. “I have little time for such things when I’m so busy perfectingyourgifts, my little rose. Speaking of—” Eoin released my hand to scoop up the engraved panel resting in my lap. He skimmed his handiwork with a proud gleam in his eyes before looking back at me. “Whereshall you place this one?”
I squeezed his leg. “Perhaps you can help me decide.”
I rose to my feet, dancing from one mossy stone to the next. My steps were weightless, my ivory skirts swirling like ripples of water around my legs with every nimble stride.
“Slow down!” Eoin barked, having barely risen to his feet in the time I was halfway across the brook. “Don’t leave me in your shadow again. I swear I heard a Formorian last time.”
He followed me, trodding on the mossy rocks that jutted over the shallow water. Several steps had to be recalculated, as he was too cumbersome to use the same slivers of stone that I could balance on. When he was nearly to the bank, he chose a weak formation for his next step. The rock snapped, half crumbling into the water, leaving Eoin windmilling for balance with the wooden etching still clutched protectively in his grasp.
I leaned out and caught his free hand in mine, clasping firmly.I won’t lose you,I thought, smiling up at him. Something softened in his expression, like he understood me. Even if he had the human inclination to fear the forest and its obstacles, perhaps I was slowly awakeninghistrue nature as much as he was awakening mine.
Surprise mingled with the relief in Eoin’s face—hesitant to lean his full weight against me, as though it might hurt me. His grip strengthened, and I hauled him to the bank beside me.
With his strong fingers still wound through mine, I led him onward, deeper into my home.
2
“You’re afraid.”
Eoin’s trepidation was understandable, though it made me prickle nonetheless. His work as a craftsman didn’t require him to source materials this far from the village, and I rarely guided him so far from our special tree.
What was it abouttodaythat made me pull him toward the most towering oaks, where shadows cast darkness like fingers of night?
His jaw was set. “I’m not.”
His pulse whispered against my skin where our hands were still joined. A part of me was thrilled at it as I tugged him forward. His lack of resistance was promising, although uncertain.
“Your heart is hammering. You’re afraid of the forest, but Iamthe forest. You can see why it wounds me.” I squeezed his hand, craning my neck to steal his gaze, to set him at ease. “I’ve told you before—you are a welcome guest here.”
“Tolerated, more like.” Eoin’s sharp attention drifted from tree to tree, reverent of the invisible eyes of my sisters.
I bit my lip, burying a coy smile at the swirling whispers he couldn’t hear. It was true, though I’d loathe to admit it to him; while my sisters loved me ardently, they did not see the appeal of becoming so familiar with a mortal. Dirty, fragile, clumsy.
Andbrief. Most villagers did not see past their forty-fifth birthday.
I glanced at Eoin’s profile, still in the prime of his life.
But a lifetime to him was a mere moment for me.
When I thought of Eoin withering away and set into that formidable, monolithic tomb where all the other villagers from generations were laid to rest…
Ice crept through my body. Fear and anger writhed in my chest. My very soul howled at the abomination of it. Such an ending did not befit someone like him.
“Little niamh?” Eoin stopped short, wheeling me to face him. “Róisín? What’s wrong?”
My vision of him was clouded for a moment. When I surfaced, I blinked at the startling clarity of his face hovering over mine. Still alive. Still mine. Then—
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I stammered.
