Page 125 of Fires of the Forsaken
And still not burning.
Maybe I was in shock? Too numb to feel my skin crisping?
But that theory got blown out of the water a few minutes later when someone gave my stick another unhappy rattle. “Why isn’t she cooking?”
“I told you the wood was too damp for a proper fire,” one of them whined.
“Lower her down again,” another said.
I squeezed my eyes shut as they rammed the stick into the flames. This was it. Pain. Death. Scorched skin.
Or not?
I wrenched my eyes open.
I was fully submerged in the fire now. Flames licked every inch of my skin. But I didn’t burn. It wasrelaxing: the soothing heat, the tickle of fire cascading over me, the gentle hiss and pop of the wood below.
Butwhy?How?
A quiver of fear shot through the group of Wraiths.
“It can’t be—” one started, but the thunderous sound of hoofbeats cut them off.
My heart somersaulted—excitedly, at first. Because it had to be one of our riders coming to rescue us. Right?
Wrong.
“Oh hell,” I groaned.
Ariderless Púca barreled into the clearing, its reins and stirrups flailing through the air.
The Púca looked at me, those red-slitted eyes flickering in the firelight. Eyes that seemedtoointelligent to belong to an animal.
No…freaking…way!
This couldn’t be the same Púca.
Could it?
“Hey—” I started to yell. But, with acrack, my stick snapped in half. And I landed, face-first, in the fire. Got a mouthful of ash and burnt wood and mashed my nose on the impact, but I still didn’t burn.
“You! Catch the Púca!” A Wraith shouted. “You! Don’t let the woman escape. We’ll eat her raw if we must. And—has no one been watching the man? He’s waking.”
Cheriour.
I sat bolt upright, ripping the fraying binds off my wrists.
Cheriour was, indeed, awake. He’d flipped onto his back, his head tilted toward me, eyes unfocused. Alive and awake, but not in good shape. At all. He needed help. ASAP.
I wrenched the rope off my ankles and stood. Get help. I could do that.
But how?
Okay, step one:get out of the freaking fire!
I moved, wincing as the splinters of not-quite-incinerated wood stabbed the undersides of my feet.
Step two…
