Page 142 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Rhoswyn

Thankfully, Annis reminding him of the time seems to jolt Drystan back into action. For a blessed moment, he forgets all about my dive into the middle of the barghest pack, but I don’t make the mistake of thinking it will last.

The tiny puppy is curled against my chest, almost camouflaged against the white fur wrapped around my shoulders. He’d be invisible if not for the blood on his coat and his bright red eyes—which remind me of Lore’s. Those big, pleading orbs are what called to me in the first place.

Just like the others, he has enormous, floppy bat-like ears, but the tip of one of them is torn and scabbed.

Drystan might be mad, but how could anyone just do nothing when this sweet little baby was being ripped apart by the bigger pups?

I soothe the fur out of his eyes, and his little black tongue darts out to lick at my fingers. It tickles and isn’t too dissimilar from the feeling of being licked by a cat.

“You’re a darling, aren’t you?” I coo, smiling. “You’re coming home with me, and we’ll get you a bed right beside mine.”

As if he understands what I’m saying, he licks my fingertip harder.

“I have no idea what you eat,” I murmur, frowning. “But we’ll find something. I’m sure Lore will help. You’ll like him. He’s got your eyes.”

“If you’re planning on naming the barghest after the redcap, don’t.” Drystan’s tone is downright frosty as he checks Blizzard’s tack once more. “He’ll become insufferable.”

“What should we name you?” I ask the little pup, who’s now mouthing at my hand. “Something strong and powerful, so you can grow into it? Or something moody, like Drystan?”

The fae in question looks down his nose at the bundle of fur. “Wraith,” he mutters.

“What?”

He turns his back to me. “I was sent to another realm once… on a hunt for an idiot who dishonoured the King of Winter. There were creatures there which were made of white smoke with red eyes. The people called them wraiths.” He pauses, then snorts. “Forget it. Call it whatever you want.”

“I like Wraith,” I reply, softly. “It suits him.”

“You realise none of the others will approve, either. He’s going to grow up into a dangerous beast.”

“When I left Danu’s cave,” I interrupt him. “Mab told me Faerie would provide for me. That the plants and animals would do their best to help me. I walked for hours, and every time I was hungry, food appeared. When I was thirsty, streams literally bubbled to life beside me.” I press a tiny kiss to the end of Wraith’s snout. “Why should he be the exception to the rule?”

I don’t need to look at him to see his expression of disbelief. Even if I did, I’d only see that magnificent stag’s skull mask he’s wearing.

All of them wear masks, and the effect is creepy. Almost as creepy as the swamp necromancer, with her metal claws and teeth.

Drystan is shaking his head, but he says nothing as his hands come to rest on my waist. That static buzz intensifies, and both of us stiffen in response.

I wish I could turn it off. It’s obvious he doesn’t think enough of me to pursue being my mate, so why torment us both? Only it just gets worse as he seats me atop the horse and swings up into the spot behind me.

As if that is the signal the last few lingering fae have been waiting for, they all hurry to their horses. The barghests, who had been keeping to themselves in the corner where they were attacking Wraith, also sense the change. They begin to prowl around the edges of the main column, baring their fangs at one another.

A drumbeat, wild and steady, starts up from the back of the cave. I have to crane my neck to try to see what’s happening, and if not for Drystan holding me in place, I might’ve fallen out of the saddle. Two fae near the very end of the column are holding what almost look like giant tambourines, except they lack the jangling metal plates around the edge. They’re using a strange, wrist flicking motion to beat their drums with short sticks, and the result is a rich, dark beat that seems to crawl up my spine and tune itself to my own heart.

It only grows louder as more members of the host start pulling out the instruments. There are five of them in all, and the rhythm they’re creating echoes from the stone walls of the cave, until we may as well be inside a beating stone heart.

“You’ll need your hands for balance,” Drystan says, drawing my attention back to him.

I open my mouth to argue that I will not be getting rid of Wraith for what feels like the hundredth time, only to fall silent as he rummages in the saddlebag and pulls out a black scarf.

“Stay still,” he orders.

With deft motions, he wraps the soft fabric around my front, crosses it over behind my back, and knots it beneath the barghest puppy. Within seconds, Wraith is nestled securely in a sling across my chest and my hands are free.

Job accomplished, Drystan sighs. “Grip the saddle horn. I’d tell you not to look, but we all know how well that went last time.”

I turn back to protest my innocence, only to get a closeup view of him burning away the black ribbon at his neck.

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