Page 17 of The Beast King's Bride

Frozen stiff is more like it. I wait for him to say more but he’s silent. And when he finally dismounts, jumping off the side of the horse and reaching a hand to help me down, the cold hits my now exposed back and a shudder hits me, violent enough to almost shake my bones loose.

I manage to swing a leg over the horse’s neck and slide down, and thank the Gods, he catches me before my legs buckle. My knees tremble. How long did we spend on the saddle? Every muscle in my body is stiff.

He has his hands on my waist and I gaze blearily up at him, at those dark blue eyes and the dark brows, the high cheekbones and the hard line of his jaw, the generous mouth, currently pressed in a disapproving line. And the horns. Can’t forget those curved horns curling over his dark hair, giving him a feral look.

He thrusts me away from him, almost into the horse’s belly, and I stagger a little. When I look up again, I realize that the light in his hand has dimmed. Instead, his face seems to be faintly glowing. I hadn’t imagined it then back when I first saw him. He’s doing something with his leather coat now, tugging and pushing.

He’s distracted.

I take a sideways step, so that I’m not caught between the horse and him anymore, then another.

He’s going to take me into that cave, that entrance that surely leads to the land of Faerie, and I will never find my way back. It’s now or never, I decide. It’s my only chance.

Turning, I leap away.

His hand reaches for me and I press the threaded bracelet that’s still around my wrist, the one Pete gave me, the one with the iron filament twined with the red thread, into his hand.

With a hiss what sounds like a curse, he snatches his hand away—and I make a run for it, hoping for the best.

I have a vague sense of direction as the dark closes around me, of the way from which we came, and I sprint among the trees, hoping that I won’t fall and break a bone. My breath is a jagged thing inside my chest, poking into my sides, becoming a stitch, becoming a knife twisting in my ribs as I stumble out of the trees and start running in the open.

A roar behind me reminds me that the Fae is after me and won’t let me go so easily. I need a nook, a hole to hide and wait for him to go, to lose interest—though after all the trouble he went to to get me, I doubt it will be so easy. Caught between despair and hopelessness, what can you do? Run and run and hope for a miracle.

One of my slippers does as its name implies and slips off my foot as I pound down a slight incline, and just when I wonder once more why the Fae hasn’t caught up with me yet, I hear the tinkling of small bells and raucous laughter.

I stumble and go down on my knees. They hit the rocky ground and a cry escapes me at the sharp, burning pain.

The night is awash in blue light, the stars close and bright. Small, spindly figures are approaching me, holding tall, knobby staffs and wearing pointed hoods. Their faces look like cracked wood bark, their fingers like twigs, long and spindly. They are talking among themselves as they walk, and for a blessed moment, I think they haven’t seen me, that they will walk on by.

Lesser Faeries. The terror of every townsfolk and villager, curdling the milk, breaking stuff, unspooling thread, sickening the animals and the people.

But then they circle me and stop.

“Told you I smelled human flesh,” one of them cackles. “Pretty, sparkly thing.”

“Want it,” another says, flashing big, pointy teeth. “I bite first.”

“It’s my turn to taste,” another mutters.

“We’re not here for ourselves,” the first one says, slamming his staff to the ground. “We report to her.”

“Someone brought this girl here. We find them.”

“… I bite first…” the second one mutters again.

I shiver.

“Who brought you here, human?” The first Faerie pokes at my shoulder with a sharp finger, then at my forehead. “Who brought you over?” He grips my hair, pulls my head back until I gasp, my scalp covered in fiery pinpricks of pain. “I said who? Where is this Faerie? Speak or die.”

“She doesn’t speak the fairy tongues,” the third one says. “She’s human, you idiot.”

“… I bite first…”

“Let her go!” a familiar, deep voice calls out. Twisting my head, I find the Fae king striding down toward us. He took his time, I think, and almost giggle hysterically. He has a raven on one shoulder, which makes me blink, wondering if I’m seeing things. Is that Poe?

“King Talensar Dasar’ath of Imre Jerah Isria,” the Faerie says, releasing my hair. “What a nice surprise. Fancy meeting you here. So utterly unexpected!”

“I said let her go. She is with me.”

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