Page 10 of A Dark and Lovely Devastation

I’d be in constant danger.

The griffin on my arm twitched, and I released it, forcing Dagda to lunge to the side to keep from being pinned.

The whispers continued to pull wildly at my mind, and suddenly I knew I wouldn’t get the scepter, but I couldn’t let Dagda getmeeither. I needed to flee into nature, to be among the trees, and then I‘d form a plan.

“Child, please listen to King Dagda. You are not yourself,” Illya pled from behind me.

My griffin feinted toward Dagda again, forcing him back. A soldier in faerie armor moved forward, but the king motioned for him to stay away and he stopped. “Her sisters are on the rise,” Dagda said. “She may become violent.”

The whispers grated against my consciousness, becoming all-consuming.Just leave and get out of here. The forest will conceal me.

My faerie guardian flapped its wings and rose into the air. It let out a piercing cry and circled above. Illya hobbled away and hid behind the stone rock face as my griffin dipped, a claw wrapping around my waist and lifted me. We escaped over the treetops and into the wilds of the Otherworld.

The whispers became shouts, and my vision blurred. My griffin reacted, tumbling from the sky. We slammed into the earth. My faerie guardian flipped at the last moment, taking most of the impact, but a scream ripped out of me as a harsh snapping sound in the griffin rocked my body and agony reverberated up through my arm.

A result of our connection.

The excruciating pain sapped my strength. Blood seeped from a gash where a large stick had gouged my hand. I watched it with a curious sort of fascination as crimson bubbled up, pooling in my palm, and then spilling over, trickling in a thin stream into the dirt. A laugh burst out of me, joining the thousands of voices coursing through my head. Fighting was pointless. I succumbed to the insanity, collapsing inward, my existence being swallowed by legions of whispered shouts that all cried one thing.

Release us.

Chapter 5

Machawasfree.

As free as possible, being bound to her insipid faerie queen sister—Morrigan or Chels, or whatever she was calling herself these days.

At least she was here in the Otherworld, where the very air sang with magic. It flowed into Macha.

Pain sliced through her, centering in her arm and hand. Morrigan had crashed her faerie guardian and injured it. Now Macha was forced to deal with the consequences of Morrigan’s choices. But after so much time being bound inside Morrigan, every discomfort was worth experiencing if it meant Macha was in control. She gritted her teeth, concentrated, and after a moment, the griffin tattoo appeared on her arm.

Blood drained from her hand, soaking into the dirt, and the wound pulsed with agony.

Macha sensed a pond nearby, not far, through the trees.

She dug the fingers of her good hand into the gentle soil and pulled in even more magic. The vines drifted down from the trees and the surrounding roots grew longer, stretching toward her prone form. They wrapped around her waist, lifting her, moving her across the forest floor. They raised her weakened body out over the pond, where they settled her into the calm, refreshing water.

Macha closed her eyes as she floated in the cool wetness, soaking in the chirping birds and moonlight on her skin. She let the water clean the wound in her hand, the cold beginning to staunch the bleeding.

More. She needed more.

Her toes sank into the welcoming clay of the pond’s bottom, and a sigh escaped her lips.

It wasn’t sufficient.

She stepped further into the wet frigidness, up to her waist, then her chest. The bed of the pond plunged deeper, just deep enough to close over her head.

She stayed submerged, admiring the refracting lightwithin the murky depths until her lungs burned like fire. With a soft push off the rocky bottom, she rose, breaking the water’s surface. Strings of soaking golden hair clung to her face. She brushed them back and relished her gasps for air.

To be alive!

Her clothes weighed her down, blocking the icy touch of the water, restricting her movement. How could she fully experience the world around her when she was so confined?

She gripped the bottom of her sweatshirt and shirt, lifting them over her head. It took a little more work to get her waterlogged jeans removed. The water rushed in around her, caressing her skin. She flung the useless clothes away. They sank beneath the watery surface. She frowned as she took in the panties and bra still confining her. So many layers. Her hands fumbled behind her, searching for the hook.

“Hello, Macha.”

She twisted to face the shore, her hands stilling on the blasted bra hook. King Dagda stepped from between two trees. She saw his dark hair, the day old scruff on his face, his brooding expression.

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