Menacing faces draw in closer. Bloodshed glimmers in dangerous eyes all around me. I sink back further against the wall, as if I can simply fall into it and vanish.
It’s truly terrifying how silent their footsteps are. Even as they close in on me and I see their boots flatten against the ground, I can’t hear much other than my own rapid, choppy breaths and pounding heart.
Sweat seeps out from my pores. I can feel the beads gather at my brow. Watching the advancing dark fae, I hook my thumbs through the straps of my bag and slip it off. It slams down at my feet, freeing up the space between my waistband and my hand.
Reaching behind me, I feel around the waistband for the scissors tucked there. My fingers brush the handle as the first dark fae, whose eyes are like cut emeralds, comes at me.
I whip out the scissors and strike. Of course it misses him.
He laughs as he effortlessly dodges my attack. His laughter rises up over the army as some even throw their heads back and howl.
Guess I’ll go down fighting after all. But I’ll be laughed at in my final moments.
I lunge forward and swipe out at him again. His fiery-red hair whips to the side as he swirls around, and my scissors sinks into nothing but dark air.
Howls of laughter bubbles over the fae.
The red-haired one turns to face me, a feral grin twisting his mouth. He looks up at me from beneath short lashes and, in a blink, he moves for me.
A scream catches in my throat as he snatches me by the throat and, swiftly, throws me back against the wall. I smack against it audibly, then crumble to the ground.
Heat swells at the back of my head. Blood, I’m sure of it. I felt the crunch of my skull against the solid wall. My bones heard the impact.
The ground is spinning. I try to push myself upright, but everything tilts with every move I make, and dizziness washes over me. My body jerks forward as a violent heave shoves through me, and I slowly let myself slump against the ground. Better to die down here.
The heat of flames advances on me. I feel the sear against my skin. Lazily, I look up at the dark fae crowding me and see the fire-torches in their hands, outstretched, as they get a good look at me.
Some of the dark fae wear frowns as they study me. The red-haired one tilts his head and stares intently at the side of my neck.
Gingerly, I reach my hand to my neck and feel around for any monstrosity or wound. But there’s nothing there, nothing that I can feel at least. But there must be something, otherwise why are they all looking at my neck as if it’s just sprouted an arm?
Murmurs ripple over the crowd encircling me. Some of them look to another and talk in soft voices—as soft as their cutting language can sound. I frown back at the red-haired one as he takes a hesitant step toward me. I notice that he’s holstered his blade. There are no weapons in his hand.
He swipes a fire-torch out of another fae’s hand, then brings it closer to my head. The heat burns my skin, an odd itchy sensation. But it’s a short-lived feeling, because he pulls back after a few seconds, apparently satisfied. He chucks the fire-torch back to the one he stole it from, then gestures to me.
I’m too sore to move. My heart is pounding, my legs don’t work. It’s all I can do to lie on the ground as two fae move in on me and lift me up.
They carry me, not kill me. Yet.
I’m limp, like cooked spaghetti, in their grips. One has me by the arms, the other by the legs. They cart me around the building. We’re headed towards the main street. The small crowd of fae follows us, but some spear off and head in different directions—no doubt to finish their sweep of the village before it burns to the ground.
Fire is everywhere.
As I’m carted down a narrow alley, the stink of singed cloth and wood burns my nose. The red light of the fires waters my eyes. I’m not used to so much brightness. Even if it’s the light of death-come-knocking.
They carry me halfway down the alley before they come to an abrupt stop. I sway in their hold, trying to wiggle my way out. But their grips are tight, like iron shackles.
I quickly still and freeze in their hold.
I hear him before I see him; the purposeful steps he takes up the alley, the clink of armour, the song of a dagger he sheathes.
I turn my head to the mouth of the alley, where the main street blazes orange. And I see his silhouette first. Tall, broad—consuming.
Danger creeps up my spine. I have the sudden urge to break free and run at the other dark fae. I don’t want to face this one coming up the alley, the one all the others fall silent for.
My breath is deep and shaky as I see him completely engulfed in firelight.
The darkness fades from him, but lashes of it seem to lick at his heels, as though the darkness itself belongs to
