Yet as the warlock pursued me, anticipating all my turns, taking shortcuts of his own, I entertained the idea of leaving it, just for tonight. At the northern edge, where the trees thinned and a stormy black sky gathered overhead, sat a corn field. Halfway between green and gold, it had been used as a maze for the human children for weeks now. I could lose him in it. In the paths. In the corn itself, even. Silas would waste the night away stalking me there.
And then come dawn, it would be over.
I turned at the last possible moment, skirting the dip in the forest floor, the one that would take us down to caverns and pits, to underwater rivers blessed by ancient magic—good magic. He’d expect me to scurry down there, to hide amongst the glittering rocks; my sudden change tripped him up. Behind me, I heard the slip of his boots, the collision of his knees to the ground, the rough growl of another blasphemous curse.
The corn sang louder than my willow in the evening breeze, the full moon’s glow tinting the tips. Between two sycamores stood my salvation. My freedom. I pushed harder, a tentative smile gracing my lips…
Only to shriek when dark magic wafted over me, clawed across my skin, caressing me like an unwelcome hand, cold and daring. The ten-foot opening between the sycamores closed, a flood of bright grey shooting from one tree to the other, weaving into a massive spider’s web. I pivoted at the last possible moment, but not soon enough. The snarl of dark magic caught my arm, sticky and cool, clinging from my shoulder to my elbow. Panic sparked in my chest, tightened my throat, and any attempt to free myself made the web stick harder. Like a fly snagged in a true spider’s web, my squirming only made things worse.
Soon enough, it had my back too, forcing me to face him—and his wrath.
Gripping the dagger in place, his hand smeared red, Silas strode toward me like he wasn’t injured at all—like the tip of that jagged blade wasn’t ripping his innards with every step. I shifted in place, the web holding me still, then called on a last resort, one final hurrah.
Wind. While I couldn’t fly in this realm, my wings dormant inside, I could summon the wind to whisk me away. Or, in this case, whisk my enemy away. A northeast wind tore through the forest, rustled the dark web, and pounded into Silas with all the might of a raging river. The warlock bore down, teeth bared, eyes squinted against the assault. While it slowed his advance, he pushed through, practically horizontal. Step by step, the warlock made his way forward. He withstood the last magical defense at my disposal.
It was hardly fair, our bout.
His magic surpassed mine. It always would.
But that didn’t mean I had to accept it—that I couldn’t try.
Soon enough, he stood before me, his towering muscular frame fighting the current, feet planted. Trembling, I called off the wind, not wanting to waste my energy on failure, and retreated into the web to add a precious few extra inches between us. When the assault ceased, Silas straightened, a full head taller, his pristine suit in disarray, his black waves wild.
And his eyes…
I peeked up to meet them, expecting raw fury. Cruelty. A flicker of my impending punishment. Instead, mirth greeted me—a sly mirth, perhaps just as dangerous as cruelty, but unexpected all the same. It touched me, sparking a pleasant heat in my belly, one that threatened to drip down and down and—
“This is accursed magic,” I hissed, choosing to ignore the sensation altogether. My gaze darted left and right, the web reeking of foul energy, of magic from the pit. “It has no place in this grove.”
Silas cocked his head to the side, expression unchanged. “Heal me, Ríona.”
The sheer arrogance. He spoke as though my admonishment meant nothing to him—and it probably didn’t. I squared my shoulders, not caring that the movement only stuck them further to the web, then lifted my chin and peered down my nose at him.
“No.”
With a heavy sigh, Silas reached into his jacket with his free hand, fishing out a thin, smooth rectangle. A cellular phone. Something advanced, given its lack of buttons and the way the bright screen responded to him. While I shirked all modern human technology, not every supernatural entity in this realm shared my distaste for it. His dark greens flickered down to the numerals on the display. Almost nine o’clock. I had wasted his time—and he had no more to spare.
Clearing his throat, he tucked his phone away, then tore the dagger from his side. Blood painted the ground, forever staining my grove, and I watched, holding my breath, as he cleaned the blade on his trousers before lifting it to my exposed throat. A shaky exhale escaped my lips, taking with it the color from my cheeks.
“Heal me, Ríona.” His words had an edge this time, a command few could ignore. I twitched when the dagger’s razor-sharp tip ghosted my flesh. He wouldn’t dare strike. He needed me. They all did. The thought grounded me, calmed me, and I tilted my head back, further opening myself to him and his wrath.
“You can’t—” I cried out when he nicked me. Nothing deep, but hard enough to break my skin. Warmth oozed down my neck. Had the game changed? Could he… Could he discard me so callously? Silas held my gaze as he inched closer, the heat of his body smothering me, his masculine scent a damning distraction. Licking my lips, I offered a little shake of my head when he pressed in again, my eyes wide. “A barter. We’ll make a deal—”
“No,” he rasped. “No fairy deals.”
A foolhardy offer: warlocks didn’t deal. None of their flock did. Why make bargains with fairies for luck and good fortune when their dark god showered them with it?
“My pocket,” I whispered, flinching when he pressed the full length of the blade across my throat. Had the web not held me in place, perhaps my knees would have given way, subdued by the sting of silver and the cold shimmer in his eyes. “The herbs… Take them.”
I carried them with me always, a proprietary blend of magical goodness that could mend torn flesh, fuse shattered bones, absorb the harshest poisons. Sometimes I fed them to the deer, those unlucky enough to break a leg in a hidden foxhole or a rabbit den. In the past, I had given them to the human children who played amongst the trees; once for a fractured arm, another after the consumption of a whole bush of deadly pink berries.
And now for Silas, for the wound I had gifted him, that I had hoped would be my salvation.
Still holding the blade to my throat, the warlock plunged a hand into the deep pocket of my skirt. The herbs were all he’d find in there, yet he took his time searching, wandering fingers caressing my thigh through the chiffon, stoking the embers simmering in my core. I held his gaze for but a moment, then looked away, jaw clenching at his chuckle.
He’d seemed in such a hurry before, yet now he had all the time in the world to root around my skirts at his leisure. Perhaps he would bleed out by the time he finished.
Wishful thinking, of course.
Crushing my precious herbs in his large fist, he held them up, then tapped my chin with the dagger, forcing me to look.
“You know a warlock cannot be poisoned,” he murmured. My eyebrows shot up. I did not, in fact, know that, nor did I believe it. My mouth spread into a patronizingly sweet smile.
“Well, then what are you waiting for?”
His eyes glittered dangerously, the dagger back at my throat as he popped the entire mouthful of green splendor into his mouth. Silas chewed hurriedly, taking no time to savor the flavor, and the large bulge in his throat dipped when he swallowed. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath right alongside me as he peeled back his jacket and examined the tear in his shirt.