Page 38 of A Song of Air (Fae Elementals #4)

H earing Weylyn’s voice speak in the low, slow drawl, saying words she once hated, was like a balm against Bryson’s body. It soothed every ache and pain. It calmed her fears. And when she felt a connection, Mana’s bond, spark between them, she grasped at it with firm fingers, eager for the safety he cast out to her. And she held on for dear life.

“I’m here now,” he whispered.

She could only barely make out the outline of his form as he dropped to his knees in front of her. He smelt of blood, so overpowering she couldn’t hold back the bile any longer. She turned and began to retch, vomit spewing all across the floor in wet, clumpy splatters. Her stomach twisted and she heaved, over and over again. Vomit burned up her throat and shot out her nostrils as she expelled whatever she’d swallowed. Her entire body rebelled against the swarm of sensations. Against pain, taste, and stench. When she finally felt like she couldn’t get any more out, she weakly sat up, wiping the back of her hand across her lips.

“Weylyn...” A sob rose and she forced herself to choke it back down. To be strong. “Wh-what—?”

“It was a ghoul,” he said. His voice was hard, angry. “They glamor themselves as something they are not and use hypnotic magic to lure unsuspecting people into their lairs to eat them.”

Fear, cold and brittle, slid through her body. Her stomach twisted again, and she had to fight back the urge to heave.

“I’ve killed it,” he stated.

She’d heard the wet sloshing, had seen the shadowy forms of figures moving. It had been frightening, as the stench of rot had overpowered everything else, and she hadn’t made out Weylyn’s scent when he’d come in. It wasn’t until he’d spoken that she realized it was him.

“Weylyn, the iron in the air—I can’t see.” She hated how fearful her voice sounded. Hated to be perceived as weak, just like she’d always been perceived as weak because her sight wasn’t what it once was. And now, with iron invading, it was worse.

Weylyn’s hand cupped her cheek. She flinched before settling into the contact, sighing deeply. His thumb shoved away tears she hadn’t realized she was shedding, and she found comfort in the gesture, even when she knew she shouldn’t. It would only encourage him to believe there was something between them when there wasn’t.

“You are safe now,” he said firmly. “I am here.”

Her breath stuttered from her throat. “What did that thing give me?” The urge to know was suddenly gripping. Her stomach twisted once again.

Weylyn sighed. “Little mate—”

“What did it give me?!”

He was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Blood. Rotten meat.”

Bryson slammed her eyes closed and couldn’t stop the next spew of vomit. She turned away from Weylyn, the knowledge of what that thing made her ingest making her nauseous all over again. Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn’t asked. Or if he’d lied.

Weylyn’s fingers caressed her hair, pulling the dirty strands back to her nape as she heaved until there was nothing left in her stomach. Until she felt hollow and gross at once.

When she finished, she all but slumped against his body and his hands were strong as he held her up so she didn’t fall from the chair.

“Little mate.” His tone took on a new urgency. “We must leave this place.”

She was all too eager to do so. In fact, if she never stepped foot in this foul-smelling hovel ever again, she would be all too content.

In her eagerness to get away, she let Weylyn help her out of the rickety wooden chair and guide her away. She held her breath as they passed the smelly dead body of the ghoul. It didn’t ease even when they made it outside. Even as he guided her over the lumpy ground. In fact, the stench seemed to follow them even as they left the place far behind.

Neither of them spoke to one another. At least, not until they were far, far away. Through it all, Bryson blinked furiously, but it was still difficult to make much out.

“Come,” Weylyn urged.

The rushing sound of water reached her ears.

“Let us clean up, little mate.”

She let him be her eyes, content, at least for a moment, as he led her to the edge of the riverbank. This one was not as smelly as the previous one. It smelt fresh and reminded Bryson of Corvina.

“Stay here.”

Weylyn released her and she heard his footsteps slosh into the water, dipping and disturbing for a few moments. When he appeared at her side again, he no longer smelt of blood or death. Instead, of cocoa and spice, comforting, sharp, just like he was.

His grip on her was firm and gentle as he pulled her towards the water. It was a shock of cold at first, but she grew accustomed to it the deeper she waded, down to her waist. Surprisingly, Weylyn began gently sliding water against her, cleaning off the smell. And when he eased her back, she complied, floating on her back so he could slip his fingers into her hair, combing out the mud.

When he finished, Bryson dunked her head under, guzzling water and rinsing her mouth until she felt nearly clean once again.

“Come.” He grabbed her elbow, pulling her back to dry land. “We must find a place to lay and rest.” There was a beat of silence. “We are out in the open, and there are creatures far worse than the ghoul out here.”

She followed at his side, his hand firm on her elbow. “Where is here?”

Another pause, and she wished desperately that she could look at his face up close and see the expression he wore. Finally, he said, “.”

The shock of those words nearly sent her stumbling to the ground. It was only his hands that kept her upright.

.

.

“Fuck,” she whispered aloud.

Weylyn snorted, almost as though he were echoing her sentiment.

Bryson had known that the mushroom circles were... dangerous, so to speak. Mushroom circles were seen as a bad omen, as portals that would push you into other worlds. They emitted a strange magic she’d avoided. She’d always been so careful, able to sense them before even coming into contact with them. What her eyes couldn’t see clearly, her body had made up for.

But it hadn’t mattered how careful she’d been. She ended up within one regardless.

And now she was in a court she knew nothing about, with iron permeating the air and pushing into her eyeballs.

It was like losing her sight all over again.

The rush of emotions made her face heat and she tried to keep them under control, but it was difficult. Rage, despair, it all came crashing down around her and she couldn’t speak. Weylyn didn’t seem to be inclined to do so either as he led her away. As he led her through a fucking court she didn’t know, surrounded by iron, weak, helpless, having to rely on him.

She’d almost gotten herself fucking eaten, for Mana’s sake.

She hated the feeling of helplessness. Hated having to rely on him of all Fae. Hated that relying on him did bring her dread and comfort in equal measure. She’d wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, she’d been planning on breaking things off with Everette and then telling Weylyn exactly where he could shove the mate bond.

Bryson let out a frustrated sigh and felt Weylyn’s eyes sharpen on the side of her face. She ignored it, ignored him, trying to mask all she was feeling behind a stoic expression. Bryson became lost in her own thoughts for the rest of their walk.

“Here,” Weylyn finally said. “There’s a hollow in this tree we can take refuge in.”

She nodded grimly and he guided her with a palm to her back, bending her so she could fit into the hole. It smelt damp and mossy, but it wasn’t at all unpleasant. And it was warm within its confines, so she wouldn’t worry about catching a chill.

Especially not when she felt Weylyn press close at her side.

She fought back a shiver.

“,” she whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. “Everette pushed me into the Unseelie Court.”

Just remembering the way his hands shoved her shoulders, and then the way darkness immediately descended as she fell, made tears want to prick at her eyes. The sentiment was flooded with anger right after. She’d never seen Everette so angry. But it hadn’t mattered how angry he was, that hadn’t been an excuse to put his hands on her.

No matter what she’d done, how unfaithful she’d been.

Bryson let out a breath, knowing she couldn’t dwell on that right then. It would do her, or Weylyn, no good.

“When we return, I will wring his worthless neck,” he assured, like his words were supposed to placate her.

When we return.

“How will we return, Weylyn?”

He was quiet a long moment before his arm wrapped around her shoulder. She should have pushed him away. She wanted to push him away. Instead, little by little, exhaustion settled over her bones, and she found herself leaning into his comfort despite all her misgivings.

Just for the night, she told herself. Just this once.

“We will figure it out,” came his reply.

Bryson’s eyelids fluttered closed, sleep claiming her for its own. She swore she imagined Weylyn’s warm lips against her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes and look. Instead, she was content to let his voice follow her into her dreams.

“Sleep, little mate. I am here now, and I will keep you safe.”