Page 62 of Hunted By Fae

But I keep my finger off the trigger.

The warrior’s hand drips crimson. Fresh blood falling from his fingers, his sharp black nails that have me recoiling further into Bee’s chest.

Her forehead presses down on the crown of my skull. Cringed.

Braced.

I can’t look away from him.

Tears spill down my cheeks. Warmth spreads at the crotch of my sweatpants, and I know I’ve wet myself.

Distantly, there’s a chuckle from the other side of the van, on the road; a warrior finding humour in my terror.

Then—

A throaty sound comes from the other warriors.

I think…

I think it’swords.

Grated words sheathed in barbed wire and needles, a language, one like nothing I have ever heard, one that sounds like a savage weapon.

Like the stare of that fae latched onto us.

Tremors wrack me.

Whatever those words are, I don’t know. And they end as abruptly as they came.

But there was meaning in whatever was said.

Those barbed words end, and the fire-eyed warrior clenches his hands into fists, fists that I don’t doubt could punch a hole through my chest and come clean out the other side.

His upper lip curls, revealing sharper teeth.

That coarse sound grates through the shadows again, the barbed language of the fae. It returns firmer, harsher, louder.

Like an order.

A command.

Bee’s breath stills at my shoulder—as if she holds it—then her chin lifts a touch, and I feel the flutter of her lashes on my cheek.

The warrior tugs back a step.

A shudder rinses through him, like he’s going against every urge pulsing through his body, every instinct that’s threaded into his very being.

The backstep brings him out of the wisps of Emily’s fractured torchlight and into mine.

It’s only now that I see another wound. Not his arm… but a perfect hole in his chest, oozing that thick black sludge just like the other one.

But I stare at it, numb, and feel the detachment of my mind from my body, like I’m suddenly drifting.

It doesn’t make sense.

It’s impossible.

That bullet wound should have him on the ground, he should bedead. It’s right in his fucking chest, edged to the left, a perfect accidental shot to the heart.