Page 11 of The Howling (Monsters of the Yeavering #2)

I slept like shit last night, my dreams filled with monsters. Monsters who wanted to eat me and not in an unpleasant way. I woke covered in sweat, panting for breath, and a complete mess.

All of this means the very last thing I want is to run into Lord Guyzance. Instead I would rather be able to get on with my work without having to deal with anyone, but as I leave my quarters to go about my business of cleaning the unclean-able, there he is, talking with Reavely once again.

The second I see him, I dodge back behind the door which leads to the storerooms in the hope he hasn’t seen me either.

I doubt very much if it was a good move. I listen to the voices, the Faerie Lord and the low rumbling growl of Reavely. Although I can’t make out the words, I’d recognise the Barghest’s deep, dark tones anywhere. They put a strange squirm in my stomach, something I try to get rid of instantly.

He’s the black dog of death. A harbinger.

The Reaper’s right hand. He is not a creature I should have any sympathy for or interest in.

Especially the sort of interest which makes my insides go weird.

I wait until I can’t hear them anymore and risk a peep.

Reavely is at the back of his cage, the outline of his huge shape only just visible.

I shut the door to prepare for the afternoon’s work.

“If it’s not the little human I sent to the dungeons,” Lord Guyzance says, inspecting the collar of his opulent robes where a huge diamond sits on a pin, whilst standing, incongruously, in amongst my mops and brooms, his clothing dazzling in the dim lamp light.

“I’m doing as you wanted.” I stumble over the words. “As you asked.”

Being in this confined space with him is terrifying. Like all Faerie males, he’s big, and his power radiates from him in a way I know will result in being turned into a bug if I make one wrong move.

“And, it appears, our jailer is happy with your work.” He tips his head on one side. “But you are wasted here in my dungeons.”

A smile steals over his face.

This is the one thing, the one fate I was hoping to avoid.

The Faerie struggle to have children with each other.

Maybe once in a hundred years, a new Faerie is born.

To maintain their power, they need to procreate, and for that they use humans.

They always have, only now they don’t have to steal them.

The lottery put paid to that particular practice.

The resulting hybrids, witches and warlocks, make up much of the rest of the inhabitants of the Yeavering. Their magic is limited and enhanced only with spells provided by Faerie such as Lord Guyzance, ensuring they are dependent upon their lord sires for survival.

From what little I have gleaned in my time here, male Faerie take it upon themselves to procreate with as many humans as they can, regardless of whether they have taken a partner themselves. It is accepted and expected.

And the way Guyzance is looking at me right now…it suggests I am no longer going to be exempt from his desires.

Even here, in this dank dungeon, if he wants his wicked way, he will get it.

I back up to the door. It swings shut with a bang.

“Now, little creature,” he croons, “lift up your skirts for your lord.”

“I’m…er…rotten down there.” I attempt to edge away down the wall, wondering if the drain grating is large enough for me to get through. “You don’t want me.”

“I get the taste of every human female I own, and I can tell you’re going to be deliciously rebellious,” he growls.

“I’m not rebellious, I’m really not. I’m boring, a non-entity. Flavourless.” A mop propped in a bucket clatters to the floor as I dislodge it.

“I doubt that. You’ve been hiding your light all this time, little human, and I’m going to take you right here.” He takes a step towards me.

I grab a broom. It goes flying out of my hands.

“I prefer the ones who fight me, and you are going to fight me, aren’t you?”

I don’t have to debate the situation. While passive might mean he enjoys what he’s going to do less, I can’t live with myself if I don’t try to escape this.

I will not be the vessel for another Faerie human hybrid.

I will not let it end this way. I grip at the heavy metal grating covering the drain.

The hole might just be big enough I can get through.

With all the effort I have in my body, I pull at it, managing to lift the thing a whole inch before it falls back into place.

“Ah-ah!” Lord Guyzance grabs me around my throat and lifts. “This is my castle, my fortress, my dungeons. No matter where you go, I will find you, escapee.” With a flick of his wrist, he sends me in the same direction as the broom.

I’m weightless as I tumble through the air, impacting the stone wall with a crack which sends stars spiralling around my head and pain flooding my body as I slump to the floor among broken buckets and shattered mops.

Through my daze, I see Guyzance advancing on me. His usually pretty features are demon-like, as is the true nature of the Faerie. I cannot get away. He is not going to let me and my fate is sealed.

The sound, when it hits me, is like an explosion. The door to the storeroom shatters into a billion matchsticks as something huge, something terrifying bursts through. Ethereal flame licks over its flesh.

“Guyzance.” It’s a word and a threat all in one.

The Faerie turns away from me, his clothing turning from white to black, claws unfurling from his fingers and horns rising out of his head.

“I told you I’d find your pressure point, Barghest,” he growls.

“And I told you your demise would be painful,” the burning creature says. “And I always do what I say.”

The second he leaps for the Faerie, I’m shoved back against the wall by a clap of magic, my head hitting the stone and my consciousness deserting me.