Page 45 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

Hands remove mine, a circle of fingers strung daintily about my wrists. Breath like sweet flowers wilted in the sun brushes my cheeks. I blink more than once, gazing up at the face.

She is beautiful and strange and inhuman. Something akin to a face and eyes and jaw filter blearily before my eyes, but I don’t much mind. Sleep tugs at my limbs, my tongue still heavy with the taste of plums and sugar. Vaguely, I recall something about a library, but I cannot bring it to mind.

A dream, perhaps.

A hum ripples through the air, rolling over my bones, tugging at my chest. They are not human words, but I believe I understand them. No wonder we disappear into Faerie, never to return. Who would wish to?

The hands tug gently, and I follow along, the basket still weighing down my shoulder, straps tangled around my arm. Bees buzz nearby, closer and closer. Rough dry skin brushes the sore pinkie on my weaker hand—

Who is touching my hand?

I blink, stumbling to a stop.

Who is with me in the woods?

The grip around my wrists tightens, the song continuing.

I look up.

Four pure-white eyes gaze down at me from one face, a long length of hair black as the surrounding night, too-long limbs in every fashion. A gentle song flows from its lips, and she cocks her head daintily, all teeth and skin and eyes.

“ Let go of me,” I say numbly, my lips not yet catching the building panic in my chest.

It twitches.

“ Let go of me! ” I scream, putting all my weight into my heels and yanking hard.

The gentle loop of her spider leg fingers turns into an unbreakable grasp, muscles like snake bellies ripping around the bones in my wrists, which suddenly feel too fragile.

She pulls back with much less effort, and I smack into a sharp rib cage, my vision flickering where my temple cracks against bone.

No, no, no, I’m not letting this happen again.

The woman—if I can call her such—hisses at my blood smeared across her neck.

The moon has broken the canopy, and I realize she’s led me back to her clearing.

What she plans on doing with me, I’ve no intention of finding out.

Shrieking and not caring whatever else hears, I struggle away as best I can, stomping at her clawed feet and kicking at the double bends where her knees should be.

On and on she drags me toward the center.

More bees buzz. Something smacks into my cheek, the humming of wings just against my ear.

Fire erupts against my neck, a weakened sensation flooding my left side, fire dripping down the inside of my skin.

I scream hard enough my throat feels as if it may tear.

The woman yanks me nearer, her face bending close.

I have never fought off another creature, not unless I count wrestling with Niall when we were barely grown or holding down sheep to get them sheared for the first time.

Neither applies. I know nothing of fighting, and something tells me I’d have no use for a weapon even if I’d brought one.

Her breath brushes my face. Her nose is quite prominent, a long needle of a thing to match her many teeth. She has far, far too many eyes. I cannot poke them with my hands captured.

Launching forward, I sink my teeth into the bridge of her nose.

Foul, sour blood fills my mouth, and a scream like a tear in the sky stabs my ears.

I’m on the ground a second later. Another sharp sting catches right on the back of my sore hand, and I smack it into the ground before I can think better.

Rolling over, knocking into the stupid basket of plumbs, I scramble for my feet.

Its hand snatches my hair, pulling me back and wailing.

Something in the woods starts up a hard shriek of calls—dozens, hundreds.

Another beesting.

I’m off-balance but swing the ridiculous heavy basket of fruit right around as it drags me back, a satisfying jar in my shoulders as the heavy burden strikes true.

It doesn’t do as much as I’d hoped, but the creature stumbles, her hand still in my hair.

My locks have long been cut short, and she has so much of it gripped that her hand slips right off when I yank.

Another beesting, and I find myself on my back, dizzy, numb fingers slithering through my bones, my muscles.

Aidyn did warn me about the bees , I think vaguely as I catch the woman flailing at them as well. So many bees.

A hand grabs my ankle, and I hear my own scream like something far off as I’m dragged into the bushes, fern fronds and winter brambles tearing at my dress.

I’m not letting it eat me or sing to me, and I can’t find my ears to put my fingers in, so I smack at the creature, striking something hard with my better hand.

“ Stop it,” the voice hisses, a strange deep burble like water over stones. “ Stop, quiet, quiet ! ”

Another scream hurts my throat, and a long warm hand clamps over my mouth. A heavy body covers mine, pinning me completely. Rings dig into my skin.

“ Bluebell, quiet, quiet,” the voice hisses, and I flinch, finding a familiar set of eyes, pure silver and terribly bright in the dark of the night, gazing down at me.

Aidyn , I want to say, but his hand is still covering the entire bottom half of my face.

“ Hush, Flower,” he whispers, keeping me pinned in the bush, glancing out at the creature shrieking and spitting in the clearing.

Aidyn. Tears burn the backs of my eyes. I grip his shoulder, and he nods to me, expression twisted. One hand remains over my mouth, the other under the back of my head. He is heavier than I ever imagined, utterly pinning me down, strangely warm and grounding.

“ Quiet and still,” he murmurs, keeping his hand looser, gentler, thumb rubbing small circles into the tear tracks along my cheek.

His eyes flicker out and over the creature. Whispering, he tells me, “ It must have been following you; otherwise, the ring would’ve worked. If it sang to you, I can imagine you would not have made your way back.”

Somewhere within the back of my mind, I have the wherewithal to realize this is a good thing—he was not misleading me about the ring, and I was doing nothing incorrectly.

At the forefront of my thoughts is the shrieking creature, and the stinging pain in my neck and hand and shoulder spreading throughout my body, and the uncomfortable way my ankle is lying, and the comforting weight of Aidyn pressing me into the fragrant grass.

Finally, the woman stops screaming. I catch glimpses of her through the dark leaves. She grips her face where I bit her, blood trickling in droplets against the moonlight. Aidyn’s breath slows to nothing. His sword is strapped around his hips, his walking cane lying in the grass right alongside us.

Slowly, its face turns toward us. My heartbeat thumps so loud I’m certain she hears. Aidyn makes a soft noise, like a hum of a line of song. The creature flinches.

And dives for our hidden spot in the bushes.

Aidyn’s weight leaves me. Before I can think of rolling away, he’s shoved the end of his walking cane up and through something with a wet crunch.

My throat makes a strange startled noise.

Something hot and wet splashes my cheek, leaves falling about us, disturbed by the creature’s presence.

Bees hum, and I do scramble back as much as I can, just a few steps’ worth on my hands and bottom, caught on the skirts of my dress.

Aidyn twists the cane, hissing a bone-chilling noise like steel on steel, blood and wolves howling at the moon, the silhouette of the woman bending low over him, and he gazing into her face in return. Her hand is twisted in his shirt, and he yanks the cane out with a sickening crack.

Flailing away all at once with a sharp keen, one eye broken and bleeding, she fails back into the grass, more howls in the night joining her cries, growing closer and closer.

“ Get up,” Aidyn hisses, grabbing my hand and hauling me up.

My feet stumble under me, and the world pitches sideways.

I wish to grab him, to cling to his support, but I can’t reach in the right direction.

Besides, I still see well enough to realize he’s caught himself on the nearest trunk, in no better condition.

His hand touches his middle where the woman grabbed his shirt.

Hair pools over his shoulders like familiar ink.

“ Aidyn,” I say, intent on asking . . . something .

I should help him, shouldn’ t I?

I can’t even help myself.

“ Picture the library,” he says. “ A dozen steps. Count them.”

He tugs me along, and we stumble as fast as we both can manage through the dark woods, counting up and up and up, the woman’s screams ringing terror into my ears, Aidyn’s hand clasped about mine.