Chapter 8
Eight
RONAN
ELLNESARI, PRESENT DAY
I don’t run, I fly through the unfamiliar forest, letting my instincts take control.
They don’t fail me, and within maybe ten minutes, I hear people milling about in the distance.
The village is close. I slow down when the forest begins to thin out.
It won’t do to draw attention to ourselves and end up captured.
I don’t know how much the inhabitants of Ellnesari know about vampires.
Before the portals were sealed, only first-generation bluebloods visited this land, and I’m sure their visits were confined to palaces.
In my arms, Cheryl moans and scrunches her brows together. “Hang on for a while longer, Cher. Just a while longer.” I kiss her forehead and wince. She’s burning up.
From my vantage point, I see a square with several shops around it. There has to be a healer of some sort there. Nightingales are roaming around, but not that many. Perhaps they won’t notice that Cheryl and I aren’t one of them.
I finally make the decision to step out of my hiding spot when I hear a swishing sound cut through the air. I turn to pinpoint where the noise came from and get hit on the forehead by a piece of wood. “Ouch!”
A swarm of Nightingale children emerges from the forest and quickly surrounds me.
“You hit him, you idiot!” a young boy says, smacking the back of the head of the ginger boy in front of him.
The red-haired boy steps forward, green eyes wide with worry. “Are you okay, sir? I didn’t mean to hit you. I was testing my boomerang.”
My forehead throbs, but that’s it. “I’m fine.”
He switches his attention to Cheryl. All the children do, actually.
“Hey, Dukie. Is that a relative of yours?” a blonde girl asks.
The redhead—Dukie—shakes his head. “I don’t recognize her. But she has hair like mine, so she must be. What’s wrong with her?”
Since these children haven’t noticed that Cheryl and I aren’t Nightingales, they could be helpful. “She was stung by a giant hornet monster.”
All the children gasp and then turn to one another, showing concern. Hell, their reactions can’t be good.
“She was stung by a hellionflare? What were you doing in Hornet’s Garden?” Dukie asks. “Everyone knows not to go there during mating season.”
“It’s a long story. She needs a healer.”
“My mother is a healer, sir. The best in town,” he declares.
The boy who smacked Dukie before scowls. “Your mother is not the village’s official healer.”
“So? She is the best. Besides, I’m sure that lady would rather get treated by a member of her clan.”
“You don’t know if she’s a Mularkey,” the blonde girl chimes in.
Dukie makes an exaggerated motion with his hands. “Look at her hair! She must be a Mularkey.”
“Children! Focus,” I interject, losing my patience. “Can you take me to a healer, any healer, please?”
They gasp, and the girl points at my face. “Your eyes. Why are they glowing red?”
Fuck. My emotions are all over the place, and I lost control. “They do that when I’m afraid, and right now, I’m terrified of losing my…”
Dukie raises his eyebrows. “Betrothed?”
I swallow hard. “My friend. Can you please take me to your mother?”
I figure this kid is the most helpful one. I’ll take my chances with his mother rather than anyone else.
“Right away, sir. Follow me. We must make haste. The venom from those stingers is potent.”
He takes off at a run, and I have to hurry to keep up with him, surprised how quickly he can move. It’s not quite like Vivi walking the wind, but it’s possible all Nightingales can move at supersonic speed.
This village is like a maze. There are several twists and turns, and I realize I could easily get lost here.
Finally, he stops in front of a sturdy wooden door.
All the houses on this narrow cobblestone street are interconnected and at least four stories high.
Above the door, there’s a sign that says Mularkey .
“We’re here.” He opens the door and bellows from the entryway, “Mom, I need help! Someone was stung by a hellionflare!”
“What?” a woman shrieks from somewhere in the house.
I take a deep breath, and my nose itches. The room smells strongly of medicinal herbs and other scents I can’t pick apart. It reminds me of Solomon’s place.
I scan the area to make sure there aren’t any threats, a habit ingrained in me. The house is modest, from what I can tell in my peripheral vision. There’s no time to dwell on details, though.
Dukie leads me to an open and well-lit room where there’s a large wooden table, surrounded by chairs of different sizes, and colorful upholstered fabric.
Half of the table’s surface is covered in piles of books, tomes, and clay pots of varied shapes.
Above the table, a large wrought-iron chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and trapped inside its cone-shaped light bulbs, white-and-blue flames flicker, brightening and dampening in the span of seconds.
One could easily become hypnotized by it.
A woman with flaming red hair loosely secured in a bun enters the room with purposeful steps. She’s wearing a simple moss-green cotton dress and a brown apron. Her face is covered in freckles, and her eyes are either green or blue, depending on how the light from the flickering flames hits them.
“Oh dear.” She rushes toward me, her attention on Cheryl. She glances at the scratch on Cheryl’s cheek first, then inspects the laceration on her back. “How long ago was she attacked?”
“I’m not sure. Fifteen minutes, give or take.”
She frowns. “Minutes? I’m not familiar with that measure of time.” Like a ninja, she grabs my chin, forcing my mouth open. “Fangs… you’re a vampire.”
Dukie gasps. “Vampire? Oh wow. I’ve never met a vampire before.” He moves closer. “Can I see, Mom?”
I step back, freeing myself from the healer’s clutches. “Can you help my friend or not?”
“Probably. Is she a vampire too?”
Hell. What Cheryl is isn’t something I like to disclose, especially to strangers.
Dukie’s mother notices my hesitation. “I need to know if she’s a vampire so I can properly treat her. I’m guessing she is, or she’d already be dead.”
My heart clenches painfully. “She is a vampire, but she’s also a wolf shifter.”
The healer’s eyes widen. “A hybrid. Amazing.”
Yes, Cheryl is amazing. And I can’t lose her.
“Please set her on the table on her side,” the Nightingale instructs me.
I do as she says, then can do nothing else but watch her work. “How bad is it?”
“I won’t lie. Your friend is badly wounded.”
I curl my hands into fists. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”
“I won’t know until I examine her further.”
My hands are shaking when I pull my hair and yank on the strands. I’ve never felt more useless than now.
“My name is Phylia. What’s your name?”
“Ronan. And that’s Cheryl.” I force the words out through my choked-up throat.
Phylia cuts Cheryl’s torn shirt and removes the bloodied fabric. Without it, I see that the gash is deeper than I thought, and the skin around the cut is darker and swollen. It looks bad.
“She’s burning up. Is the cut infected?” I ask.
“Not infected—poisoned. And she’s running a fever because her body is fighting it. Most folks who are stung by those nasty creatures die almost immediately.”
My heart clenches painfully. “But you have an antidote for it, right?”
“Yes, yes. But first, I must clean the area.” She beckons me with her hand. “Come here. I need you to hold her arms.”
“Why?”
“Because this is going to hurt, and she’ll most likely wake up.”
I hold Cheryl’s arms, looking at her flushed face. Painful memories come to the forefront of my mind. This is too familiar, and the feeling of desperation swirling in my chest is the same as before.
Phylia dunks a white cloth into a large pot with a clear liquid, then presses it gently over Cheryl’s wound.
It fizzles upon contact, and Cheryl’s body goes rigid.
A second later, she screams at the top of her lungs and tries to move away.
I’m holding her arms, but her legs are free and she’s kicking them.
“Dukie, hold her legs!”
The kid jumps on the table, covering her legs with his small body. But Cheryl is too strong and sends Dukie flying off the table with a kick.
“He can’t hold her,” I say.
“What in the world is happening here?” a newcomer asks.
I look toward his voice and find a male with red hair wearing a soldier’s uniform standing in the hallway. Fucking hell. He works for Queen Maewe.
“Ronwen, come quickly. I need your assistance,” Phylia urges him.
He spares me a glance, and during the split second that our gazes lock, I know he’s aware of what I am, and that I shouldn’t be here. But he rushes to the table and holds Cheryl’s legs without comment.
I can’t worry about him now. Cheryl continues to scream while fat tears roll down her cheeks. “It burns! Make it stop. Make it stop.”
“It’ll be over soon, Cher. Just hold on a little longer,” I plead.
Phylia cleans the wound as fast as she can, then applies a green salve all over Cheryl’s back. “This will draw the rest of the poison out.”
Cheryl’s body slackens, and her eyes close once more. “She passed out again,” I say.
“Yes, that’s good. She needs to rest while the medicine does its job.”
I release her arms and grimace when I notice the red marks my fingers left imprinted on her fair skin.
“I thought you left,” Ronwen says after a moment.
“Do you know them, son?” Phylia asks.
He nods. “Yes, they were guests of King Ruel.”
I look at him. “We did leave, but we had to return.”
His eyes widen. “How?”
“With Vryenn’s help.”
“The princess?” Dukie asks, wide-eyed.
“Yes.”
“I thought the portals had been sealed. How did you find yourselves in Hornet’s Garden of all places?” Phylia starts to put things away, but I know she’s watching me from the corner of her eye.
“It’s a long story.”
She glances at Cheryl. “Well… you’re not going anywhere for a while. Besides, I need to tend to your injuries. You were also sprayed by the hellionflare’s acid.”
I glance at the burns on my arms, having completely forgotten about them. “I barely feel anything.”
Phylia gives me a stern look. “You will once you calm down a bit. Now sit down and let me patch you up. Then I’ll make tea, and you can tell me your tale.”