Chapter 49 #2
“You should answer my question first.”
“I’m serious, Derian. Let me go!”
Still, I refuse to soften my grip on her wrists. I refuse to let her run away from this.
From me.
“What do you want?”
“Control!” she screams, lip trembling slightly. “I want you to teach me how to control it.”
Her shoulders sag as the confession echoes around us.
And yet, it’s not enough.
She tugs at her wrists once more, tears welling in her eyes, but I can’t let go. I won’t. Not yet. Not until she releases everything that’s eating her up inside.
“Why?” I ask her, keeping my tone gentle.
She stares at me for a longtime, and I think she might protest again when she finally opens her mouth.
“I want it to mean something,” she admits, averting her gaze. “All of it. My father’s murder, my childhood with Kristona, the awful things he made me do, and this magic. You said it all led me here. So, I want to do something with all that pain.”
She pauses, finally meeting my gaze again. I stroke a thumb across the pulse in her wrist in gentle reassurance.
“I want to kill the Mother.”
My body locks in tension the second the words are out of her mouth.
I breathe in deeply, swallowing down the instinctive urge that rises out of my gut, that protective aspect of my identity as a Fae male that pushes me to deny her putting herself in that level of danger. The part of me that can barely breathe when I think about her getting harmed.
Huntyr doesn’t want my protection.
She doesn’t need it.
She needs to make a decision on her own for the first time in her life, and she needs someone to support her in it.
Taric was right. I need to respect her decision regardless of how hard it is for me to do so.
“Then,” I pause, forcing the acceptance of this even as it goes against every instinct in my body. “That’s what we’ll do.”
She looks up at me, not stepping away even when I release her hands to rest my fingers on her hips.
“Really?” she asks, her voice uncertain.
I nod, ignoring the pang of unease in my stomach. “We’ll do it together.”
With another deep breath, I step back and offer her my hand. She stares at it for a long time, brow furrowed as she considers my words, before she finally takes it.
As we make our way back inside, a natural, easy grin spreads across my cheeks.
“Vengeance and chocolate cake, two things every great marriage is built on.”
Her nostrils flare as I glance back at her. “Don’t push your luck.”
She doesn’t pull her hand from mine, though. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s made her choice. She’s one of us now. She’s mine now.
And there’s no turning back.
“I’m sleeping in Tyla’s bed tonight,” she tells me.
I chuckle. “That’s fine.”
“I don’t need permission.”
Releasing her hand, I pull open the door to the manor and step aside to let her brush past me, breathing in the scent of her as she does. “No, you don't. Just as I don’t need reassurance that you’ll be back in mine tomorrow.”
When she glances back at me over her shoulder, the mocking expression lacks any real bite. “Cocky, aren’t we?”
I tuck my hands in my pockets, watching as she starts to make her way up the steps. “Go be with your sister, Huntyr. We’ll have plenty of time for your teasing games later.”
We’ll have a lifetime for it.
Iwake to screaming.
High-pitched, world-ending screaming that bursts through me, wraps its hands around my heart, and squeezes until fear pours through every inch of my body.
Huntyr is screaming.
She’s screaming my name.
I can’t breathe, can’t think. I can’t do anything but push to my feet and rush out of my room to where she is staying with her sister.
I’m wild as I take in the room, searching for her. Something in me unclenches when I see the lack of blood or bodily injury on her. She’s crouched on the floor, tears streaming down her face, hands wrapped over the shoulders of her sister, who’s planted on all fours on the ground.
The sister who is currently vomiting black liquid all over the carpet in front of her.
“What happened?” I demand, coming to crouch next to them.
“I don’t know,” she shakes her head violently, her face paler than I’ve ever seen it before. “She was having a nightmare, talking in her sleep. I tried to wake her up, and she just started getting sick.”
One more violent heave works through Tyla before her body gives out. It’s only Huntyr’s quick reflexes that catch the girl before she falls into her own mess. She sits Tyla’s head in her lap and gasps when she takes in the sight of her now unconscious sister.
Those dark lines on her skin have made a web up her chest, climbing up her throat. I push back her hair, noticing the dark veins that extend from her hairline by her temples.
“You promised me you would help her!” she hisses at me.
This doesn’t make any sense. That was the best tonic we have. It heals the worst of Fae injuries, it should have held up against any simple Mortal sickness.
“I don’t understand,” I mutter aloud.
Huntyr is shaking, terror written across every line of her face. “Fix this! You promised me. That was my favor. That was what I won the Conclave for.”
I look at her, feeling an awful tightness spark through my chest at the realization that if that tonic doesn’t work, there might not actually be a way to fix this.
Huntyr is right. I told her if she won the Conclave, I would give her anything she wanted.
I was wrong to make that promise.
Tyla is going to die, and Huntyr is going to hate me forever once she does.