Chapter Twenty-One
KIERAN
THE HUMAN IS too slow.
Mason shouldn’t have pinned her to the ground so violently when she tried to run. Her knees are injured, and she’s struggling to keep up. Her feet drag against the ground, too, leaving clear tracks behind.
Mason is doing his best to cover the evidence of her footsteps, hiding our trail from any shifters who may come across it, but I can tell by his quiet huffs that he’s having a hard time. We can be quick, or we can be efficient, but there isn’t time for both.
It’s only a matter of time before word spreads that we’re in the forest and the shifters come looking. This mission is dangerous, so much so that it borders on being idiotic, but it’s our only opportunity. I won’t be granted leave from the capital once I’m crowned, and the shifters are gaining strength with each passing day.
Zaha has to help.
The shifters are the ones who kidnapped and tortured Lyra, but the faeries are paying the price. Zaha was blinded by anger when she destroyed the shifter kingdom, turning it into deadlands even the bravest shifters don’t dare to enter. She had to have known the shifters would flee to the Redstall Forest, that they’d claim lands the faeries have rightfully owned for thousands of years.
Her rash decision ruined over a hundred years of tentative peace between the faeries and shifters. Caspian Verlice was a bloodthirsty, power-hungry alpha, and he was a fool to do what he did to Lyra. Everybody knows how protective Zaha is of her youngest sister.
I won’t let the cruel decisions of Mason’s great-grandfather weigh down my people any longer, though. The shifters are cultivating and harvesting delysum, cultivating the wildflower into a weapon I fear will be enough to kill us.
It kills magic, destroys every bit it touches, and we can’t let it continue.
Zaha may be unwilling to return the deadlands to its once-beautiful, habitable landscape, but there’s no reason she can’t stop the growth of delysum. She’s the one who created the flower in the first place, for fuck’s sake.
Every decision she’s made has hurt my people, and I’m hoping she’ll be willing to reverse some of them. I’m hoping offering her Abby will put her in good spirits. She loves humans—all the gods do.
Abby trips over something, an action she’s begun doing with frustrating frequency. I know she’s exhausted, but we need to keep moving.
Every minute we’re delayed is a minute for the shifters to find our whereabouts and attack. I doubt they’d kill Mason, but they wouldn’t hesitate to rip the human’s and my throats out.
Her slow, clunky movements are a liability, and I’m beginning to wonder if keeping her around is worth it. I believe Zaha will be genuinely pleased to receive a gift from us, but it doesn’t mean anything if we die before we reach the portal.
I turn, peering at Abby over my shoulder. Her face is red, and her chest heaves with each inhale. She looks like shit.
“Do you need to be carried?” I ask.
Carrying her is low on my list of desire, but I fear it’s the only solution. There’s no magic this deep into the forest, and I can already feel the beginnings of withdrawal, but Abby is light. I had no issue carrying her when she was under the influence of Mason’s drugs, and I’m not unwilling to do it again.
I’d prefer her being asleep for it, though. It feels too intimate otherwise.
Abby scoffs. “No.”
She sounds offended by the mere suggestion, which isn’t surprising. She’s not making many efforts to hide her dislike for us, not that I blame her. I wouldn’t be pleased if I were in her position, but that’s not my problem.
She shouldn’t have entered the forest. Everybody knows not to enter the forest, and had she been anything but a human, she’d already be dead. Mason and I don’t need the distraction, and killing her would’ve been the easiest and quickest option.
I’m sure Mason still believes it is. He doesn’t think Zaha will be influenced by the gift, but he doesn’t understand just how much the gods love their treasures. Humans are sought after, and Zaha will be pleased.
On the off chance Zaha doesn’t want the human, we’ll do what needs to be done. Mason is correct in saying that it’s a more humane outcome than allowing Abby to be given to one of Zaha’s brothers.
The lie of a blood disease might be enough to keep them away, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. The gods love creating their offspring through human vessels, mainly because it’s easy and most, if not all, of the human genes are dropped. The children, despite being half-humans, have the full strength and abilities of the gods.
It’s for the best that Yahweh keeps his humans under such tight protection. The universe would be overrun with gods if they had free rein to the humans.
I won’t condemn Abby to the life of a breeder.
“It would be ideal if she were unconscious,” Mason says, chiming in. “We can wake her when we arrive at the portal.”
Abby’s heart begins to race, the muscle pounding in her chest, and I roll my eyes. Mason’s going out of his way to torment her, which is quite unlike him. Mason has never shown much interest in a woman, for better or worse.
He must really be bored if he’s going out of his way to upset the human—especially with lies. I was on board with carrying an unconscious Abby the entire way to the portal, but Mason insisted we let her be awake. He doesn’t know how the sedative reacts with humans, and he doesn’t want to take the risk of permanently damaging her.
There’s rustling before a loud, feminine screech rings out from behind me.
“Don’t touch me!”
Abby’s voice shakes, showing her fear. I’m used to people being nervous around Mason, but Abby reeks of genuine terror. It’s uncomfortable, but there isn’t anything I can do to stop it. She knows our plans for her, and I doubt anything we say or do will settle her nerves.
I’m sure she’s already planning her escape. Any being with half a survival instinct would try to separate from us before reaching the portal.
Abby shrieks again. “Stop!”
I resist the urge to sigh, already annoyed with the pair. The human is pretty, and I hope this isn’t Mason’s attempt to flirt. He should’ve paid a visit to one of Bellmere’s brothels before we took off for Farbay.
He always gets testy when he’s horny, and her running away set him on edge. He got to chase, and if the rumors I’ve heard whispers of throughout the years are true, then he loves to chase. Fucking shifters.
I look over my shoulder, wanting to know what he’s doing to upset Abby. The sky is growing dark, and the shifters will soon be out patrolling. We need to remain quiet, and making the human angry and loud is counterproductive.
Mason stands only inches behind Abby, too close for comfort. He’s probably been nudging her in the back, silently ordering her to walk faster. Her legs are already weak, and I’ll be pissed if he trips her up and further injures her knees.
Her blood is a beacon, and we need it to remain inside her body.
I can smell it even now, the sharp, metallic aroma tainting the air surrounding us. Mason applied a goopy salve to her knees while she was unconscious to trap the smell, but it’s beginning to permeate.
We’ll need to change her bandages soon, a task I’m not looking forward to.
It was easy to tend to her when she was unconscious, but I already know it’ll be a handful to do while she’s awake. Mason may have to knock her out again, maybe without the drugs. Human skulls are fragile, but it’s not like Zaha will care about Abby’s intelligence. A few dead brain cells won’t affect her value.
Mason meets my gaze, silently daring me to speak up and say something about his tormenting of Abby. I hesitate, debating, before turning back forward and continuing walking.
They’re both adults, and I’m sure they’ll be able to figure it out.
“When is she expected to menstruate?” Mason asks me, his voice unnaturally loud in the otherwise-silent forest.
Abby’s breath hitches, and I run my hand through my hair with a quiet sigh. He’s got to be joking. Women only menstruate once a year, and I highly doubt we’ll encounter any issues with Abby over the next few days.
“ She ’s right here,” Abby snaps. “And that’s none of your business.”
For once, I just might agree with her.
The scent will draw in the shifters, but the odds of her beginning to bleed are low. Mason’s grasping at straws to try to upset her, and it’s getting on my nerves. I’m eager to complete this task as quickly as possible, and their arguing is tiresome.
The two finally grow quiet, and I use this time to focus.
The sky is quickly growing dark, and we need to remain alert. Mason’s guiding us away from strong shifter trails, but I wouldn’t put it past them to mask their scents and lure us into a trap.
My strength is diminished without magic, and Mason can realistically only protect us from so much. His royal bloodline makes him stronger than most, but he’s not invincible. He’s also not familiar with the shifter way of fighting. He moved to the faerie capital when we were children, and he very quickly outgrew our top warriors.
He hasn’t fought a fair fight in several years, and even he has acknowledged the disservice that’s done to him. If the shifters group up and attack, we’re screwed. Avoiding them is our best hope.
Mason tormenting Abby is not helping.
“I can hear a small stream up ahead,” Mason says. “But it’s not clean.”
“I don’t care,” is Abby’s quick reply.
She’s thirsty. Desperate.
Mason wouldn’t have spoken up about her urine if it weren’t serious, and I know he’s been monitoring it. Faeries and shifters have better body regulation. We can go longer without substance and hydration, and we didn’t plan a stop this early in. We’ve had to make several adjustments to our carefully laid out plans, including hunting down that deer. Abby’s body is inefficient.
“We’re close to Traul River,” Mason explains. “She can make it.”
Abby makes a low noise in the back of her throat but otherwise doesn’t say anything.
Mason quickens his pace, passing Abby so he can walk alongside me. Her breath hitches as he does so, the human probably thinking this means we’re growing comfortable with her. I can tell she’s frustrated by being made to walk between us, but it’s not to keep an eye on her.
We can hear and smell her even when she’s out of sight, and one of us has been trailing behind only to cover her tracks. It’s a miracle no shifters caught her trail while she was wandering around by herself.
“We’ll need to be quick,” he murmurs. “My people rely heavily on the river, and several communities are built along it.”
My people . I nod, not addressing the slip of his tongue. Mason’s parents gave him up when our bond was discovered, publicly removing his claim to the coveted alpha title. The shifters are not his people .
My mother insisted he be given the title of prince , but it was done out of pity. I was too young to understand his devastation of being left behind by his family, abandoned to his enemy in an illusion of peace. His title was a gift, an effort to preserve the tiny bit of dignity the young shifter boy had left. I think it worked.
Mason sure as fuck thinks highly of himself.
“She’ll need to bathe, too,” Mason continues. “Her wounds are dirty, and I’m smelling the beginnings of infection.”
Well, fuck. That’s less than ideal. I don’t know how long it takes for an infection to kill a human, and I’m not particularly eager to find out.
“Doesn’t Traul River have water nymphs?” I ask.
The pesky critters have been eradicated from most, if not all, of the water sources inside my kingdom, but I’ve heard that they run rampant in the forest. They aren’t much of a threat to faeries or shifters, but I worry they’ll try to drag Abby under the water.
We’ll have to keep a close eye on her.
“She won’t be happy to bathe in front of us,” I say.
Mason shrugs. “Not my problem.” Nothing ever is.
Abby continues following us, thankfully out of hearing distance. I fear she’ll run if she catches wind of our plan to make her bathe. It’s rumored that the human realm is rampant with rape and abuse, and while those are problems many other realms struggle with, it’s not something we have many issues with here.
Matehood keeps my people in line. Nobody would accept a bond with a person convicted, or even suspected, of such a heinous crime. I doubt telling Abby my people don’t rape will bring her much comfort, though.
It would be too easy to lie about that, and she doesn’t trust me.
Mason and I continue forward, eager to reach the river before it gets too dark and Abby again refuses to walk.
“I think you should make yourself scarce,” I tell Mason.
Abby dislikes him more than she does me, and I hope she’ll make less fuss about bathing if he’s not around. I can be quite charming when I want to be, and I’m confident I’ll have good luck getting her to undress. It’s never been an issue for me.
Mason’s head snaps in my direction, but I avoid eye contact. He’s in a mood, and I don’t want to engage.
“No,” he says. “I’ll remain with you two.”
Of course he will.