19. A Promise Between the Living and Dead #5
Before the man can adjust, the phantom’s hand shoots out, seizing him by the throat. He struggles, his hands clawing uselessly at the pale, unearthly grip that holds him aloft. For a moment, his legs kick violently in the air, and then comes the sound.
A sickening crack.
The man’s body goes limp, his head lolling unnaturally to the side as the figure drops him to the ground like a discarded doll.
The others shout in horror, their panic now spiralling out of control. One of them stumbles backward, his weapon slipping from his trembling hands. The ghostly woman turns toward them, her glowing form seeming to grow brighter as the surrounding darkness deepens.
My breath stutters, my limbs locking as the scene unfolds before me. Every instinct begs me to run, to turn away—but I can’t.
I take a slow step back, a tangled rush of relief and fear surging through me. But the movement is clumsy, my foot pressing down on a brittle twig. The sharp snap shatters the fragile silence.
The creature’s head jerks up with unnatural speed, her eyes locking onto mine—bright, furious, unyielding. They blaze with an intensity that roots me to the spot.
She lets out another bone-chilling scream, more powerful and fear inducing than the first. The sound vibrates through the air like a physical force, rattling my teeth and sending a piercing ache through my skull. I drop to my knees, clutching my ears, desperate to block it out.
But the scream isn’t meant for me. I don’t know what it is—whether ally or enemy—but for now; it stands in my favour.
The slim figure darts through the underbrush like an arrow loosed from a master’s bow, swift and precise, each movement a seamless blend of grace and urgency as the shadows of the forest swallow her whole.
I truly can’t believe what I’m seeing. It’s as if the creature has risen from the depths of forgotten legends and childhood night terrors.
Its eyes flaring with fury as it launches itself at the remaining six men.
Their screams echoing through the woods.
My hands press harder against my ears as I bend at the waist, my gaze fixed on the forest floor.
Each crunch of bone and wet thud is a grisly punctuation to their cries .
One of the men that pinned me down falls into my line of sight with a heavy thud, his body crumpling like a discarded puppet. His lifeless eyes stare back at me, frozen wide in a terror that even death can’t erase.
I can’t look away, the image searing itself into my mind. My chest heaves, each breath catching on the edge of a sob as I try to ground myself.
Then, from the shadows, a hand snakes around my waist, firm but gentle. Before I can cry out, another hand covers my mouth, silencing the gasp that tears from my throat.
“Shh, Little Doe. Calm down. It’s me.” The voice is low and familiar, pulling me back from the precipice of panic. “Ye’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
He wraps himself around me, his body a shield, his arms steady and sure as they anchor me against him. For a moment, I sag into his hold, too drained and overwhelmed to resist. The tension in my limbs gives way to a trembling exhaustion as I let his words sink in.
Safe.
The last man remaining is the pathetic man who tried to defile me.
He crawls backward through the underbrush, his face a mask of desperation.
His pants, still bunched around his knees, keep him from fleeing outright.
He stumbles and falls, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he tries to put distance between himself and the phantom still lurking in the shadows.
I sense the moment Finn considers the scene in front of him. Finn’s arms tighten around me, and his grip on me is incorruptible. He’s trying to regulate his breaths, but the tremor in his hands is betraying the storm of emotions he’s failing to suppress.
“Did he—” Finn’s voice cracks, his question cutting off as he tries to steady himself. I shake my head, needing to reassure him and myself that I’m still in one piece. That the proclamations this morally repugnant man made weren’t a permanent reality for me.
Finn’s hand slips from my mouth, his touch trailing down to the base of my neck, where it lingers. His fingers are warm and steady, a quiet reassurance in the chaos still swirling around us.
“We need to get out of here,” he says, his voice tight, but the weight of the moment keeps us both frozen.
I know better.
We aren’t leaving. Not yet. Something holds us here, rooted to this place, to the man cowering before us. I can feel it in the stillness of Finn’s body, in the way his breathing slows but remains heavy with rage. The air itself feels heavier, charged with an energy I don’t fully understand.
The man’s eyes bulge with terror, his pitiful attempts to scramble away thwarted by his trembling limbs and tangled trousers.
“Please, no!” he begs, his voice a high-pitched whimper. “We was only playin’ around. It wasn’t serious. We would never—”
He doesn’t finish.
There is no mercy in her movements. The spectre descends upon him with the precision of a predator and the fury of vengeance long overdue.
Her long nails sink deep into his abdomen, and with a sickening sound, she drags them upward.
Blood gushes freely, his screams turning to weak, gurgling gasps as his body convulses.
She rears back; her face splattered with crimson, and lets out a piercing scream directed solely at Finn. The sound tears through the air, vibrating like the toll of some unholy bell.
On instinct, I rip myself from Finn’s grasp, stumbling forward as I brace for an impact that never comes.
The creature freezes, her head tilting slightly as her glowing, rage-filled eyes shift from Finn to me. Slowly, the fury seems to dull, her ethereal form trembling as though caught in some internal struggle.
Up close, she is more human than I’d imagined. Beneath the blood and wildness, traces of what she had once been linger. She’d been young, vibrant, even beautiful. But those qualities are distant echoes now, buried beneath the weight of her hatred and sorrow.
Her lips move as if trying to form words, the effort strained and unfamiliar. A fragmented, guttural sound emerged, soft and hesitant.
“ An gortóidh sé thú? ” she asks at last, her voice carrying the lilting tones of a question.
I don’t understand, but Finn’s breath hitches behind me. His voice comes low and steady, laced with a conviction that makes my heart twist.
“I would never hurt her,” he says, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade as he rises and steps closer. “She is mine . I would die before letting harm come to her.”
The creature’s glowing eyes flick back to Finn, narrowing as if weighing the truth of his words. Her bloodied hand rises slowly, pointing toward the man still gasping weakly on the ground. The gesture is deliberate, her meaning clear.
“ Cosain í, onóraigh í .”
I glance at Finn, my heart pounding. I don’t know what she is saying, but somehow Finn does. The creature’s eyes return to mine, and for a fleeting moment, something softer flickers within them—an emotion I can’t name, but one that makes the tension in my chest ease.
She moves back; her form fading slightly as the shadows of the forest creep in to swallow her whole. But before she disappears completely, she pauses, her head tilting once more toward Finn.
Her voice, faint and distant, carries a last whisper.
“ Cosain í .”
The forest seems to hold its breath as the creature’s presence fully dissolves, leaving us alone with the task she’d silently entrusted to Finn—and the man still writhing on the ground, his pleas now nothing more than feeble whimpers.
Finn’s focus shifts entirely to the man.
Something changes in his stance—his usual steady presence now radiates an unrelenting, burning fury. His shoulders square, his jaw clenches, and his breaths come harder, faster, as though his rage is the only thing keeping him upright.
“Finn,” I whisper, reaching for him, unsure of how to anchor him at this moment.
But he doesn’t look at me. His eyes, stormy and dark, locked on the figure writhing in the dirt.
With deliberate steps, Finn closes the distance between them, the weight of his footsteps like distant thunder. There is no hesitation, no faltering in his movements.
The man’s eyes widen further, his whimpers turning to desperate pleas as Finn looms over him. “Please—help me.”
“You think you can beg yer way out of this?” Finn spits, his voice trembling with rage.
I stand frozen. This isn’t the Finn who always holds his emotions in check, who thinks before he acts. This is raw, unbridled rage—passion so intense it borders on terrifying. Driven by a fire I’ve never witnessed in him before.
“Tell me who hired you, and I’ll consider sparin’ you.” The man coughs, choking on his own breath.
“Speak,” Finn commands, his voice low and lethal, sending a shiver down my spine. “Who sent you?”
“A... man,” he rasps, barely audible. “Tall… gold hair…”
Finn edges closer. “Give me more, or I’ll make sure it’s slower. ”
The man’s body shudders from the pain. “Said… some pudgy lass reckoned… reckoned she knew where ya was headed. We split up in three… to find ya quicker.”
Finn’s head snaps toward me, his stormy eyes lock onto me, and they promise destruction.
“ Colina ?” I say so low I’m not sure the wind will carry the sound to him.
He turns back to the man. “I need names.”
The man groans, his head lolling to the side. “Didn’t… say. Just said… she told ‘em where ye’d be… she was sure of it.”
Finn’s expression darkens further, a shadow falling over his face. He grips the man’s tunic tighter, dragging him closer with terrifying ease. “No names, no faces? Just a girl’s word and gold in yer pocket? And her blood,” he spews, pointing at me, “her blood on yer disgustin’ hands.”
The assassin whimpers, his body convulsing in pain, but Finn doesn’t waver.
His voice drops to a low, dangerous murmur.
“So here’s what’s gonna happen now.” He kneels, his presence towering even as he crouches.
“I’m leavin’ you to fate. Ye’ll feel every bit of pain you tried to put on her.
Ye’re gonna die alone in the dirt. And I hope you find just as much misery in yer eternal life. ”
Finn rises with a deliberate finality, the man letting out a faint, sputtering sound as his hand weakly reaches toward Finn. But Finn doesn’t look back. He grabs my arm, his touch firm but steady, and leads me away without another word.
I glance back only once, just long enough to see the man writhing in the dirt, gasping for air as his life ebbs away. A hollow pit forms in my stomach, but it isn’t sympathy that fills it—only relief that he’ll hurt no one again.
“Finn,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart as we put distance between ourselves and the scene.
He turns to me abruptly, his eyes gleaming with the same fire that had driven his fury. But as his gaze meets mine, something shifts. The flames dim, replaced by something softer—wounded, familiar.
“It’s more than he deserves,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.
I step forward, placing a trembling hand on his arm. His skin is hot to the touch, his muscles still tense beneath my fingers .
“I thought I’d been too late to you,” he murmurs, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “When I heard you scream, I—” He breaks off, eyes dropping to the ground as though he can’t bear the thought.
“You weren’t,” I breathe, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “I’m right here. I’m safe. Right here with you.”
Tentatively, I step closer, sliding my hands upward until they rest lightly around his neck.
His breath hitches, his eyes lifting to meet mine again.
Slowly, as though testing the reality of my presence, his hands settle at my waist. His grip is gentle, but there’s a desperation in the way his fingers curl slightly, grounding himself in this moment.
He exhales sharply, his body sagging as the weight of my words settle him. “I’ll let no one hurt you, Triona,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Not while I’m still breathing.”
His lips part to say more, but no words come. Instead, he leans forward, forehead resting against mine. The proximity is electric, our breaths mingling in the forest’s stillness.
“I’d die for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’d kill for you, too.”
“You’ll never have to make that choice,” I reply, my voice just as quiet, my heart thundering in my chest.
When we break apart, his eyes search mine, his hands lingering on my waist, the touch mooring me as much as I hoped mine did for him.
“Let’s get back,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice steadier now.
Without a word, he offers me his hand. His fingers curl around mine with a gentle strength, the kind that says more than words ever could. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty in his grip.
Together, we step further into the darkness, leaving the blood and horror behind us. But as Finn’s grip tightens on my hand, I know we carry something else with us—something unbreakable.