Page 188 of Blade of the Nightking

“Give it to me.”

A sucking pull started deep within my mind, as though a parasite had fastened itself to my very being and begun to feed. An overwhelming urge to surrender—to give the creature exactly what it wanted—washed over me.

My happiest memory. There had never been any question which one I would give it. I reached deep into my heart and found it waiting there.

I drew the memory upward, reliving every moment in painstaking detail for what I knew would be the last time. Then I held it at the forefront of my thoughts and offered it up like a feast carefully laid upon a table.

A flash of silver exploded behind my closed eyelids, a cool awareness sweeping through my mind. The Spinner drank, slurping greedily at my memory—my beautiful, cherished memory—and I felt it slipping away, felt it being taken.

I gave it the delighted laughter. The scent carried on the air. The warmth of his strong arms around me.

The colors faded. The sounds grew distant. The faces blurred. I reached after them, desperate to anchor myself to a piece of it—to something, anything—and then it was gone.

The silver light slipped slowly away, and the stinging pressure eased as the Spinner's mandibles withdrew from my skin.

My eyes fluttered open, tears streaming down my face. I couldn't remember what I was crying for. Couldn't remember what I'd given. There was a gaping emptiness inside me that hadn't been there before. An absence. A wound. The unmistakable shape of something that had once mattered beyond measure.

A stifled sob escaped me.

I didn't know what had been taken—I only knew that losing it hurt.

Across from me, the Spinner sat back upon its legs, trembling with pleasure. Its black eyes were half-lidded in ecstasy, its abdomen curved sickeningly outward, swollen as though it had gorged itself on a hearty meal. A low, satisfied sound escaped it.

The sight of it filled me with revulsion.

“You got what you wanted.” My voice sounded strangely distant to my own ears. “We’ll be leaving now.”

I stepped aside. The Spinner moved neatly into my path.

“Leaving?” it repeated slowly, and there was such genuine bemusement in its voice that alarm shot through me.

Before I could react, the creature spat. A strand of hot silk shot from its mouth and whipped around my wrists.

I spun to run.

Another strand lashed around my ankles. I hit the forest floor hard, dirt grinding into my mouth as the breath burst from my lungs.

Its laughter rustled like dried parchment. I cried out as one of its long limbs hooked around my waist, lifting me effortlessly from the ground. I fought, striking and thrashing, but every movement only made the silk cinch tighter.

Only then did I understand why Rìan had been so unnervingly still in his restraints. He'd known struggling would only make it worse.

The Spinner swung me over its shoulder and began climbing. All I could do was hang limply against its papery body and watch the forest floor shrink farther and farther below.

I tried not to think of the yellowed cocooned shapes suspended among the webbing, swaying gently in the treetops. Soon I would be hanging beside them.

A blur flashed past my cheek so close that I felt the air stir against my skin before it buried itself in the Spinner's shoulder with a meaty thud. The creature's scream tore through the forest.

I stared, momentarily stunned, at the object quivering inches from my face, its hilt vibrating from the force of the throw.

An iron knife.

The Spinner convulsed in pain, and I slid forward into empty air, throwing my shoulder into the fall at the last possible second. I slammed into the ground, pain shooting behind my eyes.

The Spinner shrieked and wrenched the knife from its shoulder, blood pouring freely. Smoke curled from the puncture where the iron had pierced its flesh, the skin around it already blistering.

Rìan burst from the undergrowth and dropped to my side. He cupped my jaw, turning my face toward him. The shoulder of his shirt had been torn away in the fall, exposing a faint pink line where a wound had already healed. Leaves clung to his hair, and blood streaked one side of his face, though whatever injury had caused it had vanished as completely as the wound on his shoulder.

His gaze swept over me quickly, assessing my injuries.