Page 33 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

I dare to hope, just a little. “Then you must believe I can’t do what you ask. I don’t understand Fae magic. I don’t have the knowledge or the power to heal someone like him.”

My magic stirs faintly inside me, sluggish and bruised, still reeling from whatever it touched in the tent. I’m too afraid of its discovery to be relieved. I shove the magic down, begging it to remain dormant.

“Draven believes you can.”

I scowl at the male’s broad back. “And he is an authority on the healing arts?”

“No.” Jaxon ducks beneath a low-hanging branch, then holds it up for me. “But Rian and I will not deny him this.”

Rian.

The name rolls through me like a quiet shiver—unexpected, oddly resonant. The olive-skinned Fae finally has a name.

I walk under the branch and stop to look at Jaxon, but he continues moving before I can ask what he means.

A rustling sound comes from behind me, and I rush to follow the Fae. I have no desire to be in the forest alone.

Silence settles between us. My ears strain, and I whip my head from side to side as I listen for any sign of the predators known to traipse these woods. But just as before, I’m greeted with eerie quiet.

“Tell me about yourself, little human.” Jaxon’s light tenor disrupts the still night air. “You’re quite young to be such a renowned healer.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” I sidestep a pile of fallen leaves resembling a nest, not wanting to piss off whatever frightening creature may call it home.

“Oh, I doubt that,” he says, his voice laced with something I can’t place—interest, maybe. Or threat.

I stiffen, but quickly relax so I don’t raise suspicion.

I have no inkling if the Fae have discovered my secret and are pretending otherwise. At the moment, they believe they need me. Would they overlook the fact that I possess magic to give me time to help their friend?

I doubt it.

Fae slaughtered people like me long before my fellow humans took up the cause. They called us abominations…liabilities. If the Fae knew what I am, what I can do, I’d be dead.

By some miracle, my secret is still safe. And I’ll need the favor of all the Gods to keep it that way.

Jaxon continues maneuvering through the forest, unbothered by my lack of reply.

We walk in silence—well, he walks. I stagger, dragged along by shadows that seem to know the ominous forest better than I ever could.

Suddenly, Jaxon halts.

I rear back to avoid colliding with him, my foot catching on a protruding root. I nearly fall, but again the shadows lift me with that awful, weightless strength. I feel like a puppet with a thousand invisible strings.

“Well, well…” A sneer drags Jaxon’s voice down into a taunting rumble. “I didn't know I’d have toys willing to play with me this evening. The Mother must favor me.”

Branches rustle ahead. Blood drains from my face.

The memory of the Onyx Wraith—its gaunt, starving features and rows of serrated, sharp teeth surrounded by cracked, bleeding lips—burns my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to clear away the horrible image, but its cackle sounds in my ears. So loud, I think it’s real.

My eyes fly open, and I prepare to run—far away from whatever lies ahead—but the shadows don’t let me take more than a step before they hold me in place.

Shit!

“We’ve come for Elara.” A familiar voice cuts through the night.

I blink, realization slamming into me. We’ve reached the forest’s edge, and beyond it, Verdanthia gleams faintly, the southern shacks etched in torchlight.

A lantern flares in the middle of the path leading to town, the flames disrupting the dark night, held high by a familiar form.