Page 154 of The Stolen Crown

“Yes. How could he not, my girl? You are breathtaking.”

Eeva flushed, another nudge to the rim on her nose, then smiled at the king. “I am honored to do this. Our clans will have a vibrant trade, and the harvest will never fade now. I will be a good wife and bring unity from the Veri clans to mortals and now fae folk.”

What the hells was she talking about?

“You honor the lot of us.” Djur pressed a tender kiss to her brow, then maneuvered Eeva around his body so he was in line with the gate and she was directed at me. “May you hunt quickly, my girl.”

Eeva’s grin faded. “Hunt?”

She had no time to move before Djur swiped a finger through my blood on his blade and wiped it across Eeva’s lips, even forcing some inside her mouth. A wretched sort of scream ripped through the woman, a shriek of pain, of betrayal, of terror.

Eeva’s body curled forward, the spectacles slid off her nose, and her body heaved in deep, hacking breaths. Her dainty fingers clawed at her braid, half sobbing, half shrieking.

Then her head snapped up. Gods. Those deep soulful eyes were veiny and red, sickly yellow carved through the centers, splitting the black in two horrid slits.

“Why?” Her voice was harsh and brittle. “You…you vowed…you vowed to never make me.”

Djur backed toward the gate with swift steps. “I swear to you child, you will not remember any of this come dawn. Drain him and get to work. The harvest time is nearly at an end.”

The king fled the garden.

Eeva crumbled, still gasping and thrashing. She dug her fingernails into the grass. Each point elongated into sharp black tips. The sweetness of her voice faded to a dark growl as she pleaded for it all to stop.

I pressed my back to the trunk of the tree. The garden was sealed. Whatever the king did to this woman, she feared it, she fought it.

Eeva curled over her knees, her back still toward me. I could appeal to her heart, try to offer what she desired most. I hummed low, soft, just enough to read a touch of what she truly craved.

A thought, not my own, filled my mind, a vision of Eeva happy, staring lovingly at a faceless man. She desired to be loved. The same as I felt when we dined with the mortals.

But now there were darker thoughts mingled with the bright. A craving for blood, for consumption.

Below that, a need to resist madness.

Still on her knees, Eeva spun around. Pulpy veins like the webs of weavers split all around the sockets of her eyes. The yellow slits pulsed like flames. Her lips parted and—gods—her teeth had shifted. The two canines were not elongated like mine; they were damn fangs. A dribble of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.

Eeva’s constricted eyes locked on mine. Teeth bared, she spoke, breathless and desperate. “Run. Please. Run!”

46

The Heartwalker

Run.

Eeva’s voice was desperate, but I had little time to turn and flee before the woman lunged. Her teeth snapped for my throat. I leapt out of her reach, stumbling and landing face forward, my bound hands smashed beneath my body.

Eeva hissed and reeled around.

Shit.

In haste, I managed to scramble to my feet before she released a shriek, almost painful, and sprinted for me again. Gods, she was bleeding fast. I darted toward the back gate of the garden, slamming into iron posts. Two guards stood a dozen paces beyond.

I rattled the gate. Only one man glanced behind for a breath, a brief glimmer of pity in his eyes before he turned around.

They wanted me dead, wanted my blood. Somehow Eeva had been transformed into this…this thing.

Veri Ikuinen were the monsters in Sander’s haunt tale.

Sander’s confusion toward Eeva’s peaceful, innocent description made a bit of sense. This was not that girl, not any longer. Eeva was a monster.