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Several long, torturous minutes passed as Cian checked her fever, her ears, inside her mouth, and felt along her throat. His frown deepened with each new assessment.
“What is it?” Joel whispered, squeezing Nyana’s hand harder as anxiety rolled across his heart like thunder. “What’s wrong with her?”
The old man shook his head. “I can’t find the source of her infirmities. Unless…”
Carefully, Cian pulled on the collar of Nyana’s dress to expose the skin just below her collarbones. And paused. A look of horror twisted the wrinkles around his eyes. Joel followed his gaze, the blood draining from his face. Black, shadowy veins crawled across her skin, centered just over her heart. The black tendrils pulsed like a living thing, writhing like a consuming fire.
Cian released a long breath. “This is nothing I can heal. It’s dark magic.”
Joel’s voice barely escaped as a whisper as he watched the black veins grow larger. “What will it do to her?”
“I don’t know. But I know someone who does.” Cian dug through his bag until he produced a vial of black shadow. It bounced and slithered and rolled inside the small glass. He threw the vial against the ground, the glass shattering. Shadows escaped and bounded away.
Silence.
“Now what?” Joel whispered, clinging tightly to Nyana’s still, too-warm hand.
“Now you wait. Expect a visitor shortly. It could take a few hours, depending on how far away Lord Graves is. But he will show up. He promised me.”
Without expanding on his words, Cian packed up his things and shuffled toward the exit. He paused in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Joel. She’s a good woman. I just wish…” He shook his head, not finishing his sentence before he stepped out of the house and disappeared from sight.
Without an audience, Joel’s chin trembled as he held Nyana’s hand to his cheek. He cared about her dearly. He only wished he could tell her just how much.
He tucked a blanket around her and settled on the ground beside the sofa with her hand in his grip. He watched the veins of sinewy shadows grow across her skin and her chest rise and fall with breath until his eyelids began to droop.
A chill raked across Joel’s skin, and his head snapped up from where it had rested on the sofa beside Nyana. Darkness stretched across the room, the hearth’s flame a small flicker instead of a hearty fire. Hours must have passed.
Raspy breaths escaped Nyana’s mouth, her eyes still closed. The black veins over her heart now crawled toward her shoulders and up her neck. He knew he shouldn’t, but he kissed her palm, praying to see her well again.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he spun around.
Only to face the dark shadows hugging the cottage.
His gaze darted to the top of the stairs, but the girls weren’t there. And when another chill shivered down his spine, he spun around again.
This time, a man stood in the shadows.
Joel leaped to his feet, pulling out his knife and stepping between Nyana and the intruder as his heart pounded in his throat. The man wore no mask, much taller than any of the men who had attacked Nyana a couple of nights before. The small amount of firelight illuminated his large blond curls and…and…
His eyes.
They shimmered in the darkness like a cat’s, twin vertical pupils surrounded by blue. He wore a tailored black coat, a white neckcloth, and black shoes that shone even in the dark.
A Shadow Fae.
“I’m warning you,” Joel growled, twisting his knife until it glinted orange from the fire’s reflection. “Take one step closer, and I won’t hesitate.”
The man tipped his head to the side, studying him. “I expected to find Cian. The potion I gave him to summon me was supposed to be used in only an urgent situation.”
Slowly, Joel lowered the knife. “You are the visitor I was expecting.”
“Expecting? Clearly not. Who are you?”
“Joel Harrington.” He slipped the knife back into his pocket but continued to stare at the stranger warily. “Nyana’s husband.”
A sharp intake of breath. “Nyana?” The man’s gaze darted toward her still figure on the sofa. His abnormal eyes missed no detail as he moved closer and studied the markings on her skin. He reached out to touch her but Joel slapped his hand away. This man was a stranger. Nyana certainly wouldn’t want to be touched by him, even in unconsciousness.
They stared at each other with wary expressions before the other man lowered himself into the seat Cian had vacated. “My name is Killian Graves. Archmage of Darkest Star Arcane. Shadow Lord of Skaad.” He scooted his chair closer to the sofa. “If this is what I think it is…” The archmage gestured to Nyana. “Then she will die before the night’s end. May I tend to her?”
