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“Let me go!” she screamed, though her words escaped as little more than a breath when the rope tightened more and more. She thrashed against her captor’s grip and clawed at the thick, scratchy cords. She fought to keep her feet beneath her as she was dragged by the neck toward a nearby tree.
Her eyes widened when she spotted Cole and Lee in a brawl with Joel. Fists flying. Kicks delivered. Blood and bruises and frosty breaths.
Black dots danced at the edges of her vision as she struggled more against who she assumed to be Ethan. Another scream attempted to escape her mouth, but it sounded more like a desperate rasp. Maisy jumped on Cole’s back, hitting and scratching and clawing.
Nyana spun around and threw a punch toward Ethan’s face, but he blocked her attempt and laughed, a crazed look in his eye as he threw the opposite end of the rope over a tree branch. “This is for the blood on your hands. The justice you deserve. Your demon spawn will be next.”
Ethan hefted the rope.
Her feet left the ground.
Every ounce of remaining air was strangled from her lungs as she fought and kicked and struggled. Black dots began to drown out the white snow.
Panic. Terror. Helplessness.
And then a rush of cool air greeted her face moments before her feet crashed into the snow. The rope slackened around her neck enough for her to gasp in a breath. Ethan cried out in agony as a flute stuck out from one of his eyes. Blood streamed down his face as he stumbled backward.
Sturdy hands supported her around the waist, lifting her to her feet while her head still spun before throwing the rope off from around her neck. The ringing in her ears only seemed to grow louder by the second. She stumbled, but Joel’s arm around her waist kept her steady.
Her babies! Where were her babies?
Just when she spotted Maisy and Eva behind the horse, Lee appeared in front of them with his dagger raised. Nyana flinched back. Joel pushed her behind him.
But instead of the dagger finding its mark, an arrow lodged into Lee’s head. He fell backward into the snow, unmoving.
And then a half dozen Forest Fae dropped down from the trees, each wearing a mask made of animal skulls. They chanted in unison with spears raised, herding Ethan and Cole away from them until the two turned and ran in the opposite direction.
Moments later, the Forest Fae turned on them with the sharp ends of their spears pointing menacingly at them. The chanting grew louder, the spears growing closer.
Her neck ached as panic drove her gaze toward her children. They were too far away.
A fearful sob escaped her throat as she held tighter to Joel. One of the fae women raised a spear as if to strike, but Nyana called out to them in what she hoped was their language. “Stop! Please. I beg you.”
The woman paused before answering in the same language. “Leave. Your kind are not welcome here.”
“Please,” she begged again. “I’m here to see my father. Emeric Dalena.”
Each spear lowered a fraction as they murmured to one another, but they quieted again just as a man dropped down from the boughs above, landing quietly in the snow in front of her. He wore brown and white clothing, a chupacabra skull mask hiding his face. A bow and a quiver of arrows lay across his back, and he towered over her. Through the slits in the mask, she thought she saw silvery-blue eyes watching her curiously.
Her voice escaped as a raspy whisper in the foreign language on unpracticed lips. “Please.”
The following silence burned in her ringing ears.
The man tipped his head one way and then the other as he studied her. Finally, he lifted his own spear and touched the tip beneath Joel’s chin, who swallowed but otherwise remained still. “Who is this?”
“My husband, Joel.”
His spear lowered a fraction as he turned his attention toward the children and then back to Nyana. Her entire body froze when the spear touched her long Sun Fae ears, and next Joel’s. They differed from the man’s Forest Fae ears, which drooped slightly rather than lay flat against his head.
At last, he held his spear upright, and the others followed suit. Relief coursed through her, and she dared to stumble toward the children and gather them in her arms. Her head still spun. Her neck burned. But she was alive. They were all alive.
“Come,” the man in the chupacabra mask said in the same foreign language. “I will take you to Emeric.”
The woman from earlier gasped while the other Forest Fae murmured amongst themselves. “You cannot possibly take these foreigners to him.” She gestured to them with leather-clad hands. “To our home. What are you thinking?”
And then the man turned to stare at Nyana curiously once more. “This woman is my sister.”
Chapter 11
