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I fall onto my side, instinct having me rolling onto my back. My knees lift to my stomach as I cradle it, rolling from side to side.
I can feel the blood everywhere now, all over my legs. But then I cut a glance down and see … water. Not blood.
I give a sigh of relief. It’s not blood. It’s my water, and it broke.
I might still have time. I might still survive this …
If I stay in the light column, maybe I can keep quiet throughout the birth and somehow make it to the light lands before the ferals find us?
But it’s too late.
I know it’s too late when the twisting sensation suddenly spears through my belly and I throw my head back, face mangled, and a guttural moan is released.
That’s when I hear it. A savage growl that’s not my own. And thumping footsteps pounding on the grass, headed right for me.
My teary eyes swerve around the circle of light, my body curling up on itself.
A grunt catches in my throat as I scramble onto all fours. Just as the footsteps barrel towards the pillar of light, I try and push up from the grass. My legs give out and a cry loosens from my damp mouth, wet with tears.
I look up, panicked.
A feral has found me—and it comes racing right at the edge of the light. Then it stops. It staggers to an abrupt halt, wild yellow eyes gleaming at me. Its gaze flicks down to the edge of the light column for a beat, then looks back up at me stuck on all fours.
I gaze up at the feral, my cheeks hot and wet, my bottom lip shuddering.
It … it hardly looks like fae at all. It’s some mangled, beast, like it was once a warrior fae, but completely battered and scarred andburnedin battle, then left to rot out here alone.
But whatever this thing is, it can’t come into the light. That’s for sure. It watches the edges dance over the blades of grass, then sniffs the air while watching me, then—this one curdles my gut—looks up at the sky … as though waiting for the light to leave.
And maybe it will…
I think of the old stories.
Day and night. Light and dark. One would come as the other would leave.
And so maybe this light will leave—and I’ll be completely exposed to this hungry-eyed feral.
Before my thoughts can run away from me and the panic starts to chop my breaths into harsh sounds, I hear a faint noise stomping towards me.
Oh, please not another feral.
But no, this noise is different to feet on ground. These are hooves.
I swerve my wild gaze to the direction I came from, the vast entrance into the Wastelands, and I feel my heart twist in my chest. Dread pools in my watery gut.
This can be good … or very, very bad.
The feral catches a new scent, too. It panics suddenly, scampering around the edge of the light to break free of the columns. But it’s too late.
The steed charges through the darkness, skittering around the edge of a pillar of light, then skids to a stop. All I see is grass being shoved up from the ground and the glint of a sword whipping through the air.
I blink, then realise it all.
Daein has come—he’s beheaded the feral. And he looks fucking murderous.
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I roll onto my bottom, watching him as he throws himself off of his steed. He lands on the grass in near silence, his soft-soled boots made for the hunt. He sheathes his sword down his back.
