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Any resemblance to dogs disappeared up close, and one could see that their muzzles gaped a little wider and more grotesquely than any dog. Their heads were mostly long, split muzzles filled with two rows of sharp teeth and a constantly whipping tongue. If that wasn’t bad enough, they were agile and quick. The keen ears of a night hunter and three sets of eyes increased their range of senses far beyond normal. Even the seemingly soft fur on their tails was actually venomous hairs that could be snapped free from their bodies to weaken their prey.
The truck jostled him just as the first pale streak formed among darkness pooling between the trees. Raskyuil’s hand climbed toward his ax only for him to be jarred hard enough that he rose and fell against the hard bed of the truck. His head struck the side and he snarled vehemently, spitting out a curse as he clutched his head and sat upright again. He growled in frustration as the truck continued to bounce and rock as the road became increasingly rougher beneath them, upsetting his balance enough that he was forced to cling to the truck with at least one hand.
This was not going to work. The hounds were multiplying. A second and a third joined the first, and then a fourth spun out from the inky darkness as they raced along the edge of the night, reaching for them, their mouths open wide and their tongues thrashing behind them. Their growls filled the air as they gave chase, and he shook his head angrily as he searched for a way to fend them off just a little further until they came within the lights of the town.
Light!
He bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty smile at the hounds and banged a fist on the truck’s back window. MaryAnne glanced back at him and slid the window open with one hand, her eyes darting back and forth between him and the road.
“Raskyuil? What is it?”
“The lamp,” he interrupted with a snarl. “Hand me the damn lamp, female.”
“You mean the flashlight?” she shouted.
“Yes, by the gods!”
A look of surprise registered on her face, but she didn’t argue. MaryAnne simply reached for the flashlight sitting in the passenger seat and handed it back to him as he reached through the window to grab it. He dropped back down into the bed as the truck lurched again, and he nearly lost his hold on the flashlight before clamping it tightly against his chest.
His mate frowned over her shoulder for just a moment before her eyes went as wide as saucers. He understood well what she was feeling at that moment. As he rolled back around to face the darkness, a quick glance confirmed that there were no fewer than ten hounds in pursuit, their growls becoming whisper quiet as their sharp teeth snapped with the threat of death.
“What the fuck is that?!” MaryAnne screamed.
They were close enough now that all illusions were gone and their bodies gleamed with a milky light as the sun sank over the horizon, leaving only thin ribbons of light still in the sky.
“Fairy hounds—wild dogs of the fairy realm,” he replied, raising his voice to a roar, hoping that she would hear him over the rush of air.
“What?” she barked. “That’s not a fucking dog of any kind!”
He laughed grimly in agreement, and his mate gave him a look of pure disbelief. He felt the truck speed up, but she didn’t realize that it wouldn’t deter the hounds. She was going to have to go much, much faster than the truck could manage. He grinned menacingly as he faced the hounds. No doubt she thought him to be crazy now, but when did he not dare to laugh death in the face? He had been a warrior far too long to do anything else.
As night rushed forward, the hounds increased their pace and Raskyuil’s grin became deadlier as he snarled and fumbled with the flashlight, searching for the mechanism that turned it on. His fingers slid across a job. There! That had to be it. He shut his eyes and turned it.
The blast of light was just as bright as he remembered—brighter as he held it on his lap—and lit up the back of his eyelids briefly with a fiery intensity. The painful howls of the hounds were worth the discomfort, and a raspy chuckle broke from him. Gradually opening his eyes, he squinted against the light as they peeled away, their heads lolling at unnatural angles as their howls turned to terrible shrieks and wails.
They bled back into the woods, and he grinned, his laughter ripping from his chest as MaryAnne glanced back repeatedly, the worry in her eyes dulling with her relief. With a shake of her head, she settled back into her seat, but she didn’t reduce her speed. They continued to fly down the road as Raskyuil kept the light shining brightly and prayed to the meddling Turan who got him into this mess to begin with that the battery lasted a little longer still.
He remained on guard until the faint glow of light from the nearest town, and the far more brilliant display of the carnival nearby, lit up the woods like a beacon. He didn’t dare turn off the light, however. Not yet. He kept it on as MaryAnne pulled up to the carnival and as they ducked through the cavernous mouth of the entrance. He felt eyes on them as he hurried through the camp, but he ignored them as he turned off the light and tucked it into his belt. There would be Elwyn to deal with come morning, but the male forbade anyone from interrupting him after sundown and so they had the reprieve still.
Keeping his mate tucked close to his side, Raskyuil made for his tent. He was both glad and surprised to see it still standing where he abandoned it. Nathiel ducked out his tent and raised an inquiring eyebrow at MaryAnne, but Raskyuil gave the male a hard look and shook his head.
Later. He would explain later. For now, his mate needed a draught of his special tea and some uninterrupted rest, and he was going to see that she got it. Everything else could wait.
ChapterSeventeen
MaryAnne clung to Raskyuil, her fingernails biting into his tough skin as they made their way deep into the carnival. There were no happy sounds or sweet smells, no childhood joys springing up from her mind to banish her fear. All around eyes glowed luminously in the dark, watching them from the heavy shadows as the last bands of light began to slowly fade from the sky.
Hushed conversation, the click and scratch of claws, and swish of movement filled her ears, hinting at the things that she couldn’t see, and it only made her more afraid. She trembled, and Raskyuil murmured reassuringly as he pulled his forearm from her grasp for one panicked moment only to wrap it around her and hold her close. She closed her eyes gratefully as the warmth of his body seeped into her, and his deep, rumbling voice soaked into her and blocked out the other sounds.
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms firmly around his torso even though it made their joined gait even more awkward. He didn’t complain—he merely hugged her a little tighter—and she wanted to weep in gratitude for that kindness. Raskyuil was like a tower of safety amid all of it, his size and strength reassuring as he led her past hanging lamps and lit torches sunk into the ground, illuminated further by the glow of her lantern that he held out in front of them—mostly for her benefit, she suspected. Here and there, dotted around the camp, she could see the flicker of campfires, but they didn’t approach any of them. Instead, he took them to a far, dark corner where a large, lonely tent stood erected.
The distance from the rest of the camp would have made her even more afraid if it were with anyone else or anywhere else. Rather than fear she felt relief that the heaviness in the dark heart of the carnival wasn’t close by. She sank tiredly onto the bed he nudged her toward as he turned off her lantern and tucked it into a corner before lighting several lamps and candles, several covered with glass shades to amplify their light, set around the tent.
She watched him as he went about the tent slowly illuminating it without a Firestarter or lighter in hand. He merely moved his fingers and, after a soft click, a flame sprung up. She squinted intently at his fingers in an attempt to determine how he was doing it when he glanced over at her, and a smile curled the corner of his lips. She stared, caught off guard by that soft expression.
Although he had long upper and lower fangs that slightly overlapped his lips, unlike the pronounced tusks of an orc, his lips were full, oddly inviting and beautifully shaped. He loomed closer as he suddenly picked up the candle and dropped to his knees in front of her.
“It’s naught but a little troll magic,” he whispered as what she suspected was an indulgent look crossed his face.
