Page 53 of Howling Eve

Every heavy pant in his ear made him rock a little faster, his own clipped growls echoing as his hips snapped against her. Her fingers dug into his muscle harder, spurring him on as the first stream of his pleasure parted from him with a lustful snarl. His claws sank deep into the bedding in an effort to redirect his rising frenzy, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from thrusting a little harder and faster into her hot, receptive cunt.

MaryAnne cried out, her body trembling against his in reaction, straining and writhing in an attempt to gain any movement at all to maximize her pleasure as her channel tugged upon his cock with every flex of its walls, working his sap higher and higher within him. Suddenly her cunt quivered and bore down, clenching and drawing him deep as she overtook the horizon of her pleasure with a sharp cry of release.

The sensation was too perfect and far too much. He bellowed, his claws ripping into the blanket with loud tearing sounds as his back arched and his hips ground into her, driving deep with every stream of seed that sprayed inside her. Her cunt drank it in eagerly, her own cries growing sharper as he grunted and continued to pump his release into her. When the last drop of his seed left him, he withdrew his cock from her pulsating channel and flopped back onto the bed beside her, gathering his mate to his side with one arm. They remained there just like that for a short time before the smells coming from the basket and an awareness that the food was likely getting cold finally roused him from the bed long enough to fetch the basket and lay it open on the bed between them.

MaryAnne didn’t waste time on pretty manners but to his relief, dove in much like he had, fingers plucking up bits of food and popping it in her mouth. He smiled, which she quickly returned. He felt closer to his mate in that moment than he could have ever imagined as they ate and eventually began feeding each other choice bits of food, stopping only so that Raskyuil could get up and make them some tea.

He discovered a hunger he didn’t even know he possessed as they talked long through the day with short pauses to see to their needs, acquire more food and drink, or enjoy another bout of mating. He never got tired of the conversations, however. He discovered that he craved the sound of his mate’s voice and her thoughts when she shared them. Though their conversations by necessity often steered toward the carnival and her missing younglings, it was the personal stories that they shared that made him feel as if something within them were being knitted closer together. They made him feel closer to his mate and gave him a clearer understanding of who she was, and the more he heard, the more he discovered that he craved it even more.

As the day wore on, the wind continued to violently howl outside, the rain lashing the tent so that it trembled and shook at times despite its tight moorings. MaryAnne’s eyes often darted toward the entrance as the flap vibrated and snapped against its ties when the wind began to shriek and wail as if the dead were trying to claw their way through.

He felt a pinch of sadness late in the evening when the rain tapered off, signaling the end of their seclusion. Tomorrow he would have to start sharing her with the world again, and he hated it more than anything. Their reprieve was over, but they would have to be patient from here on out. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done when patience was never his strongest suit. He sighed heavily. He had a feeling that MaryAnne wasn’t much better.

ChapterThirty-Two

MaryAnne frowned as she stared out of the drya sisters’ tent. From where she stood, she could clearly see the carnival entrance. A week had passed since the vampires had been respectfully buried and the pikes had been pulled down, broken, and burned, and it still felt as if everything were eclipsed under the weight of a heavy shroud as fae continued to hurry among the tents.

Sometimes the rides were tested, and their eerie, tinkling melody would briefly fill the air until they were shut off again. The carnival itself, however, was otherwise silent except around the galley tent. It was as if everyone was suddenly wary and very uncertain of what dangers might be lurking just beyond the edges of the carnival grounds.

MaryAnne noticed that the death of the vampires brought an air of somberness to those who lived there. Death was respected there as the remains were tended to, but more than that, MaryAnne suspected that the gruesomeness of it had caused a ripple of shock and fear through the tight-knit community she now lived among. The carnival was dark except for the lanterns hung on the tents. The torches that marked the paths remained extinguished as most of the fae didn’t seem to need them no matter how dark or foggy it got.

Although she understood and respected the reasons for it, she was frustrated at how difficult it made actively searching for her children without drawing a lot of attention to what she was doing. Not when the culprit could easily be anyone within the carnival, or someone following the carnival much like the vampires had. Their death was chilling for that reason alone.

Regardless of whether it was someone within or following the Night Carnival, the vampires had known something was wrong and had said as much quite publicly to Raskyuil from what he had told her. Their subsequent murder had been like a splash of frigid water. Someone out there was clearly acting on the defensive to protect themselves as well as frighten the carnies into not looking too closely at what was going on around them.

That was enough of a reason for MaryAnne to not want any suspicion to fall upon her. The last thing she wanted was for it to be obvious that she wasn’t just there as Raskyuil’s human mate. Being caught sneaking around could potentially end badly. Especially since she didn’t know who she could trust to watch her back beyond Raskyuil, and he had his own duties that he had to attend to in order to keep up appearances.

Perhaps the drya twins. Despite some of the creepy aspects to their species, there was something that she liked about the sisters. But even they wouldn’t do any good covering for her if she made herself too obvious when there were no crowds of humans to blend into.

Because of that, she had contented herself with taking short strolls with Raskyuil between his duties around the camp. Or when he wasn’t finding a quiet spot to fuck her.

A blush ran a hot path across her face. She was still trying to figure him out on that one. Or perhaps she was just confused about herself because she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t thrilled with how gentle and careful he was with her. Being under him was wonderful, and yet she always felt like something was missing afterward, as if there was something not being satisfied. It was like he was only giving him part of himself to her, and each day passed, it was frustrating her more and more until she felt like screaming—which certainly hadn’t helped her mood lately. Especially since he was frequently called away to see to something regarding the carnival.

During those times that he was away, she was left within what was carefully explained to be the heavily warded confines of their tent to while away the hours. If he were to be gone longer, then she was left with the drya sisters where she was instructed more on Nivira’s art. But they always went for one of their strolls at least once if not twice a day. It became enough of their routine that it was expected, and they were either watched for and greeted or outright ignored as a familiar presence who belonged there.

Due to their caution, no one seemed to notice them much as they kept an eye out for any clue as to where her children might have gone or any sign of them whenever the fog gathered higher as it tended to do at certain times of the day. They were able to walk freely enough along all quarters of the carnival grounds as this seemed to be considered acceptable behavior among the fae there, and over three days saw much of the Night Carnival, but they never looked at any one thing too closely or went too deeply into the corners or shadows, knowing it could draw attention to them. They were far too visible, since truthfully there were never very many on the paths weaving through the carnival grounds at any given time.

And yet that fear didn’t seem to extend to The Bend itself, which many of carnies were familiar with due to wintering there. The crowds still flowed in during the evening from the towns along The Bend, and incredulously there was some talk among many of the fae of going to the towns during the day. After all, there was coin to be spent and supplies that were needed. Even Raskyuil had palmed his coins thoughtfully just that morning when one of the orcs mentioned it, even though she knew that The Bend disturbed him.

She made a face at the sunlight streaming faintly through the heavy fog as it rose up and suddenly concealed the view in front of her. The muted golden light of the lanterns hung outside the tents cut through the gloom just enough to remind her that there were others not too far away. Without that she would have believed that she was in another world entirely. One where the fog carried the voices of her children—and others.

She had heard children last night. She was sure of it, just as she was sure she could at times hear them now, sometimes even seeing one of them dart through the fog before disappearing too fast for her to even think about following them. Her fingers tightened on the pole as a portion of the fog swelled with a nightmarish face sneering within its depths before disappearing again.

What the hell was going on? That was real!

She’d seen that face as clearly as Raskyuil’s had been that morning when she awakened. She was certain if she asked around that no one else would claim to have seen it. That brought a scowl to her face, her brows dipping low in frustration.

Everyone pretended like there wasn’t anything out there. Like there weren’t little shadow children running through the carnival, their laughter and cries whispering through the air. They were there, damn it, so why the mass denial? Didn’t anyone else wonder about it?

“Are you sure you haven’t seen anything strange?” MaryAnne called back to the sisters over her shoulder. “I mean, not just in the shadows but in the fog.”

She heard the clinking of teacups and china, and then sisters fell silent for a long moment. There was a scuff as if one of them stood and the very faint tread of footsteps. To her surprise, it was Ayla who spoke.

“In the space between shadow and fog… I have seen them. I have heard them too,” she admitted quietly as she came to a stop right behind MaryAnne. “Children. Sometimes laughing, other times shouting words I cannot quite hear well enough to understand or crying.” She drew in sharp breath. “The crying is the worst. I cannot bear it when they cry. It was quiet for so long, and now they have started again. But never have I heard them wail as when the vampires burned, and I think that memory will haunt me the most.”

Her skin prickled as the drya hovered there, not moving and not speaking, more of a shadow herself, before the female sighed at length and turned away, walking back into the depths of the tent. Curious, MaryAnne turned and watched her head further into the tent. She abandoned her spot at the entrance and followed the drya inside to the table where Alya gracefully lowered herself onto a chair to the left of Nivira. MaryAnne sat down as well, bracing her elbows on the table as she leaned forward. This was a story she wanted—no, needed—to hear.

“What do you mean? Are you saying that this is not the first time this has happened?”

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