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MaryAnne’s eyes followed him, her heart slamming a frantic tempo within her ribcage as he approached a thick cluster of twisted wood. He ran his hand over it, and she watched in stunned silence as it opened and unwound, revealing a large hole within the wood. Nathiel wore a reverent expression as he very gently put the heart inside and sealed it shut with another brush of his hand over the gnarled wood. The trees trembled and several new shoots suddenly sprung out and unfurled with glossy red leaves that appeared as if they were stained with blood.
The dryad grinned, dragging a claw along one leaf before suddenly recalling that she was there. He crossed the room toward her, stepping over his dead mate in the process to peer up at her where she was suspended against the tree. A look of satisfaction crossed his face as his eyes traveled the length of her cocooned body, and his hands captured her at either side as if he could feel her beneath the layers of webbing. He made a soft hum of pleasure in his throat and stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You are certainly delicious. More is the pity. There is no denying that you will make a superb offering to the grove. I may even give you the honor of being entombed within the wood. No other has had that distinction, but I think you should. In many ways you will be the mother of my grove. The sleeping queen who allows it to fully bloom. Only a carrying mother with a new life forming within her can supersede the potential these children have. You offer a rare gift to my grove.”
“It’s not one that I want to give,” MaryAnne spat. “No more than these children do. This is monstrous!”
His eyebrows quirked and he shook his head. “Monstrous? It’s merely survival. I have as much of a right to it as any other. It is cruel that the wood won’t take a lone male dryad. That to even survive a male must be under the leash of females, his essence bound to their trees. I deserve to live as much as any other,” he bit out, scraping a hand through his hair. “It took me many, many years before I understood what I needed to do to twist the nature of the wood to what I required. It took longer to find the perfect place. It has taken a lot of work to get here. Many years of feeding the grove with little result and success. But finally, at last, everything was falling into place—only for you and your mate to threaten it.”
He shook his head, clucking his tongue, and gave her a softer smile that might have been remorseful if it had met his eyes. “Believe it or not, this is not what I wanted. I genuinely like Raskyuil, but I tried to warn him. I told him to take you far from here. I even tried to get you to leave, knowing that he would follow you.”
“I couldn’t leave them,” she whispered. “You frightened them and trapped them in the carnival.”
He didn’t know about her children. She could have cried out with relief. Although their situation was grim, the less leverage he had over her, the better.
Spinning away from her, he wandered over to one of the nearest children, a boy she didn’t recognize, and tapped his claw against his round cheek. “Humans are interesting creatures. Your lives are so small, so short and finite that you have a marvelous ability to separate yourself from your reality with just the smallest encouragement of magic. You may dislike what I am doing, but I’m not cruel. I would not trap the children in here both mind and body—not when the grove requires them to be in good health to serve their purpose. Giving them freedom to roam and play within the confines of the carnival is good for them and good for my grove. I’ve made sure that, in the end, they are severed without everyone knowing what happened. They go peacefully while my trees gorge upon their blood rich with all the potential of life and power. Well,” he chuckled, “thatwasthe way it was done.”
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
He grinned over at her and walked toward her, drawing uncomfortably near until his face was just inches from hers. “The arch-mages spell changes things, of course. I’d heard of it and whispered into Elwyn’s ear. It was so easy. Now I have my catalyst to truly feed life into my grove thanks to the crystal Raskyuil gave Elwyn for his spell and the heart buried within my trees connected to it. Your sacrifice, as regrettable as it is, is going to bring life,” he whispered, pressing a kiss at the corner of her mouth. “This is my haunt now. Mine.”
ChapterForty-Seven
Raskyuil rushed back to his tent, an urgency rushing through his blood. At least Nathiel couldn’t get past his wards. His mate would be safe and waiting for him where he’d left her. He had no reason to worry. Unfortunately, that did little to soothe the beast clawing within him to find his mate and burn the entire carnival to the ground. That feeling only intensified as he neared his tent, the sight of fluttering fabric at its entrance piercing his gut, making him howl with grief.
He charged for it, tears leaking from his eyes and streaming freely down his face. What had happened? How could his wards have possibly failed?
He burst into the tent and stumbled, nearly tripping over a dark form lying prone on the ground just inside, large stab wounds piercing through its torso. His shoulders shuddered as he crouched and turned the small body over, the arachnid legs curled inward in death rustling like dead branches in an autumn wind as he turned her. Ayla’s sightless eyes stared up at him, the purple wearing a sheen of gray in death.
He didn’t understand what he was looking at. Did Ayla attack MaryAnne, or had she been interrupted trying to save his mate? He growled in frustration, not knowing if his female was with someone safe or with someone who might harm her. Only the drya had the ability to pass his wards, that much he knew for certain. The females had been entrusted to get his mate out should an emergency raise that required a quick escape when he was not nearby.
Now Ayla was dead, her body ruthlessly skewered as if something with a powerful thrust bore through her body. Like the arachnid limbs of another drya. Which had been foe?
It was easy to blame that on Ayla. The female had not only been acting volatile and highly erratic, but she had been a genuine pain in the ass. A fireball of opinion, ruthless ambition, and an attitude that she loved to flaunt. She’d seemed so untouchable and now she was gone, her light extinguished. It was easier to say that she had attacked and believe that his mate was being kept somewhere safe from harm, but then where was Nivira?
He straightened and stormed around the tent, sweeping aside anything in his way, looking for any sign or note from the drya to indicate that MaryAnne was safe and where he could find her. There was nothing at all. Navira’s scent didn’t even extend far into the tent as if she’d plucked his mate up and stolen her away. Why would she even remove her from the safety of the wards if her sister had been the threat? Nathiel couldn’t have gotten past his wards. Perhaps one of the goblins, but they had all accompanied him in their confrontation with Elwyn.
Pausing in place for a moment, his head cocked as a memory came to him and a violent curse burst from his lips. Ayla had been irrational, but her frustration had only been directed at one person as her season progressed: her sister. She had also become increasingly agitated over an elusive “him.” MaryAnne had complained about it off and on, though she hadn’t believed it to be anything serious.
But Nivira never treated it as serious either. Dismissive. He had asked, and she had laughed away his concerns. Now she was gone, as was his mate, and Ayla lay dead just inside of the confines of the tent.
But there was a “him.” He was certain of it.Him.Raskyuil’s blood ran cold, and he stumbled back. Spinning toward the entrance, he bolted out of the tent and ran across the carnival grounds. His chest was heaving as he dragged in gulping breaths as he burst into Elwyn’s tent but that didn’t stop him from pouncing and throwing the male up against a tent pole, pinning him there with one hand.
Elwyn clawed at his hand, choking as he wheezed for air. “Raskyuil, wha—”
“Did someone recommend that you place MaryAnne with Nivira?”
The aelf paled. “I don’t know what that has to do with—”
“My mate is missing!” he bellowed, and the male jerked in his grip. “So you will tell me if you favor your life!”
“Yes. Yes. Okay,” Elwyn gasped, clawing at his hand until he finally relented and lowered the aelf the floor.
He glowered over at him as he rubbed his neck. “Nathiel approached me with the suggestion that she be paired with Nivira. I thought nothing of it. It seemed like a good choice. She would have easy tasks with the drya. I thought Nathiel was just curious about the Ha’shena. He asked if it frequently bred offspring right away… as if I would know that.” The male croaked a weak laugh.
Nathiel had his finger at every little joint, manipulating everyone. Even to the point of being closely informed on Raskyuil’s mate. Whenever he wasn’t lurking around himself, Nivira would be there, watching. If they bred, he would know.
The younglings and his interest in a possibly breeding female. There had to be a connection. His mate had smelled incredibly enticing recently—he should have realized what that meant.
