Hunted by a Night Fae

Chapter 42

Two days had passed before the bones in my hand finally healed. In two days, food had been brought to me only twice.

The first time the servant included a tonic I choked down with my food. It had been some time since I had taken my birth control, and the last thing I needed was to go home and find out I had Ronan's child. The second time I wasn't ready yet, but I watched the servant closely, looking for any openings I could use later. It had taken several tries breaking the fingers of my hand to get the iron bracelet off my wrist.

But I had succeeded.

And if I was correct, my food would be here any minute now.

I crouched low on the ground beside the door, listening to the halls. There was the distant thrum of music, voices echoing down the halls and up to my room. A party.

I could feel the trickle of Craft along my fingers, in my blood. I held the broken mirror shard in my hand, which I had broken off the vanity. 

 glanced at the now broken mirror, seeing a wild, hungry thing. My clothes dirt-stained and torn, my hair a wild mess of curls, as if the wind had tugged it in every direction. But what struck me were my eyes, usually a shade of amber-brown. For a brief second, they appeared to flash violet, like Faerie's moon had taken residence up on my face. There was a strange sheen to my skin, that glimmered in the room's dim light.

I didn't miss the new hardness around my features. Faerie might have dragged me through hell, but it had shown me a new side of myself.

Eventually, it happened. A click sounded. It was slight, and had I been sleeping, I likely wouldn't have heard it. I saw the glimmer on the door fade, then it cracked open, a face poking into the room.

My stomach dropped, my fingers slipping along the sharp shard of the mirror. It was just...a girl. Before it had been a different faerie, one with scales and fangs that appeared anything but human.

This girl looked no older than me.

She was dressed in nondescript clothing, dusty browns and shades of grey—most likely a servant. The girl looked around the room, reminding me of a rabbit. Her nose twitched as she looked around the room, likely searching the room for me. The air filled with something musty and sweet, and my nostrils flared. Her tawny hair was pulled back into a bun, her ears tall and pointed, twitching as she listened carefully to the room.

I held my breath. When no attack seemed imminent, she skittered in, placing the food on the table. Her wide gaze caught on the broken mirror, and she froze, her eyes darting around.

"I just bring food," she said quickly, and I felt a small sliver of guilt as I slowly snuck up behind her, moving from where I had been hiding behind the door. But even as I took feather-light footsteps, I must have made a sound. She spun around, her large brown eyes meeting mine.

Her gaze darted from me to the sharp mirror shard in my bloody hands.

"I no hurt," her English was harsh and broken, but the fear was still recognizable in her voice. Perhaps, that was what made me hesitate. Never had I been...feared before.

My fingers loosened on the glass, losing my resolve. But before I could open my mouth to speak—to try to convince her to let me go instead, she leaped at me, baring her long teeth in a snarl.

My fingers lost their grip on the mirror shard, and it fell to the floor, breaking into several smaller pieces. Her weight barreled into my chest, knocking me down. I had to lift my hands to shield my face, her sharp nails digging into my skin. I guarded my throat, looking up into her rabid brown eyes.

As expected, my Craft roused inside of me, but this time I took notice of it. I steeled myself under the phooka's long nails and hissed out my pain as blood dripped down my arms. But most of my focus was on the unfurling mixture of rage and wildness inside of me. It was vast and terrifying. I knew what it was like to let it out all at once.

But this time I couldn't do that. If I lost control now I would never get out of here. I would be reduced to a mess like I had been with Ronan, taking several days to recover. I didn't have that kind of time anymore. It had been two days.

I had one more day until Ronan came.

"Human no hurt a fae. You stupid."

I didn't reply, still too focused on the sensation building inside of me. Now that I was paying attention, I felt it; a rampant storm of howling energy. How had I gone so long without ever knowing it was there?

I tried to pull only a single thread. It was different from when I had been outside, the air naturally answering my call from where it existed around me. Right now, I was pulling from what was within, a volatile thing. Pulling out only what I needed felt like trying to keep hold of a kite amid a violent storm.

Eventually, I did it. The thread of power came up to my fingers and gathered in my fists. I looked up at my attacker, her long blunt teeth exposed as she tried to get a hold of my arms. I met her eyes for a moment, letting the power at my fingers twist and gust. She must have noticed then, for her attacks faltered, and her eyes widened in fear.

It was too late.

I loosened one of my arms and slammed my fist into her chest. The force of the hit tore her from me, and she flew to the ceiling, slamming into it before she fell back to the floor. I rolled, just narrowly missing her body as it crashed back down onto the ground with a sickening crunch.

Cradling my scratched-up and bleeding arm, I stood. As I watched I could already see the skin knitting back together along my arms, the wounds she had inflicted only minor scratches. Like the broken bones in my hand, which had healed after a few hours. 

I didn't have much time. I looked down at the faerie servant, a small pool of blood gathering around her head, her legs and arms at unnatural angles. All of the hesitation I had felt before was gone.

When I looked down at her now, I didn't feel anything at all.

Instead, I considered her size and the clothes she wore.

It would have to do.