With each passing moment, the pressure intensified until Tiernan thought his lungs would collapse. Until he thought he was going to die.
In one swift move, Aed ripped the power from him.
It was as though a hand of frost and fire had pulled Tiernan’s heart out.
He roared in pain, the suffering unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Tiernan was wrecked.
Ruined.
* * *
Tiernan awoke in a cold sweat.
His fingers curled into his bedsheets while he tried desperately to get his breathing under control. In the glass dome above his head, the moon shone bright, illuminating not only his room, but the emptiness of his soul.
The nightmarish encounter with the god of death replayed in his mind. It would be easier, he supposed, if it was only a dream. Something he could shrug off. Something he could forget.
But it wasn’t.
Instead, it was a rather clear memory, one he continued to relive each time he closed his eyes for the past three weeks.
ChapterThree
“Maeve!” Rowan called out, his voice sounding from behind her. He was catching up. “Come back!”
She ignored him. If she could leave this godsforsaken place right now and never see him again, she would. Winded, she continued to run, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Puddles splashed around her, and she slipped, stumbling forward.
Rowan’s hand enclosed around her upper arm and he yanked once, hauling her back around to face him. He dragged her toward one of the towering alcoves that lined the glittering black House of Death. Ducking beneath the overhang, he pinned her against the cold stone wall.
“Would you stop?”
She glared up at him, shoving her damp hair out of her face. He was standing entirely too close, the heat radiating from his body a small comfort against the chill of the air.
“I was going to tell you.” He let his hands fall away from her.
“When?” she fired back. “When were you going to tell me, Rowan? I’ve been here for three weeks and I’m just now learning thatyouare the Nightweaver.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” A deep scowl etched its way across his forehead.
Maeve crossed her arms, wrapping them around herself. She hadn’t intended for her words to come out so harshly, but what did he expect? He’d vanished from her life, only to turn up again, and now she’d found out that he was the Nightweaver. The other half of a pair of god-like beings responsible for the creation of the first fae to ever exist.
She huffed out a breath of annoyance. “So, we’re connected somehow?”
“Not exactly. Not by a Strand or anything.” Rowan edged closer, seeking shelter from the rain beating down his back, and Maeve scooted over to give him space. He lounged against the wall with his shoulder propped up on the cold stone, then kicked one ankle over the other. “But our fates do overlap, for lack of a better word.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled softly, a quiet reminder of home. She twirled the ring she wore on her finger. “Overlap how?”
He gestured vaguely between them. “You’re the Dawnbringer. I’m the Nightweaver.”
She stared up at him and he watched her, expectant.
Maeve blinked, swiping at a raindrop that slid down her temple. “And?”
There was a flicker in his gaze, a flash of something. “You really have no idea?”
Frustration mounted inside of her. She didn’t particularly care for being made to feel stupid. She stood there, silent, waiting for him to elaborate.
