“Not my thoughts.” Maeve fought back, she would not fall to Parisa. Not here. Not ever. She would fight every hour of every day, until she died, before she ever gave up.
“No matter,” Parisa waved one hand through the air in dismissal. “You’ll just be fully aware of everything you do instead.”
Maeve stumbled forward, her body moving according to Parisa’s will. Again, she fought. She clenched her muscles, grappling for control, and locking them in place. Her legs convulsed, her arms flung out to the sides, then dropped. The dark magic grew colder, churning her blood, turning it into slivers of ice. She dug her heels in, refusing to yield. Her head snapped to the right as though she’d been slapped, her back arched with brutal force.
“I am not your puppet,” she ground out, her jaw aching with each word. “You will not break me.”
Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat.
Parisa’s gaunt face had hardened into stone. Irritation caused her eyes to flare with rage. She raised one hand, herknobby fingers flitting through the air in a dismissive wave. “Kill him.”
Gromede grabbed Maeve’s wrist and pressed the solid hilt of a dagger with a curved blade into her palm. Her hand closed around it uncontrollably.
“Kill him,” Parisa repeated, her gaze latching onto the son of the winemaker, the innocent fae who’d been forced to dance with Maeve. “Carve out his heart.”
“No.” Maeve’s grip tightened on the dagger. Parisa’s magic consumed her, flooding her like the hand of death. Her arm trembled as she raised it higher. Higher. The tip of the blade aimed straight for the fae’s heart. She grit her teeth.
He stood there, unable to move. Unable to flee. Tears streamed down his face, and he trembled in the knowledge his fate was nearly sealed. She could almost hear him. Praying, begging to any god or goddess to rescue him. His sorrowful eyes, so much like honey, met hers, imploring her. Willing her to fight. To save him. To save herself. To save them all.
“KILL HIM!” Parisa shrieked, her dark magic surging into Maeve.
“Never!” Maeve spun around just as her blade slashed through the air. The sound of metal sliding through flesh echoed through the dining hall, and Maeve knew she met her mark. With one yank, she ripped the dagger from Gromede’s throat. Gurgling black blood spurted from the wound like a fountain, splattering on her face and clothes. The wretched fae staggered once, then toppled to the ground. Lifeless.
“Sorry,” Maeve muttered, clutching the dagger in her fist. “You didn’t specifywho.”
Parisa’s howl was deafening. Then she lunged forward across the table, tossing one arm out in front of her.
Maeve flew backward, colliding into half of the dancing fae and knocking them down, before slamming into the wall behindher. Her head hit hard, cracking loudly, as splintering pain reverberated through her skull and down her neck. She blinked, her vision swimming against the throbbing anguish. Maeve loosed a startled cry as an invisible force dragged her away from the wall, only to toss her into it again with more force. This time, it was the breaking of her bones that ricocheted through her ears. She spasmed. Gasping. Wheezing. Icy cold blood slid from her mouth down to her chin. Agonizing torment ripped through her, and she crumpled to the ground, her back thoroughly broken.
Parisa’s wails had grown dull. Distant.
Or perhaps it was Maeve who was fading away into nothingness.
“Get that bitch out of my sight,” Parisa snarled.
Maeve’s breathing grew shallow. Slowly, her palm opened, and the dagger tumbled soundlessly from her hand. She didn’t know if Parisa still had control of her body, and she didn’t care. She couldn’t feel anything, anyway. Just a stark, terrifying numbness. Darkness lined the outskirts of her vision, weaving closer together with every painfully slow blink until the light was no more.
Until she was no more.
Despair swept through her. Death called to her like an old friend.
His voice was low, and velvety when he said, “Not today, Dawnbringer.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Dawn crested over the horizon, and Tiernan did not sleep.
The witch thread burned like fire, searing his skin, and through the bond he felt indistinct waves of agony. Of pain. Of suffering. Maeve was injured again, yet somehow this was worse than before. More severe. It fueled him with indescribable rage, with a fury unlike anything he’d ever known. Tumultuous clouds churned over head, shuttering out the early morning light. Thunder cracked, a deafening noise, as the twin mountains trembled before his wrath. Lightning shattered the sky, illuminating the darkened heavens with violent magic. Punishing gusts of wind barreled into him, through him, as the catastrophic storm intensified.
Tiernan clenched his jaw, the last fibers of his control wavering.
Godsdammit, he should be there with her. He should have done more to protect her, to keep her from falling into Parisa’s clutches.
This was all his fault.
He jerked his arm back, then whipped around, slamming his fist into the nearest palm tree. It bowed against the brute force,then snapped completely, its mighty crown of fronds tumbling to the ground in defeat.
Tiernan sensed Merrick’s presence a second later.
