by Layla Harper
Before worry can drive her pointy fingers into my gut, we are thrown into a pool of blinding light. I twist my body in midair and land in a bone-crushing thud, Kyra flat against my torso and my war hammer digging into my back.
Coughing, Kyra rolls off my frame and drops onto the hot sand. She lifts herself onto her hands and knees and spews water from her mouth.
I curse myself for what I have forced my mate to endure. “Where are you hurt?”
The words torch my throat.
Kyra heaves in a breath and then another and another until one gasp spills into the next. She eases back, her legs tucked beneath her, and stares at her palms.
Stares at the sooty sheen emitting from her pale skin.
Panic flares in her eyes, eyes that are now glowing unnaturally in the same inky shade. “What’s happening to me?”
I cannot explain the dark magic—yes, dark by the foul stench of it—invading her body.
“I do not know.” I am on my feet.
“Do not touch her,” Rowena warns. Water drips from her red hair. Ilearis’s arms clinch around her hips. “She is…” She shakes her head. “Somehow, she has absorbed the portal’s magic. And we have been emptied of ours.”
My gut churns. “That is not possible.”
“Is it not?” Rowena counters.
Kyra begins to shake. Grimacing, she stretches out her legs, her calves sinking into the gray sand, then lifts her gaze to Rowena. “What is this? What do you know?”
The norn’s eyes never leave my face, glinting with sympathy, and something more.
Fear.
Suns above, it cannot be.
As if in direct response to my denial, the dark magic intensifies, saturating the air with its pungent smell, leaving Kyra’s skin coated in a thick, inky layer and me helpless to stop it.
Ilearis drops her hands from Rowena’s body and takes two eager steps closer to my mate. The norn pulls her back, but the girl struggles against her hold, contorting her body to reach Kyra.
Dread coils in my stomach. If Kyra is what I suspect her to be, if she is what the bards have sung, and if all the whispered tales of old are true, then there is only one solution for my mate’s suffering.
I crouch before her.
“Rogar… I’m scared.”
“I know, my sweet.”
Her face twists in agony. “I can feel… Something is living inside me.”
I lift my hand to her cheek. “Hold on, just a bit longer.”
She nods, a grunt escaping her beautiful mouth pursed with pain.
Rowena backs away, dragging Ilearis with her.
“Tell me what to do,” I bark, rising to my full height.
The norn takes several more steps, the distance between us growing. “You know what she is.”
Her voice is accusing. Damning.
The dual suns beat against my brow, but ice fills my veins. “Back at the manor, your little test… Did you know?” My voice drops. “And yet you allowed her to cross without breathing a word?”
Wary, Rowena angles her body, shielding the girl from my view. “I could not be sure. Some humans are said to detect magic. Others—”
I advance, my steps measured. “I will not let her die.”
Too late, alarm flares in her black eyes. I reach for the girl, snatching her thin arm from her guardian’s grip.
“No,” Rowena screams. “No. You cannot do this. The transfer might kill her. And if she survives, the magic could tear her mind apart.” She claws at me and beats her fists against my bicep. “She is but a child.”
Guilt robs me of breath, but if I have to choose between this girl and my mate, the choice is clear.
Ilearis grunts and lurches for Kyra willingly. I hold her back.
Kyra groans and curls into a fetal position, eyes scrunched with unshed tears glistening between her lashes.
“Have you an alternative that will relieve them both? Tell me, witch. Tell me how to save them both.”
Rowena balls her hands, and I know at that moment, if she could, she would wield her illusions against me. “She must expel the magic,” she finally admits. “But to do so—”
A moan tears from Kyra’s throat. Her body lifts off the ground, limbs stiffening before sagging into the hot sand.
“I beg you, do not do this,” Rowena pleads. “Do not do this.” Her eyes dart to Ilearis’s extended arms, the girl’s face, the yearning burning in her brown eyes. Rowena’s slender brows pull taut as she assesses her ward. “For a wizard, the magic can be like an opiate. Dangerous and addictive. There is no telling the effect it will have on her constitution. That is no life, Rogar. It is why the practice was banned. Why vessels are so dangerous.”
Vessel.
My mate is a vessel.
The norn’s expression goes hard, and I do not doubt that if I push her, she will kill me to save her child. We are two warriors drawing a line in the sand, one neither will escape unscathed.
“Stop.” Kyra’s voice breaks, her breaths labored. “Let her go, Rogar. Please.”
I close my eyes. Even in this, I cannot deny my mate.
I release the girl into the norn’s control and fall onto my knees before Kyra. “Tell me what to do.”
Her answer is a cry of pain.
I lift her onto my lap, my heart breaking with the bleakness of our situation. I cannot lose her. After waiting all these years, I cannot lose her.
“You must siphon the magic,” Rowena says softly. “Hand to hand. Mouth to mouth. Her body will do the rest.” Her eyes lower to mine, the words she does not speak beating in those black orbs.
The odds of my survival are slim. Vessels are not meant to empty into ordinary fae, but no cost is too high, too severe a price to pay if it means Kyra lives. I am a proud orc male resistant to magic, and I refuse to believe the ancestors would gift me with my càirdeil—with a mate bond—if I were not her equal in all ways.
Ilearis grunts and shoves at Rowena’s hands. The norn spins around, giving me her back in an attempt to block the squirming girl from seeing the female convulsing in my arms.
I rub my thumb over Kyra’s slave mark. “Give me your vow you will see her home if I cannot do so myself.”
“Another bargain? No,” Rowena says deliberately. “No, I will swear no oath, but if it is within my means to aid your mate on her journey to the human realm, then I will assist.”
“Fair enough.” I can ask no more of her. Gently, I lay my mate on the sand and brush her wet hair from her face. “Stay with me, Kyra. Stay with me.”
I clasp her hands, palm to palm, and lower my lips to her mouth.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this latest installment of Court of Bones and Ash. The deeper I delve into this world, the more connected I feel to the characters. I hope that was evident in the writing, and that for a brief time, you were able to forget your troubles and escape into Alfhemir.
Fae King’s Sacrifice is up next. With the craziness of the world at the moment, there have been a few glitches in the production schedule, but I can’t wait to release this puppy. It’s action-packed and hopefully full of twists and turns you won’t see coming. I’m shooting for a late May release. I’ll update my website and Amazon page when the book is ready to go live. Feel free to follow me on those platforms, or sign up for my newsletter for the most update information.
Finally, I want to thank you for your feedback, both good and bad. I have to admit. It’s a scary thing to face, and probably the most unnerving aspect of this whole process, but your words are important. They shape my writing. They help me improve my craft. They enlighten me about the things you love about books, which in turn helps me write better stories. And for that, I am eternally grateful!
Stay well, everyone!
Peace and love,
Layla
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Layla Harper is the romance pseudonym for urban fantasy author, Lora Andrews. She loves all things mythical, including arrogant drago
ns and the furry beasts who rule her cave. She (and her minions) live in lovely New England where she spends her time tackling domestic trials while dreaming up her next swashbuckling adventure.
You can follow her on Facebook, or join her newsletter so she can stress about wowing you with her prose.
Only kidding ;-)
www.laylaharper.com
www.loraandrews.com
FAE KING’S HUNGER
Court of Bones and Ash: 2
Copyright ©2020 Layla Harper
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and written permission from the author.
Edited by: Hot Tree Editing
Cover Art: Deranged Doctor Designs
For more information:
www.laylaharper.com
