“Good. You feel that. Now make your vow.”
At first, Eilidh didn’t know what to say, then she recalled what Munro had said to her in the woods—the phrase that initiated the ritual in the first place. Dem’ontar-che. Loyalty, faith, devotion. How he had known to say those words? It was magic far beyond her understanding, but the bond they were about to solidify must have reached them both on an instinctual level. Eilidh looked at Saor and could not help but silently speak words of regret.
Pushing that aside, Eilidh closed her eyes and thought of nothing but Quinton Munro. She pictured his face, let her nose take in the scent of him that still lingered in his house, let her ears echo with the sound of his voice, and felt his kiss on her lips. “Dem’ontar-che.” Eilidh expected a flash, a feeling of rightness, some magical display of lights or something. But nothing happened. She opened her eyes, looked at Beniss, and shook her head. “Is there something else I need to do?”
“Now, we wait.”
Saor huffed with impatience. “How long will this take?”
Beniss let her human facade melt away, and Saor saw the elder faerie’s true face. Her voice rolled like thunder. “Quiet, earth faerie. We’re not in the kingdom now.” To Eilidh she said, “Magic is not a machine. It takes as long as it takes.”
***
“He’s going to kill us both,” Munro said to Frankie as Cridhe led him out of the building to meet the others.
“I know.” Frankie sounded resigned.
Munro’s anger burst out. “Why would you do this? I’m family.” He’d never felt so betrayed. “You could have talked to me. We would have helped you.”
“We?”
There was no reason for the other druids not to know about Eilidh now. Munro opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a burning fire filled his throat. He could hear it crackle and taste the smoke. It took a moment for the pain to hit, but when it did, his whole world came undone. Frankie screwed his eyes shut as Munro screamed. He stood, clenching his fists by his side.
Munro held his hands around his own neck, unable to stop from crying out with the pain. He looked at his cousin and croaked, “Please. Help me.”
Frankie glanced around the old farm buildings where they stood. The place had been abandoned for some time, and there was not much of use lying around. Frankie spotted a stack of wood from busted-up fencing. He grabbed a board and rushed at Munro, striking him on the side of the head.
Munro sank to the ground. The last thing he saw as he drifted into unconsciousness was Cridhe smiling. “That should get my queen’s attention,” the mad faerie said. “Now as for you…” Munro heard no more. His last thought before he blacked out was that he hoped Eilidh had not felt any of it. If it meant she had been protected from the pain, he was grateful she hadn’t completed the ritual after all.
He drifted in and out for what felt like hours, but may have been just minutes. At least the fire in his throat had been quenched. He still felt pain, and he wasn’t sure he could speak. A scream, this time not his own, grabbed his attention. It was only then Munro realised he was lying on the ground and not in the same place where he’d lost consciousness. They were in a small clearing in the woods. A few feet away lay Frankie. Cridhe crouched over him, a vile, greasy incantation slipping from his mouth. Munro felt the ancient magic through his own clouded thoughts.
Frankie stopped screaming. From a gory cavity in his chest, Cridhe lifted out Frankie’s heart. Cridhe’s incantation ceased, and in the silence of the night, Munro clearly heard the thump-thumping of his cousin’s heart as it rested in the blood faerie’s hand.
“Come, Dudlach. Let us put Frankie in his place,” Cridhe said to the empty air. His eyes glistened with power and exertion. His once-grey face was now flushed with a rosy glow. Cridhe turned to Munro. “Don’t worry. We won’t be long.”
The blood faerie left, leaving Munro dazed and in pain. He struggled to rise, then only managed to stagger around. He tried not to stare at his cousin’s body, as he reeled in the opposite direction from the one Cridhe had gone. As soon as he reached the edge of the clearing, his body became weak, as though he was bleeding out, even though he didn’t have any serious cuts. His head screamed with pain, but there was only a small amount of blood. When Munro stepped closer to the centre of the clearing, the sensation passed. Munro cursed under his breath. Why had he not let Eilidh accompany him? He should have seen this coming. Although he wanted to believe he would have made different choices had he been in Frankie’s place, seeing Cridhe’s power and the ruthlessness with which he wielded it, Munro knew no human could stand against it.
He reached for his pocket, only to find his mobile was gone. A feeling of despair settled over him, and he could not help but look at Frankie’s face and the horror on his lifeless features. The same fate awaited him as soon as Cridhe got back, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
He closed his hand around the small carved stone in his pocket. Why did druids make these things? Did they hold power? Did they serve a purpose? He didn’t even know how they were crafted, much less what they were supposed to do, so how could he even think to use it?
Munro recalled that Beniss had said if they took out Cridhe’s bonded druid, the blood faerie would be much less powerful. He hoped Cridhe’s earlier ramblings meant his bonded druid was already dead, possibly the first victim, the one they’d found with the dead faerie. Could this be his stone? But who had the faerie been? And would this mean Cridhe was truly weaker? He didn’t seem weak to Munro.
Cridhe returned much sooner than Munro expected and saw that Munro was fully awake and walking around. He made a gesture with one blood-stained hand and Munro crumpled to the ground, unable to move or even struggle. “Now you can explain to me, druid, why my queen did not come running to your aid. No fae would turn her back on her bonded druid. The magic would not let them.”
Although it was a small and shallow victory, Munro felt a certain sense of triumph. He laughed even though the burns in his throat hurt. His voice came out in a horrific rasp. “There is no bond. I initiated, but she refused.”
Cridhe’s face contorted with anger. “That is not possible. What faerie would refuse a bonding when it means so much more power? She must come. I had it all planned. She will arrive and see me at the apex of my power. Once she has me, your death will seem but a minor inconvenience. She will be content to live in the glow of what the Krostach Ritual will provide.”
Cridhe continued to mutter and pace. He took his attention away from Munro, and the bonds loosened, allowing Munro to relax his muscles. Lying there in the dirt, a sudden, cool relief began to spread through Munro’s throat. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Although it wouldn’t surprise him if Cridhe had the ability to heal him, he couldn’t imagine why he would. Munro began to feel stronger, sharper, and the despair and fear melted away. Then he recognised what had been missing since Frankie hit him on the head. Eilidh.
When Munro looked up, he found Cridhe watching him intently, a smile quirked on his face. “It appears she did not refuse after all.” Cridhe gazed north and whispered, “Hurry, my queen. I’m growing impatient.”
Chapter 19
Munro knew Eilidh had somehow completed the bond. Before, he’d felt her presence as a vague awareness. Now he saw her in his mind’s eye, and he knew she was coming. Her emotions swept over him, more than he would have thought her cool demeanour would allow. He’d thought her introspective and passionless, but now he knew she felt emotions intensely. She could likely feel him as well, and he wondered how she would judge him, if she would come to regret fusing her soul with his.
Thoughts drifted through his mind with a twinge of sorrow, because he understood what he would lose when he died. Still, the thoughts weren’t enough to distract him from the pulsing darkness around him. He felt singular dread as Cridhe came toward him, knowing Eilidh would be too late.
“She certainly is taking her time. I suppose it’s natural for her to be
caught up in a new bonding. She really should have completed it some time ago. Poor planning, really.” Cridhe crouched over Munro. “It’s an honour for you to be the final sacrifice. Fitting. I shall consider it a tribute to my queen, that the sacrifice of her bonded druid will be the beginning of our reign.”
“Do you really think you’ll be so powerful that you can take on the kingdom fae alone? How many of them are there? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?” Munro didn’t know how realistic Cridhe’s plan was, but Beniss and Eilidh seemed to take the threat seriously. All he could hope to accomplish was to plant a seed of doubt. “What of the azuri fae at the Isle of Skye? What if they challenge you? Eilidh told me there were hundreds of them, maybe more. Even if the kingdom fae aren’t a threat, wouldn’t that many other azuri fae be a worry?” Munro felt desperate. He tried to think of anything that might make Cridhe take a moment to think. The more he could distract him, the better the chance Eilidh would arrive before things got any uglier.
Cridhe didn’t stop what he was doing. Ever since he’d killed Frankie, his eyes shone with power. Or perhaps it was madness, or a combination of the two. With an easy flick of the hand, he tore open Munro’s shirt, exposing his chest.
Munro’s heart pounded as fear gripped him. Cridhe stared intently at Munro’s chest, as though able to see through the skin, directly to his heart. “It won’t do any harm, I suppose, just to get you ready.” Cridhe peered into the dark woods, and then grumbled, disappointed. “She really should be here by now,” he repeated. He turned his attention back to Munro and ran a finger over his bare skin.
Munro felt a deep slicing burn everywhere the finger traced. He looked down and saw blood welling as Cridhe pushed the muscles aside. With a flick of the faerie’s finger, a rib snapped. Nausea swept over Munro. He wanted nothing more than to lose consciousness, to escape in darkness, but he knew he had to fight. When another rib snapped, he cried out, his throat still burning. Sweat poured over his skin, mingling with rivulets of blood.
He tried to keep his attention on the stone in his hand. He felt warmth coming from it, perhaps from the fire magic that had crafted it. But he could do nothing more. Despair overwhelmed him.
His new bond with Eilidh meant his body was healing itself, a side effect of the bonding Munro had not anticipated. But Cridhe, rather than being angry, seemed fascinated, and the healing made things worse. When Cridhe saw what was happening, he broke ribs in a third place and then a fourth, creating a circular pattern around Munro’s heart. The healing kept Munro alive and conscious, but it didn’t stop the pain.
Munro dropped the stone, and it immediately drew Cridhe’s attention. One tear at a time slid down the blood faerie’s face. “Jon,” he said softly.
It took a moment for Munro to understand. Even as he prepared to kill again, Cridhe grieved for his bonded druid. “Jon was the first, wasn’t he?” Munro forced out the words through gritted teeth. “The one we found at Comrie? You killed him?”
Cridhe shook his head. “I didn’t kill you, Jon. Dudlach knew I wouldn’t give you up, so he killed you first. We needed a fire druid for the Krostach Ritual. And in all his searching, even with his special talent for detecting dormant druids, Dudlach only found one. You.” Cridhe got a distant expression on his face, and for the moment, stopped breaking Munro’s ribs. “It has a nice symmetry, now that I think of it. We began with you, my bonded druid, and end with my queen’s druid. We both have made a deeper sacrifice than anyone could understand.” His madness muddied his thoughts. Munro felt true hopelessness. The faerie seemed to think he was Jon and Munro, all rolled into one.
Suddenly, rustling noises came from the woods. It sounded as though help had finally arrived and brought an army with it. Cridhe leapt into a crouch, turning his head quickly from side to side, peering into the darkness. “My queen. Have you come to claim your place at my side? Watch then, as the era of glory begins.” Cridhe extended a hand toward Munro, and Munro’s heart started to pound in his chest. Munro screamed as Cridhe peeled back one of his broken ribs.
A hundred fae warriors stepped into view, all wielding knives and moving in perfect unison. “Stop!” Eilidh thundered, her voice coming from every direction and echoing like a storm. She stepped to the edge of the clearing, her eyes fastened on Cridhe.
Cridhe frowned, puzzled. “We need his heart, my queen. Krostach demands it.” But the blood faerie smiled as though he understood. “Sacrifice is difficult for all of us.” He glanced at Munro. “I love Jon too. No…” He shook his head, as though trying to maintain a grip on which druid he was killing. “We must be strong and set an example for our people.”
“We have no people!” Eilidh shouted with ferocity.
Rage contorted Cridhe’s features. He looked around, noticing the warriors for the first time. “You would bring kingdom Watchers against me? Eilidh, what have you done? You will find I can be a gentle and loving mate to you…or not. Do not try my patience.”
He pointed at the warriors one after the other, and Munro could sense the power he directed at them. Shock passed over his face as each winked out of existence. “You would try to battle me with illusions?” His expression darkened. “Very well. You have made your choice.”
Throughout the exchange, Cridhe did not release his magical grip on Munro’s heart. It beat wildly, as though straining to be exposed and wanting to leap into Cridhe’s hand. Munro’s world faded. He fought to hold on, knowing that as long as he lived, Eilidh would be stronger. She needed that strength if she was to survive. Munro couldn’t bear to think what it would mean if Cridhe had his way. His evil was horrific enough, but his madness was terrifying. With that last sorrowful thought, Munro plunged into darkness.
***
Cridhe sent pulses of dark energy toward each of the shadow warriors, just as Eilidh expected he would. One at a time, they disappeared. But with each disappearance, Eilidh focused and cast the azure, causing a new illusory figure to take its place. Cridhe growled with frustration.
It sapped her energy in a way magic never had. But she’d never cast anything powerful before she met Beniss and the other azuri fae. Even now, if Beniss had not been using a mental link to refresh her energy, Eilidh didn’t know if she could have maintained the constant multiple illusions. They had planned to test Cridhe’s strength, to distract him, and as long as possible, to hide Beniss’ presence.
Cridhe’s frustration caused him to lash out, knocking back all of the illusion warriors in one huge sweep of his arm. Every time he did it, Eilidh brought up a new set. Cridhe pointed a finger at Eilidh. “Do not make me hurt you. Do not be like her.”
Eilidh couldn’t help but wonder who he was talking about. Cridhe was clearly insane, so they might never know. He had some plan to make her his queen, thinking that together they would challenge the kingdom fae. She’d never seen such madness in one of their race. Many would have denied it was even possible, saying that such malady of the mind was the province of the weaker races, but dabbling with the dark Krostach ritual had exacted a price. While it repulsed her, it also made her sad, and a little afraid.
Cridhe stepped toward Eilidh and stopped just feet in front of her. His deathly, contorted face looked angry. It wouldn’t require much more prodding for him to snap and strike her down. It took all her strength and focus to hold the illusion that made her appear cool and unperturbed. Because of their bond, only Munro could have known of the turmoil within her. The bond told her he still lived, but she didn’t know for how long.
It was time to act. Eilidh raised a hand and flicked her wrist. Four more warriors stepped out of the woods.
“Must we continue to play these games?” Cridhe sighed, as though tired of indulging her.
Cridhe had not noticed these warriors were different. Saor and his three companions lifted their hands in unison. Eilidh felt a half smile tug at her mouth.
As one, the four warriors shouted an ancient word of power. From each of their hands came a blaze of green light. T
hey struck Cridhe as one, and the blood faerie staggered back, a betrayal searing across his features. He was hit hard, and huge, gaping cuts appeared on his body. But he manipulated the flows of blood magic, and the bleeding was hastily staunched.
Cridhe lashed out with his power, the full force of his anger behind it. He traded shots with the earth warriors, but they were no match for his strength, experience, and cunning. He shouted a final incantation at them. Eilidh heard a sickening snap of bones. They tried to dodge, but his magic followed as they leapt aside. Eilidh’s heart sank as two crumpled completely. Saor and the one closest to him were able to release one more spell before Cridhe retaliated with a final death blow.
The warriors had failed, and the time had come for Beniss to begin their attack of last hope. A cacophony of sounds blasted from every direction. Beniss stopped feeding Eilidh energy and cast a whirlwind of confusing sounds, voices, angry glowing lights. The nearby trees growled and twisted their many arms toward Cridhe. Even Eilidh had difficulty maintaining her nerve. Then the real onslaught began. Beniss stepped into the clearing from behind Eilidh, focusing intently on Cridhe. The elder faerie’s magic thrummed.
Blood Faerie - Contemporary Urban Fantasy (Caledonia Fae, Book 1) Page 19
