The Wild Curse (Faerie Sworn Book 2)

by Ron C. Nieto

  “Lily, move!”

  The snow erupted around her like an icy geyser. Her lungs expelled all air, and for a moment, she was weightless, airborne. Then, amid a flurry of flakes, her back crashed against the ice and it shattered, like so much glass.

  C H A P T E R XXIV

  Cold beyond anything she had ever known embraced Lily. It froze her blood in her veins, her breath condensed in her lungs, and the razor-sharp pain of the dark waters embracing her body was so terrible, she couldn’t feel the shards of ice cutting into her. They must have. She had just gone through a layer of ice, and the fragments floating past her looked like crystal daggers, so her mind knew she must have been cut, and must be bleeding, but she couldn’t feel it.

  She could only feel the cold.

  Then, something yanked on her ankle and pulled her deeper into the loch, and it was enough to remind her brain of what it should be thinking.

  Faerie trap. Underwater.

  If she didn’t get out, she wouldn’t freeze to death. She would drown first.

  Fighting the violent shivers and struggling to control her own limbs, Lily kicked out toward the surface, but whatever had snagged her leg didn’t budge. It pulled harder, and suddenly the surface was at least four feet further over her head. And the ice had floated, covering up her escape hole.

  She did her best to coil up, gather momentum to swim free, and whatever was holding her held on tighter. Fingers and nails dug into her flesh through the coarse fabric of her jeans and she jerked and contorted, looking down for the first time.

  Eyes the color of sunlight filtering through the sea stared at her, and thin lips pulled back in a wide grin that displayed a row of teeth, mismatched and jagged and sharp as a shark’s.

  Lily screamed, like an idiot, and whatever air that might have remained in her after the fall and the shock of cold left her in a trail of useless bubbles. She flailed, aiming a kick at the faerie’s head, but she sank deeper, easily getting out of reach and yanking Lily’s other leg behind. The hand the creature had closed around her ankle was fine-boned, long-fingered, and strong. So very strong. Lily’s efforts didn’t strain the grip, didn’t even seem to bother the faerie. Still, she fought to hold her breath, struggled to free herself even if that would only increase her need for oxygen. Lily might have been a clueless girl when her grandmother disappeared, but she had never been the kind of girl who gave up.

  But there was only so much fight in her, and her strength left her, stolen by numbness when the shivers finally went away, and the burning of her lungs spread like wildfire, demanding she gulp some air, something.

  Then, the faerie’s wide grin turned into a hiss, and she let go of Lily’s leg amid a dozen tiny whirlpools that swept her a few paces toward the center of the lake. Suddenly free, Lily kicked with renewed energy, but above her head there was nothing but a sheet of ice, covered by thick inches of snow.

  Where’s the hole? Where did I fall through?

  She tried to swim, but she didn’t know in which direction and the boost of adrenaline went away as fast as it had come. The numbness came back with a vengeance, so bad that she couldn’t even feel the cold anymore, and the coat she had been so grateful to have a few moments before dragged her down, weighting her limbs and robbing her of a chance.

  A chance was all it had been because the faerie had gathered herself up and launched against Lily again, dark hair floating like a mass of reeds haloing her head as she sprung back.

  Each long, delicate finger was tipped by a claw, thin like a needle, and the faerie attempted to sink them into Lily’s throat. However, she didn’t. She missed. By just a bare fraction, the claws grasped at water, and Lily was roughly yanked back.

  Troy.

  He’d grabbed the back of her coat, and the moment Lily collided against his chest, he tore it to shreds trying to slip a hand under it while pivoting them around. Lily clung to him, even when she felt his hand gripping her bare waist with enough force to bruise, even when he hadn’t looked at her once. His eyes had gone cold, cold as the water they were submerged in, clear-cut emeralds with no trace of the trickster left in them. They were eyes Lily had seen a few times while watching nature channels on TV. They were the eyes of a predator challenging the competition over the dead carcass of prey, and sure enough, they were riveted on the other faerie.

  Lily still clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. It was instinct, and her mind caught up with her a few seconds later.

  It told her the last time she’d been hounded by enemy faeries, submerged in water and about to drown, she’d lived. He had saved her, rose charms or no charms, every single time, and so she only held on tighter when a wave of pressure hit her, making her ears pop, as if she had suddenly gone exploring the depths of the sea.

  Quick as it had come, the pressure left, leaving nothing but a pounding headache and ringing ears behind, and a tiny gasp of relief escaped her.

  She didn’t drown.

  She could breathe. Troy’s hand tightened on her waist, his cool body temperature a raging inferno in the frozen lake, and she took another breath, a deep one this time. She could breathe, and deep down, she realized, she was not surprised.

  The other faerie screeched, the sound distorted, and the water around Lily froze, a thin layer of crust that shattered when the faerie charged them, claws leading. Troy had already been moving and the blow only glanced off Lily’s forearm, but the creature managed to hold on to them while he reached for the surface. The ice above their heads was smooth and unbroken, though, and Lily found herself staring at the manic grin of the faerie over Troy’s shoulder while he flattened his palm on the barrier.

  The faerie reached out for Lily, and her fingers and needle-like claws were covered in rivulets of blood. She had missed Lily before, but she had buried her talons on Troy’s back, staying close to her prey. Now, Lily ducked her head and the faerie raked four parallel lines of crimson over Troy’s neck.

  He ignored it, and the ice above them became thinner under his palm.

  The water, which had begun to feel lukewarm around Lily, became frigid again, the thin layer of ice reforming once more over her. Except this time it didn’t shatter—it thickened. Lily kicked out and the abrupt movement freed her from her cage, but the ice began to form anew as soon as it broke, and the murderous faerie let go of Troy and took the opportunity to grab her ankle again.

  Lily screamed when her knee groaned, and the jostle made her slide several inches down Troy’s body. For a moment, his palm was no longer on her skin and air became thin, each breath coming shorter than the last while pressure built and built around her throat.

  That did catch his attention, and ice barrier forgotten, he twisted to hold her more securely. With both his hands on her, he focused on the other faerie and, in a blink, a whirlpool of water tore her claws from Lily’s flesh, sending her to the deep. The ice that had attempted to entomb her also disappeared and the pressure left her throat, but the barrier above their heads thickened once more.

  The faerie laughed and attempted to charge them again, but this time she didn’t even get close. The whirlpool sucked her down until her body became a dark shadow with luminescent eyes swimming in great looping circles.

  Those eyes weren’t angry or frustrated. They looked very pleased with themselves as they studied them.

  A few heartbeats went by—could’ve been seconds, could’ve been minutes—and the faerie darted in and up, only to be stopped by the water once again. She laughed, displaying several rows of teeth that made her look more and more like a shark, and breathing became difficult again for Lily.

  Troy didn’t take his eyes from the other faerie, but he pushed up Lily’s shirt, holding her closer, aligning his forearm with her spine, and almost immediately she felt the improvement in her burning lungs.

  The faerie swam in again, quick and lethal. This time it could almost grab Lily again before being pushed back, and she understood the glee in her monstrous
gaze.

  She’s going to tire us out. Troy can’t get us free if he’s focusing all he’s got on keeping her at bay.

  And Troy was facing the faerie with every drop of glamour available, she realized. He did a great job of keeping the exhaustion from his expression, but still Lily could see his clenched jaw, the lines of tension in his eyes. Furthermore, there was proof in the way he held her in a tight embrace now, his arms pressed against her bare back, skin to skin from forearm to fingertip. At first, just a hand touching her had been enough to share with her whatever glamour kept him alive and breathing under water, but then he had needed both hands, and now not even that was enough.

  How much glamour is he using to protect me, after straining himself to keep me warm in the snow? And how much has he left? Reaching out, Lily grasped his chin and tried to make him focus on her.

  “Get us out,” she mouthed. “I’ll hold my breath.”

  Troy shook his head and turned to the circling faerie again, ignoring Lily, but this time he frowned, and she could feel his uneasiness. Of course he’d already noticed what the other faerie was trying to do, but that made Lily wonder. If that was the case, why was he playing along?

  If we don’t stop being on the defense, we’re so dead! Lily groaned in frustration and smacked Troy’s shoulder.

  He winced, and another realization hit Lily.

  We can’t get on the attack. He’s not only making me breathe. He’s keeping me warm, and keeping her away, and he’s hurt.

  And he must have been quite hurt because, otherwise, he wouldn’t have let himself wince. It was a show of weakness, and while Troy wasn’t a fighter, as Marast had pointed out, he was very much a predator. Predators didn’t appear weak in front of the competition.

  Lily assessed Troy again with new eyes, and the same question circled her mind.

  How much glamour is he using?

  And what the bloody hell am I doing to help?

  Nothing. A whole lot of nothing.

  She reached out to touch his cheek again, and he barely spared her a glance. Still, it was enough for her to point upward. He didn’t ask what she thought she could accomplish—not that she would have been able to explain if he had—and the next time the faerie tried to attack them, the whirlpool worked both ways, sending her down and them up, until Troy’s head hovered just below the ice barrier. Lily flattened her palm on it, just like he had done before, but without an ounce of glamour to melt it. She could, however, feel the thickness of it. It wasn’t something that could break by accident. When it had shattered below Lily’s feet, plunging her in a deadly trap, it must have been like a killer whale hunting down baby seals from beneath the ice.

  Lily wasn’t as strong as a killer whale, but she wasn’t going to wait patiently until Troy ran out of strength so the killer faerie could get to her. She punched the ice with all she had.

  The blow thudded dully, failing to break through, and the recoil impulse sent Lily crashing into Troy, a couple of feet deeper. It cost Troy precious seconds of focus, and the faerie surged beneath them, this time getting close enough to receive a boot to the face before the whirlpools shoved her away again.

  That was okay because Lily’s punch hadn’t broken through the ice, but it had created a web of fine fractures radiating from the point of impact. As she looked, the lines blurred and blended into a smooth barrier, but Troy must have seen the same thing she had because he pushed them up as soon as he got rid of the faerie.

  This time, Lily was ready and she put his impulse behind her punch. The recoil sent them down again, not by much because Troy’s glamour stabilized them, and the thud was accompanied by the loud crack of ice breaking.

  They did it again. The fractured web grew, the lines growing deeper and deeper. The faerie screeched below them and Troy jerked Lily around just as she was getting ready to punch again. She didn’t miss, but she didn’t break through either.

  But something else did.

  As they went tumbling down again, the ice shattered above their heads, dagger-like shards exploding in a cloud of bubbles. Troy broke free of Lily’s monkey grip and shoved her up, her next breath taking in a gulp of water instead of air. She coughed, and flailed, but then another hand fisted her shirt and yanked her through the hole in the ice.

  Marast.

  C H A P T E R XXV

  “Where were you?” she asked, or tried to. It came out like a rasping gurgle, ending on a coughing fit.

  But he must have gotten the gist of it because he replied. “Otherwise engaged,” he said, dragging Lily toward the shore.

  It was far, much farther away than the place where she had been plunged. They must have been at least fifty yards from the shore.

  “You were supposed to protect me,” she said when she realized just how long and how brutal their underwater fight must have been.

  “Oh, trust me, I was contributing to the cause.” Marast pushed her and let her go, and Lily went tumbling down.

  Before she had fully landed, he had nocked an arrow, drawn his bow, and let it fly. The arrow streaked over Lily’s shoulder and hit—

  A cloud of fog.

  But instead of flying right through, it sank into the mist as if it were flesh, and silvery light leaked through. The cloud of fog imploded and dissipated with a sound reminiscent of distant glass bells, and the arrow fell upon the snow.

  Lily gaped. “What was that?” As if one solid murderous faerie wasn’t enough.

  “Me protecting you,” said Marast, gliding over her real question and causing Lily to stare at him.

  All of a sudden, beneath the haughty curve of his lips that might be called a smirk by a generous observer, Marast didn’t look good. His fine white-blond hair was frozen in clunks, his armor covered in a fine layer of frost. Cold might not bother an Unseelie faerie, since they aligned with winter, but there was a weariness to his movements, an edge . . .

  He’s hurt, she realized.

  Marast, the great Royal Hunter of the Unseelie Queen, was hurt. The mere idea that someone might have gotten close enough to do that boggled Lily’s mind, and whatever she would have said next, she forgot.

  Then he grabbed her again and pulled her up one handed, resuming his walk toward the shore while his other hand held his bow at the ready, and Lily recovered her wits.

  “Wait!” she said, digging in her heels. “Troy! He’s still down there!”

  “He cannot drown.” Marast shoved her down again, fired two arrows in quick succession, and pulled her up without breaking stride. “He shall be fine.”

  “He doesn’t have to drown, that monster can cut him to pieces.” She tried to go back, but Marast shifted his grip and pain erupted up her arm.

  “You falling into the water again will not help his situation.”

  “Leaving him behind won’t either.”

  Marast spared her a glance, and the dismissal he had been wearing every time he looked at her changed into a look of understanding. “So that is the way it is.” He laughed. “Indeed, you are not like the Doctor to him.”

  “Marast.” Lily didn’t know what she put in her tone. Command? Plea? Both?

  “No.”

  “We can’t—!”

  “We most certainly can, and will,” Marast said, fisting his hand in Lily’s shirt again and frog-marching her to the shore.

  Lily let him because fighting the one faerie with specific orders to protect her in order to jump in on a fight where she would be more of a liability than any help wasn’t an option. When they arrived to the mounded snow, she scrambled over it, Marast gliding easily by her side, and she crumbled as soon as she figured she was off the loch.

  “Is this safe?” she asked.

  Marast nodded, and suddenly a howl broke the silence of the field. “Or not,” Marast amended.

  “Was that a Grimm?” Lily asked, remembering the black dog who lived in cemeteries and heralded death.

  “No.” Marast gave her an odd look. “It is one of my hounds.”

>   Going by the sound of it, it must’ve been a bloodhound from Hell. The hair on Lily’s nape stood on end when it howled again, closer. “What’s he telling you?”

  “That she is strong.” The Hunter nocked another arrow and waited. Then, a whirlwind of snow dust exploded where the tree line began and huge clouds of fog detached from it. A black shadow surged behind the fog and jumped straight into it, darkness punctuated by white teeth and claws, and glowing red eyes. Marast let his arrow fly, and again it sank into one of the fog banks, causing silvery light to spill forth until it disappeared. Another arrow, another fog figure.

  And they were figures, Lily realized. Mostly humanoid but with no features and sporting undefined, misshapen limbs. They were the kind of figurines a person would make during his first ceramic class, recognizable but lacking all finesse. However, the level of definition seemed to include some sort of natural weapon, like talons or fangs or something, because at least three of them had turned upon the hound and ghastly, bloody wounds appeared on its flanks as it fought them off.

  Marast drew back his bow, said something in a language Lily didn’t understand but that must have been a curse, and lowered the weapon again.

  More snow exploded before Lily could comment or Marast could do anything else, and the arrow was redirected to sink into a fog figure’s head right behind them. Lily looked for a stone or something, anything she could use as a weapon, but if there was anything useful, it was hidden under the snow, and the figures jumped them before she could so much as dodge.

  Foregoing his bow, Marast punched an arrow into one of the figures, and drawing out his blade, he cut the other one to pieces.

  The pieces shimmered for a moment in midair, as if they were getting ready to reattach themselves and continue the fight, but eventually they dissolved into fine mist and Marast turned back to the other fight.