by Ron C. Nieto
She hit the outside floor with a thud that left her breathless for a moment, and she used it to get her bearings. It was one place she hadn’t been to since she was little, but the impression of the cemetery in her child’s mind was quite drastic and she recalled to the last detail the visits she and Mackenna had paid to that place every Friday afternoon. Her feet took her there by memory, not stumbling or hesitating once and slowing only when in front of the correct Celtic granite cross.
It looked much like the one she had fallen on top of before, but it wasn’t as old. Ivy and overgrowth had been kept in check with a firm hand and weeds hadn’t dared to invade the tomb yet. The carved name was smoothed by the elements but still starkly visible. It said “Cormag Kirk. More beloved than forever.”
Her grandfather’s grave.
She knelt in front of it and ran her fingers over the corners where they sunk into the ground.
There! Upturned soil, the vegetation pushing up again but not quite equal to the older grass. The dirt packed, yes, but not settled.
She began to dig with her bare fingers, her blunt nails cracking and the scratches in her knuckles reopening. She cleared one inch, then another, and then she touched something rough. A burlap bundle, stained as brown as the earth itself.
It resisted, but with a harsh tug, she pulled it free and shook the dirt out. It was very light, about a foot long, and Lily parted the cloth with trembling fingers and baited breath.
And there it was, bone and bronze and mother of pearl and gold.
The horn of the Wild Hunt.
C H A P T E R XXXI
A spear of freezing cold hit Lily’s chest the moment her feet thudded on the other side of the cemetery wall. Icy fingers squeezed her lungs and she gasped for breath, her free hand reaching up to the burning spot.
It was her pendant. Her fingers slipped below the chain and pulled it away from her skin, trying to escape the sensation, and a droplet of cool water slid down her knuckles and wrist. She held it up to eye level, and before her eyes, the remaining silver rose bloom wilted and wept.
Her hand shook. The wilted flower settled into the new shape, the water dried upon her skin and the preternatural cold seeped from the silver charm until it was no colder than any other metal would.
The chain slipped from her fingers and fell against her skin, settling in the hollow of her throat.
She lifted her eyes and found Troy.
For a split second, the tableau held. They just stood there, her shaking and him steady like a statue of cut ice, her lips attempting to form words and his pressed in a hard line—her not knowing what to feel and his emerald eyes showing her nothing at all. Then, the stillness shattered.
Troy’s body hit hers and they tumbled down in a heap. Her grip around the knapsack tightened and the horn dug into her side. She saw stars exploding in her vision. Something thudded against the cemetery wall. Something else whizzed past her head.
An arrow feathered in white. An arrow!
She kicked out and Troy cursed, rolling them about. The new position gave Lily purchase and she sprung up. Running back into the cemetery would be the wise thing, to protect the horn and to make sure they couldn’t reach her, but whoever was firing had the same basic grasp of strategy and kept the arrows raining between her and the low wall.
She raced toward the trees for whatever cover they would offer. She made it as far as the first row when Troy caught up to her again. His arm locked about her waist and he hauled her back to his chest. They both crashed against a tree trunk, the bark scraping Lily’s cheek, and he used a leg to pin hers and keep her from kicking out.
She screamed and tried to use her elbows to hit him.
“Do not be a fool,” he snarled in her ear, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Suddenly, the world around them changed. It wasn’t like stepping over an opening. This was more disconcerting perhaps because it came with the certainty of not having moved. It brought a shifting of shadows, a translucent veil draped over her eyes to murk her vision and a sense of detachment from her own skin.
Then, she saw him.
He came from deeper into the trees, walking on silent feet. Tall and slender, he moved with the grace of a feline and Lily recognized him as a sidhe faerie, like Cadowain. Unlike him, this one looked more like a hunter and less like a courtier. His clothing was dark to blend in with the night and his rolling steps were more suited to stalk prey than to dance. He was strong, and he was dangerous, and if Troy hadn’t manhandled her as he had, she would have ran into him. Like a hare flushed out by the hounds.
He stepped past them, a light frown marring his perfect, inhuman features. His eyes scanned the surroundings and never focused on them. A look of bewilderment twisted his mouth and he moved out of Lily’s vision.
Troy’s heart beat a furious rhythm against her back, and she felt his grip become less proficient and more desperate as he struggled to keep his breathing silent. Whatever he was doing to keep the sidhe from noticing them was costing him dearly. Lily remembered he had explained to her that workings needed time to prepare, but he had managed to hide them at a moment’s notice, while struggling against her. For how long would he be able to keep it up?
Moments stretched into eternity, and then, without a word of warning, Troy stepped away from her. She staggered at the sudden lack of support and his hand grabbed her wrist, hauling her into a run that had them doubling the hunting party.
Lily raced awkwardly, one arm still secured around her bundle and the other pulled by Troy. He was guiding them away from the safety of the hallowed ground, but also away from the sidhe and his arrow-flinging hounds, so she followed his lead.
Until she recognized where he was headed.
“No!” she said, digging in her heels with enough force to rock him back. “We can’t cross over.”
“I cannot hold the illusion forever,” he snapped back. His breathing was ragged and sweat droplets seemed to be mixing with the usual water dripping from his hair. “My own domain is the only place I can hope to surpass him.”
“If we cross over with the horn, the queen will know. They will know it’s no longer safe.”
“They already do, fool. That was Marast, the Unseelie Queen’s best knight. Can you not see how you have been played?”
A voice clear as the stars shouted something in the background. They had found their trail.
“Played by whom? Who’s the only Unseelie here?”
“Who warned you not to strike thoughtless bargains?” he shot back. Then, his eyes fixed at a point over her shoulder and widened, the white showing around green irises.
An arrow flew past by her.
Troy leapt forward and grabbed her, twisting them around to move away from the incoming attack. Toward the river.
The arrow hadn’t meant to kill them. It was just flushing them out, again.
“Stop!” she said. “They’ll back us against the riverside.”
He grinned back over his shoulder, not stopping. It was a gesture sharp as a knife. “They are welcome to try.”
The shadows of the shift began to coalesce around him while they raced the Unseelie sidhe hunter.
Our riders never fall.
Drown them, eat them.
The last rose, wilted. No more obligations to save her.
“No! No, no, no!”
The hunting party caught on to his intentions at the same time Lily did and began firing in earnest, but by then it was too late.
Troy’s arms wrapped around her waist, the world titled in its axis and then the change was upon him and Lily could do nothing but scream as he hurtled them toward the river.
Someone shouted behind them, the voice barely heard over the thundering of blood rushing in her ears, and then Troy sank and took her with him. Every muscle in her body tensed when she hit the freezing water and she fought to break free of his magic, to push away from him and cling to the surface, but she might as well have been trying to escape her own skin. She wen
t under, the murky river swallowing the predawn light, and she tried to claw at Troy, to pull on his mane, to get him to let her go before the darkness trapped her.
But her throat burned. Her chest ached, squeezed by an invisible fist that urged her to breathe.
She fought harder.
It didn’t make a difference. She knew giving in would kill her, would only hasten her toward a watery grave, but there was no escape and her body betrayed her. She took a frantic gulp—
And a rush of fresh air soothed her starving lungs.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for reading The Wild Hunt. I hope you enjoyed it!
Please consider leaving a review with your thoughts or simply tell your friends about this novel. Spreading the word is the best thing you can ever do for any author!
Have you read the companion short stories for Faerie Sworn yet? They’re a direct line into the dark and mysterious mind of Troy, and you can get them for free! Just head over to http://www.roncnieto.com/go/faeriesworn and I’ll send you the first story.
Besides, being part of my mailing list will net you access to deleted scenes, release notices, and other extra goodies.
And of course, I’d love hearing from you. Feel free to get in touch via Twitter, Facebook, GoodReads or visiting my website, www.roncnieto.com.
OTHER TITLES
Faerie Sworn Series
Story 0.5: Faerie Nights (available for free to Newsletter subscribers)
Book 1: The Wild Hunt
Story 1.5: Faerie Oaths (available for free to Newsletter subscribers)
Book 2: The Wild Curse
Story 2.5: Faerie Hearts (coming soon)
Ghostly Rhapsody Duology
Book 1: Silent Song
Book 2: Shattered Silence
