Page 38 of The Endless Dance

“She wakes,” Jgaha croons. My eyes thin as I fixate on him. He is as pretty as any male, pale, with long blonde hair that hangs past his shoulders. His eyes, an awful orange colour, sparkle with ill intent.

They all pause a couple of steps away, and I take the moment to study them all.

Szarzàa is fucking huge. His arms, thick as gorillas, bulge as he folds them in front of his broad chest. He has a dark skin tone, similar to Sol’s, and his hair is just as dark, cut in a messy mop above his stern features.

Fyana was small in comparison to the males, though she would undoubtedly stand at least a head over me. She was also blonde and pale, her facial features sharp and thin. She reminded me of a cartoon character, all angles and no curves.

I rise from my crouch and meet each of their eyes. “Why the fuck are we in the Wylden forest?”

Fyana and Jgaha jeer.

“Fond memories?” Fyana sneers.

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl right back. If she wanted to taste my fear, she was going to be sorely disappointed. If I were destined to die in this forest with these bastards as my only companions, I would do it with my chin high and mind resolute.

“Enough, Fyana,” Szarzàa baritones. “Relieve yourself now, human. We need to move.”

I bite my tongue as a stubborn refusal slicks my tongue. As much as I hated to admit it, the fae were right. It was dangerous to be in one place for too long. Especially here. Especially now. The fae may think the beasts of the forest would be sated from the Hunt, but I got the feeling the creatures that called this land home were never truly satisfied. My mind flashes back to the horrifying sounds of the Skraeming Dhevilkin’s teeth ripping into the flesh of the woman who had killed Jasmin. My skin pebbles, but I refuse to let my fear get the better of me.

Instead, I nod once and duck behind the shrub with the crane-like flowers. I grip a chunk of moss from a stone near my feet and use it to wipe, not trusting the leaves I could see. It would be just my luck to use some poison ivy-like leaf to dry my bits.

Afterwards, I rejoin the fae who wait impatiently for me to return.

“Right, then,” Szarzàa says. “Let’s move.”

Fyana and Jgaha send me terrible grins as they take the lead. I roll my eyes before following them, Szarzàa following close at my heels. I wondered if he thought I was going to make a run for it, but discard the thought quickly. No, he was staying close because he thought I was the most vulnerable here.

I hated to admit it, but he was right. I was the easy target. And if I were right and the beasts still hungered, I would be the one they targeted.

Chapter Sixteen

We stop hours later for a meagre lunch of fruits and bread. My body, still aching and too warm to be healthy, trembles with every step. My limbs feel unfamiliar, and my muscles have been seizing with each step for at least an hour.

Grateful for the chance to rest, I half-fall to my ass, ignoring the exasperated looks from the fae.

“Such weak creatures,” Fyana huffs as she lounges on the length of a tree trunk.

I’m too fucking exhausted to care what she thought about me.

Szarzàa hands me my lunch, and I take it with weak arms. I hoped they didn’t expect us to march all day. I didn’t know how much longer I would last in this state.

My eyes glaze as I lean back against a fallen tree, stuffing food mechanically into my mouth and chewing. The fae huddle together, eating and mumbling amongst themselves. I don’t listen in this time. They could be discussing the best way to murder me, and I couldn’t care less. Do it. I was too out of it to even know it was coming. That would be a good way to go, right? To not see it coming? To be completely oblivious to my fast-approaching demise?

I am sitting, guzzling water from the flask Szarzàa had dropped at my feet earlier, when I notice a patch of shrubbery darkening. Quickly.

Suddenly alert, I slowly put the flask down. Not darkening, I realise, heart stuttering. Decaying. Right in front of my eyes. Leaves and flowers and even tree trunks, withering, curling and dying before me.

I suck in a sharp breath, preparing to call out to Szarzàa, when I see it. Like a horse turned completely inside out; its body is made up of oozing, muscular-like flesh. Its eyes are empty and black, and upon its back, completely fused to its mount and of the same grotesque texture, is the waist-up shape of a humanoid being. Its haunting eyes were as black as its mount’s, and it bore a thin, long white beard at its chin. In its hand was a javelin. It held it lazily as it approached on silent hooves.

All at once, the fae sputter into silence and tense, even as a horrid smell, unlike anything I had ever smelt before, wafted through the trees. Death. It smelt like death.

The creature pauses, and the humanoid part of it tilts its head as the fae curse and unsheathe their weapons. Slowly, I climb to my feet, muscles tight. Suddenly, it didn’t matter how exhausted I was. I could run a fucking marathon right now with barely a twinging kneecap. I could. And I would. Because there was no way in fucking hell this creature was going to kill me.

“The Nuckelavee,” Szarzàa whispers.

As if answering the call of its name, the Nuckelavee opens its hole-like mouth and shrieks. Then it gallops for us.

Chapter Seventeen