Blood Faerie (24 page)

Beniss put her hands on either side of Eilidh’s face. “Eilidh, gather yourself. Even though you did not complete the ritual, I believe you would know if he was dead. Something else is stopping you from being able to sense him.” The elder faerie’s expression softened. “Now you must complete the ritual. You must accept his bond. That should help you cut through whatever trickery has hidden him from you.”

Eilidh hesitated. Once she did this, there was no turning back. Faeries were not good at forever. It probably came from having long lives. Only the royals tended to mate for life, but their arrangements were more for political and social standing than for love or even the hope of producing children. But according to Beniss, the druid bond was permanent. Thanks to its power, Munro’s life span could be as long as hers.

She asked herself a question, because she had to. Was stopping the blood faerie worth jumping into a lifelong bond with a human she had just met? Yes, it would increase her power, but she tried not to consider that. She couldn’t treat Munro like merely a vessel. As she considered the deep loss she’d felt when she’d lost contact with him, Eilidh realised she was wasting time. “What do I have to do?”

Beniss patted Eilidh softly on the cheek. “Good. Most would search a lifetime to find someone willing and able to take the bond. Not every druid is compatible with every faerie. What Munro has agreed to must always be honoured.”

She continued to search Eilidh’s eyes, and Eilidh felt pressure in her mind, as though Beniss was searching her thoughts. She started to resist. “What are you doing?”

“Searching for the strand.”

Eilidh didn’t know what she meant, but now was not the time to argue. Beniss might look like a human teenager, but she was a fae of some power. Suddenly, Eilidh felt a sharp call in her mind.

“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.”

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.