Because this fae monster holds my mother’s book.
Heart racing, I bend my knees so I can get a better look. No, it couldn’t be, please let it be anything but that. But sure enough, the book has the all-too-familiar markings on its front and spine.
The four other fae walk slowly around the fire to each touch the man, chanting, whispering. They caress him like lovers, like sycophants, like supplicants who see him as a god. The leader comes to a stop and opens the book. His lips move, but I can’t hear the words he says. At the same time, the other individuals begin dancing once more. The pale blond chops off a braid from behind his ram’s horn and throws it into the fire. The antlered man rips a piece of his clothing and quickly reduces it to ash. Oren runs a bejeweled dagger down his palm and holds it over the fire to allow his blood to drip into it. The fire changes color, going from a normal orange, to bright white, a deep red, and then an unnatural black streaked with purple and white.
Then, the leader closes the book, and raises it over his head. He’s going to throw it into the fire, I realize. Foolish instinct to protect that worn tome takes over. I push up off the ground.
“No,” I whisper. “Please don’t.” The book is all I have as proof of the mother who loved me. It was supposed to be the last gift from my father. None of the fae notice me now standing atop the ridge. They’re all too focused on the man and the book.
He begins to move his arms; gravity is now in control.
“No!” I scream and charge forward.
The fae turn toward me. I would be frozen with fear if not for the momentum the slope of the ridge gives me. I run, arms pinwheeling; I’m off-balance. The man’s hands leave the book as I close the gap. Everything happens with surreal slowness as the book falls through the air.
The fae with the butterfly wings charges for me, but the others seem too stunned to do anything. I duck around the woman and jump for the book before it can meet the flames, but my foot catches on a root. My ankle crunches, I twist. It’s too late, I’m too far off-balance. How did I close so much distance so fast? How did I ever get this close to fae while still breathing?
Not that it matters with the way I’m falling…
The man’s eyes widen, a vibrant emerald shade—the same color as spring, as the rebirth of the earth itself—unnatural, stunning. We lock gazes and my breath is stolen from me. His terrifying beauty is the last thing I see before I fall into the flames, and the world explodes with white heat.
