against the sudden pain and flopped onto the pallet, looked up at the clear, star-rich sky. “So Eric’s plan worked perfectly. He’s found a magic hunter to get his jewel.”
At last, Rane sat on his own pallet. She saw him lie back and fold his arms under his head. “And every day it takes me to get it, my brother dies a little more.”
“And we go a little more mad,” she whispered back.
* * *
“Where are we?”
Rane pulled up short as Kayla stopped and turned to him. She’d barely spoken since they’d begun their journey into the heart of the forest, and her voice was rough, unused to speech.
“Heading north. More than that, I don’t know.” He’d felt her agitation for the last hour, maybe more. She was walking slower, looking at where they were. Looking back at him.
Her looks were cool.
His attempt to apologize last night had not cleared the air. He hadn’t expected it to, but he preferred the fiery anger he’d seen in her yesterday to this quiet disappointment. That he deserved it made it no less palatable.
Having her in front of him all day, her hair tied back so he could see the delicate nape of her neck and a hint of the smoothness of her back, had aroused him far more than any woman he’d ever seen naked.
He had been fantasizing about taking the long stride that would bring him up against her, anchoring her to him around her waist and lowering his head, breathing in the scent of her before kissing that pale golden skin.
“What?”
Her voice was like the chop of an axe on stone. He jerked. She had stopped, and was standing facing him with a hand on her hip.
“What do you mean, what?”
“What are you thinking?
He made his face blank. “It’s near sunset. We need a little more haste. I want to find a good clearing to settle in for the night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We haven’t passed a single clearing since we started out this morning.”
“We’ve passed three. One on our right, two on our left.”
“Oh.” She hunched her shoulders, suddenly wilting, and the packs dropped with a thump. He hoped the golden apple was robust. “Will it come again? The wild magic?”
“I don’t know.”
With a sigh, she picked up the packs and looped them back on her shoulders. Turned to the path and continued on, her pace faster.
The path kinked right, twisting sharply, and she disappeared from sight for a moment. Even this small loss of contact jolted him, made him uneasy, and he took quick, long strides and slammed into the back of her.
Just as in his fantasy, he was forced to grab her around her waist, but it was to keep her from falling, not to make love to the back of her neck.
Her eyes were fixed ahead, and he followed her gaze, his heart sinking.
The weariness, the helplessness that he felt more and more when coming across the cruel jokes of wild magic, settled over him like the dust motes floating in the sunlight in the clearing ahead, swirling and falling, clinging to his skin, his clothes, his whole body.
A woman sat before them, beautiful beyond anything, placed exactly in a beam of light let in by a gap in the tall trees. She had long blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders, down onto her lap and came to rest just over her knees. Her dress was a pale blue, the back skirt longer than the front, so when she walked it would form a train, although now it draped prettily, perfectly, along the base of the tree stump she was sitting on.
But there was something wrong.
Of course there was something wrong.
A fly, black, grotesque, danced across her cheek, then dipped into her left eye, rubbing its little hands with glee.
And the woman did not brush it away. Did not blink. She did nothing, her hands serene and calm in her lap.
But her eyes.
They snapped and sparked, as alive as the rest of her was dead.
Kayla made a sound in the back of her throat, a cry and a sob in one. She twisted in his arms, lifting her face to his, and the horror of what she was feeling was in
At last, Rane sat on his own pallet. She saw him lie back and fold his arms under his head. “And every day it takes me to get it, my brother dies a little more.”
“And we go a little more mad,” she whispered back.
* * *
“Where are we?”
Rane pulled up short as Kayla stopped and turned to him. She’d barely spoken since they’d begun their journey into the heart of the forest, and her voice was rough, unused to speech.
“Heading north. More than that, I don’t know.” He’d felt her agitation for the last hour, maybe more. She was walking slower, looking at where they were. Looking back at him.
Her looks were cool.
His attempt to apologize last night had not cleared the air. He hadn’t expected it to, but he preferred the fiery anger he’d seen in her yesterday to this quiet disappointment. That he deserved it made it no less palatable.
Having her in front of him all day, her hair tied back so he could see the delicate nape of her neck and a hint of the smoothness of her back, had aroused him far more than any woman he’d ever seen naked.
He had been fantasizing about taking the long stride that would bring him up against her, anchoring her to him around her waist and lowering his head, breathing in the scent of her before kissing that pale golden skin.
“What?”
Her voice was like the chop of an axe on stone. He jerked. She had stopped, and was standing facing him with a hand on her hip.
“What do you mean, what?”
“What are you thinking?
He made his face blank. “It’s near sunset. We need a little more haste. I want to find a good clearing to settle in for the night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We haven’t passed a single clearing since we started out this morning.”
“We’ve passed three. One on our right, two on our left.”
“Oh.” She hunched her shoulders, suddenly wilting, and the packs dropped with a thump. He hoped the golden apple was robust. “Will it come again? The wild magic?”
“I don’t know.”
With a sigh, she picked up the packs and looped them back on her shoulders. Turned to the path and continued on, her pace faster.
The path kinked right, twisting sharply, and she disappeared from sight for a moment. Even this small loss of contact jolted him, made him uneasy, and he took quick, long strides and slammed into the back of her.
Just as in his fantasy, he was forced to grab her around her waist, but it was to keep her from falling, not to make love to the back of her neck.
Her eyes were fixed ahead, and he followed her gaze, his heart sinking.
The weariness, the helplessness that he felt more and more when coming across the cruel jokes of wild magic, settled over him like the dust motes floating in the sunlight in the clearing ahead, swirling and falling, clinging to his skin, his clothes, his whole body.
A woman sat before them, beautiful beyond anything, placed exactly in a beam of light let in by a gap in the tall trees. She had long blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders, down onto her lap and came to rest just over her knees. Her dress was a pale blue, the back skirt longer than the front, so when she walked it would form a train, although now it draped prettily, perfectly, along the base of the tree stump she was sitting on.
But there was something wrong.
Of course there was something wrong.
A fly, black, grotesque, danced across her cheek, then dipped into her left eye, rubbing its little hands with glee.
And the woman did not brush it away. Did not blink. She did nothing, her hands serene and calm in her lap.
But her eyes.
They snapped and sparked, as alive as the rest of her was dead.
Kayla made a sound in the back of her throat, a cry and a sob in one. She twisted in his arms, lifting her face to his, and the horror of what she was feeling was in
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