Page 57 of Fang & Fury

Silence followed these words.

Eventually, Kayla dragged a hand down her blood-splattered face. “The Reaper’s turds,” she muttered. “I’m coming too then.”

The huntress surveyed them, eyebrows raised. “Have you all lost your minds?”

“Looks like it.” A deep scowl now furrowed Darach’s brow. “How about you?”

Fern pulled a face, her gaze flicking between them. Moments passed, and then she sighed before nodding.

Ailsa stiffened. She hadn’t expected this reaction from any of them. “None of you have to do this,” she said softly. “Make camp nearby, and I’ll rejoin you at dawn.”

All the while, she was aware of her mother silently watching their exchange, of the stares of the other bavaan who weren’t feeding around them. Her skin prickled under the scrutiny.

None of her companions answered her, making it clear they’d made up their minds.

There wasn’t a part of Darach’s body that didn’t ache.

Exhaustion dragged at him; his thigh muscles quivered with each step.

He’d barely noticed while he’d been fighting in the clag-doo’s skin, but he’d taken a few blows. Most of the blades had glanced off the beast’s thick pelt, although one or two had dug into its flesh.

As a result, he had a cut to his left thigh and his right shoulder still trickled blood.

They needed tending; however, there was no chance of that.

Not yet anyway.

He looked ahead then, past Fern and Kayla, to where Ailsa walked beside her mother. They were the same height, both tall and willowy. However, Isleen walked with a gliding motion.

His gut tightened.

Those cloven hoofs—he’d caught glimpses of them earlier.

Fuck.

The last thing he wanted was to be following bavaan through the trees to their home—he had his brother to deal with, after all—yet here he was.

He stumbled on, weaving in and out of twisted pines along what looked like a deer track. Eerie silver light illuminated the path ahead.

Fortunately, most of the bavaan had stayed behind to finish draining the fallen warriors of blood. Darach tried not to think about that, or the hungry looks those faeries had given him earlier. Some followed behind their small party, a guard of sorts, and having his back to them made him nervous.

At least he wasn’t naked now, though. Before leaving the clearing, he’d gathered clothing from the fallen: boots, breeches, and a leather vest. Some of the clothing was covered in mud and blood, but he didn’t care. He was filthy anyway, and now that he was dressed, the clothing felt a little like armor.

He’d also wanted to swipe some weapons, a few daggers to tuck into his belt, but the bavaan made it clear they were all to leave their weapons behind—something that went against every instinct he had. Nonetheless, the faeries hated iron and wouldn’t permit any of them to carry it.

They followed the deer track west, deeper into the pinewood. He wasn’t sure how long they walked, but in his current physical state, it seemed endless. Above the treetops, the moon rose, casting a hoary light over the trees, and a low, rounded hill rose before them now.

Darach’s gaze narrowed.

It looked a little like a knowe—a trow burrow—or one of the barrows that the Shee used to travel between realms. But it was neither.

Thick moss and ferns covered the mound, with hazels growing from its flanks. Great roots snaked over it.

At first, he saw no entrance. Then Isleen moved ahead of Ailsa and ducked beneath a curtain of ivy where the roots parted, revealing an opening around four feet high. Pale silvery light glowed from within, and the scent of damp earth reached him.

He started to sweat then.

It wasn’t a good idea for a man to walk into a place like this.