Page 106 of The Violet Raven

Before the man can adjust, the phantom’s hand shoots out, seizing him by the throat. He struggles, his hands clawing uselessly at the pale, unearthly grip that holds him aloft. For a moment, his legs kick violently in the air, and then comes the sound.

A sickening crack.

The man’s body goes limp, his head lolling unnaturally to the side as the figure drops him to the ground like a discarded doll.

The others shout in horror, their panic now spiralling out of control. One of them stumbles backward, his weapon slipping from his trembling hands. The ghostly woman turns toward them, her glowing form seeming to grow brighter as the surrounding darkness deepens.

My breath stutters, my limbs locking as the scene unfolds before me. Every instinct begs me to run, to turn away—but I can’t.

I take a slow step back, a tangled rush of relief and fear surging through me. But the movement is clumsy, my foot pressing down on a brittle twig. The sharp snap shatters the fragile silence.

The creature’s head jerks up with unnatural speed, her eyes locking onto mine—bright, furious, unyielding. They blaze with an intensity that roots me to the spot.

She lets out another bone-chilling scream, more powerful and fear inducing than the first. The sound vibrates through the air like a physical force, rattling my teeth and sending a piercing ache through my skull. I drop to my knees, clutching my ears, desperate to block it out.

But the scream isn’t meant for me. I don’t know what it is—whether ally or enemy—but for now; it stands in my favour.

The slim figure darts through the underbrush like an arrow loosed from a master’s bow, swift and precise, each movement a seamless blend of grace and urgency as the shadows of the forest swallow her whole.

I truly can’t believe what I’m seeing. It’s as if the creature has risen from the depths of forgotten legends and childhood night terrors. Its eyes flaring with fury as it launches itself at the remaining six men. Their screams echoing through the woods. My hands press harder against my ears as I bend at the waist, my gaze fixed on the forest floor. Each crunch of bone and wet thud is a grisly punctuation to their cries.

One of the men that pinned me down falls into my line of sight with a heavy thud, his body crumpling like a discarded puppet. His lifeless eyes stare back at me, frozen wide in a terror that even death can’t erase.

I can’t look away, the image searing itself into my mind. My chest heaves, each breath catching on the edge of a sob as I try to ground myself.

Then, from the shadows, a hand snakes around my waist, firm but gentle. Before I can cry out, another hand covers my mouth, silencing the gasp that tears from my throat.

“Shh, Little Doe. Calm down. It’s me.” The voice is low and familiar, pulling me back from the precipice of panic. “Ye’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

He wraps himself around me, his body a shield, his arms steady and sure as they anchor me against him. For a moment, I sag into his hold, too drained and overwhelmed to resist. The tension in my limbs gives way to a trembling exhaustion as I let his words sink in.

Safe.

The last man remaining is the pathetic man who tried to defile me. He crawls backward through the underbrush, his face a mask of desperation. His pants, still bunched around his knees, keep him from fleeing outright. He stumbles and falls, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he tries to put distance between himself and the phantom still lurking in the shadows.

I sense the moment Finn considers the scene in front of him. Finn’s arms tighten around me, and his grip on me is incorruptible. He’s trying to regulate his breaths, but the tremor in his hands is betraying the storm of emotions he’s failing to suppress.

“Did he—” Finn’s voice cracks, his question cutting off as he tries to steady himself. I shake my head, needing to reassure him and myself that I’m still in one piece. That the proclamations this morally repugnant man made weren’t a permanent reality for me.

Finn’s hand slips from my mouth, his touch trailing down to the base of my neck, where it lingers. His fingers are warm and steady, a quiet reassurance in the chaos still swirling around us.

“We need to get out of here,” he says, his voice tight, but the weight of the moment keeps us both frozen.

I know better.

We aren’t leaving. Not yet. Something holds us here, rooted to this place, to the man cowering before us. I can feel it in the stillness of Finn’s body, in the way his breathing slows but remains heavy with rage. The air itself feels heavier, charged with an energy I don’t fully understand.

The man’s eyes bulge with terror, his pitiful attempts to scramble away thwarted by his trembling limbs and tangled trousers.

“Please, no!” he begs, his voice a high-pitched whimper. “We was only playin’ around. It wasn’t serious. We would never—”

He doesn’t finish.

There is no mercy in her movements. The spectre descends upon him with the precision of a predator and the fury of vengeance long overdue. Her long nails sink deep into his abdomen, and with a sickening sound, she drags them upward. Blood gushes freely, his screams turning to weak, gurgling gasps as his body convulses.

She rears back; her face splattered with crimson, and lets out a piercing scream directed solely at Finn. The sound tears through the air, vibrating like the toll of some unholy bell.

On instinct, I rip myself from Finn’s grasp, stumbling forward as I brace for an impact that never comes.