Page 107 of The Violet Raven

The creature freezes, her head tilting slightly as her glowing, rage-filled eyes shift from Finn to me. Slowly, the fury seems to dull, her ethereal form trembling as though caught in some internal struggle.

Up close, she is more human than I’d imagined. Beneath the blood and wildness, traces of what she had once been linger. She’d been young, vibrant, even beautiful. But those qualities are distant echoes now, buried beneath the weight of her hatred and sorrow.

Her lips move as if trying to form words, the effort strained and unfamiliar. A fragmented, guttural sound emerged, soft and hesitant.

“An gortóidh sé thú?” she asks at last, her voice carrying the lilting tones of a question.

I don’t understand, but Finn’s breath hitches behind me. His voice comes low and steady, laced with a conviction that makes my heart twist.

“I would never hurt her,” he says, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade as he rises and steps closer. “She is mine. I would die before letting harm come to her.”

The creature’s glowing eyes flick back to Finn, narrowing as if weighing the truth of his words. Her bloodied hand rises slowly, pointing toward the man still gasping weakly on the ground. The gesture is deliberate, her meaning clear.

“Cosain í, onóraigh í.”

I glance at Finn, my heart pounding. I don’t know what she is saying, but somehow Finn does. The creature’s eyes return to mine, and for a fleeting moment, something softer flickers within them—an emotion I can’t name, but one that makes the tension in my chest ease.

She moves back; her form fading slightly as the shadows of the forest creep in to swallow her whole. But before she disappears completely, she pauses, her head tilting once more toward Finn.

Her voice, faint and distant, carries a last whisper.

“Cosain í.”

The forest seems to hold its breath as the creature’s presence fully dissolves, leaving us alone with the task she’d silently entrusted to Finn—and the man still writhing on the ground, his pleas now nothing more than feeble whimpers.

Finn’s focus shifts entirely to the man.

Something changes in his stance—his usual steady presence now radiates an unrelenting, burning fury. His shoulders square, his jaw clenches, and his breaths come harder, faster, as though his rage is the only thing keeping him upright.

“Finn,” I whisper, reaching for him, unsure of how to anchor him at this moment.

But he doesn’t look at me. His eyes, stormy and dark, locked on the figure writhing in the dirt.

With deliberate steps, Finn closes the distance between them, the weight of his footsteps like distant thunder. There is no hesitation, no faltering in his movements.

The man’s eyes widen further, his whimpers turning to desperate pleas as Finn looms over him. “Please—help me.”

“You think you can beg yer way out of this?” Finn spits, his voice trembling with rage.

I stand frozen. This isn’t the Finn who always holds his emotions in check, who thinks before he acts. This is raw, unbridled rage—passion so intense it borders on terrifying. Driven by a fire I’ve never witnessed in him before.

“Tell me who hired you, and I’ll consider sparin’ you.” The man coughs, choking on his own breath.

“Speak,” Finn commands, his voice low and lethal, sending a shiver down my spine. “Who sent you?”

“A... man,” he rasps, barely audible. “Tall… gold hair…”

Finn edges closer. “Give me more, or I’ll make sure it’s slower.”

The man’s body shudders from the pain. “Said… some pudgy lass reckoned… reckoned she knew where ya was headed. We split up in three… to find ya quicker.”

Finn’s head snaps toward me, his stormy eyes lock onto me, and they promise destruction.

“Colina?” I say so low I’m not sure the wind will carry the sound to him.

He turns back to the man. “I need names.”

The man groans, his head lolling to the side. “Didn’t… say. Just said… she told ‘em where ye’d be… she was sure of it.”