Page 47 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

It’s dark, but I don’t miss the sharp claws that slash across Odhran’s chest, tearing his leather armour to ribbons. He turns, wielding his shadows like swords, a sharp black blade in each hand, separating the creature’s arm from its torso in one swift swoop.

A cry sends birds to the sky, leaving their roosts in favour of safety.

Odhran turns his head, looking at me as shadows ensnare the creature at his feet. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes narrowing into a glare. I realise that I’d stopped running. Out of shock, perhaps. Odhran’s eyes are as black as the ink spilling down his cheeks in countless rivers of pitch.

“Come here,” he orders. His voice is rough. Virile. Dangerous. “Come here and finish what you started.”

My eyes grow two sizes as I stare back at him.

The creature bucks against its constraints, rooted to the path in cords of black. When I’m closer, I can see the sharp black tips of Odhran’s fingers. He can end my life, right here, right now, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. No one could.

He reaches to the row of black daggers sheathed against his ribs and gives one to me. The blade isn’t much longer than my hand when I accept it. Odhran looks every bit the violent monster, twin to the one at his feet. For a moment, I forget where I am. I forget what brought me here. It’s all lost in a haze.

“Don’t try to stab him in the chest. You aren’t strong enough to break through his ribcage. The blade will only get lodged there, and you’ll lose your weapon.” His eyes slowly turn their familiar light grey. “Here.” His hand closes around mine, positioning the tip of my blade below his ribs. “You enter here and thrust upward as hard as you can. Don’t stop until he does.” He.

I nod hesitantly, feeling nothing like the predator he’s instructing me to become.

It’s been a long time since I tasted human, it had said. Tasted and longed to taste again. I allow my hatred to seep into my bones, my anger becoming my strength. Kneeling over the creature, I thrust the blade into its flesh beneath its ribs. It struggles, kicking me and knocking me sideways onto the gravel path.

This time I push harder. Further. Its movements still. Its cry is diminished to no more than a strangled wheeze. Its face. Its face… It loses its horrific mask, its features becoming more… more human.

“Not human. Faerie,” Aed rumbles beneath my skin, bristling with raw rage. “This is what they become without the taste of human blood. This is why they reap humans. The gods have cursed them for abandoning their beliefs. For being unappreciative of the gifts bestowed upon them as superior beings. Now they are doomed to feed on mortals for survival, and so too, mortals find the same benefits in consuming faerie blood. It is healing and immortalizing if consumed regularly.”

I scramble back. It’s blood—a faerie man’s blood—is warm against my skin.

“What will it take for you to realise that I’m not the one you need to be running from?”

I don’t focus on where Odhran is, not realising he’s right next to me, lowering onto his haunches.

My hands open, and the blade falls. What have I done?

“Run, and you’ll most likely die,” he tells me. “Stay with me. Help me… and I’ll keep you safe.” He touches my heel and pain ensues. “We need to treat this.”

This is probably the ideal moment to respond in some or other way. But I don’t think I do. I should, but I don’t know if I can. I’m too numb. Too lost within myself. All I can see are my hands coated in deep crimson. That same crimson pooling on the gravel at my feet. The scene replays in my mind, over and over again, until I’m not sure it was me at all.

TWENTY-FOUR

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Bargain marks are not visible for all to see. Only the one entering said bargain wears the mark.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

“Bryndis…” My name is a growl on Odhran’s lips, making me gasp. The sound is harsh and primal. Every muscle in my body goes rigid when his eyes linger on me. When his judgement sears through my skin.

“Bryndis.” I don’t look up at him; instead, I push to my feet. The faerie I just killed is still limp on the gravel path beside me. His blood pools and runs through each small crevice between the many stones, soaking into the earth below. I smell its rich copper scent, but it doesn’t disgust me. I took a life, and what shocks me isn’t my remorse; it’s the lack thereof.

“Take me back,” I command, wiping my bloodied hands on my black pants. Black. It’s more practical than I thought. Try as I might, my cuticles remain flooded while dark red fills the gaps beneath my nails. My skin bears its pink stains. The sight is appalling. I am appalling, and it’s his fault.

“His fault. He made you a murderer.”

“Bryndis, look at me.” His tone softens to a muted rumble. There’s a pause of silence between us when I refuse to look up at him. Refuse to let him see my hands tremble. Refuse to lift my chin so he can see my eyes and the emotions hidden in them. My fingers grow cold and numb as I stare blankly at them while curling them in toward my upturned palms. Slowly. Each moment is like an eternity passing in the blink of an eye.

“Or don’t.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m trying. You feel like a prisoner in my home, so I slacken my safety protocols. You run; I tell Sloan to allow it. You almost get eaten fucking alive; I assist in taking down the threat.” He pauses again, and I know he’s looking at me. I know it with every tingle chased down my spine. “Still, I am the enemy. What would you have me do, Slìbhìn? Beg? I’m afraid that’s a bridge too far.”

“Take. Me. Back. Odhran.” I spit out his name as if it were a bitter poison on my tongue. A peculiar numbness overcomes my senses, creeping through me like an infection.

“Not until you look me in my eyes.”