Page 122 of A Courage of the Chosen

“Who would want to be buried here?” Brodie murmurs.

Because that’s a tomb, and it too, is covered in the runes marking every inch of Ruival.

We move slow, waiting to see any signs of life. It seems completely deserted beyond that presence swirling through the wind. Drawing closer to the mouth of the cave, the energy that exists between atoms constricts like it’s trying to smother us, while the will-o-the-wisp continues to glow in the dimness.

“You shall not enter.”

Heart in my mouth, Cal and Brodie jump in front of us, drawing the only weapons we have.

Materializing from nothing, thirty figures garbed in heavy dark cloaks have gathered around us in two rows, leaving no room for escape except the caves.

Druids.

“Where the fuck did they come from?” Rach gulps. Our hearing is fine-tuned, Cal’s perhaps better than the rest of us, and even he hadn’t heard them approach.

Brodie sighs and sheathes his weapon but his back remains ramrod straight. Callahan doesn’t follow suit, just moves so he’s stood at my side rather than in front of me.

“You shall not enter.” They speak as one, voices blending together in an ominous timbre. Their identities are kept hidden beneath deep hoods as billowing sleeves defend their hands from the bitter wind.

From the tone of their voices, they all seem to be men.

Looking over my shoulder, the will-o-the-wisp beckons, pleading with me to follow into the depths of the mountain. “We must,” I reply.

“The Chosen has come. But she does not bring balance with her.”

Chapter 35

Callahan

The color drains from Elsie’s face, and my twin’s eyes grow wide as she looks to her best friend, mouth slightly agape.

“We will not permit another to corrupt,” the Druids rumble, in a tone that leans toward aggressive. Tension creeps over my shoulders and into my neck.

The fear around Elsie becomes so tangible I can smell it rolling off her. I dive down the bond, but she’s wrapped her mind in an impassable shield. “What are they talking about?” I ask anyway.

In synchronization, they lift their hands to lower their hoods.

“Oh, shit,” Brodie mutters, almost panicked. What the fuck does he know that I don’t about these people?

My question is answered as thirty men show us their faces. Or what’s left of them.

Their skin is as pale as the moon, and wrinkles so deep they’re more like grooves stretch in continuous, unnaturally neat lines from the Druids’ necks and all the way over their bald heads, mimicking the indentations of tree bark.

It’s obvious that these Seelie are much, much, older than anyone realizes. There’s still some muscle mass to them, but not a lot. With sunken faces, prominent cheekbones, and lips stretched tight over skeletal mouths, the Druids could pass as a relation to the Brollachan.

But it’s not their age that makes Elsie take a reflexive step away from them, or has Brodie tugging Rachel nearer to him.

It’s the blue runes that dance beneath their alabaster complexion, and the clouded eyes, with only a single ring of cyan for an iris, the same shade as the profound magic within them. The runes crawl and overlap like they don’t know where to settle, and glow brightly in the darkness.

I knew they worshipped Dhia, completely and utterly devoted to our goddess in every sense. But this is beyond devotion and worship. This is her magic in its purest form, and like nothing I’ve ever seen.

The energy we felt as we got close to Ruival swells. With its rise, the runes disappear, and the Druid’s skin becomes more prominent. The markings weren’t only inside them, but are in fact scars, brutally etched everywhere. Without the gleam of Dhia’s magic, the Druids turn into corpses, with ghoulish, unblinking eyes.

“What. The. Fuck,” Rach breathes.

“I told you,” Brodie replies.

Elsie still hasn’t said anything, and her stare is locked on the tallest Druid that stands in the middle. I really don’t fucking like that every single one of them is staring at Elsie like they want to devour her.