But she’d waited too long and he was already fleeing.
* * * * *
Tyriel was polishing Irian when Aryn came through the door in the early morning on their day off. He spotted her and frowned.
“That isn’t necessary,” he said.
Sliding him a neutral glance, she responded, “It is if I want to speak with the enchanter and you aren’t available. Any luck finding a bed mate? This is too small a village for the Whore’s Guild to have a hall, but there’s no shortage of available women, I’d imagine.”
“Ah…”
“Too personal a question?”
“A bit, yes,” he snapped. “Maybe you’re used to celibacy, but I’m not.”
“That wasn’t why I asked. Although why you’d pay for sex when you could find a willing partner…” She shrugged. “But…again, that’s not why I ask.”
“Then why are you asking about my bedmates?”
Turning her head, she watched Irian flicker into view now that his bearer was there.
This…being wanted her, had used Aryn’s body to take her. Misery almost overwhelmed her. An enchanter long gone from the world desired her desperately. And he could only exist by forcing his will on the man Tyriel wanted with equal desperation.
The temper clouding Aryn’s eyes faded as he saw Irian. “What is amiss?”
“The enchanter and I have been…discussing the situation. I had a problem of sorts when I did a bit of magic. Small, very small, but something seemed to have been waiting for it and tried to grab me. He failed, miserably, and I got an idea of what and where he was.”
“And what, pray tell, what do I have to do with anything this?” Aryn asked, confused, looking from Tyriel to Irian. “Or my bedmates?”
“How do you feel about bloodsport and pain in your sex, brother?” And the enchanter proceeded to fill Aryn in on what Tyriel had learned.
* * * * *
Aryn’s stomach was roiling.
His entire body shook with rage, yet he felt slightly ill.
Staring at Tyriel, Aryn thanked the Gods Irian had finally gone silent.
After what Irian had relayed, he wanted little more than to race down the streets and find the house she spoke of. And kill. Murder. Maim. Mutilate. The last thing he needed was the bloodthirsty rumblings of an ancient warrior murmuring in his ear.
“When the night lies heavily, Aryn. Only then,” Tyriel said quietly. “The mage was looking for a new offering.”
“An offering.” Aryn shook his head. “Is this mage the one who has been grabbing children? It’s not yet the Solstice, so it should be a while before there is another attempt.”
“He’s growing more impatient.” Tyriel shifted on the bed, swinging around so her back pressed to the wall. Her pretty face set in hard lines, she looked at him fire alight in her golden eyes. “I can’t truly see everything within him, but he seeks worship. He has…followers, like a god. Their offerings fuel his magic but only for a time. Blood, pain, fear…sex, all of these can boost a blood mage’s power. Spells that feed off a lifeforce are strongest on the Solstices, but there are certain spells a blood mage can do…like on a dark moon…that will give another boost. He’s becoming addicted to it and he needs that power surge more and more.”
“You think that’s why he took a girl just a few weeks past,” Aryn said, eyes narrowing. “He’s losing control.”
“Yes. And for him to be looking for another offering so soon…this doesn’t bode well, Aryn.” Eyes troubled, she drew one knee to her chest and looped her arms around it. “I can’t explain what it felt like when he sensed me. But he was so…hungry. Ravenous. He’s been looking since the new moon. His followers brought him a slave child, hiding her as they came through the village gates. He meant to make her last but he was careless.”
“Careless.” Aryn kept the rage from his voice, but only barely. “Is the girl dead?”
“I believe so, yes.” Eyes flat, she looked out the window. “I picked up little beyond regret she hadn’t lasted long enough—and his…impatience. He feels safe in taking another from the streets here again. He prefers the street kids here, older youths prone to disappear as they head off to larger towns in hopes of changing their fortune. They’re rarely missed, even in a town so small. People like that, well, they are easy marks. But he’s been known to…cast a broader net from time to time, especially if he senses a tasty morsel, as he considers it. And apparently, I’m quite tasty.”
“So he thinks to take you. He must not know what you are.”
Tyriel laughed.
The cold edge to that laugh set the hair on Aryn’s neck and arms on end.
The sharp-edged smile was even more chilling.
But most unsettling of all was how Tyriel started to glow—as if a luminescent light lived just under her skin.
Even Irian took note. Aryn could feel the enchanter’s sudden watchfulness as he took in the magical being before him.
“Tyriel?”
Her lashes swept down and the glow dimmed. Aryn watched as the glow slowly sank back inside her skin until it was gone.
“I apologize, Aryn.” She sighed and shivered.
Something about it made Aryn think of a great bird settling its swings. A bird of prey.
Her lashes swept up and Aryn realized she hadn’t pulled in all her…power, magic, whatever it was that had caused the glow.
It still burned in her eyes. Miniature suns burned behind golden-brown of her irises, turning them to blazing, fire-drenched jewels.
“It’s nothing, my friend.” She flexed her hands and wisps of colorful light dripped from her fingers. “Magic lives and breathes in me. It’s in my every breath. And when I get frustrated or angry…” Her gaze fell away and she shrugged. “Strong emotions bring it out. I can control it, but I only do it when I feel it’s necessary.” She arched a brow. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll hide myself.”
“No.” Aryn would not tell her that he’d found the ethereal light rather…lovely. Disconcerting, yes, but lovely. The air was still heavy with the pulse of her magic, a silence weighed down with tension as the whole world seem to…wait. Just wait, to see if the fae woman acted. “I still intend to have you as a partner after we see this done. I’d say I best accustom myself to the ways of a Wildling fae.”
“You might yet regret that, Aryn.” Tyriel’s lips bowed, but the smile faded as she looked back to the window. “I can still feel his magic, pushing and probing, trying to get past my shields. It was like a nhui, shoving its fingers into my brain, trying to suck my life away.”
Aryn grimaced, the memory of his one and only encounter with a nhui rising up from the recesses of his mind. “And yet you sit here calmly instead of shuddering and cringing like a babe. You’re a stronger soul than me, Tyriel. I’ve only dealt with a nhui once and it was one time too many. Sometimes, I still have nightmares.”
“You’ve dealt with nhui? On your own?” Her brows winged up.
He gave a short nod, rising to pace over the window. He’d stripped down to his trousers to wash when he’d returned and had yet to pull on a fresh shirt, his boots, or the weapons he wore as if they were clothing. “It’s been some years. It was shortly after my foster father died. He was my mentor as well as my father, his only home the only one I’d ever really known. His death was…unexpected. He’d planned to see the town clerk and have his home and property deeded to me, as he and his wife had no children of their own. It never came to pass. After he died, his step-brother came to claim the home. I could have tried to fight it should I want to see it argued before one of the justices when they next traveled through, but without Ransu there, it was just a house, a building, not a home. So I left with nothing but my clothes and my sword. I hadn’t even the money for a horse at the time so I made my way on foot. I had no destination in mind, but found myself on the road to Thanisbridge.”