A Ruin of Roses (Deliciously Dark Fairytales #1)(62)

Was that why he kept that field tended? Had he done it to help me?

Suddenly it was hard to breathe.

I turned in the direction of home, and my animal bled energy into me. I nearly asked why she had her own stores of energy and power, but I wasn’t in the mood. There were a great many things about her, about me, that probably wouldn’t make any sense until I could shift. For now, I’d just take the help and continue on.

A blanket of weak, twinkling lights dotted the black overhead, the only star of substance being the Southern Light, something I often used to guide my way. I used it now, moving as fast as I could while avoiding reaching roots and vines.

A snarl caught my attention, away left. Fear trickled into my blood. That wasn’t Nyfain’s sound. The creatures of the Forbidden Wood were out.

I racked my brain. Had anyone at the castle said anything about other shifters retaining their ability to shift? If Nyfain could transform, then he probably wasn’t the only one. Maybe the wood really wasn’t dangerous at all. Maybe it was just a bunch of guardians securing their ancestral lands.

Except Nyfain had attacked the mockingbird of terror.

Then again, it had been coming after me. Maybe it had been a pissed-off villager?

No, I couldn’t discount all of the scars cut into Nyfain’s robust, muscular frame. They spoke of years of constant battle. If the creatures of the wood could do that to his beast form, what chance did I have without shifting?

So much for watering down the fear pumping through my blood.

Okay, folks, we’re just going to quiet down now. Let’s slow those feet and step carefully. But what will we do about this spotlight on us?

What the fuck are you talking about? my animal asked.

How did one explain their idiosyncrasies when very afraid?

A screech caught my attention, reverberating through the trees. It seemed like it had come from everywhere and nowhere. A roar turned into a distorted sort of howl, like it came from some sort of zombie wolf.

I’d always heard zombies weren’t real. That they were a story made up to scare children around campfires. Then again, I’d also heard no one could shift and that the beast was a creature of the night instead of the broken prince with a curse hanging around his neck. I no longer had much faith in my peers.

A root caught my shoe, and I dove headfirst into a brittle fern. My knees scraped the ground, and my light tumbled into a cluster of dried grass.

“Shitballs,” I bit out, up as fast as I could and trying to stomp on the quickly catching blaze. It zipped across the ground and spread, licking up a tree. I stomped through it, feeling the press of eyes on me. I’d created a beacon for the creatures of the night to find me.

Run, my animal said.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Before I could even turn, the blaze dimmed and then winked out, as though the wood were fire-resistant.

Enchantment? I asked, not hanging around.

This place isn’t right.

No shit, huh? What other incredibly obvious observations do you have for me?

You could use a thesaurus.

Shut up, I inwardly growled, seeing familiarities all around me now. That tall and thin bush with the frayed top, the willow with the bald spot at the top—I was close to home. Not far now.

A humanlike scream froze my blood. It ended in a sort of wheezing groan, much too loud for my liking.

Zombies better not be real, folks, or I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life.

I’m getting concerned about who you think you are talking to, my animal thought, pumping power through me. I’m going to see how much of this pairing I can take over before the need to change claws at me. Hang on tight.

Hang on tight to what?

Fucking hell, the simplemindedness of that castle is wearing off on you. It’s an expression. One I know because you learned it.

Her presence pushed against me, shoving me aside, and then she was taking over my limbs. The complexities of scent overloaded me until I slunk farther back, letting her handle them. Our speed dramatically increased. She kept going, taking more control. Trying to work with a body she didn’t know well—I could feel the confusion creeping in. I felt the itching along our skin and the pumping of power ready to turn into an explosion. My hair started to tingle, and my back felt like knives were being stuck through me. The darkness receded, though.

Shapes loomed around us, mostly blacks, whites, and yellows.

That’s…about…as far as I can push it, she thought, and I could feel her struggling.

Wasting no time, she picked up the pace, light of step and agile, even if she would have preferred to be on four feet. She jumped over roots that I might’ve stumbled on and avoided brittle bushes or crackling twigs that would have given us away.

My hand reached into my pocket and extracted the pocketknife. She opened the blade as a drumbeat of adrenaline pounded through us. Something was coming.

“Ha-ha-ha!” It sounded like a man’s voice—after one hundred years of cigarettes and choking on swamp slime. “Ha-ha-ha!”

It wasn’t laughing. The being was literally saying those words as though attempting to fool someone into thinking it was both human and having a jolly time.

Here we go.

A distinctly human shape stepped out from behind a tree up ahead. It wore worn clothing pocked with holes, and part of its scalp had rotted off. Jutting teeth filled its mouth, and the jaw looked unhinged.