Unhooked(72)

Rowan’s expression mirrors my thoughts exactly—neither of us wants to meet whatever it is that can chase away the Dark Ones.

Without a word, Rowan takes me by the hand and picks a new path at random. Behind us, around us, the jungle crackles with life, but the sound isn’t the steady pulse of before. The trees rustle more erratically and urgently as we break into a run. Behind us, the crackling rush of a tree falling pushes us to move faster.

At first I think we’re putting distance between us and whatever’s out there. But when the path empties out into a small clearing, I see we’ve reached a dead end. In front of us, a rocky precipice rises straight and sheer, blocking our path. Around us, the jungle shudders as the path we’ve just come down closes.

Rowan’s eyes meet mine. His expression is tight with the knowledge I’ve already comprehended—whatever’s out there wasn’t chasing us. It was herding us.

“What do we do?” I whisper.

“You still have the dagger I gave you, aye?”

I glance over at him. “Yeah.”

“Keep it out.”

The jungle shudders again. Another crackling rush of trees falling just beyond out view. And then the foliage at the edge of the clearing shakes.

“Steady, lass,” he tells me as two enormous creatures emerge from the still-silent jungle.

Of all the things I’ve seen since I’ve come to this world, of all the horrors I’ve witnessed, these creatures are the most horrible, the most terrifying yet. These beasts are more than twice as tall as any man, and they are like nothing I could have imagined.

Their long, claw-tipped arms and legs are corded with sinewy muscle that ripples and shifts as they move. Bloodred eyes set into their massive shoulders watch us as the beasts lumber into the clearing on long, powerfully muscled legs. Their leathery skin is drawn tight over their misshapen bodies, and their whole torso seems to be nothing but a huge, gaping mouth ringed with rows of teeth. Those horrible jaws are already open in anticipation, cavernous voids built to consume. To devour.

And the smell of them. They make the entire clearing reek with the stomach-turning stench of bloated, rotten corpses and the bitterness of despair.

The beasts close in slowly, taking their time, as though they know we have no chance of retreat, nowhere to run. Next to me, Rowan shifts, balancing his attention on both of the monsters. I raise the dagger I’m holding too. Not that I have any hope of actually injuring one of these creatures, much less killing one, but if I’m going to die here, I won’t die without a fight.

“Gwendolyn.” Rowan’s voice is tight, urgent. “If there is any sort of Fey magic you might consider working, now would be the time to be doing it.” He glances at me, taking his attention away from the beasts only for a second. “A rescue, perhaps?”

A rescue? I look up at the sheer cliff face behind me—I doubt I can make something that big disappear. There’s no way to climb it, and no way to get around these creatures. No way to escape.

Rowan sends me another impatient look, his sword at the ready as one of the beasts gnashes its horrible teeth and lets out a growl that sounds like the grinding of bones. Its long arms are tipped with massive clawed hands that swipe at him.

He swings his sword savagely to fend off the blow, but the tip of the monster’s claw catches his arm and shreds the sleeve of his coat. The rods of his arm glint beneath the gaping tear. “Anytime now, lass,” he says, turning to ward off the second beast before it can lunge.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, my voice rising in panic. The second beast is watching me with those bloodred eyes, but Rowan darts in front of me before it can attack.

“We both know what you did in the tunnel, Gwendolyn. Try something. Anything,” he demands, his voice tight with more than impatience as he swivels to account for the other beast’s location. “You’re half bloody Fey, aren’t you?”

“I—” The second beast lunges for me, but I stab at it with the dagger. Surprised, it backs away, shifting uneasily on its strong legs as it considers me with its burning eyes. “I don’t know how.” I clench my hands into tight fists. I’m still not sure what made the rock disappear in the tunnels. I have no idea what I finally did to get him out of that prison.

“Figure it out,” he snaps, fending off another attack. “I have bet everything on you—my life, my friend. My crew.”

“I know.” My voice comes out angrier than I intended. “But it’s not like I asked for this. It didn’t come with a set of instructions.”

“You don’t need a set of bloody instructions, Gwendolyn. It’s what you are. And if you don’t stop running from it, we’re not going to be making it out of this particular mess alive.”

I take a shuddering breath as the truth of what he’s saying hits me at full force. He’s right. After all the horrors and mistakes, if we die here, at the hands of these monsters, it will be my fault. Because even with all I’ve seen, all I’ve done, there is a part of me that is still afraid to accept what I’ve come to know about myself. Because accepting it means letting go of the brittle belief that I could be a simple girl, a normal girl.

Because I’m not a normal girl—I’ve never been one. My mom knew that when she uprooted us time and time again. She knew that when she took a knife and sliced into my arm to try to protect me.