The sound of snow crunching underfoot was as perilous as the arrow that had just whizzed past her.
Her boots, a rich brown, were speckled with the falling snowflakes from the moment she’d stood up. Each step she took, the crunch of the snow beneath her boots gave away her location.
With a steady hand, Tara notched an arrow onto her bow, pulled back the string, and aimed. Wisps of her breath danced in the cold air.
Her eyes, along with the arrow’s tip, scanned for her target. Every sense was honed in on finding her adversary.
She halted, surrounded by five towering trees, and pointed to her right. He was there. She knew his tricks all too well.
She stood still, her gaze fixed on the snow-dusted rocks, and waited.
Suddenly, an arrow was launched in her direction, aimed straight for her heart. The arrow embedded itself in a tree, missing her by a hair’s breadth as she vanished.
Tara reappeared, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she spotted Airdan’s black jacket with gold trim. As she’d been taught, she aimed and let her arrow fly.
Her smile faded as Airdan narrowly escaped.
“Damn!” She cursed.
Airdan’s laughter echoed through the biting winter air, his mockery fueling her anger.
“You’ll never best your master, Tara.” His voice seemed to come from everywhere, goading her. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Two years had passed since she’d arrived at this Court, and she still couldn’t outdo the fae in a hunt. Despite his constant jibes, Tara had grown to love Airdan like a brother.
Airdan had become a beacon in her storm, a guiding hand to help her confront her fears.
As a fae, she had to learn to fight, to wield a weapon.
In those early days, two years prior, after numerous failed attempts with the sword and spear, Airdan discovered that the only weapon she could master was the bow and arrow.
It seemed she had a knack for aiming and hitting the target. Tara trained relentlessly, day and night, through fall and winter.
To an outsider, it might seem like she enjoyed it, that she was obsessed with perfecting her archery skills. But only she and Airdan knew the truth.
Her relentless training was a façade.
She needed to keep her mind busy, to feel the fatigue, the ache in her fingers and arms, anything to help her forget the lives she’d taken in Duskland.
Only sheer exhaustion could lull her to sleep.
Another arrow was launched at her, and Tara dodged it, aiming and firing at Airdan’s retreating figure.
She missed again.
Hunting wasn’t just a test of skill. It was a deadly game.
She glanced at the tip of her arrow. The shaft was made of wood, but the tip was coated in cold iron. A substance that could end a Fae’s immortality.
A few months ago, Lord Kieran had given Airdan permission to use these arrows on her. His reasoning was for her protection.
Tara was to build a resistance to cold iron. This would help her in the future to slow its effects.
It was no wonder Kieran always wore armor sewn with cold iron. He believed it no longer affected him.
A scream tore from her throat as a burning pain spread across her arm. Blood began to seep into her light blue jacket.
She fell to her knees, clutching the arrow and screaming as she yanked it out. Weakness washed over her.
The pain wasn’t as intense as the first time she’d been hit. She’d spent a month in a deep sleep after that, her muscles aching constantly.
But now, the damage wasn’t severe enough to knock her out before a real enemy. She wouldn’t die, but she’d need to rest for a few hours after the herbs were applied.
“You’ve lost again. Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Airdan appeared before her, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her into the grand house of the Lord of the Court of Fears.
A place marked by hues of black, green, and gold.
Kieran appeared suddenly, his translucent green eyes taking in the scene with a cool detachment. But Airdan knew that beneath his aloof exterior, Kieran cared for Tara.
He was always watching over her, monitoring her progress. And while Tara thought only Airdan knew about her nightmares, Kieran was also aware.
“Fetch the medicine, now!” Kieran barked at the young servant who was always stationed near Tara’s room.
Airdan laid Tara on her bed. Her body temperature began to plummet.
“Here it is, sir.” The young servant, with black eyes and hair the color of dark violets, handed over a vial of green liquid.
A concoction of poppy, sandalwood, and agave would surely counteract the iron poison.
Kieran, the lord, gently took the vial from the young man and moved towards her. He cradled her head softly. “Drink,” he ordered. She obeyed, her hands shaking as she opened her mouth and swallowed quickly.
She let out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
A hint of a smile softened Kieran’s stern expression. Tara’s wellbeing was his top concern. She was the mirror image of his dear sister, Lady Breena.
He could see traces of his sister in Tara’s actions.
He was determined to protect Tara at all costs. He knew Airdan would do the same. “Let her rest,” he commanded, making everyone else leave the room.
Tara pulled the blanket up to her chin, seeking warmth against the cold that threatened to consume her. She succumbed to the drowsiness induced by the herbs.
In the pitch-black night, she looked up. The tall tree branches obscured the stars. Deep down, she recognized this place.
The sound of flowing water indicated the river was nearby. The woods were eerily silent, devoid of the nocturnal creatures.
Despite her fear, she continued walking, her body rigid. She knew the most dangerous predator lurked in the mist that hung between the trees. She broke into a run.
Fear, adrenaline, and the will to survive propelled her forward. She tripped suddenly, her knee bleeding but painless.
She looked around to find what caused her fall and gasped. Four men lay dead. She approached them.
Her hands trembled, her heart pounded.
Tara woke up abruptly, her throat parched. She sat up in bed and a glass of water appeared on her bedside table.
The same nightmare had been haunting her. She hadn’t had it for weeks and had hoped it was finally over. She looked outside.
Two large windows with grand arches adorned her room. There was no cold wind blowing in.
Tara raised her hand and with a slight flick of her wrist, she lifted the invisible shield protecting the fire in her fireplace.
The cool breeze dried her sweat-soaked body. The effect of the cold iron had worn off.
She walked to the window, still wearing her boots, and sat on the ledge. She watched as winter transformed the Court of Fears. Hills, lakes, and rivers made up the view.
Everything was covered in a blanket of white, but what she loved most about winter in this realm was the amber lights that danced across the sky like the northern lights.
It was the magic of Cian, the Unseelie King.
Her life had changed drastically in two years. From a mortal living in a humble home in a remote village, she had become an immortal dark fae living in another realm with a breathtaking view.
She massaged her neck, trying to ease the tension in her muscles. The pain in her heart was a constant reminder. Her fingers traced the two small puncture wounds.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget him. Roderick’s face was etched in her memory.
She couldn’t erase the memories of their kisses or their last night together.
She hadn’t heard from him since. Had he managed to escape Duskland?
Airdan had tried to talk to her about Roderick, but she refused to listen. She didn’t want to hear him defend the vampire. It was better not to know.
She didn’t want to give her heart hope with news of his life or shatter it with the knowledge that he was with someone else, or worse, with the cursed witch Arietta.
She sighed again, deciding to return to the mortal realm. Even though time was different in the fae land, she kept track of days and nights like mortals.
It had been a week since she last saw her dear friend. The demoness would surely be angry with her.
Tara appeared at Sorana’s doorstep.
