Page 36 of Stolen Thorn Bride

Only a few paces off the road, darkness shrouded a copse of stunted oaks. It was not so impenetrable as the night that fell over areas occupied by the wraith swarms, but it was still wrong—a blight on the land and a stench in Dechlan’s nostrils.

He slowed his wolf and unsheathed his weapon, hearing the quiet ring of drawn steel as his companions did the same.

Each sword was inlaid with pure silver—not for slicing through bone and sinew, but to channel the magic that was their only defense against the wraiths’ less substantial nature.

Stretching his mind out through the construct of his sword, Dechlan unleashed the tiniest flow of his power, pushing it into the trails of silver that chased their way along the blade. In answer, the silver lit with pure white fire, brilliant light against the darkness that pressed against his body and his mind as they approached the trees. The light was pale in comparison to his usual efforts, but Dechlan was grateful his strength had returned to even that degree.

They dismounted, leaving the wolves at a short distance. Ordinarily, animals took less harm from their ancient enemy, but when well-fed, the wraiths grew substantial enough to kill whatever crossed their path. Dechlan’s favorite mount had been a canny wraith hunter in her own right, able to catch and hold the more physical ones in her teeth while Dechlan finished them off. But Bridha had been a victim of the same wraith that had mortally wounded him, and he would not risk the life of an inexperienced mount on this particular hunt.

Just before they entered the copse, Garvan laid a hand on his arm. He said nothing, only scanned Dechlan’s face and asked a silent question with his gaze.

Was he ready for this?

Or was it too soon?

Dechlan could not afford to search his heart for the answer.

So he jerked a quick nod and continued on his way, wondering whether his companions could somehow read his hesitancy in the way he moved, or the way he gripped his weapon.

No matter. Once this kill was behind him, it would grow easier.

The wraith came into view as soon as they cleared the first ring of trees, and Dechlan’s focus shifted to an icy pinpoint of determination, accompanied by a surprising amount of fear.

The wraith was not a large one. While its aura extended some six paces from its body, that body was no bigger than a sheep… or a pig. Kasia’s face flashed before him, pale and frightened, but he pushed it back because the wraith was watching them.

When they took physical shape, wraiths were near enough to elf-kind to be eerie—two arms, two legs, and an upright form. They tended to crouch near the ground while at rest, their bodies almost entirely shrouded by their less substantial wings. But once their wings were opened, they stood upright, baring the curved, needle-sharp claws on the tips of their fingers—claws that existed on both a physical level and a magical one. Malevolent intelligence gleamed from glowing blue eyes set in a face that was difficult to see, cloaked as they were in shadows spun from stolen magic.

This one’s wings flared at the warriors’ approach, and it backed away, sensing itself outnumbered. But as it did so, its attention seemed to focus in on Dechlan, with a hungry fascination that Dechlan could swear he felt.

Did it sense some remnant of the wraith that had nearly killed him? Feel some kinship with that echo within his soul?

Declan froze as they regarded one another, and the shadows gathered closer, seeming to wrap around his wrists and ankles with a gentle but sinuous grasp.

His sword hand lowered.

A distant fear punched through him like a blade of ice, sharp and cold, followed by the echo of a cry of despair. It pierced through the fog of the wraith’s gaze and released his limbs from the ensnaring darkness.

“Lord Dechlan!”

The wraith flew towards him, and Dechlan’s rage shattered all remaining doubt. His blade flashed, the magic flared, and the wraith impaled itself with a soul-chilling scream, pierced through by razor-edged steel and the magic it bore with it.

The power behind Dechlan’s thrust buried his blade deeply in the turf, and as the last wisps of shadow began to clear, he pulled his trembling hand from the hilt.

It was done.

Garvan grabbed his arm, eyes a little wild in his tanned face. “My lord, are you well?”

Dechlan nodded, breathing deeply and searching for any hint that the wraith’s influence remained. “I am,” he said. And he was. That first confrontation had been far worse than he feared, and without that strange, icy shock of fear, it might have ended differently.

“I thought…” Garvan’s hand clenched briefly around Dechlan’s forearm.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “As did I. But it’s over now.” The memory might haunt him, but he had faced it and won. “We should return to the Keep. This might have been an isolated incident, but…”

But they must be ready for it to happen again. If such a thing had gone undetected, this day might have ended far differently.

* * *

They rode back,and by the time they passed through the gates, Dechlan was ready to slide from his saddle with weariness. His strength had not yet fully returned, but his people needed to see him fully in command. Ready to lead. They needed to know he wouldn’t fail them again.