** When their beloved mistress is murdered, a white raven and a black fox embark on a journey for revenge. Will the brave familiars manage to recover the stolen heart in time - or would they lose themselves? **
"Sometimes love is
what drives you to...
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As soon as Tiernan entered the room, the hut suddenly creaked and groaned. Roots crunched against the walls, one rose petal sailed to the ground, then another. They were no longer rosy and fresh, but brown and wilted. There was a loud crack as one of the branches behind Tiernan became brittle and broke open as if it had been struck by lightning.
»I would, of course, like to ask how you have been able to hide here all this time,« the fey whispered, smoothing out his pristine white robes with an elegant movement. »But I don't have much time, and I'm not here to chat.«
When he lifted his gaze, his milky blue eyes turned dark in one fell swoop. The shapeless beings moving behind him like billowing mist suddenly took shape. Distorted figures, like a painting of a nightmare gone awry, with bent limbs beyond any natural order.
Heilyn sensed that they were not nature spirits like Lir and Cian, yet their essences bore some resemblance. She sensed pain, old suffering, and mistakes, so many mistakes that had been made. The fae's dark red irises flashed angrily before narrowing into slits.
She had an unholy premonition of what Tiernan wanted here and who could have sent this cruel hunter. Someone who had been on her kind's tail for a long time and whom Heilyn had always successfully evaded. Escape had been the only option, for she knew her guards could not hold out against him for long. But this time, Tiernan had surprised her, and that was a disastrous circumstance.
»There's no room for you here; get out and take your riff-raff with you,« Haylin tried again in a threatening voice. But to no avail.
Tiernan just grinned before he gave a short wave of his hand and sent his pack after Cian and Lir.
Everything happened far too quickly.
Heilyn saw Lir let her first arrow fly, and the projectile slammed into an attacker's shoulder. A tall man with antlers on his head lunged at them with a bloodthirsty face. His teeth were long and pointed like a predator's; his fingers ended in long, dark claws. A creature somewhere between beast and nature spirit, puppet and monster.
When the arrow hit him, he let out a cry of pain, but the projectile could not stop its force. It pulled Lir to the ground with it and began to strike at the shapeshifter. Inside the house, the ordinarily skilled markswoman was at a devastating disadvantage.
