Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,40

an idiot.

And Raven—no, Rook—was soon to be a widower.

“Be that as it may,” Liosliath stated. “I grant Rook’s request for guardianship.”

“Now that we have that settled.” Daibhidh clapped his hands. “Let the hunt begin.”

Liosliath inclined his head toward me. “May the best hound win.”

A whiff of wet dog told me the Huntsman had shifted closer. “It will be quick, child. I vow that. Go now. Run.” He toyed with a leather thong around his neck. Attached was a horn carved from a curving antler. His eyes shone bright in the darkness. He wet his lips then forced his hand to his side. “The hounds are coming.”

Shock rooted my feet to the floor. “The hunt starts now?”

So much for the Huntsman’s vow of protection.

Rook took my hand and yanked me stumbling out of the circle. “Run.”

“Are you insane?” I struggled against him. “You’re going to get me killed.”

“As far as they’re concerned, you’re already dead.” He jerked me so hard my shoulder popped. “This is your only chance.”

“Go with him. Hurry, girl.” The Huntsman lifted his horn to his lips. “The hunt has begun.”

The first blast of his horn made the tile rumble beneath my feet. Toppling off balance, Rook tugged me into motion as the magic in the sound called to me.

Join in the hunt. Blood and bone. Hot and fresh.

My blood. My bones.

In answer to the summons, bloodcurdling howls filled the room. The scrabble of nails and the excited barks of a scent picked up turned blood to ice in my veins.

“I have a plan.” Rook urged, “Hurry and I might save you yet.”

As the barking grew louder in time with the pounding of my heart, God help me, I followed him. For all I knew he was guiding me straight to his brother for an easy kill.

Raven was here, somewhere, waiting. The Wild Hunt’s magic would swirl around him and transform him into one of the Huntsman’s hounds. Higher reasoning would fade. Only hunger for my blood would drive him.

“You lied to me,” I panted. “You’re fae. How did you do it?”

“I’m a half-blood.” He glanced back. “Like you.”

Perfect. I was on the run with the Morrigan’s bastard son.

“We can’t outrun the hounds.” Not real ones. Certainly not the Huntsman’s spectral beasts.

How long did I have before the Seelie hound joined Raven—the Unseelie hound—in the hunt?

“I arranged for transport,” Rook called. “It’s not ideal, but we need a head start.”

Afraid to ask for details, I kept my mouth closed. Rook had lied to me from the get-go. Why did I expect honest aid with no strings attached now? Desperation? Anger? Panic? Fear? Yes to all of the above.

The one person who could rescue me was the one shoving my head beneath the waves of the political storm he had helped conjure. I didn’t understand his motives. Why not hold me down until the Unseelie hound arrived? If Raven killed me, Unseelie House would rule Faerie and break the Seelie’s centuries’ long reign.

“This way.” Rook changed directions and hauled me after him. “Faster.”

“This is as fast as it gets.” I was in shape, I had to be for hunting fugitives, but Rook was pro-athlete fit. That or his powers included being as fleet of foot as he was swift of wing.

Through another endless hall we ran, our footsteps covered by the echo of eager hound song. We burst through a boarded door and then staggered out into the snow.

Rook snapped his fingers, and a single black feather appeared between them. “I summon the Morrigan.”

“Your mother?” I squeaked. “How are we going to pay her?”

The Morrigan expected payment in flesh for the indignity of answering anyone’s summons.

“This feather represents a debt she owes me,” he said. “This squares us.”

When an earsplitting caw rent the sky over our heads, I covered my ears. “I hope she agrees.”

A gargantuan crow landed several yards away. It was larger than the dragons from earlier, and her outstretched wings blotted out the sun.

“That’s new.” I flinched when she clacked her beak together.

“Mother has many forms.” The feather turned to ash in his fingers. “Some, like this, are bound to Faerie.”

Good thing too. It was easy to picture her swooping over cities and devouring the citizens if given the chance. She was not a benevolent goddess by any stretch of the imagination. The Morrigan personified war and strife and misery. She reveled in pain, basked in agony and thrilled in the anguish of others.

Taking that into consideration, the notion of the Morrigan as our rescuer was