The Abyss (Fae's Captive #7) - Lily Archer Page 0,8

themselves, doing their best to survive and shrink away from the bloody sand man.

“Come.” He opens his huge arms, scoops them up between them like an ant with eggs between its pincers, and carries them toward me. “Now you can go, stubborn changeling.”

The children cry, but they aren’t hurt, just terrified of the hulking lesser fae who has them clasped in his grip.

Gareth shoves me out the door and holds up a finger. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog.” I stomp my foot as another tremor hits, and a house three doors down crumbles into dust and splinters.

“Changeling, I don’t have time to argue.”

“Fine.” I throw up my hands. “I’m out of the house. Not going back in.”

“Thank you.” He runs back inside and starts carrying out the wounded, lining them up along the lane as Parnon corrals the children into the arms of their nanny.

Another boom rocks the ground beneath my feet, and I almost fall, but Gareth runs up and steadies me, then disappears inside again. How did I manage to land such a hero? It truly does defy all expectations. But that’s just who he is. Carrying the injured to safety is peak Gareth.

A roar of voices at the end of the street grabs my attention. Hundreds of slaves are amassing at the conjunction of the main roads—the slave market. Their chants join into one as Arin finally stops shaking.

“Silmaran.” Her name is repeated, each voice adding to it until it’s the only thought in Cranthum.

Slaves—some of them bloodied or battered—run past me and add to the multitude surrounding the slave market. The crowd quickly swells to thousands. Is she there? She must be.

Gareth brings out more wounded and heads back inside. Parnon turns toward the throng and starts a quick stomp in that direction. He feels the pull. So do I.

The rebellion rockets through my veins. The same excitement that lights up the crowd lives inside me. I’m one of them. And this is our moment. Standing here, doing nothing—I’m missing it. All of it.

But Gareth is still being a hero. He dashes out with another slave in his arms and lays him gently on one of the makeshift cots.

He won’t like it if I leave.

But he won’t let me go if I ask. I can already hear him now in his stern grr voice, “That’s dangerous. I can’t let you get hurt.”

And I only told him I’d stay out of the crumbling house. Down the street with the crowd? That’s out of the house. No problem.

I wait for him to jog out with another injured slave, then turn to go back inside. When he glances at me, I give him what I hope is a sweet smile. His eyebrows draw together, but he doesn’t stop his work. Once he’s out of sight, I turn and head toward the crowd. Excitement builds inside me with each step.

Hurrying my pace, I’m almost at the edge of the gathering when a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder and I’m pulled back against a broad, hard chest.

“Where are you going, my beloved?” His voice in my ear promises punishment. And when he thrusts his hips against my backside, I want every bit of discipline he has to offer. “My wicked Xalana.”

Just the way he says that name. Oh. My. Ancestors. My knees go weak.

“Disobeying me only guarantees a harsh reprimand.” He starts pulling me backwards, drawing me away from the crowd even as facades crack and fall on the nearest buildings. And despite my need to be part of this new world, my desire for him far outweighs it. I gasp when his teeth graze my ear in a playful bite.

That gasp draws the eyes of the nearest slave. He freezes, then takes in a huge breath and yells, “Slaver! Kill him!” Raising his bloody cleaver, he starts towards us.

More slaves turn around. “He’s trying to take her!” “Save her!” “Kill the slaver!”

“No.” I try to step forward. “It’s not—”

Gareth’s grip tightens on me. Of course. He’s not going to let me walk toward angry, armed strangers.

They run at us, most of them wielding gory weapons and enraged expressions. Their yells for blood echo down the cracking streets as they bear down on us.

Gareth pushes me behind him and braces for battle against the slaves he just helped liberate. I would laugh if we weren’t about to die.

5

Gareth

The first slave swings his cleaver with murderous, yet sloppy, intent. I let him flail for a moment, then use his own momentum