The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

against his chest. The dull throb in her shoulder was more manageable now. Perhaps the Unseelie had time to cast a healing spell. Perhaps he was winning again, or he had left her in this cursed place alone.

The god shook his head. “But I do not believe that is why he is here, changeling girl. You forget you are dealing with faeries, and faeries are master manipulators. He wants something else, not just the binding curse to be unraveled.”

“That’s his business, not mine.”

“Like you’re here because you’re finally taking steps towards your family?”

Her gaze narrowed. “You know nothing of my family.”

“No, but I can look into your heart and know why you are here. Don’t judge the Unseelie for twisting his words when you are doing the same.”

Aisling wanted to shout at him. She wanted to scream he wasn’t right, that he judged without reason or sense.

But he was right. She was using him just as he was using her. It wasn’t fair that his deception stung so fiercely.

“I need your blood,” she whispered, “and I’m afraid I can’t wait much longer.”

He searched her gaze for something Aisling couldn’t comprehend. She waited, allowing him a moment, until he finally nodded. “There is a knife above my head. Take it and drive it through my heart.”

“What? I can’t do that. I just need blood. I don’t need to kill you—”

“Changeling.” He placed his hand over hers, their fingers laced together over his heart. “I am already dead. They plunged that dagger through my heart a hundred times so long ago the earth doesn’t remember my name. Let my blood run out and take it for yourself. It is a gift.”

The Unseelie shouted from beyond the mist, and she felt another spike of pain trail down the column of her back. She’d have a welt there, but he would bare a scar.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Lifting his hand, she pressed a kiss against his fingers in the only way she knew how to show respect. He was not a named god, but he was one she would forever remember.

Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the stone blade, and he sighed in resignation. “Your admiration is a gift I had not thought to receive. I wish you well on your journey, changeling child.”

Aisling wasted no time. She lifted the blade over her head and brought it down in the center of his chest. His breath wheezed out, slow and steady as though planned. His eyes and mouth closed, and the stone smoothed over his features once more.

“Goodbye,” she said in quiet farewell.

Blood pooled around the knife. Carefully, she pulled the blade free from the stone sheath and watched as the wound healed. It filled up with stone, pushing out a small bit of blood that solidified in the center. A red gem, glimmering so brightly it seemed to have its own life, sat in the center of his chest.

Relief made her knees weak. She wasn’t going to have to carry the blood in her mouth. Thank the gods for small gifts.

Aisling plucked the stone from its resting place and tucked it into the pocket of her stolen pants. Sharp edges dug into her thigh.

“Don’t take any more blood,” she grumbled. “I’ve already given you enough.”

She heard the faintest chuckle in response, as if the dead god could still hear her.

She turned and bolted through the mist. It parted for her this time, perhaps reacting to the magic of its master held safely against her body. Mustering a spell felt like a stretch, so she wasted no time for the mist to change its mind.

Aisling burst through the other side of the fog and came to a stumbling halt. The Unseelie was alive, she would have felt his death, but she hadn’t expected the carnage splattered across the cave floor and walls.

Only two guards remained alive, both pinned to the back wall of the cave with their own swords trapping them. The other eight were strewn about in bits and pieces. She noticed an arm near her foot and nudged it with a toe.

The Unseelie stood in the middle, covered in blood, chest heaving and eyes narrowed. He held one of the golden swords in his hand, stolen from a fallen guard. She’d heard stories of this happening before. The bloodlust faeries felt when in battle and their rage that tore through storm and stone.

Aisling cleared her throat. “Got it.”

“What took you so long?” he growled deep in his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I supposed to rush cutting into a dead god’s corpse?”

“When I’m battling all ten of his guards, yes, you’re supposed to rush, you fool woman.”

She ground her teeth together and gave him a curt nod. “The next time I’ll make sure not to serve him tea and biscuits while you’re murdering his guards. Are you quite finished arguing with me, or are you going to insist we stay here until you think you’re right?”

“Get through the portal before I add you to the pile.”

She smiled sweetly and cocked her hip. “Oh, Unseelie, I didn’t know you were such a romantic. Dying with me all because you have such a fat head.”

“Shut up, witch,” he grumbled as he made his way toward the portal.

“You owe me an ear now.”

In one swift, fluid movement, he leaned down and snatched a piece of gristle from the floor. He tossed it over his shoulder for her to catch.

She snagged the object from the air and opened her palm to reveal an ear.

Aisling burst into laughter and let it fall back to the floor. “I knew you were a romantic!”

Dreams Of Blood

Aisling stumbled through the portal, magic clinging to her legs and trying to drag her back into the carnage left in the cave. Shaking off the sticky tendrils, she placed her hand on the hanging tree for balance.

Her head was swimming. Her eyes refused to focus on anything other than the ground, and her shoulder ached like mad. How did warriors