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

An enraged roar echoed from within the crumbling palace. The Unseelie prince screamed his anger, more animal than man. But he was too late.

She tried to whisper his name, but her lips couldn’t move. She twisted a finger in the dirt. It was the only movement she could manage when all she wanted to do was stop him from risking his life.

Her eyes found the duchess, staring up at the windows of her palace with madness in her gaze. “And so the hunt begins,” she breathed. “The beast calls for its mate, a howl of rage and mourning. He feels you dying. Every small bit of life leeching out of you is also pulled from him.”

Glass shattered, and she felt the answering ache in her shoulders and the top of her head. He’d burst free from a window.

A dark shadow crossed in front of the moon. A blanket of ravens made from his magic, his grief. Aisling allowed a single tear to leak from her eye as a dark feather floated from the sky and landed atop her cheek.

Wind buffeted them, as powerful as a storm, electric and so near she could feel him. The ravens swarmed then coalesced into a man kneeling on the small path. Slowly, he tilted his head up and leveled the duchess with a gaze raw and filled with rage. “What did you do?” he growled.

“Only what you would have done if you were in my position.”

A ripple of feathers flared from his head and spread down his back. The darkness swallowed his form. It covered his body in magic and a nightmarish abyss with not a single of light in its heart.

“You are not allowed to touch her.”

“And you are bound.” The duchess gave him a pitying smile. “You can feel the weight of the nightshade, Unseelie prince. Let yourself fall into its comforting embrace. Stop fighting so hard as you have your entire life.”

“You haven’t bested me yet.”

Aisling sucked in a breath, a small whimper escaping her lips when he launched himself toward the duchess. He was a blur of dark feathers and the wide expanse of the night sky. And he didn’t get anywhere near the duchess.

Appearing out of thin air, the duke locked his arms around Bran. They grappled, twisting like two great snakes. Bran’s teeth flashed in the moonlight. Pointed fangs sharpened to deadly tips that sunk into the duke’s forearms.

She heard the creaking of ribs, felt the flare of pain, as the duke squeezed down on Bran’s torso. An agonizing groan filled the courtyard, and then Bran managed to wiggle an arm free. He reached behind him, sank his fingers beneath the duke’s mask, and pulled it so hard the bolts ripped out of the duke’s face.

Both Aisling and Bran sucked in air as he was dropped. He rolled, crouching with one hand pressed against the ground and a wary eye on the duke who now covered his face with his hand.

“My mask,” he huffed, “my mask. Give me my mask.”

“No.” Bran snatched it from the ground and snapped it in half.

“What have you done?” the duke roared.

The scream blistered Aisling’s ears. Blood leaked from the canals, dripping down into her hair. She tried to scream, but the nightshade had paralyzed her.

Bran stumbled to his feet, and the duke turned toward her, revealing the nightmarish face he had hidden from the world.

She remembered Bran saying the duke liked to steal bits and pieces of people. She hadn’t realized he could steal eyes.

Every inch of his face was covered with multi-colored eyes. They blinked at random intervals, but each stared into her gaze with equal parts horror and resignation. Though he tried to cover his hideous appearance by lifting his hands, she could see he knew what was coming for him. Who was coming for him.

Bran burst into an unkindness of ravens and attacked the duke’s eyes. Each carefully cultivated globe was punctured by beaks that glinted in the light. No pity was shown for the man who had stolen so much from so many.

Feathers flew in the air, but the duke did not try to stop him. He fell to his knees before Aisling and held his hands out in supplication. She felt the anguish, the agony, the pain that had been buried so deep in his soul he did not recognize himself.

Strength flowed from Bran, allowing her to reach out a hand and touch the duke’s bloodied palm.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “I am free.”

Aisling turned her gaze from the cursed man. The duchess pressed her hands against her lips, and a shriek echoed from her chest. The heart fractured, a thin line cracking from top to bottom.

“My love,” she whimpered, reaching out a hand as if she might touch the duke. “What have you done to my love?”

“Only what you would have done if you were in my position.” Bran lunged forward, clumsy but still on his feet. The duchess didn’t notice him because she was too busy staring at the duke. Still, she locked her hand around Bran’s wrist as he reached for her.

Aisling watched his face twist as both their arms began to shake.

“No,” the duchess whispered. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“You handed me your heart the moment you laid a finger on her.”

Bran plunged his hand into her chest, grasped the green glass heart, and pulled it free.

A soft sigh eased between the duchess’s lips. Her face smoothed into a soft, pleased expression, and she fell to her knees in a graceful movement. Weak and dying, she slumped to the side.

Aisling wheezed out a sound. She wasn’t certain Bran would even hear it. But then he was there, kneeling over her with black feathers floating around them like prayers. Phantom wings of darkness stretched from his shoulder blades and hid galaxies within them.

“Aisling?” he asked, smoothing her hair away from her forehead. “Can you hear me?”

A shuddering breath was her only answer. She couldn’t tell him that she’d drank