Chapter 14

With my resolve now in place, I steadied my breathing. One of the veiled figures was moving towards us as if they stepped on nothing but air. As they neared, I could glimpse their body through the sheer red material. They had a somewhat feminine form, suggesting she was a female. However, as my eyes rose to where her face should be, I froze.

Beneath the veil, I could just make out her features in the faint moonlight. Or rather—the lack of any at all. Instead of eyes, there were two sunken holes, cast in shadow under the veil. Where there should have been a nose was just smooth skin. She had no lips or mouth, making me surprised when a soft whispered voice sounded through the air. It carried as if reverberating through my skull.

"I am a Priestess of Mab," she said as she bowed her tall head to me. "I am here to bind you, mortal and faerie. This union is permanent and unwavering. Once claimed as a Prize of the Hunt, you must join together, combining both mortal and immortal blood. Through this ceremony, the mortal and faerie will be connected and always be able to find one another, allowing the faerie to protect their mate. When the fires of Beltane are lit, you will leave here as husband and wife."

As the priestess's words sunk in, I went still. Even the heat from Ronan's grasp could not melt the ice that was filling my blood. Ronan would be able to track me based on what I could understand of the priestess's statement.

I glanced at Ronan, who was frowning, the news of the binding appearing to trouble him just as much as it had me. He looked at me, our eyes connecting, and I felt his grip on my wrist slacken.

Second thoughts? I had no idea what his intentions with me were. Perhaps he would take me back the hole he crawled from and enslave me to him, making me fulfill whatever deprived pleasures he had.

I had to find a way out of this before it came to that.

Ronan looked around the clearing as if he too wanted to escape. He said something in fae, his voice smooth and deep. I saw the priestess's head shake, and Ronan's frown deepened.

Eventually, he let out a sigh, his eyes fixing accusingly on me as if blaming me for all of this.

The priestess gestured to us. "Hands," she said to me, then repeated it to Ronan. I paid attention to the word this time, trying to memorize it. Still, the strange sounds were hard to connect, and I was not sure if she had said one word or two.

With reluctance, I held out my hand, Ronan doing the same as he finally released my wrist. Cool air returned to me in a rush, somehow feeling colder than before. I remembered Eirian calling him the "Fire Bastard" and wondered what that meant.

The priestess raised a bony hand to us, urging to do as she had asked. I looked at my small hand, then at Ronan's large clawed one, momentarily stunned at the all-around largeness of him. He just took up more space than others. His face was stony and hard to read as usual, though he did not look pleased.

"First, you must say your name. Your true name."

My eyes went wide.

"No."

Ronan glared at me, impatient as I shook my head.

"You must," the priestess insisted, her voice changing in tone. "It is the way."

I looked at the dagger, then back to Ronan, contemplating.

But the Priestess was no fool. "If you lie, a girl with the name you give will die."

Panic filled me. Gran's warning echoed in my head.

"Never tell a faerie your true name, Heather. If you do, you will be at their mercy."

I looked around, breathing hard. The world felt like it was swirling. My breathing hitched. I couldn't. I couldn't tell him my name.

The priestess's fingers tightened on my wrist, her grip hard and bruising.

"If you run, you won't get far, mortal. This male has claimed you, and now you must complete the ceremony."

Ronan watched our exchange with furrowed brows. His jaw tensed, a muscle twitching in it, yet he made no effort to stop what was happening. I hated him so much.

But not enough to die.

"Heather," I said softly, hoping he couldn't hear.

"Your true name, mortal. No half-names."

I glared at her, but she didn't let go. She held her dagger poised over the palm of my hand. I tried to tug it from her grip, but it did not move. I grit my teeth. If her grip was any tighter, she would crush the bones of my wrist.

"O'Reilly," I gasped out. "Heather O'Reilly."

"Very good." I sensed that if she'd had a mouth, there would've been a smug smile there.

I felt a biting pain in my palm, the priestess's dagger drawing along my skin. I cried out, and the priestess started a low, murmured chant. I watched as blood welled up on my palm.

She stepped over to Ronan and spoke in their tongue. His eyes lifted to me after a moment, but he didn't hesitate as I had.

"Ronan au Naoise b'ai Firya, the Bloodmonger," he answered.

Even his name gave me chills.

The priestess started chanting as she held the goblet under both of our hands. She let a few drops of our blood drip in. I swallowed thickly, wondering if there was still some way I could get out of this. However, before I could move, the priestess did something I hadn't expected. This part of the ceremony was likely obscured when I had watched it previously, and I hadn't paid attention to what was happening around me since.

The priestess grabbed my hand roughly and forced it into Ronan's, so that they were palm to palm, our blood mixing through our wounds. The priestess's chanting rose in volume, but I found it fading away as I looked up, locking gazes with Ronan. A strange sensation swept through me from our joined palms. I saw his eyes widen, the only hint that he felt what I did too. Without realizing it, our fingers wove together, his long clawed ones resting against the back of my hand. Heat ripped through my arm, the force of it dizzying.

My cheeks flushed, the feeling of our joined hands far too intimate. The feeling was strange, magnetic, and intoxicating. I gasped in a breath, and for perhaps the first time looked at Ronan in a different light. The hatred from a few moments ago faded to the back of my mind.

The sharp features of his face were undeniably attractive, his looks perhaps even outdoing Eirian's. His lips were full when not pulled into a thin line or twisted into a snarl. His glowing eyes didn't remind me so much of blood in that moment, but the red-hot coals of a flame. His eyes were slanted ever so slightly, and his skin a was a dark, roasted brown filled with a map of scars and stories I found myself wanting to discover. His hair was wild in an untamable way, falling in dark waves that fell around his face to brush across his brow and curl around his neck. It looked soft. What would it feel like to run my hands through it?

Without realizing it, I found myself licking my lips, wetting them. Immediately, his eyes dropped to them, his own parting. His eyes hooded, looking down at my face. The warmth between our hands unfurled like a blazing inferno as it spun between us. Like the wind had come to stoke the coals of his fire.

Just then the priestess's chanting stopped abruptly, the silence hitting me in a sobering wave. Ronan looked away. His hand dropped mine. Even though the strange sensation of our binding was fading, the new way I had found myself looking at him had not. Now he was large, intimidating, and unfortunately attractive — something I would have rather not noticed.

The priestess was silent for a moment, and I got the sense she was looking between us, even though she had no eyes.

"Now you must drink from Mab's Goblet of Fate, and finish the binding."

I looked down to the cup she held out to Ronan as she explained the same to him. I felt wary, wondering if it would mess with my mind the same way joining our hands had. The sounds around me were heightened, the sharp smell of the blood on our hands and in the goblet overpowering. I wrinkled my nose and watched as he stared at it for a long moment before raising it to his lips.

I could tell he took the smallest of sips before he jerked it away from his mouth. He closed his eyes, and his fist clenched around the cup. Both the priestess and I watched him curiously, and a shiver ran down my spine when he opened his eyes. His pupils had dilated so much they were almost black, and what remained of his bright red irises almost glowed.

I could feel myself on the edge of a dangerous precipice, watching as Ronan's muscles tensed, the tendon's on his neck bulging. But after he breathed in a few quick breaths, he relaxed.

Ronan held the goblet out to me, and carefully I plucked it from his clawed fingers, avoiding making any skin to skin contact with him. He watched me raptly.

The blood was affecting him. I raised the goblet to my lips. As the liquid hit my tongue, I recognized the sweet flavor of Faerie wine mixed in with the metallic tang of blood. I brought it quickly away from my lips after I had taken my obligatory sip.

I wrinkled my nose, but nothing changed. Not that I could tell, anyway.

The priestess took it from me and lowered her head in another small bow.

"The ceremony is complete. You may leave the Willo Forest once the fires are lit, and the sun rises. Until then, I recommend you each take the time to get to know your new partner."

And with that, she drifted away, gliding across the ground to another couple, the next girl watching her with frightened eyes. I observed the priestess for some time as she started a new ceremony, Ronan and I standing in silence. That is until he let out a great huff, reminding me of a horse, and seated himself on the ground. He stretched out his legs, his lips tightening down into a thin annoyed line.

Ronan looked up to see me watching him, then looked away, his jaw ticking. Slowly, not knowing what else to do—I couldn't really take the priestess's suggestion to get to know him with the language barrier, I lowered myself to sit on the ground. I kept a good two feet of distance between us. I brought up my knees and hugged my arms around them.

Looking up at the sky, I noted the position of the moon. Though it had felt like hours had passed, it still sat high in the sky. I did not know how much longer it would be until the sun rose.

It was going to be a long night.