Rosethorne Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Rosethorne kept moving until the city thinned and the streets gave way to open road. The little striped creature rode under her arm, warm and fat, chewing on nothing. She stopped at the foot of a great stone castle, its towers scraping the clouds. A crowd had gathered near its gate. She slipped into the shadow of the wall and listened. The city had called for a hero to hunt her. Now one had come. He stepped through the gate, and the crowd went quiet. Bare-chested, dark hair loose, three eyes fixed on the road ahead. The middle eye sat on his brow like a blue gem. People bowed as he passed. He wore no fear. A sword hung at his hip, but he touched it like a promise, not a threat. "He'll bring back the demon's head," a woman whispered. Rosethorne smiled. A hero, walking straight toward her. She only needed one. He found her in the shadow of the wall. His three eyes narrowed. "You're the one they scream about," he said. His voice was calm. "You don't look like a monster." "And you don't look like a killer," she answered. He drew the sword. "I came to end you." Rosethorne let her wings spread wide. The creature squirmed loose and dropped to the grass, then trotted between them and sat, blinking up at the hero. He hesitated. His eyes flicked to the fluffy thing, then back to her. That pause was all she needed. She uncoiled her thorn whip and snapped it around his wrist. Not hard. The barbs pricked his skin, and three drops of blood welled up. He gasped and dropped the sword. She pulled him close, slow, until his chest met hers. "Look at me," she said. He looked. All three eyes held on her face. His arm went slack in the whip. Rosethorne kissed him. She pressed a single thorn between their lips, and it bit into him and into her at once. Warmth flooded her mouth. She felt his soul move, felt it reach for her like a hand in the dark. Then it stopped. Something pushed back. His middle eye flared bright blue. The thorn's warmth turned cold. She had reached into him, but he had reached into her too. Her own hunger poured out through the kiss and would not return. She broke away, breathing hard. He stood straight, steady, and smiled. "You should have known," he said. "An elf with three eyes sees what feeds on him." Rosethorne stepped back. Her whip fell from his wrist. She had come to bind his soul. Instead a thread of her own hunger now ran into him, and she could feel it pull. The hero picked up his sword and turned toward the castle. "Follow me, demon," he said. "You're bound to me now, and I have questions." The little striped creature trotted after him. Rosethorne, tied to a hero she could not leave, followed too.