The flight back was a silent, swift slash through the clouds, the world below a blur of sleeping towns and dark forests. Eris, swaddled in Dáinn's heavy cloak, which smelled powerfully of horse, leather, and cold, open skies, watched the lights of Aldis grow larger, a feeling of sharp disappointment settling in her chest. The adventure was over, for now.
Skógr touched down with a soft thud on the quiet street in front of her apartment building, his hooves making no more sound than a shadow falling. The transition from soaring through starlight to standing on cracked pavement was jarring.
Dáinn swung down from the saddle with that effortless grace of his and turned, his hands finding her waist to lift her down. He didn't release her immediately. They stood there, on the sidewalk, his hands a warm, solid pressure through the thick wool of the cloak, the only sound the soft snort of Skógr's breathing and the distant hum of a lone car.
Eris looked up at him, her voice a little breathless in the quiet night. "Thanks for saving me tonight."
A faint, wicked smirk touched Dáinn's lips. "Skógr would be sorely vexed if he lost his primary carrot supply."
Eris feigned offense, a hand flying to her chest. "Oh! So you did it for the horse. How incredibly considerate of you." She made to turn and pat Skógr's neck, but Dáinn's hands on her hips held her fast, not letting her pivot away.
"You planning on holding me hostage to keep him in line?" she asked, her tone teasing but her heart beginning to hammer against her ribs.
His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. The thought was a thunderclap in his mind, simple and brutal: Take her. Take her back with you. She is a mystery, a key, a spark in the long dark. She does not belong in this sterile, noisy world. He looked down at her, at the way she bit her lower lip, at the trust and confusion in her wide eyes. He could smell the river water still clinging to her hair, underneath the clean scent of the soap she used.
Then, Casper's dry, pragmatic voice echoed in his memory: "She has a life. A family. You cannot simply pluck her from it because her existence is inconveniently intriguing."
The fight was visible in the tension along his jaw. With a reluctant, almost pained sigh, he let his hands fall away, stepping back to put a foot of cold, empty space between them.
Eris's breath hitched at the sudden loss of contact. She started to shrug off the enormous cloak. "Here, your—"
"Keep it," he said, his voice rough. "The night holds a chill."
A slow, genuine smile spread across Eris's face, and she pulled the fabric tight around her shoulders, enveloping herself in his scent. "So… meet again tomorrow? To figure out the next part of our weird shopping list?"
Dáinn gave a single, sharp nod, moving to stand beside Skógr, as if putting the horse between himself and the temptation she represented.
"Well," Eris said, taking a step backward toward the building's entrance. "Goodnight."
He didn't reply, only watched, his form a statue of shadow and starlight, as she walked to the door, fumbled with her keys, and disappeared inside. The yellow glow of the hallway light swallowed her whole, and the door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, the weight of the shadow-heart stone in his pocket feeling infinitely lighter than the weight of the girl he'd just let walk away.
*****
The Slaughter Lamb was quiet for a Friday night, the usual roar subdued to a low murmur. The dim, amber light from the replaced stained-glass windows cast a warm gloom over the dark oak, and the scent of old wood, stale beer, and frying grease hung comfortably in the air. Dáinn sat at the far end of the bar, a half-finished pint of dark ale sitting before him. His posture was rigid, an ancient monument in a room of casual modern comfort.
Eris, wearing a tight black v-neck t-shirt with the pub's logo, was bent over the bar, smoothing out the worn parchment of the ritual. "Okay, next up," she said, her voice a cheerful counterpoint to the grim text. "The blood of a creature that walks between. You said it should be a black hare."
Dáinn's gaze, which had been steadfastly fixed on a knot in the woodgrain, flickered upward for a perilous second, drawn by the movement and the deep vee of her shirt. He quickly wrenched his eyes back to the parchment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He gave a tight nod.
"So, where would we even find that?" Eris asked, resting her chin on her bent elbow, her full attention on him.
Dáinn swallowed hard, the sound audible over the soft indie music playing through the speakers. He picked up his glass and took a long drink before setting it down with a definitive thud. "The edge of a primeval forest. Where the wild things still remember the old ways."
Eris's brow furrowed. She stood, pulling her phone from her back pocket with a practiced flick of her wrist.
"What are you doing now?" Dáinn asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.
"Asking the smart library where the closest primeval forest is," she said, her thumbs flying across the screen. A moment later, her face lit up. "Oh! It says the Great Smoky Mountains National Park has some of the oldest deciduous forests in the world. We can probably find one there. We could just—"
"Hey, hun?" a voice called from the other end of the bar. "Can I get a drink when you get a sec?"
Dáinn's head turned slowly, his eyes cutting toward the man with a look that could freeze hell. The man, oblivious to the supernatural danger he was in, just gave a friendly nod.
Eris bounced away. "Sure! What're you having?" She served the customer with efficient charm, then made her way back to Dáinn.
"Yeah, so we can just—" she started again.
"Hey, Eris!" Another patron, a broad-shouldered guy named John with a university football jacket, stepped up to the counter with a few friends in tow.
Eris turned, a professional smile on her face. "Hey, John! How was the game?"
John grinned, puffing out his chest. "Scored three touchdowns!"
"That's awesome!" Eris replied, her enthusiasm genuine. She glanced at his friends. "You guys here to celebrate?"
"Hell yeah!" John said, slapping one of his buddies on the back.
He was utterly oblivious to the death glares Dáinn was now leveling at the back of his head. Eris took their drink order—a round of cheap beer—and went to fill it, returning to Dáinn with the pints on a tray.
She was about to speak when Dáinn cut her off, his voice a low growl. "Why do you work here?"
Eris chuckled, leaning over the bar again, which did interesting things to the line of her shirt. She shrugged. "I'm on scholarship. I do this for extra spending money. I make pretty good tips here."
Dáinn raised a brow. "Tips?"
Before she could explain the concept of gratuity, another patron signaled for her, and she was off again. When she was on her way back, John stepped into her path, leaning against the counter.
"Hey, Eris," he said, holding his nearly empty glass.
She turned to him, her polite mask back in place. "Need a refill?"
John shook his head, a smug smile on his face. "Nah. I was just wondering if you were free after your shift."
Eris gave him the well-practiced, gentle let-down. "That's really sweet, but I'm really busy and can't right now."
John, not wanting to look weak in front of his friends, pressed on. "Oh, come on," he said, and as she started to turn away, he reached over the bar, his fingers brushing her arm. "It would just be—"
The air in the pub shifted.
Dáinn moved faster than a human eye could follow. One moment he was on his stool, the next he was standing, his hand locked around John's wrist like a steel manacle. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the music and chatter, leaving a pocket of silence around them. "Don't touch her."
John smirked, attempting to jerk his hand free and failing utterly. His face flushed with a mixture of pain and embarrassment. His friends, seeing the trouble, rushed to flank him.
"Okay, man, let go," John grunted, trying again to pull away.
Dáinn released him so abruptly John stumbled back a step.
Eris stood behind the bar, stunned, a clean glass frozen in her hand. John and his friends attempted a standoff, puffing out their chests, but they were boys facing a glacier. Dáinn simply stared them down, his expression utterly flat, his ancient, wild presence filling the space. There was no anger, just a cold, absolute promise of ruin.
John was the first to break. He looked from Dáinn's unblinking eyes to Eris's shocked face. "Let's go, guys," he muttered, his bravado gone. He shot a last, weak look at Eris as they shuffled out. "See you around."
The door swung shut, and the normal sounds of the pub slowly trickled back into the silence. Eris slowly set the glass down, her heart hammering. She looked at Dáinn, who had returned to his stool as if nothing had happened, though the air around him still crackled with residual energy. The hunt for a mythical hare suddenly felt a lot less strange than the man now calmly drinking his beer.
The last customer had shuffled out, and the heavy door of The Slaughter Lamb clicked shut, leaving Eris alone in the amber gloom. She slid the final bolt into place, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. The scent of spilled beer and cleaning solution hung in the air. As she turned, a figure detached itself from the deep shadows near the adjacent graveyard.
Eris jumped, a hand flying to her chest. "Oh! John. Hey. You forget something?"
John stepped into the faint light spilling from a streetlamp, his hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just wanted to finish our conversation from earlier."
Eris forced a polite, weary smile. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, but my answer's the same. My schedule's just crazy right now with work, track, and class. I really don't have the—"
John stepped closer, cutting off her well-rehearsed speech. His voice dropped, losing its friendly pretense. "That guy your boyfriend?"
Eris's smile vanished. "That is not any of your business." She moved to step around him, but his hand shot out, closing around her upper arm with a grip that was anything but friendly.
"Let go, John," she said, her voice tight, trying to pull away.
Above, reclined on the slate roof of the pub as if it were a throne, Dáinn heard the exchange. His head tilted, interest piqued. He shifted silently to the edge, peering down into the alley. He saw the man's hand on her arm, saw Eris trying to wrench free. He had seen enough.
One moment, John was leering down at Eris, the next, a force like a runaway train hit him in the chest. There was no warning, just a blur of motion and a brutal impact as Dáinn materialized beside them. John was flung backward, his body slamming into the brick wall of the pub with a sickening thud before sliding down into a limp, unconscious heap on the pavement.
Eris blinked, the entire event happening faster than a heartbeat. She stared at John's still form, then at Dáinn, who now stood between them, his expression as calm as if he'd just swatted a fly.
He turned to her, his blue eyes searching her face. "Are you alright?"
Eris nodded slowly, her breath returning in a shaky gust. "Yeah. I… I think so."
Dáinn gave a single, satisfied nod. From the deeper shadows of the graveyard, Skógr emerged without a sound, his dark form blending into the night, his breath pluming in the cool air. "I will take you home," Dáinn stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Eris just nodded again, too stunned by the swift, violent poetry of it all to do anything else. The hunt for a mythical hare in a primeval forest suddenly seemed like the most straightforward part of her week.
The ride back to her apartment was a silent, tense journey through a tunnel of wind and cloud. Eris sat stiffly, the memory of John hitting the wall playing on a loop behind her eyes. Dáinn was a statue of simmering moodiness at her back, the air around him crackling with unspoken thoughts. When Skógr touched down on her street, the dismount was perfunctory. Dáinn's hands at her waist were quick, efficient, depositing her on the pavement without ceremony. There was no prolonged goodbye, no lingering touch.
"So… tomorrow? For the hare?" Eris asked, her voice sounding small.
A curt nod was his only reply. He watched, his expression unreadable, as she turned and disappeared inside. But instead of leaving, he guided Skógr onto the rooftop of her building, a silent sentinel standing watch over her dreams until the first grey light of dawn.