by Emma Hamm
Aisling glanced around the wooded area but couldn’t find any markers that were familiar. She was seated on the ground amid fallen red leaves in nothing more than her white linen shift. A black cloak covered her legs, the sensitive, burned flesh turning white hot when she shifted the abrasive fabric.
A fire crackled nearby, small enough to shed light and warmth but not large enough to give her flashbacks. Still, she glared at it before reaching for the cloak.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the disembodied voice called out. “You’re still healing.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she mocked.
Hissing through her teeth, she pulled the cloak off her legs and stared down at the mangled mess. Blisters covered the long length of her legs, raw and filled with pus. She’d have to be careful moving, let alone trying to get back to her hut.
But she needed her spell books. There was a spell to heal burned flesh since enough witches had gone through the same thing. All she needed to do was find it....
“As you can tell, you aren’t going anywhere.”
“That’s what you think.” She flattened her hands to the ground and then searched through the dark for a stick. She’d need something to help her stand, but once she had a crutch, she could hobble back to her home and—
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“I think it’s quite obvious you aren’t in any state to be getting up.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, faerie.” She’d stand up if she wanted to, and he couldn't stop her.
“You called me by another name before,” he said. She heard a hint of desperation in the words. A distraction, perhaps? “You may call me that if you wish.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I prefer ‘faerie.’” It had a flavor of insult she appreciated. “I have my doubts you are Fiach Dubh Ri.”
“Why?”
Leaves rustled in the thicket behind her. Was he there? Or was it some creature sneaking up on her?
Aisling tried to find the outline of a faerie body in the forest, but all she could see were trees. She couldn’t understand why he was hiding. She couldn’t even remember much other than a shadowy figure and a kind touch on her cheek. Faeries liked people to see them. They were the most beautiful creatures to ever exist. Or perhaps the Unseelie were not.
She didn’t know much about their kind. The Seelie were open with their laws, the way they lived, how they looked. The Unseelie stayed away from humans other than to trick them, and in those situations, they always hid themselves with glamours. She’d never met an Unseelie before.
She heaved a sigh. “I don’t think the true Fiach Dubh Ri would ever have waited so long to pull a dying woman from a bonfire.”
“Witch fire.”
“Excuse me?”
He cleared his throat. “I believe it’s called a witch fire if they’re trying to kill a witch.”
“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” She shifted her legs and winced. How the hell was she going to stand up? If Lorcan were here… Her fists clenched. “Where is my familiar?”
“Your what?”
“My familiar.”
A chuckle drifted through the air like rain falling from the sky. “Are you still pretending you’re a witch?”
“I am a witch. Now where is—”
“Yes,” he interrupted sarcastically, “your familiar. How should I know where the cat sidhe disappeared? They are notoriously unfaithful companions.”
The leaves rustled again, this time mingling with a faint hissing sound. She tensed until a warm, soft body rubbed against her back.
Aisling sighed. “There you are, Lorcan.”
He purred and bumped his head on her elbow. “Unfaithful? I think I could say the same about you, Fae.”
“Me?” The unnamed man snorted. “You don’t even know who I am.”
“Do I not?” Lorcan butted Aisling’s elbow with his head, a suggestion to stand up so they could leave. “When did Unseelie learn how to read minds?”
She frowned down at her cat. “Unseelie?”
“No Seelie Fae would lurk in the shadows while a lady needed help.” Lorcan sneered at the darkness. “Not unless they had something to hide.”
A sizzle of pain traveled from the bottom of her feet all the way up to the top of her head. She arched her back with a hiss. “That’s it,” she growled, “I don’t have time to watch this pissing contest. You two can stay here, but I’m going home.”
She rolled onto her knees, sucked in a lungful of air, and shoved herself to her feet. Her mind blanked as agonizing pain streaked through her body and stole her sight. She hadn’t realized there were blisters on her feet that would pop as soon as she put weight on them.
She cried out and would have fallen to the ground, but she was caught against a strong chest. He held his arm around her waist and lifted her up onto her toes.
The deep voice was in her ear now, husky and deep. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to walk just yet.”
“I’m not staying here.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I don’t even know where here is.” She anchored her hands on his forearm, pressing down to take any lingering weight off her mangled feet. “I need to heal, and I can only do that with my spell books.”
“Have a little faith in me, witch.”
“Lorcan?”
The cat sidhe sat down next to the fire, rolled onto his side, and bared his belly to the warmth. “Here’s as good as anywhere else.”
“I need to heal myself.”
The faerie behind her snorted. “You need to trust someone else to take care of you.”
“Oh, and who would that be? You? The man I have yet to see.”
“You saw me at the edge of the forest.”
She shook her head. “No, not really. I saw a form through the flames and thought it was a childhood story come to save me. Not a flesh and blood man.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned away and laid her back to the ground.
She hadn’t noticed there had been another cloak beneath her. Surly and uncomfortable, she admitted he had at least been kind. Faeries weren’t usually so considerate of anyone’s comfort.
“I would like to treat your legs if you will allow it.”
Aisling bit her lips, considering the options. She could let him heal her legs and then deal with the consequences of taking a faerie’s help. Or she could insist he let her go and stumble through the woods until she happened upon her hut.
There wasn’t a choice.
She sighed and kept her eyes on the ground. “Yes, fine. What do you want in return?”
“Do I need to ask for something?”
“Faeries always want to make a deal.”
“Ah.” She could hear him shifting, walking around her and then kneeling beside her legs. “How about you remove the binding curse?”
“Funny. I'll do that the moment you heal my legs.”
“I’m not joking. And why aren’t you looking at me?”
Because a part of her was still holding onto hope he might be Fiach Dubh Ri. She licked her lips, “Faeries prefer privacy. I don't want to insult you, Master Fae.”
“Master? Been a long time since anyone called me that.” His voice was laced with humor. “You may look upon me if you so wish, witch.”
She ground her teeth together, took another breath, and looked up.
At first, her eyes couldn’t understand what she was seeing. The man kneeling in front of her was handsome. His jaw was chiseled, his lips full and wide. When he grinned at her, a dimple appeared.
And then she realized he wasn’t handsome at all.
What looked like a shadow covering the left side of his face was actually dark feathers flattened against his skull. His head wasn’t shaved at all. Instead thick points poked through the skin that looked like quills. His eyes didn’t match—one was green, and the other was swallowed
entirely by a yellow iris that wildly rotated as it looked her up and down while the other eye remained still. The foot planted on the ground next to her knee had four taloned toes, black skin, and rigid scales.
Her jaw dropped open, and she stared at him with burning cheeks. “What are you?” she whispered.
“Unseelie.” His lips quirked to the side, and his eyes twinkled. “Or did you expect some handsome Fae to have saved you?”
She could barely breathe when he was looking at her like that. He didn’t look like a raven at all, but a hungry wolf. “I've yet to find any Fae handsome.”
“No? Then why are you blushing?” He pressed his hands flush against her legs, the movement too quick for her eyes to track.
“Lucky guess.” She bared her teeth in a grimace, releasing a growl at the pain. “You did that on purpose,” she accused.
“Did what?”
“Distracted me so I wouldn’t know when you were going to touch me. You can’t see my face. Ouch. Who taught you how to heal? You have the least delicate touch I’ve ever had the displeasure of feeling.”
“Delicate? What about me makes you think I would be delicate?” He smoothed his hand down her shin to her feet. The blisters deflated and flattened against her skin in the wake of his touch. She was still red but no longer raw.
“Healing means making the person feel better, not hurting them more.”
“Do you feel better?” He arched a dark brow and flicked an amused glance her way. “Or worse?”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t intend to answer that question.”
“Ah. Your silence speaks louder than words.”
Aisling crossed her arms and watched him work. She couldn’t argue that he was quite talented. The blisters faded, the ache was nearly tolerable, and she was certain he was doing it with very little concentration.
He stared at the surrounding forest with an intensity that made her heart hammer in her chest. If there was danger in the forest, she doubted he would try to keep them safe. He could leave her easily if trouble arose, and he likely wouldn’t feel guilty about it. She might have thought he was lost in his own thoughts if the raven eye of his wasn’t whirling in its socket.
“So what is it?” she blurted, cutting through the silence.
“What is what?”
“Your eye. It’s unusual to see a faerie marked like that.”
She realized how rude the question was the exact moment his hands clenched around her ankles. A soft whine escaped her lips, and he gentled his grip. “It is uncommon.”
“Care to explain?”
He shook his head and slid warm hands up her calves. She held her breath as he reached her knees. A heated stare somehow met hers, and Aisling lost herself in his eyes.
Leaves unfurled in a bright ray of sunshine. Emeralds glistened in a crown made for a king. A sea of verdant grass rolled in a breeze she could not feel. All of nature was trapped in the well of his gaze.
When his fingers shifted to the back of her knee, warmth bloomed in their wake. His touch gentled. Was the Unseelie trying to be considerate of her wounds? Yet another oddity about him that she couldn’t understand.
Her thoughts skipped a beat when he stroked her legs again. When was the last time someone had touched her like this? She couldn’t remember. The children were polite and touched her hands when she allowed it, but they never touched her like this.
The light touch captivated her attention until she could focus on nothing other than the gentle fingers soothing the pain in her legs. He wanted to help her even if he wanted something in return.
“Breathe,” he said with a chuckle.
Aisling snapped her gaze away from his hands on her legs to see laughter in his eyes. She tried to untangle herself from his warm grasp, but he tightened his hold.
“I’m not done yet, witch. Don’t let my charms overwhelm you.”
“Charms?” She rolled her eyes. “You seem to think I'm affected by you. I am not.”
“My mistake then. Usually when I have my hands on a woman’s bare legs and she stops breathing, I assume she’s waiting for more.”
“Perhaps you know some women, faerie, but you do not know me.”
He made a noncommittal hum and slid his hands up the rest of her legs. When his nails scraped against the top of her thighs, she bit the inside of her lip to keep herself silent. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. He did affect her.
Aisling didn’t like it.
He made quick work of her healing, pulled down her skirt until it rested against her shins once more, and leaned back. “All done.”
“We’ll see about that.” She already intended to make as many comments about his lack of healing skills as possible. But when she leaned down, pulled up her skirt, and looked at his work, she found little to disagree with. The blisters were gone. Her skin was still red, but more like a sunburn than an attempt at her life.
Begrudgingly, she sniffed. “It’s a fine job.”
“Would you go so far as to say I ‘healed’ you?”
She already hated his teasing. Frowning, she gave him a look that should have shriveled him up. “Don’t push it, Fae.”
He held up his hands and laughed. “What do you have against the Fae anyway?”
“I have nothing against them. I have him, don’t I?” She pointed at Lorcan.
“Cat sidhes are a different breed because they aren't always born faeries.” He arched a brow. “You have no inclination to trust me at all. You’re a surly little thing whose hackles rise the moment I step near you. Why’s that?”
“It’s not as if you’re easy on the eyes.”
It was a low blow, and she knew it. Aisling cast her eyes to the side even though he couldn’t see her. Speaking with faeries could be difficult when they couldn’t see her expressions. Luckily, he wouldn’t know she was embarrassed by her own rudeness.
“No, I don’t think that's it,” he replied. “You’re not afraid. You’re throwing out barbs so I won’t get too close.”
He saw too much. Far more than she was comfortable with.
“Thank you for healing me,” she ground between clenched teeth, “but I really must be on my way.”
She pushed to her feet, holding her breath for the blinding pain that had stolen her breath. She released a sigh when the pain didn’t come. He really had done a fine job healing her.
Damned faeries. They were always good at everything.
“Lorcan, let’s go.”
“But it’s warm here.” He let out a rumbling purr. “The fire feels nice.”
“We’re not staying.”
“My legs aren’t working.”
“They work fine.” She rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers at the lazy cat. “Get up! We’re going home.”
He opened one eye and narrowed it on her. “Did you just snap your fingers at me like I was a common household pet?”
Aisling clenched her fists. The damned cat might be a witch, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t required to listen. If he wanted to live with her, then they needed to compromise.
She opened her mouth to blurt out a scathing retort, only to be interrupted by the Unseelie.
“I must also request you remain where you are.”
“We’ve already heard your arguments, faerie. I need not hear them again.”
“And yet you made a deal with me.”
She let out a slow breath. The words shouldn’t have been sensual, but they slid along her senses like the finest of velvet. A deal. She’d been the fool who had made a deal with an Unseelie faerie just to spite him.
“Of course,” she mumbled, “the binding curse.”
“Remove it.” He smoothed a hand down his chest, rearranging his tunic and vest as if he were about to do something important. He tapped a finger against the faint scorch mark over his heart. “Right here, in case you need a reminder.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. Then cast your spell, and we can both
be on our merry ways.”
She looked him up and down. The faerie was a strange man and immediately grated on her nerves, but she wanted to remember him.
The feathers on his face flattened and his brow furrowed. His fingers twitched, and his taloned toes tapped against the ground as he waited to see what she would do next. It was a shame she couldn’t get to know him better. Of the few faeries she’d met, he was the most interesting.
Aisling lifted a hand and opened her palm. The eye shifted against her skin, twitching as it surveyed the landscape. “Hex break, curse release, all magic from my lips cease. So mote it be.”
The power building on her fingertips sizzled and popped in her hand. A flare of static made her hair stand on end while searing pain bounced between her fingertips in bolts of tiny lightning. Crying out, she grabbed her wrist and forced her hand down. The magic gathered and cracked in the air like thunder.
The clearing fell silent other than the rasp of her breath. She held her hand palm down, pointed at the ground, so the eyes could not see anything else.
“What was that?” the faerie growled.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s your magic!”
“I don’t know.” This had never happened before. The eyes on her palms helped channel her magic, while the bindings at the tips of her fingers concealed her face. They had never rebelled against her before.
She swung her hand up to try again, only to get hit in the chest by a ball of magic so strong it knocked her back a few steps. She heard the crackle of power gathering in her palm again and swung her hand back toward the ground.
“I release this spell back to the earth,” she frantically said.
Electricity slammed into the ground with an audible bang. Aisling winced. She’d left a hole in the earth in the exact shape of her hand, and she hadn’t even touched the ground.
At some point during the scene, Lorcan had fled the fire. He now sat next to the Unseelie, nearly on his foot, staring at her with wide eyes. He sneezed. “What’s going on with the eyes?”
“I’m not sure.”
“They’ve never done that before.”
She hesitantly turned her hand over and examined the eye closely. “No, they have not.”
The Unseelie rubbed the side of his head, a scraping sound that echoed in the silence. “Is someone going to explain what’s going on here?”
