They turned the corner and Solanum pulled up short, nearly running into the hounds splayed out in a semi-circle. Teeth barred and hackles up, they were silent, ferocious weapons aimed at a creature three times their size. Twenty feet tall, humanoid, with grey-green skin and tiny eyes. And hairy. Very hairy.
“What in the goddess’s name is that?”
“Shh.” Logan’s warm lips leaned in close to her ear. “It’s a giant.”
“Oh,” she whispered back. “I thought they were bigger.”
“It’s not fully grown.” Logan glanced from side to side. “Mama is likely somewhere nearby. Damn it.”
The baby giant tore a small tree from the ground and ripped off the branches. It swished the tree back and forth, dirt flying from the roots, and kept the hounds at bay.
“Go! Go ‘way!” it howled.
A hound darted closer.
“Leave it.” Logan snapped out.
The reluctant hounds shot looks between the unlucky giant and their master. Trina slipped. She tangled fingers in Solanum’s mane, scrambling for a more secure seat.
The giant’s pulled its lips back, revealing a gap where its front teeth should have been, and uttered something between a growl and a whine. “Go ‘way!”
“We need to cross,” Logan’s calm voice was laced with a cord of power.
For the first time, Trina saw the small stream gurgling behind the giant.
The giant’s distress increased. Saliva began to drip from its open mouth and the sounds it made grew louder.
The hounds stayed put, their smooth red hides quivered and twitched, held back from ravaging the creature by Logan’s will.
“This my spot! You not belong!” The creature swung the branch in a fast arc, stepping forward with each pass, skimming the nose of the nearest hound. A great ripple went through the pack and their bodies shook with strain.
She didn’t know what the hounds were, but they weren’t dogs. Her inner sight told her they were shadow, magic, and something else. But not flesh and blood. No matter how real they felt when they touched her. Goddess knew what they would do to the young giant.
“Logan, keep them back. He’s just a baby, he doesn’t understand.”
“I know what he is. But we need to go through here. Believe it or not, this is the safest path to our destination.”
“I know a lullaby spell. Supposedly, it works for trolls. It might work for baby giants. Let me try.” She’d learned it as a child, all witches did, but she’d never thought to use it in a real situation.
Solanum shifted his weight. “I could eat it.” His long tongue licked out and Trina flinched. “Then we could go through. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Behind the small rheumy eyes of the giant, Trina swore she could see its desperation building. Soon it would feel it had no choice but to take on the hounds. “Please? Hold them off and give me a chance.”
“Can you do it from up here?”
“It would be better if I touched the ground.”
“It’s just a giant, one less won’t make a difference, but I don’t want to have to deal with its mother.” Logan rubbed his mouth with his free hand and his forehead creased. He sighed. “The forest is a bad place to spill blood. Give it a go.”
He loosened his grip and Trina slid down behind the pack of hounds. Once on the ground, the slavering giant seemed twice as big. The noises it made increased in pitch and the irritated hounds snapped and whined.
“Can you keep them back? I’ll need a little time.”
“They’ll hold.” He leaned over and touched her shoulder. “I’m right here behind you, lass.” His blue gaze held hers, giving her a sudden surge of confidence that he had her back. She nodded and stepped away.
The dirt path was cool against the soles of her feet as she breathed a quick prayer to the goddess. No time for a circle. No time for much of anything besides sending a questing link down into the strange earth of the forest and reaching for power.
And it came.
It came hungry, looking for a place to go. Strange magic shot into her feet, pouring through her. Words flowed from her mouth in a dark, hollow voice that came straight from the decay of the ancient trees.
“O na wa tig. O na wa ti. O na wa huzaltanate!”
This wasn’t her childhood nursery rhyme—sweet, soft, and soothing. This was old magic, straight from the ground beneath her feet and totally out of her control.
The giant froze, the branch held tight in its fists. This time, the voice was louder, the timbre an echoing vibration in her bones.
“O na wa tig. O na wa ti. O na wa huzaltanate!”
Solanum’s ears pasted flat to his head and out of the corner of her eye, Trina saw Logan’s set face and glittering eyes.
The creature wailed, the grating sound covering Logan’s soft curse. It dropped the branch and backed away, tripping and falling into the stream in its haste to flee. Picking itself up, it turned and ran, lumbering and wet, into the forest, tearing a whole new path through the trees.
Power built inside Trina and her body began to shake.
“Let it go.” Logan’s command rang inside her ears. “Lass, you have to let the power go.”
Rooted to the spot, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him—she’d let it go if she could, but she didn’t know any way to push the dark mass out.
Chapter Nine
Her skin flared and light skittered along her veins, burning a track to her heart.
All the hair on her body lifted and she started to sweat.
She hadn’t called this. It wasn’t the familiar Goddess’s blessed energy of the earth that fed and nurtured her powers. This was old.
And it carried a strange, frightening taint.
“Trina MacElvy—you can do this.” Logan’s voice rang with a confidence she knew was misplaced.
She was twenty-two and partially trained. She wasn’t experienced enough to control this, she wasn’t sure anyone was. But she had no choice. This was her body. No one else could evict the presence.
She groped for a way to find the earth—her earth—the one that had been her friend and power center since she could remember. She pictured the way the green of the land soothed her—the calm, easy way she felt looking at ripe stalks of wheat rippling in fields. The steady pulse of granite and marble. And the fecund scent of a freshly turned garden.
Her memories grew, pushing away all thoughts of this aggressive, hungry, almost sentient, earth power.
The darkness loosened, slowly, reluctantly, sliding away. Down, out of her face, and into her throat. Through her chest and past her belly, until finally, it drained out her feet and back into the ground. Trina collapsed.
She came to riding safe in Logan’s iron grip, each of Solanum’s steps making her head sway in pain.
“Ohhh.”
“Shh, we’re nearly there. Just relax.” The softness in her captor’s voice confused her. She struggled to remember that he was a threat and not an ally as she laid her aching head down and leaned into the security of his chest, hiding her face from the watching trees.
A sudden change of light slammed into Trina’s eyes. They cut through a split in a wild hedge and left the broody forest. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her dazzled tears.
“Wake up, lass.” Logan moved her hair back from her face, traces of his touch tingling her skin.
A washed-out grey cottage squatted in the center of a sunny clearing filled with wild grasses. Nearby, a shed leaned, ready to topple from the weight of the honeysuckle vines threatening to engulf its uncertain walls, their scent floating on the breeze. Birds and the chatter of small creatures filled the space, and Trina’s fear and tension dropped away at the suddenly normal sounds. She still ached and felt out of place, but in this oasis she could sense the safety of the earth.
“Sweet, sweet, home.” Logan grimaced at the dilapidated cottage. “At least, for a while.”
“Just great.” She sat up, rubbing her throbbing forehea
d.
“How are you feeling?”
She made the mistake of turning her body and looking into his face, inches away. His eyes, foreign and cold the night before, seemed truly concerned. She had the strange desire to reach up and touch his cheek, his chin, trace the contours of his lips. Warmth heated her from the inside and rushed to her cheeks. She ducked her head.
“I’m fine,” she lied and pulled away from the false comfort of his touch. “Let’s hope the inside is better.”
The black beast smirked at her over his shoulder. “Maybe the hounds will fly.”
“Shut it, lout.” Logan dismounted and reached up to help Trina down. “You’re not helping.”
She avoided his hands and slid down, happy to be off of Solanum and away from the conflicting heat of Logan’s body. Her stiff muscles complained from two days of unaccustomed use and she landed hard, bare feet stumbling in a patch of cool, welcoming clover.
Logan grabbed her arm. “Careful, lass.”
“I’m fine.” She jerked away.
Warmth spread from where he’d touched her and she resisted rubbing her arm. The physical attraction between his kind and hers would be hard enough to fight without the tingle of power spreading down her wrist and along her skin.
Logan’s hand dropped to hang at his side, his interrupted smile smoothing back into place. He stepped away from her and jerked his head towardss the cottage, now blocked by the swarming hounds.
“After you.”
Trina picked her way through the swell of investigating hounds and over to the sagging porch. She wiggled her toes in the grass, grateful for the feel of the cool earth. Earth that didn’t try to take her over and, in fact, soothed her headache away. Feeling much better, she stopped at the bottom of the old porch stairs and for once in her life, wished for shoes.
Testing each soft, weathered board to see if it would hold her weight, she eased up the creaking steps. Despite the uncared for look, the boards were surprisingly smooth and splinter free. Thank the goddess. The last thing she needed was him cradling her foot in his large, capable hands, probing the bottom of her foot with gentle, expert pressure.
Tingles spiraled across the soles of her feet and her heated skin prickled.
No, she didn’t need a splinter.
Sure booted steps never hesitating, Logan crossed the decrepit porch to the green, flaking door, lifted the ancient brass latch and pushed. The door didn’t move.
“You live here?” she asked.
His shoulders went rigid.
Well, well, well. The arrogant elven lord had a sensitive spot.
He tried pushing the door open a second time. “Well, no.” He smiled, but it seemed forced. “I’ve been...out of the area. This is my uncle’s cottage and he’s letting us shelter here. It should be safe enough.” His face hardened. “If we don’t stay too long.”
Putting his shoulder to the door, he lifted the latch again and shoved. The door creaked open with a whoosh of stale air. Dust flew, sparkling in the sunlight. Logan fell back coughing and blinking his watering eyes. Trina covered her nose and mouth and peered into the dim opening.
“I haven’t been here for at least a hundred years, but it can't be that bad. Rinnal cares for it too much.” Was that a hesitant tone in his arrogant voice?
“If this is how he cares for things, I’d hate to see what he doesn’t care for.”
He shot her a dirty look and stepped over the threshold into the cave-like interior. She followed, testing the wooden floor and sneezing at the puffs of dust she stirred with each step.
Unlike the magical cottage she’d slept in, this was truly one room. In the gloom, she could make out a few chairs and a wooden table. A grimy broken brass bed slumped in one corner and in the other, some kind of cabinet functioned as a dry sink. And everything, absolutely everything, was covered with a thick layer of dust.
“Where’s the bathroom? And where’s my room?” she asked, her vocal cords tightening as she took in the room and the solitary bed. “Look, if I’d wanted to share a bed with you, I’d have bargained for that in the first place and been done and out of here.”
“Be careful what you wish for, lass.” He raised an eyebrow and righted a fallen three-legged stool.
“Our bargain was clear, no sex.” No hot, sweaty sex with the elven lord. No sliding her hands down his chest, along his abs, and down his flat stomach. She ignored the quiver between her legs. She wasn’t here for sex. She was here to get her year done and get out.
“Bargains are rarely that clear, Trina MacElvy. Are you sure you haven’t bargained for more?”
She swallowed. She’d read the contract, but elves were rumored to be tricky.
He snorted a soft laugh. “Relax. I believe there’s a loft up that ladder.” He pointed towards the back wall and lifted his voice into a near English accent. “The facilities are behind the cottage.”
“Outhouse. You mean an outhouse.” Hands on her hips, she channeled her secret lust into anger. “What about a shower? I might’ve been on the run most of my life and lived in some rustic places, but every single one of them had indoor plumbing.” She looked around the room again, taking in the kitchen area and distinct lack of faucets. “What do we do for water?”
“You may not have noticed the well we passed on the way in. It was a little overgrown.”
She examined his face for signs of levity, searching her memory for something resembling a story book well and only coming up with another overgrown flowering plant.
“Do you mean the heap of greenery out there? There’s a well in there? What makes you think there’s any water?”
His eyes narrowed. His voice lost its pleasant edge.
“If there isn’t any water, I will take care of it.”
“No shower. No running water. It's a good thing you can do magic at the drop of a hat. A shower would be a good place to start, or maybe getting rid of the dust.” She imagined the generations of disappointed women she channeled in her tight lips and tapping toe.
“Magic.” He exhaled, the visible tension in his face seeping out with his breath. “Have you been acquainted with many...elves,” he stumbled over the word, “or any of the fae?”
“My family is being killed by your kind. I don’t hang around with murderers.”
“I’ll ignore that. Well?”
“I’ve met a few. Some brownies. A boghart in one house. We’ve had to fight off a few hobgoblins, too. Why?”
“Those are all lesser fae. Tell me what you know about the high fae—elvatians.”
“Elvatian?” She tasted the strange word. “I’ve never heard of them before.”
“You call us elves.” He grimaced. “Elf, elves, elven... all human slang. We call ourselves elvatians. Go on, what do you know?”
“Elves...elvatians.”
His frown eased at her use of the term.
“Elvatians. Let’s see.” It felt strange on her tongue. Curious, that she’d never heard it used before to describe elves. “Powerful magicians. You conjured that contract out of thin air. And the power that surrounds you is.... well, let's just say you seem to have quite a bit.” Major understatement. She couldn’t let him know that the amount of power he oozed scared her to her toes.
“I didn't exactly conjure the contract out of thin air. It appeared when we struck our bargain and stored itself, tucked away, in a pocket. I simply made it larger. Those sorts of things easily impress humans. I have my natural magics, but I’m a hunter by nature.”
“Whatever the hell that means.”
Logan straightened and caught her gaze in his. “My magics are those of the wood and woodland creatures. I call the stag and command the wolves.” His voice became even more fluid and rhythmic, and he seemed to cast a slight glow. “My arrows fly true. When I hunt, I always find my prey. I am the Huntsman.”
The thrum and cadence of his words vibrated low in her abdomen. Trina drew closer, unwilling to pull free of the snare of his crystaline eyes. A stron
g smell of smoke and leather rose up over the odor of dust and disuse, and she became more aware of his height and power, feeling suddenly small and fragile. And very, very human.
She shook her head to clear it and backed across the room. “You mean you can't snap your fingers and clean the dust?” To cover her shakiness, she kept her words lemon-tart.
He grinned. “Isn’t that one of the benefits of having an indentured servant?” The glow disappeared, and so did the strong pull.
Trina frowned up, still off-kilter from his hypnotic litany.
“You said you would clean, I remember you clearly stating your willingness.” His expression was conciliatory, something she had to blink at to be sure it was there. “We could amend the contract and substitute other favors in lieu of cleaning.” He leaned in towardss her and waggled his dark eyebrows, lips turning up in a suggestive smirk. “I think you were the one who mentioned sex.”
“Not happening.”
He snorted and walked over to the table, hair ornaments jingling, and ran a long finger in the dust. “You’re a witch. You have powers. A little cleaning should be easy for you.”
“I’m a green witch. An earth witch. I’m good with animals and gardens. It takes more energy to do this with magic than to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Cleaning this place would require elbow grease, and since that was what she was trading for her life, she’d better make it sound like it was worth it—just in case he tried to amend the contract.
She wouldn’t put it past him.
“If we’re going to stay here, it will require work. Lots of work.” She blew at the dust on the table and it scattered into the air. He backed away fast and she hid her own smirk. “Are you sure this is the best place to hide? Tell me—why do you think this dump will be safe from the queen?”
The humor dropped from his now wintery eyes. “Nowhere is completely safe from the queen, but I’ve taken steps. She shouldn’t be looking for you. In her mind, you’re dead.”
Trina shivered, a sure sign of someone crossing her grave. “You told her I was dead?” She hid her hand behind her back and made the sign to prevent evil.
Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 7
