Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1)

by Jessica Aspen

  “How did you know I’d find you?” He slid Singer into its sheathe.

  She smiled, the confident smile of an older woman in the company of an awkward, younger man. Suddenly, he felt like a gawky adolescent.

  “Did you think you could ask for me and not have it come to my ears well before you arrived? You may be the Black Queen’s huntsman, but I have connections far older than either you or the queen. Don’t discount befriending the smallest of our kind.” She nodded outside where the lesser fae played.

  Logan took a cautious seat opposite with a good view of the room and exits. Aoife poured tea and offered him his choice of cups. He cast a small hidden spell to check for poison. She might look like a hip grandma, but this was a being far older and far cannier than he, and he still smelled a trap.

  A small, knowing smile played on her lips and she regarded him evenly over the rim of her teacup. She knew he’d checked her hospitality.

  His ears flushed hot.

  “What does the queen wish of me? I have been away from her court for some time now.” She regarded him evenly over the rim of her teacup.

  “I’m here for information about the MacElvy tribe.” He put his cup down on the table’s glossy surface.

  “And why would Her Majesty think that I would provide her with any information now? I certainly didn’t before.”

  “Actually, I’m here to get some background on the situation. I found it prudent to ask elsewhere than the court.”

  “I’m intrigued.” She took a sip of tea. “What sort of background?”

  “There’s a rumor of a prophecy associated with the MacElvys. I would appreciate it if you could tell me what it contains.”

  She frowned. “The queen didn’t send you?”

  “I never said the queen sent me.”

  “But you are her man.”

  “I am my own man.”

  Aoife’s eyes gleamed. She sipped her tea and waited for him to slip and say more.

  Irritated by her assumption that he was at the queen’s beck and call, he shifted uneasily on the sofa. He was out of his depth. Out in the woods, he was in control, but this was too much like the quicksand of the court for his comfort. She looked like some human’s grandma, but he had a sudden suspicion she was a spider in disguise.

  “I heard you’re a friend of the MacElvy’s. Or were, a few years ago.”

  “Is that the best you can do?” She regarded him over her teacup. “Come, come, Huntsman, I will tell you nothing for that sort of disclosure. You’ll have to show me your full hand.”

  He had no choice. He, Trina, and the prince, were running out of time.

  Cracking his neck he chose his next words carefully. “All I would like is the wording of the prophecy.”

  “And why do you need this? Has not the queen this information?”

  “I would prefer not to answer that.” He knew she wanted more, but he refused to tell her anything that would put his prize waiting for him at Stephan’s in any more danger.

  She took one more excruciating sip. Then another.

  He schooled himself to sit and listen to the small noises in the quiet room; an old grandfather clock ticking away, birdsong, the distant sounds of the fairies in the fountain shrieking outside as Solanum misbehaved.

  He’d out-waited prey before. He could wait a long time.

  Finally, Aoife put her cup down. “If, and I say if, I give you this information, I’ll require something of you in the future. It will not be something you cannot give, but it will be perhaps more than you will be willing to give.” She leaned back, millenniums and more of patience in her eyes.

  Logan let himself relax a small amount. Here at last was the trap.

  He evaluated his opponent as she waited for his response. He knew she’d stood up to the queen for the MacElvys. He knew she’d opted for a quiet life, outside the machinations of the queen’s court, and possibly the Golden King’s as well. He weighed the risk of taking her bargain against going back to Trina and confessing failure.

  Telling Trina she might never know why her family had been persecuted. Telling her she needed to give up on the last few members of her family and consider them dead. Telling her she’d lost any chance at a normal life and must remain imprisoned with him.

  And he knew that’s what it would be, imprisonment.

  He would never know if Trina loved him, or if she had no choice but to stay with him or risk death. She would hate him for the loss of her family. And if he didn’t solve the problem, he might have to bow down to the queen and kill the rest of the MacElvys.

  If he killed her family, there was no doubt, Trina would never forgive him.

  Whatever price Aoife would exact from him, it would be better than watching the woman he loved grow old and die, hating him for a life trapped with him.

  A dizzy spiraling rose up in his brain. Placing the shaking teacup down on the table, he placed his hands on his knees and held very still, struggling to remain upright and hide from Aoife that inside, he’d begun to fall into a thousand pieces as he discovered what he truly knew.

  He loved Trina.

  Solanum would be laughing his head off, telling him it was foolish to love a woman who would die thousands of years or more before you. Foolish to love someone whom he was responsible for killing. Foolish to love at all.

  “Are you all right, Huntsman? You’re looking a bit pale.”

  He stared at the woman across from him, but all he could picture were Trina’s green eyes imploring him to save her family. He made his decision.

  “You’ll have your forfeit when you call for it,” he said. “Now give me the prophecy.”

  Her lips curled up in a smug smile and she took another sip of tea.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Haddon always found the queen to be the most beautiful when she was happy and engaged in her favorite activity. Her cherry purple hair swayed lightly, her eyes glowed, and her teeth clenched in excitement as she hummed a happy little tune and used her favorite golden pair of tweezers to extract the prisoners’ toenails, one-by-one. Each scream echoing away into the corners of the dungeons before she extended her tweezers to pull out the next bleeding scrap.

  When he saw her relaxed and busy like this, he almost wished he could keep her after he was king. Having the leader of the Seven Tribes offer to take care of the MacElvy witch had been like having a ripe apricot drop into her lap. She’d savored the delicious flavor and taste of knowing this was the end of the MacElvys and had been easily diverted to the dungeon, leaving the intricacies of the court to him and him alone.

  Unfortunately, he knew life would not stay like this. This was the calm between storms. Now he had to give her news that was not going to be well received. He would delay a little longer, until the prisoner had no toenails left. It was only fair.

  The decrepit Owen had been under the weather since losing his quarters and being relocated. Really, they must find a replacement soon. It had taken the old man too long to report on the Traveller leader’s attempt at assassination. The queen would not be pleased when she found out that the old woman had failed to kill the girl.

  He watched the queen play with her victim for a few minutes longer, then took a deep breath. Maybe he would tell her while he was still outside the cell. That way, she would have the prisoner to take her anger out on. Yes, that would be the best. And then he could tell her of the alternative plan that was already underway.

  AT FIRST, TRINA THOUGHT the knocking was the rain hitting the tin roof, but something about the regular pounding struck her as odd. She put the biscuits in the oven, set the timer, and tried to see out into the dark, stormy farmyard, but the person knocking had their head covered in a black slicker. It wasn’t Logan or Stephan. There was no way she was opening the door to a stranger. Not after her experience at the cottage.

  The person kept knocking.

  Trina blew out a frustrated breath and looked for a weapon, any weapon, as she ran through her repertoire of spells.
Stephan was right. She could defend herself. But spells took time and she didn’t have any prepared. No candles, no way to set a trap. She picked up a heavy cast-iron skillet she had been surprised to find in a half-fae’s kitchen.

  “Go away,” she called through the door, holding the skillet up. “I’m not interested.” But the knocking continued.

  Maybe Logan had sent someone with a message, or maybe it was one of Stephan’s neighbors needing help in the storm.

  Her heart sped up.

  She looked out the window. Heavy storm clouds had blocked all the sun. Even though it was nearly noon, it was as dark as night outside. Trina flipped on the porch light and peered through the pouring rain. The person was a black shadow under a dark raincoat. All she could make out was a blurry hand knocking as if they would never stop.

  She squeezed her hands over her ears, but now the knocking came through clearly under the sounds of the storm.

  She wouldn’t open the door. But...maybe she could open the window, just an eensy bit, and talk to the person. Get them to stop the irritating sound and go away. She pushed up the heavy wooden sill a few inches and called out through the gap. “Hello?”

  The person stopped knocking and gestured, seeming to push the air in Trina’s direction.

  The pressure changed in Trina’s ears. Something wasn’t right. Her heartbeat sped up.

  She reached for the window frame to close it and caught a whiff of the fresh scent of apples through the gap Bending her arms to push the heavy wooden frame down, she took in a deep breath, and inhaled the tart, delicious smell. Fresh. Crisp. So deliciously ripe.

  Her eyes closed in anticipatory bliss and her mouth watered.

  Instead of pushing the sill down, she pushed the window wide. The juicy scent of apples poured in along with the icy rain.

  Trina blinked water out of her lashes and tried to see through the torrent. The figure came over to the window and held up a basket. Inside were brilliant red apples, shining brightly in the dark of the storm.

  “Look at these lovely apples, my dear.” The woman’s voice was a horrifyingly familiar rich contralto.

  Trina’s mind fogged over. The skillet dropped from her hand and clanged onto the floor. She pressed her face against the screen, trying to get more of the irresistible scent of fresh apple.

  Somewhere inside her head, she heard herself screaming, and she struggled to get control of her own body. She would not let this happen again. Not again.

  The woman held out her basket. “Apples would be good in a pie, my dear.”

  Just like at the cottage, Trina knew that this was wrong, so wrong. But her hand stretched out, her fingers catching on the screen as she reached and stretched for the beacon of a bright, shiny apple.

  She centered, to marshal her defenses for a spell that would get her out of the sticky slowness her thoughts had become and gain her control of her own body. But the fog in her head and the lure of the apples grew too strong. She pushed the screen out. It dropped into a puddle on the deck and she leaned out over the window sill for a better whiff.

  Apples. Red, ripe apples.

  Trina’s hand latched onto the handle of the woman’s outstretched basket. Somewhere, someone screamed, but she didn’t care anymore. She reached for the first gleaming fruit.

  It was slick, hard, and a perfect, ruby red. Her teeth ached to bite into the crisp skin, break it open, and sink down into the cool, white flesh.

  Saliva pooled in her mouth.

  As if from a distance, Trina watched her hand bring the glossy, red fruit up, knowing without a doubt that if she took a bite, she’d be dead. Her hand shook, as she tried to stop the apple from its inexorable path to her mouth. A small part of her held on to the thought of life, family, and Logan and she dug deep, struggling to access her Gift.

  There, just a glimmering flicker within, her magic strained to rise to her call. Something that had always been easy became a massive struggle. Her Gift called up power from the earth and it coiled up from the dirt under the house, through the boards, and penetrated the soles of her feet, despite the distance and the apple’s draw.

  Her muscles contracted with the simultaneous effort of bringing the ripe fruit closer and keeping it as far away as possible.

  The apple hovered before her lips.

  Anticipation pooled in her mouth.

  “Yes, my dear, yes.” The voice from under the black raincoat shook. “You want to bite the apple. Swallow it. Taste its delicious poison.”

  Trina pushed her Gift, struggling to force her fingers to drop the fruit, but her magic was drowned out by a surge of apple scent and a fierce compulsion to bite into the shiny red surface. She brought it to her mouth. Her jaw flexed, her teeth opened and she bit down, breaking the skin and sinking in.

  It was crunchy and delicious. Sweet juice dripped down her lips and onto her chin. Thunder boomed, startling her, and she gasped, sucking the large chunk of apple into her throat.

  She began to choke.

  Precious seconds passed. Her air dwindled. She had nothing left.

  She fell back into the house and hit the floor, the apple rolling from her hand across the floor. The stranger appeared in the open window. Trina stretched out her hand in appeal but the woman dumped her basket of bright red apples into the house, maniacal laughter echoing through the pings of rain on the tin roof.

  Trina’s eyes closed and her hand relaxed. But her magic was there, still flickering inside her. It wasn’t strong. She couldn’t say a spell, couldn’t focus it with candles or an athame. But she still had her will.

  She lay unable to move, the icy rain pouring in the wide-open window soaking her clothes. Her ears buzzed as she became smaller and smaller inside her own body. Using her last scrap of will, Trina seized the only piece of magic she could reach, the tiny cord of her Gift tied deep in her soul, and she wrapped it around the metaphysical spark of her life force to form a shield.

  The last sound she heard as she passed out was the fading sound of laughter and the pounding rain on the tin roof.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Logan opened the door to the kitchen and nearly choked on the smell of burning biscuits. He stepped inside, and kicked something across the floor that rolled and bounced stopping only when it hit a body. The strength drained from his legs, and they buckled.

  Trina lay on the floor in a puddle of water, surrounded by lurid, red apples.

  He sagged on the doorframe, letting the wind and rain blow into the room. Thunder cracked and he moved, shouting for Stephan, kicking the shiny, ruby globes away from her prone body. He dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse.

  He couldn’t find it.

  Where the hell was Stephan?

  “Stephan!”

  Behind him, he heard boots on the floor and the click of the door closing. He was up, sword in hand and at his opponent’s throat before the sound had died away. Stephan stood, hands up, holding very still as Singer’s sharp point drew a tiny drop of blood from the dip of his throat.

  “Whoa there.”

  Logan sheathed his sword. “What the hell happened?” He pushed rain soaked hair out of his face and bent back to Trina’s still figure, collapsing on the floor next to her and pulling her on to his lap. Her head lolled to the side. “I left her with you.” His voice cracked.

  Thunder boomed again and a hard wind shook the house.

  “I’m sorry.” Stephan’s face contorted. “Christ, I never would have left her if I’d thought anything would happen to her.” He came further into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as if he could make the picture of Trina puddled on the floor disappear. “She should have been safe. No one even knew you were here.”

  “Someone did.”

  He scanned Trina’s aura finding the area around her throat had a noxious green, cloudy color, but that didn’t tell him much. He shook her frantically, searching through her hair and in her clothes, looking up at Stephan for answers when he couldn’t find anything
besides the gleaming apple with the single bite lying next to her hand.

  For the first time since he was a child he felt panicked, unable to decide on a course of action. Afraid.

  It rose up in his throat, choking him like a fist. “Damn it. Do something!”

  “I don’t know how to heal. You know that,” Stephan’s hands fell to his sides. He stared at Logan and at Trina’s unconscious body cradled in his arms. He blinked several times, shaking is head. “I’m sorry. I’ll summon your uncles.”

  Logan picked up the bitten apple and threw it. It hit hard, splattering the kitchen wall, broken shards of white and red dripping down like blood. He wiped his hand against his thigh, as if he could scrub the evil away. Trina was fading before his eyes and he knew, even if his uncles could help, they wouldn’t arrive in time.

  The kitchen door slammed open, hitting the wall. Wind, rain, and Solanum, in the shape of a black hound, blew in, a shrieking old woman hanging from a torn, black raincoat gripped tightly between sharp teeth.

  “She’s dead! And there’s nothing you can do,” the woman cackled.

  Logan rose from his place next to Trina’s body. “What did you do to her?”

  She glared at him and spit on the floor, narrowly missing Trina’s lifeless hand. Solanum shook his head hard and the woman’s teeth clacked together.

  Stephan came up beside them, sniffing. “She reeks of magic. Strong, dark magic.”

  Logan opened his Gift and searched for her aura. At first, he couldn’t even see it. Then he extended his reach, insinuating his magic into the dark recesses of her soul. He pushed and it slid out from under a glamour, spreading to cover her in a dark and greasy cloud. The old woman grinned and he understood, this was the same woman who had brought Trina near death with the combs.

  His vision blurred red and he seized her, ripping her from Solanum’s teeth and shaking her until her head snapped back and forth on her neck like a doll’s.

  “Logan, stop!” Stephan grabbed his arms. “You’ll kill her. We need to find out what’s wrong with Trina.”