To Kill a Fae (Hollowcliff Detectives Book 1)

by C. S. Wilde

  “I must be quick,” the witch said mostly to herself, a certain fear in her tone as she hurried toward Bast, unsheathing yet another of her daggers.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” Mera begged through gritted teeth.

  A gut wound was fatal. Not only that, but it would be a slow, agonizing death, and there were no hospitals nearby.

  I die on land. Like any other human…

  The thought brought her a certain peace.

  The witch stopped in her tracks and came to Mera. She peeked at the wound, then opened her hand. Sharp yellow rings spun around her wrist. “I’ll make it quick.”

  A part of Mera wanted to take the offer, appreciating her mercy. Another part, however, remembered Bast would be next. It might be too late for Mera, but she wouldn’t let someone else die because of this bitch.

  She released her siren at once. The power coursed through her veins, swimming, singing, wanting. Hungry, thirsty, aching.

  It connected to the witch—to her blood, to her muscles, and to the water in her tear ducts, to the bile in her stomach, and to the piss in her bladder.

  The witch’s eyes widened when she realized she couldn’t move.

  Mera pushed the macabre forward, and blood rushed through the woman’s veins, nearly bursting the walls of her arteries.

  Water was everywhere—in droplets in the sky, in rivers and oceans, even inside the earth. Inside every creature’s body, too, and that was the terrible beauty of the macabre.

  Mera’s thoughts became dizzying, but she had to see this through till the end.

  The magic in the witch’s blood writhed against her control, but it was useless. No magic had ever won against the dance of death. This wasn’t simple waterbending.

  It was much, much more.

  Controlling her, Mera made the witch lower her arm. She fought against it, but the more she did, the more her veins smashed against her muscles and bones, the more her capillary snapped, until her opponent surrendered with a painful yelp.

  Mera built momentum inside the witch, using the blood in her veins and her heart, inside everything her flesh coated, until a storm thrashed within the woman’s body.

  The assassin trembled as tears tracked down her swollen cheeks, going down her chin, only to drift up into the air, floating around her.

  “N-not like this,” the woman begged. “Please. Not like this.”

  In that moment a pair of strong, tanned arms circled the witch’s jaw and collar from behind. With one quick twist, they cracked her neck with a sound awfully similar to snapping branches.

  The witch fell lifeless to the ground, revealing Bast standing behind her, his teeth gritted behind a curtain of moon-silver hair, along with his bewildered pitch-black eyes.

  Mera pushed her siren essence back into her core, sighing in relief. She hadn’t used the macabre, not to its full extent.

  Thank Poseidon.

  Coughing, she glanced down at the wound. It was soaked with her own blood, which flowed from the cut and pooled on the dirt.

  Bast kneeled next to her, checking the wound, his eyes now blue and normal, but there was fear in them. Guilt, too.

  “This doesn’t look good, kitten.” His tone was low and mournful.

  Had he seen what she could do? Had he found out about her secret?

  Did it matter?

  She glanced down at her wound again. Fuck, that was a lot of blood. On the upside, she’d be losing consciousness soon. She could barely feel the pain anymore.

  “Bast, it’s okay,” she assured, her voice weaker than she’d intended. “You did what you could.”

  He cupped her cheek, his eyes glistening. “I’ll fix this. I promise.”

  Turning to the fields behind the train, Mera smiled. The sun shone from an impeccable blue sky, and birds chirped in the distance.

  “It’s peaceful…”

  “You’re not dying today, Detective,” Bast snarled as he took her in his arms and stood. He winced in pain because his right arm was wounded, but he didn’t let go.

  Mera rested her head on his shoulder, her body feeling too light. “You’ll get blood on your fancy clothes,” she whispered drowsily, “pixie.”

  He chuckled as his arms tightened around her. “Hold on.”

  “Bast, you can’t walk me to the next town,” she insisted, her tone so frail she thought the words might break midway. “There’s not enough time.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Who said anything about walking?”

  Wings sprouted from his back, silver draconian wings as smooth as a pearl, as smooth as his hair. Mera lost a breath as they spread wide, spanning at least two cars’ width.

  “You look like a water dragon.”

  She smiled at the memory, when she’d seen one cutting through water with her friends from school. The creature had no scales, its light-silver skin as thick as that of whales, as it dashed into the deep blue.

  Legend said they were children of the moon and the stars. She couldn’t tell if she thought about Bast or the dragon.

  Maybe both.

  A certain dizziness took over Mera when a surge of wind pushed down on her. Bast held her closer as she watched the ground shrink down below. Up ahead, the deep sapphire of the sky engulfed them.

  Mera was flying. It seemed pretty amazing, and she should’ve been more excited, but her thoughts couldn’t properly connect.

  They boosted into the air, Bast’s grip on her overly tight. Her partner was staring ahead, his silver hair swinging madly around him.

  A beautiful water dragon.

  ‘Waterbreaker, you’re losing your mind.’ her siren whispered.

  She inhaled the woodsy scent at Bast’s collar. “Not a bad way to go at all.”

  “Mera!” Bast called from what seemed to be a long distance. He shook her, but then she couldn’t feel him near her anymore. “Mera!”

  Everything went dark.

  Chapter 7

  Mera’s russet hair floated around her as she bounced gently amidst the endless blue. She wiggled her ears, and her two, green side-fins wiggled along. Looking down at her pearly skin with sea-green scales on the edges, she grinned.

  She was back! Poseidon in the trenches, she was home!

  She boosted through rushing currents, free like she hadn’t felt in a long time. An Orca whale swam above, trying to keep up with her pace, but Mera was a waterbreaker, and they had that name for a reason.

  Thrusting forward, faster than the current itself, she quickly left the whale behind. She then took a turn and jolted toward the sky, breaking through the surface and looping in the air before diving back. She repeated the moves as she swam, once, twice, and soon dolphins followed her lead as the faint orange of sunset bathed the surface.

  Once done with playtime, Mera plummeted toward the sea floor, swirling in her axis as she went.

  Now that she was back, she would never leave, no matter what. But where should she go?

  She couldn’t return to Atlantea.

  Queen Mera Wavestorm, savior of all merfolk, traitor to the throne, murderer of her own mother.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, but the water washed them away. None of that mattered now. Mera’s only wish, her only need, was to keep swimming.

  Besides, the ocean was vast.

  She halted near the sandy bottom, and spotted a dark form looming ahead. She swam closer to find a sunken frigate crashed on the sea floor. The ripped sail floated with the currents, as if the wind blew on it.

  Jackpot! Mera loved exploring sunken ships.

  Landriders owned the oddest things. Professor Currenter would eagerly go through the spoils she found, especially if there was any cutlery—he loved forks, perhaps because they resembled tiny tritons.

  She boosted toward the ship, but slowed down when she found someone floating in her way. A female with navy fins and scales peppering the edges of her light-gray body.

  The woman wore an armor of white shells and red corals that covered her breasts, waist, an
d knees. Her scaled bodysuit was the color of blood, and a tattered cape floated around her waist. Curly russet hair turned bright red where the faint sunlight hit it.

  Mera shook her head, her chest squeezing. “No, no, no.”

  The woman smiled, her glassy green eyes shining with malice.

  “You can’t escape fate, daughter,” she rasped with a dry, croaking voice that belonged to a decaying corpse.

  Purple and black magic began eating away her mother, and when it vanished, the magic left a rotten carcass in its place.

  Mother’s tongue poked out from her left cheek, slithering between the two tendons that connected her cheekbone to her jaw. The queen’s ribcage showed underneath her ripped bodysuit and tattered armor.

  “You’re not real,” Mera told herself, fear and dread thrashing inside her.

  The rotting skin and muscles below the corpse’s left elbow had vanished, displaying her bones. Mother’s perky nose was gone, replaced by two slits, and an empty socket gaped at Mera instead of her left eye.

  The dead queen pointed a bony finger at her, smiling with brown teeth. “I’ll see you in Regneerik, weakling.”

  Mera shrieked so loudly that the sea floor shook.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t underwater anymore. She stood near a beach, watching it from the shoreface, while her feet sunk slightly into the sandy floor. Hilarious really, that some landriders believed her people had fish tails, as if waterbreakers weren’t children of both land and sea.

  Up above, the moon shone behind sluggish clouds.

  A nightmare. It had been a nightmare.

  Mera steadied her breathing, coming to grips with where she was.

  It was peaceful here, and the temperature quite pleasant—then again, waterbreakers adapted to extreme colds and squeezing pressures, so Mera wasn’t exactly picky.

  Standing on the sandy beach, a landrider watched her.

  She should’ve been scared, but instead, she looked down at her body and the smooth skin that shone a glittering turquoise where moonlight struck. The long curls of her hair cascaded down her breasts, which had grown considerably.

  Mera didn’t have nipples or body hair, but she could swear she’d had them for the past thirteen years… Never mind. She was waterbreaker once again. And a full-grown female.

  With full-grown female urges.

  Mera rejoiced in the landrider’s attention.

  Her mother always enjoyed the flesh offerings from the tribes inhabiting the Isles of Fog. Why shouldn’t Mera?

  She stepped forward, her hips making slow, circular moves on the water. The waves brushed past her knees now.

  The landrider stepped closer. His long hair was white, the rest of him hidden by darkness, but moonlight defined his sculpted chest and torso. His blue eyes were lighthouses that cut through the dark.

  Magnificent.

  He was naked, like her.

  Hmm, Mera wanted to feast… in more ways than one.

  Opening her mouth, she began singing. A sweet lullaby about tides and lost lovers that ensnared the male. She could see it by the way he’d begun moving, hurriedly and desperate.

  He broke through the waves, unstoppable, hungry for her.

  Oh, he was strong...

  Soon he would reach Mera, and they would mate fiercely under the stars. She could feel him throbbing for her as much as she ached for him.

  Mera couldn’t wait. Landriders didn’t have retractable genitals, and she was curious to see one for the first time.

  ‘We’ve seen plenty since we’ve gotten to Clifftown,’ a part of her whispered. ‘Wake up!’

  Mera shook her head. Was she losing her mind?

  What was Clifftown?

  It didn’t matter. She and the male were about to mate. Once she screamed her release away and he came inside her…

  Professor Currenter had once said cooked meals were divine. Mera couldn’t remember trying a cooked meal, though a part of her whispered that’s all she’d had for over a decade, except for that time when she ate sushi. It was the same part that said she wasn’t this monster. That she had to remember.

  Nonsense.

  Tonight, she would fuck and then taste uncooked landrider, as most Atlantean royal houses did. Mera had to keep the tradition.

  Her tongue ran atop her pointy teeth.

  Mother would be proud.

  Chapter 8

  Mera gasped for air as she opened her eyes.

  Bast was staring down at her, his lips shaping a relieved smile. “Welcome back, ki—”

  She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, a cold sweat breaking through her body as she nearly slammed her forehead against his. “I’ll never be like her! She won’t get to me!” she panted. Breathing hurt like on the day she’d stepped out of the ocean for the last time.

  “Who are you talking about?” He cupped her shoulders and gently pushed her down, but Mera fought against it. “You’re safe.” His tone was careful, soft.

  Her muscles relaxed slowly, almost as if Bast was singing a spell of his own. Besides, her head hurt, so okay, she laid down again.

  Mera glanced around as she rubbed her temple. They were in a big room with old wooden walls, high-ceiling, and floors. Old wood had a way of absorbing scents and liquids over time, which made this place reek of rotting bark and… soup?

  Well, it wasn’t the worst smell in the world.

  A red couch rested on the far end, near a large herbarium with LED lamps shining above tall plants. Plump and red tomatoes hung from the stems, and some peppers, too.

  “Where are we?” she asked, her heartbeat steadying.

  “Pimpliton. It’s a small town in the fae state,” he explained. “It’s a one day’s trip from Tir Na Nog.”

  Bast’s hair was once again up in a loose bun, and thin strands brushed the sides of his face. The image of him, with flowing white hair and black beady eyes flashed in her mind.

  Fangs… he had fangs.

  No, she must’ve hallucinated it.

  He sat back on a low stool next to her. “So, you had a nightmare?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Mera patted the soft surface beneath her. She was lying on a bed, but whose bed was it?

  Lifting the bottom of her shirt, she searched for the spot where the magic dagger had pierced her flesh.

  The skin on the area was smooth and flawless. Not a single scar left. Just a red blotch on her shirt, and a slit across the fabric proved that Mera had been wounded.

  Bast smiled knowingly. “Like it?” He nodded toward the herbarium. “Stella does impeccable work.”

  Stella?

  A striking female with caramel skin walked away from the plants at that moment. She had the same wide smile as Bast, but where his was savage and untamed, hers was kind and meek. She wore a red dress with golden details that twirled around her from her shoulders to her feet. Like she’d wrapped a fancy sheet around her body, leaving a stripe of her stomach exposed.

  Ears that were too pointy to be human, but too round to be fae peeked out from her silky onyx hair, which was tied in a low braid that cascaded down her back. She held a makeshift basket, but Mera couldn’t see the contents.

  A hint of annoyance prickled in her chest.

  Were they together?

  Oh, not annoyance, then. Just irrational jealousy.

  “Thank you, Stella.” Mera mumbled, forcing herself to sit up again. This time, Bast helped. “I take it this is your work?” She pointed to the wound that wasn’t there anymore.

  “Indeed,” Stella said with pride.

  “You’re one fine healer.”

  Mera’s mind spun and she fell back into Bast’s arms.

  “You okay, kitten?” He asked, worry oozing from his clear blue eyes as he swiped a strand of russet hair from her cheek. “You’re too weak.”

  They were so close that the tip of their noses nearly touched, their breaths mingling. She opened her mouth to say something, though she couldn’t remember what. So she staye
d there, stunned, without knowing what to do, when her body made the decision for her. Mera leaned slightly forward.

  Following her lead, Bast lowered his head. Their lips drew painstakingly closer…

  “Sebastian Dhay!” Stella chided. “The woman is disoriented!” She took a kitchen cloth from the basket, slapping it against the side of his neck. “Don’t you dare.”

  He didn’t turn to Stella, his focus entirely on the furious blush that invaded Mera’s cheeks. “She’s far from disoriented, sis.”

  “You have a sister?” Mera pushed herself away from him and rubbed her forehead. Poseidon in the trenches, when would her brain stop pounding against her skull?

  “Technically, half-sister,” Stella corrected as she set the basket atop a kitchen island behind Bast.

  Mera had completely missed the kitchen. It blended perfectly with the rest of the space, being made entirely out of wood, except for the oven. A big pan rested atop the burning fire, and fumes wafted from the contents.

  Ah, so that’s where the smell of soup came from. Stella scooped a good deal of the liquid into a bowl and brought it to her.

  Mera downed it in one go. It tasted savory and sour, and it was hot, but not enough to burn her throat.

  Stella’s blue eyes, strikingly similar to Bast’s, twinkled. “At least someone appreciates my cooking.” She flicked Bast’s shoulder with her finger, then took the empty bowl from Mera’s hand, and headed to the kitchen for a refill.

  “Hey, I like your cooking,” he protested, then seemed to think twice about it. “Most of the time.”

  “Let’s see how long you can put up with him, Mera,” Stella added, scooping more soup. “I predict you’ll be ready to slap him by the end of the week.”

  “End of the week? I wanted to do that the moment I met him.”

  Stella giggled.

  Bast gave Mera a sly, sideways grin. “If it were up to me, I’d do better things with you, Detective. Though some slapping might be involved.”

  Mera’s face felt so warm she thought it might melt.

  Silver lining, Bast kept being his flirty, snarky, and unbearable self. If he had recognized the macabre, she doubted he would be so relaxed right now. Also, the fact she was still alive, and the lack of police enforcement there proved that he still believed she was human.