When he smiled menacingly at her, she cringed. His teeth, with their sharp points—either filed or grown naturally—shone in the moonlight.
She squirmed in his arms, trying to get free. He held her tight and when she tried to kick her legs, she discovered they, too, were bound. Even if he dropped her she wouldn’t get far.
As soon as she screamed, something slapped over her mouth, then her eyes. She couldn’t identify it, but it was cold and wet and she wanted it off. She spat against it and twisted her head to the side but she couldn’t knock it loose.
She struggled for a long time, but nothing came of it. The man held her tightly, ignoring her thrashing. Finally she gave up and sank back, exhausted and sore in his arms.
One second there was the quiet of the woods, the crunch of feet crushing leaves, and the next the sounds of laughter and talking swarmed around her. The covering on her face slid off, falling to the grass. Blinking, the light of torches and blazing bonfires lit up the night, burning her eyes.
Men, women, and children littered through what appeared to be a village square, but it was unlike any village she had ever seen before. The houses weren’t houses at all, but huts, some made of stone, others more crudely slapped together with sticks and whatever nature happened to provide. Rough, natural fabrics covered the doorways of some of the smaller structures while the larger stone structures had actual wooden doors, although crudely made from what she could discern. It was as though she had stepped back through time or entered another dimension.
She glanced up at the man who carried her and noticed his ears for the first time. They were pointed, something out of a fairy tale. Shaking her head, she tried to force herself to wake up from the nightmare. She looked down when a small boy ran in front of them. He was wearing wings on his back, elegant wings with shades of blue and gray.
When he ran past, she saw he wasn’t wearing them. They were part of him. Real wings that grew from inside his shoulder blades.
Maybe she was dead after all and they were dragging her to hell.
She wanted to pinch herself, but she never got the chance. They had stopped in front of one of the largest stone huts she had seen in the village so far. The door opened and a young woman with long brown hair that hung in loose curls stepped out.
“The king has been waiting for your return,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I see you brought him a gift.” The woman’s eyes roamed over Heidi’s bound form.
“Move, Meara. Let us through,” the man barked. Meara shrunk to the side and the man stepped into the hut.
A fire was blazing in the middle of the single room. A handful of men and women were inside, their laughter dying when they saw the entourage with Heidi.
Three large, ornately carved chairs were sitting on the other side of the fire, two of which were occupied. A man who appeared to be in his early forties sat in one, in the other sat a young woman who looked no older than twenty. While the man was attractive, the woman was beautiful. Long black hair streaked with red framed her delicate pale face. Big blue innocent eyes stared at Heidi through long thick lashes. She was angelic.
The man sat erect in the chair, which Heidi now assumed was a throne. He looked kingly, with a demeanor about him that made her instantly think of royalty. His chest was bare, just as the rest of the men she had seen. A dark purple and green kilt was wrapped around his waist. She had never seen a kilt made with such colors.
“You’ve brought me something?” His voice boomed in the small room. Heidi slid from the man’s arms and was placed not so carefully on her feet. Her legs buckled beneath her and she fell to her knees in front of him.
“She kneels!” The man sitting on the throne laughed. “And where, Bradán, did you find such a lass?”
“In No-Man’s-Land, my lord. We watched as the witch fell from the top of the ravine in the shifters’ territory,” the man who had been carrying her spoke from behind her. Two other men came up next to him to stand, both of them nodding their heads in agreement.
Heidi looked back at the king, her eyes wide and unable to make sense of their words. They were speaking English, although they had strange accents, but she didn’t understand the meaning. Witch? Shifter?
“Well, little witch, what do you have to say for yourself?”
She knew he was talking to her; his gray eyes were focused on her, but what could he possibly want her to say? And why did they keep calling her a witch? No inspiration hit her. Instead she just stared at him in shock.
He tossed his chestnut hair to the side. “Have you nothing to say for yourself? How about you start with explaining why a witch such as yourself was in shifter territory?”
Shifter territory? “I...”
“Spit it out, girl.”
“I’m on vacation.” It was the only thing she could think to say.
He laughed, his muscled chest rising and falling. The dark haired woman on his left cracked a kind smile, but it fell from her face just as suddenly as it appeared.
“Vacation, little witch? Is that the best you can come up with?”
The door to the stone building slammed shut behind her and Heidi turned her face to peer out the corner of her eye to see who had come into the room. It was a woman, but she was perhaps more intimidating than any of the men she’d seen so far. Filed sharp teeth shone when she growled upon seeing Heidi. Her green eyes looked wild and her copper hair was teased out in all directions.
“Cliona, my dear, come and see what Bradán and his men have brought us. A gift.”
“I have no time for witches,” the woman spat as she glared at Heidi and approached the king’s throne.
The king laughed as Cliona stood next to him. He quieted when she whispered something into his ear. Nodding silently, the king sat back in his chair. Cliona folded her arms behind her back and glared at Heidi, hatred in her eyes. She wore the same clothes as the men, a kilt, although her chest was covered with a sleeveless tunic. A knife hung on the waist of the kilt and a bow and quiver hung from her back.
“Forgive the disturbance, little witch,” the king said, turning his attention back to Heidi. “Now where were we? Oh yes, you were going to tell me what you were doing in the shifters’ territory.”
“My name is Heidi,” she said, tired of being referred to as ‘little witch’, whatever he meant by that.
“Heidi, what were you really doing in the animals’ territory?” he asked, all traces of his laughter now gone. He wanted answers she didn’t know how to provide so she stuck with what she knew.
She lowered her head to stare at the packed earthen floor. “I told you the truth. I was on vacation with a friend of mine. We came up from Cantor.”
“Cantor? Werewolf territory and home of the Azarov family. My, you do get around,” he commented, resting his chin on his hand as he studied her. After a long, drawn-out pause, he finally spoke again. “I am Roarke, King of the fae. Surely you have heard of me.”
“I have not.”
His eyebrows shot up. Wings that had been tucked behind his back as he sat sprung up when he stood. They were large, made of a thin material that resembled butterfly wings. They were a dark uniform gray that matched the color of his eyes and complimented the purple and green of his kilt. He scratched his chin as he paced back and forth in front of her.
“My lord, what would you like us to do with her?” The man who had carried her in, Bradán, asked the question.
“We are expecting an important visitor tonight. Caiside, go greet our guest on the other side of the portal and allow him to enter. Bradán, strip the witch and hang her in the square. I have plans for her yet,” the king said, returning to sit on his throne.
“Yes, my lord,” the two men said in unison.
Heidi sat back, trying to pull herself to her feet when she heard his words. Hang her in the square? The bindings on her legs made her stumble back and she fell on her butt.
Bradán’s rough hands dug into her arms, jerking her to her feet. She pulled against
him and fell to her knees. He drug her from the hut. He ignored her screams and her thrashing as he pulled her through the center of the village, stopping in front of the bonfire.
A large pole, one that she hadn’t noticed before, had been implanted into the soil. Vines grew around the base and dried blood was spattered across the otherwise flawless piece of wood. With tears pouring down her face, she fought him as he yanked her to her feet. He managed to tear her coat from her while simultaneously ducking the blows she threw at him with her still tied hands.
A hard body came up behind her and held her still as Bradán cut through her bindings. She screamed and struggled as soon as her hands and legs were free, but the man who held her pinned her arms behind her back, as Bradán cut away her shirt and bra next. The fabric fell to the ground at her feet. Behind her, she could feel the man laughing, his chest rumbling.
“Welcome to Péine, witch,” he breathed next to her ear.
Her shoes were wrestled from her, followed by her pants. Standing naked in front of them except for her pathetic scrap of underwear, Bradán smiled, showing her his disgusting filed teeth. Men, women, and children had gathered to the side to watch the spectacle. Their laughter enraged Heidi. Glaring at Bradán, she spat at him. The glob landed on his cheek and the smile vanished from his face.
The laughter coming from the crowd died and even the man who restrained her stood stone still. Her saliva made a shiny trail on Bradán’s cheek as it slid down. He reached up and wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes glowing with rage. The force of his backhand would have knocked her off her feet if she hadn’t already been restrained. Her eye felt like it exploded and pain shot through her cheek.
“Iollan, tie her,” Bradán barked.
Iollan forced her against the pole. He and Bradán tied her with the rope Iollan produced. Her back was pressed against the wood. Her wrists were tied behind the pole and they tied the remainder of the rope around her waist. Heavy drops of rain splashed on her face and body, chilling her to the bone.
They stepped back, surveying their handiwork and smirking at her. Rage burned inside her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She’d kill them both if she ever got free. She twisted her hands, trying to wiggle them free, but the rope wouldn’t give.
Without a word they turned from her, leaving her there for the spectators.
The first assault came from the same child she had seen when she first entered the village. A handful of cold mud hit her thigh and slid down her leg. A woman stepped up to her next, throwing a mug of steaming water on her and soaking her skin. The cold air stung her and she shivered, goose bumps erupting on her skin.
Between the air and the water, she wouldn’t last more than an hour. She would be dead long before morning from the cold if they didn’t kill her first. What had she ever done to them to cause them to hate her so much?
They taunted her, especially the women and children. They called her names and told her they couldn’t wait for the days the Netherworld was rid of witches. A woman, not much older than Heidi herself, stepped forward. When Heidi saw the crude blade in her hand, she screamed and struggled hopelessly against the ropes that bound her. They didn’t give even the smallest bit.
“I’m not a witch!” Heidi screamed. The people ignored her, including the woman holding the knife. She easily cut through the skin of her shoulder.
“A witch’s blood is red? I would have thought it would run black,” she hissed before laughing and stepping back into the crowd. Pain seared her skin and humiliation overwhelmed her. Blood ran down her arm in hot rivulets over her chest, mixing with the rain that was slowly turning into a downpour.
She had stopped shaking and exhaustion washed over her. Her screams faded into weak grunts as her head slumped back onto the icy wooden pole that held her. Heidi tuned out the crowd, focusing instead on the new man who had suddenly appeared in the village.
He was walking with Roarke and was taller than him by at least a foot. He was broader than any man she had ever seen in person, his chest and arms straining against the fabric of his long sleeved T-shirt. His black hair hung past his shoulders.
He was different from the rest of them. He was wearing jeans and his back was blissfully free of wings. And he was the only person in the village that didn’t scream enemy to her.
When he saw her, he frowned, and a small spark of hope ignited in her chest.
2
When his commander, Collum, demanded that he, Liam McIntyre—feared Irish dragon and aspiring artist—go and make nice with the abhorrent fae, he never imagined what he would be walking into.
The fae were his neighbors and he’d made the decision years before to ignore them. Ignoring the evil creatures was the only way to avoid a war with them, and the last thing he desired was to be annoyed further by the zealots. They were hard for a man like him to understand. Their rituals were foreign to him and their magic was something he couldn’t comprehend. They were spiteful and quick to anger. Their dispute with the shifters had been going on for years and showed no signs of dying down in the future. They were the worst neighbors he could possibly have.
Liam chose to live in the woods of Maine for the quiet and peace it could provide, only to now be stuck in the middle of the two warring factions, both physically and politically. The shifters, at least, left him alone. Thus far they were turning out to be the preferred neighbors by a landslide. It also helped that his friend Jonah was a shifter. If they were all like Jonah, Liam knew what side he’d be choosing in this war. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. Especially now when Collum and dragon politics were getting involved in the dispute. Collum claimed there were too many rumors about an alliance between the fae and the warlocks, so he sent Liam to investigate and instructed him to protect the dragons’ relationship with the fae.
Damn Collum for making him do this. The dragon commander knew Liam didn’t want to be bothered by this, but here he was, all the same. If Liam didn’t respect his leader as he did, he would right now be in the blissful seclusion of his cave working on his latest project instead of out, frolicking with his biggest nuisance in the rain.
The dragon commander owed him big time.
He would do what he was sent to do, go home, and then report back. After that he would be done with the whole affair and could do what he had originally set out to do: be left the hell alone.
Liam met the fae at the designated spot and followed the thin man with the girlie wings until they reached a tall pine tree that looked just like every other pine tree they’d passed on their trek.
The fae turned to him and cleared his throat. He seemed to be building up the courage to speak. This wasn’t the first time a lesser creature of the Netherworld was terrified of him.
“I’m supposed to blindfold you from here,” the fae finally got out, staring at cold ground as he spoke.
“The hell you are.”
The fae jumped when Liam’s voice boomed in the darkness. He shuffled a few steps, still not looking up. They scared so easily that it was almost comical to watch.
“It’s my orders.”
“To hell with orders. I care not.” His eyes narrowed on the smaller man. How the little fairy thought he was going to be able to physically blindfold the dragon, Liam didn’t know.
Braving the dragon’s wrath, the fae looked up. “I cannot take you to the village otherwise.”
Liam huffed. He had orders of his own and as much as he knew he intimidated the fae, he knew without a doubt that the fairy spoke the truth. He wouldn’t be going to the village if he knew the way in through the portal. Cursing to himself, he finally nodded.
“Fine. If you speak of this to anyone, I’ll have your balls for me supper.”
“To no one.” The fae jumped, holding a stiff piece of fabric in his hands that seemed to materialize out of thin air. He lifted his arms, intent on binding the fabric around Liam’s head, but was unable to reach.
Laughing to himself, Liam took the fabric
from the man’s hands and wrapped it around his own head, tying it loosely in the back. This was supposed to be a dreaded fae soldier? The little fairy was a joke. He was more of an annoyance than a threat, like a fly he wanted to swat.
The forest around him now blocked from his vision, he grudgingly allowed the fae to lead him further into the woods.
“What do they call you?” Liam asked, deliberately slowing his strides so as to not force the fairy to have to run.
“Caiside.”
“Caiside, I am Liam,” he said with authority.
“I know who you are, dragon.”
The little gobshite. Collum always told him he’d catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but what the dragon commander didn’t appreciate was that he could drown all the flies in vinegar and never have to worry about them again.
He resumed his normal pace and forced the little fairy man to run. He was stopped by a hand to his chest only minutes later, the sound of heavy breathing coming from the fae next to him. He listened to the racket made by the fae’s heavy steps as he stepped in front of him.
“Step through, dragon.” The fairy moved again and pressed a hand to the center of his back, guiding Liam forward a few feet.
A rush of wind hit his face and a tingling crawled over his skin that lasted for only a split second. The scents around him changed from pine to the smell of cooking meat. Moose, if his senses served him right. And they always did.
He removed his blindfold without waiting for Caiside to give him the go ahead. If the little fairy had a problem with it, then oh well. He would just have to get over it.
The village was as he expected. Most fae villages looked the same from what he had heard. They lived as close to nature as they could, their own magic stemming from the natural elements. They ate, lived, and breathed the natural world. It was a shame they were so demented in their way of thinking, twisting nature to serve their own purposes. Otherwise he could see the peace that came with living off the land and being the ones to help change the seasons and change the weather.
Up In Flames (Netherworld Series Book 2) Page 3
