The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1)

by Jessica Aspen

  Logan’s easy confidence as he rode through this place gave her an ironic sense of security. He wasn’t anxious. Didn’t seem to sense, as she did, that something here was wrong.

  She tried some deep breathing techniques she used when she had trouble centering and succeeded at last in lulling herself into a state of uneasy relaxation, edging closer with every sway into the solidity and safety of her captor’s chest.

  The hounds in front had pulled away around a bend in the trail. Without warning, Logan’s arm tightened into a steel band.

  “Hang on.”

  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, tangling her fingers in Solanum’s mane and scrambling for a more secure seat.

  The giant’s branch shook at the hounds. It 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 said, his calm voice laced with a cord of power. For the first time, Trina saw the small stream that gurgled 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, only 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.

  “Logan, keep them back. He’s just a baby, he doesn’t understand,” she said. 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.

  “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,” Solanum said. 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 said. 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 power poured into her, shot into her feet and out her mouth in a dark and 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. From somewhere beyond her body, Trina heard ancient foreign words coming from her mouth, and the power rushed through her in a tidal wave.

  The giant froze, the branch held tight in its fists. The hounds’ ears perked. 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 could see Logan’s set face and glittering eyes.

  The young giant wailed, the sound grating in her ears, covering Logan’s curse. The hounds’ ears went flat. Dropping the branch, the creature backed away, tripping and falling into the stream in its haste to flee. It picked itself up, 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!”

  If she could have spoken, she would have told him. She would let it go if she could, but she didn’t know any way to push the dark mass out.

  Her skin flared and light skittered along her veins, burning a track to her heart. The power pushing to take over.

  “Just let it go!”

  She didn’t know if she could. 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, dark frightening taint.

  “Trina MacElvy, you can do this.” Logan’s voice rang with confidence that 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 touch of a freshly turned garden. Her memories grew, pushing away all thoughts of this aggressive, hungry, almost sentient earth power.

  The darkness loosened, slowly sliding back through her. Down, out of her face, and into her throat. Down her chest and past her belly, until finally, it drained out of 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 lean back.” The softness in her captor’s voice confused her. She struggled to remember that he was a threat and not an ally as she leaned back into the security of his chest, laid her aching head down, and hid her face from the watching trees.

  The sudden change of light slammed into Trina’s eyes as they cut through a split in a wild hedge and left the broody forest. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her dazzled tears.

  “We’re here,” Logan said.

  A grey, washed-out cottage squatted in the center of an enchanting, sunny clearing surrounded by
wild grasses and scattered flowers. Nearby, a shed leaned, ready to topple from the weight of overpowering honeysuckle vines that threatened to engulf its uncertain walls. Birds and the chatter of small creatures filled the meadow-like space and Trina’s fear and tension dropped away at the suddenly normal sounds. She still ached, had a headache, and felt out of place, but in this oasis, she could sense the safety of the earth.

  “Wake up, lass.” Logan moved her hair back from her face, leaving tingling traces of his touch on her skin. She sat up too fast and her head throbbed.

  “Sweet, sweet, home.” He grimaced at the dilapidated cottage. “At least for a while.”

  “Just great,” she said, rubbing her aching forehead.

  “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, only seemed concerned. She had a 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 your 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 ached from two days of unaccustomed use and she landed hard, bare feet stumbling in the cool, welcoming clover. Logan grabbed her arm.

  “Careful, lass.”

  Trina 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 towards the cottage, now blocked by the swarming hounds.

  “After you.”

  Regretting her rudeness and wishing she could stick close to him, 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 stairs and wished, for once in her life, for shoes.

  Testing each soft, weathered board to see if it would hold her weight, she eased up the creaking steps, careful to watch for splinters. Despite the uncared for look, the boards were 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.

  Logan passed her, sure booted steps never hesitating, he 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 this time she could see it was forced, not as confident as before. “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 hard. The door creaked open with a whoosh of stale air. Dust flew out to sparkle in the sunlight and Logan fell back coughing. Trina peered past him into the dim opening, covering her nose and mouth as the dust settled.

  “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 him in, 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. In one corner, a grimy broken brass bed slumped and in the other, some kind of cabinet looked like it 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. “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 at her 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.

  “Bargains are rarely that clear.”

  She swallowed and he snorted a soft laugh.

  “Relax. I believe there’s a loft up that ladder.” He pointed toward the back wall and lifted his voice into a near English accent. "And 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 turned and faced him, examining his face for signs of levity. She searched her memory for something resembling a story book well and only came 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 in it now, 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?” he asked.

  “No. My family is being killed by your kind. I don’t hang around with criminals.”

  “I’ll ignore that.”

  “I’ve met a few. Some brownies, a boggart. We’ve had to fight off a few hobgoblins, too. Why?”

  “Those are all lesser fae. Tell me what you know about the greater fae, elvatians.” He grimaced. “You call us elves.”

  “Elvatian?” She tasted the strange word. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

  “It’s what we call ourselves. Elf, elves, elven… all human slang. Go on, what do you know?”

  “Elves… elvatians,” she corrected herself, as it seemed to matter to him. His frown eased at her use of the word. “You’re powerful magicians,” she said. 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.

  “Well… 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 are easy, and they impress humans. I have my natural magic
s, my Gifts, but I’m a hunter by nature.”

  “Whatever the hell that means.”

  Logan stood tall and caught her gaze in his deep crystal blue eyes. His voice became fluid and rhythmic, as if he were reciting his titles. “My magics are those of the wood and woodland creatures. I call the stag and command the wolves. My arrows fly true. When I hunt, I always find my prey.”

  The thrum and cadence of his voice vibrated low in her abdomen. Trina drew in close, unwilling to pull free of the snare of his gaze. A strong smell of smoke and leather rose up over the odor of dust and she became aware of his height and power, feeling suddenly small before him as he began to glow.

  She shook her head to clear it and backed away from him. “You mean you can't snap your fingers and clean the dust?” She kept her words lemon-tart to cover the shakiness of her voice.

  “Well, actually, that’s one of the benefits of having an indentured servant, isn't it?” he grinned.

  Trina frowned up at him, still off-kilter from his hypnotic litany.

  “You said you would clean, I remember you clearly stating your willingness. We could amend the contract and substitute other favors in lieu of cleaning.” He leaned in towards her and waggled his dark eyebrows, his lips turned up in a suggestive grin. “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.”

  Trina snorted. “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 lots of work. Why do you think it will be safe from the queen?” she asked.

  The humor dropped from his now wintery eyes.