The blue jay squawked noisily and flew to a pine behind her. He cried a few more times and then flapped away. Water rushed the banks and Ella checked to see if Water Nymphs had scared the bird.
Sure enough, in the clear stream, Hope’s wavy image aimed a finger at her. With a submerged hand she motioned, pointing in a direction up the slope.
Bothersome Nymphs.
Overbearing mothers.
A brother who could do no wrong.
Three items that guaranteed a bad day.
Ella pulled the strap of her purple purse higher on her shoulder, then effortlessly climbed the uphill trail out of there. At the top of the trailhead, she paused. Thousands of pine needles littered the forest floor and cushioned her sneakered steps. The air was different up here; warmer, scented, breezy.
Serenity mentioned that Mr. Shaun lived outside the Centaur palace, somewhere near the notorious bar, The Three Legged Mare. Ella knew of the bar, but had never ventured inside. Only the worst of Boronda would dare to enter.
Decision made, the rising sun warmed her back and she followed the length of her shadow. The wooded trail on this side of the stream was an easy path to walk. Overhead, changing seasons reflected in the beautiful scenery. Fiery orange and brilliant yellows combined their spectacular colors to give praise to Bacchus, the god who ruled over ecstasy, woodlands, and wine.
While she walked, Ella cast a glance over the serene landscape. White mist in the stream gully lifted, as if invisible fingers plucked chunks of cotton candy. Anger with her mother seeped out of her body and drifted away.
Songbirds trilled morning notes of impossible tunes. The captivating melody drew her attention to seek the radiant blue feathers of the indigo bunting amongst the branches. She searched the trees and lower twigs further away, looking for the little bird.
What she saw instead, caused her heart to leap into her throat. A sight so out of place her mind froze, unable to believe her eyes.
Camouflage baseball cap pulled low and hair tucked behind his ears, a two-legged male palmed a rifle and stopped short. Shock defibrillated her nervous system. Her sharp Troll eyes zeroed in on his round, non-pointed ears and intense stare.
Too short to be Centaur, wrong body for Minotaur or Satyr.
This was no mythological being.
The swirling breeze brought his adrenaline-laced scent, a tangy-citric smell non-native to the Boronda Forest.
Human.
For a fraction of a second, Ella locked eyes with the dark-haired hunter. The Water Nymph had tried to warn her. Every horror story rushed to the fore and lent speed to her feet. She turned, fleeing down the trail, hardly noticing when the wiry shrubs knocked her notebook away.
This wasn’t fight or flight. This was life or death.
Heavy boots pounded close behind. Vibrations raced up her legs, though her feet scarcely touched the ground. Every crack of a broken twig quickened her pulse. Ella opened her mouth to scream, but gasped for air instead. As if in a nightmare, her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. Muscles shivering, she became less coordinated with each running stride.
All the sizeable boulders at the top of the trail had washed into the gulley years ago, leaving nothing to dive under. Ahead lay a clear path. The gods must have heard her silent screams because sunlight marked which direction to run.
Breathing hard, Ella risked a glance behind her. The human had turned his cap to sit backward on his head and continued to stalk at a steady jog. She didn’t know which freaked her out more, how much ground he’d gained or the malicious glint in his eye.
Her escape route laid apparent and wide open.
Behind her, the hunter scrambled, obstructed by low hanging branches, tripping roots, and twigs that reached for his face.
Praise the mythic gods for Wood Nymphs; they were helping her to escape. Pan, lend me your swift feet. When she reached Horsetail Cascade, there were dozens of boulders to dive beneath.
Ella slowed her steps to duck under the trunk of an ancient leaning elm. When she straightened, the sting of a thousand bees hit her shoulder. Fire burned, radiating outward, setting her back aflame.
Fear pulsed in her veins. Her legs became cumbersome, uncoordinated. Within a few yards they gave out, useless. The world tilted, the ground rushed to meet her. Ella threw her hands out to protect her face, but lacked the strength to hold up her head. Waves of dizziness crashed over, spinning her brain in a foggy whirlpool.
Woozier than if she’d drunk two cups of strong Centaur whistle, Ella fought to keep her eyes open. The burn in her shoulder didn’t hurt quite so much now, but she couldn’t feel the sticks digging into her cheek either.
More sleepy than scared, her breath hitched nonetheless when a pair of black laced boots came to stand in her direct line of vision.
Then…all faded…to black.
*~*~*
Aleksander stood on the far side of his office, unbuttoning his soggy shirt. He regarded the male’s stern face across from him with a mixture of disappointment, apprehension, and disbelief. Could the Centaur operative, who worked covertly for Queen Savella, trust his intelligence reports? “Are you certain of that, Nubbs?”
“No.”
“Gamóto.” Alek hung his wet shirt on the corner of an open file drawer. “A red-haired female is our current POI.” If Ella made the Person-Of-Interest roll call, then he’d need to dispatch a tail on her ass—fast. He grabbed a dry t-shirt out of the locker and pulled it on, ignoring his damp hair.
“Another thing…” Nubbs used the marble ashtray to knock the dusty end off his hand rolled smoke.
“Besides her being a redhead?” The question came out sharp, but the report’s incriminating physical description said a helluva lot more. Alek stabbed his shirt into his pants, tucking it in. Gods, Ella! What have you gotten yourself into—and whose side are you on?
“Look, Alek. I don’t know what’s rotting your piss pump, even though that’s fine with me. I’m not a policy maker. I’m the policy implementer. My orders were to report to you with the latest intel—probably in case my ass gets zapped.” Nubbs shifted in his chair and paused to take a drag off his smoke. “Good SOP, if you ask me. Which you didn’t.”
Am I that transparent? Aleksander sat in his chair and tilted the seat back, leaning an elbow on the armrest to scratch his goatee.
During the war, they’d fought side by side for more than a century. Nubbs knew him too well.
“Give me the brief and go home,” Alek prompted, not daring to look over at his fellow Centaur.
A manila folder slid across his scarred wooden desk, sounding like sandpaper to his ears. He didn’t bother to open the file; he knew what he’d find.
Nubbs slapped his fingerless left hand on the table and pushed to his feet. “You know who this sounds like, don’t you?”
No way, no how would he bring attention to Ella until he had more facts. He decided to steer another direction. “Yeah, but she’s dead.”
His ex-lover from two centuries prior, and Nubbs’ wife of three years, currently deceased. The redheaded female he and Nubbs had in common was killed last year by a murderous Satyr, bent on political gain. Alek went on a rampage to find Albion Yerdank, the liaison and Protectorate of Domains to Boronda’s mythological creatures. He’d found him, brought him to justice, and now little Albion sat rotting in a crowded damp cell in the bottom grotto.
“Keep in touch, Alek. Stay alive.”
That rankled. The undercover super soldier, handpicked by the queen, sure hadn’t had any trouble taking the gathered intel and handing it over, as if he’d been the one to type up the report.
Aleksander watched Nubbs leave his office, his footsteps sure and efficient. The male oozed with danger.
Maybe it was time to bring Nubbs in from the field. Living a lie, amongst cutthroats and black-market racketeers for seventy-five years had changed the man Alek knew from the battlefield. He’d talk it over with Savella at their next meeting.
After tucking th
e report folder into the metal filing cabinet, he snapped up his vest and left the palace caverns. It was unimaginable that Ella would be the prime suspect in their ongoing fight against the insurgents. He had suspected—but didn’t want to believe.
At the top of the slope where he’d last left his little Troll, weariness tapped the back of his eyes. He needed sleep. With more than five hours left of duty to pull, getting horizontal would have to wait.
He was rubbing his eyes when a twig poked his back. When he turned, no one was there. In the bark of the elm tree next to him, a pale green light grew from within the wide trunk. The circular motion illuminated, spreading in size, and Alek took a few steps back. After an atmospheric pop that made him blink his eyes, a nondescript female stood before him.
Long mouse-brown hair lay in long wavy strands that fell past her waist, her hands clasped tightly in front. She, too, backed a few steps. “You’re Rhycious’s friend, right?”
“Who...?” How did this scared little Wood Nymph know the Remedy Maker?
“I’m Waverly. We met last year, but you were busy…fighting rebels. I need—”
“Yes, I remember you now. Dendron is your father.” The Wood Nymph spirit guide helped Rhycious find the cure that saved his wife’s life. Rhy and Patience now lived on the outskirts of the Boronda Forest.
“She needs you.”
“Who? Patience?” Rhycious was fully capable of protecting his Nymph. But should they have need of him…Alek rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Waverly’s eyes grew large, her gaze falling on the movement of his hand. She backed up, until she damn near stood behind the elm, her palms held in front of her.
“Answer me, damn it.” Alek ran a frustrated hand through his short hair, recalling Rhy’s story of the quaking aspen’s propensity for skittishness.
Waverly kept one hand on the tree and used the other to point a shaky finger at the downhill trail that paralleled the stream. “A human hunter with a rifle chased Ella this morning. She was running—”
Aleksander’s heart skipped a beat, then slammed into high gear. On the balls of his feet, he turned and sprinted down the trail. He didn’t wait to hear the rest of her stammered story. He’d heard all he needed to know. Damn his two legs! He needed the speed of his equine body.
Deep depressions in the soft soil outlined the imprint of a man’s boot. The hunter’s length of stride, nearly the same reach as his own, told a terrifying story. Alek clearly saw the male’s footprint trail, so the human was either careless or overconfident.
One set of small prints, one set large.
Under a bush on the side of the path, visible to Alek’s sharp eyes, a light blue notebook fluttered its pages. He paused long enough to pick it up and examine the contents. Next to the name Mr. Shaun were the underlined words rocks for rent.
Aleksander kept the notebook and continued his sprint down the trail. Here the undergrowth grew thicker, trees leaned across the path. He hadn’t traveled far when the dirt path flared out, plants lay crushed on either side. No mythic of Boronda would have left visible signs like that.
Heaped under a fern with dirt and leaves kicked over to conceal it, a shiny bauble caught his eye. Alek reached under the tender fronds and pushed the dirt away. Hopelessly huge and forever ugly, he pulled Ella’s purple purse from its makeshift grave.
Twelve
Two sets of prints melded into one. The set with the knobby tread of thick-soled boots continued in the dirt, making deeper impressions than when they arrived.
He’s carrying her. The hunter left an obvious trail any yearling Centaur could follow.
Aleksander thrust his chin forward and continued the pursuit. He welcomed the sun in his face when the trail marched an easterly direction, deeper into the Boronda Forest. Iridescent as fish scales, spears of sunlight broke through the canopy above, teasing green moss on the north side of trees and bathed lichen patches on rocks.
Alek scanned each fallen log and shady bush along the route, searching for clues to follow. Boughs creaked and the light breeze brought the whiff of an angry skunk. A tickle of Spanish moss brushed his ear as air currents caused it to ripple. He continued on, the only sounds were of his steps sliding through the fallen leaves.
Forty-five minutes of stealthy tracking between old growth sycamores and mammoth-sized ferns before a hunting shed came into view. Long abandoned, the weathered hut waited in the distance. Someone had performed a haphazard job of concealment with camo netting draped over the slanted tin roof, spilling down the sides.
A century earlier, the surrounding area had been clear-cut during the Wood Nymph/Centaur war. Today, soaring pines grew and the woodshed-sized structure appeared depressed in the overshadowed gloom.
Two windows faced him; one clear, the other boarded shut. From the protection of the trees, Aleksander carefully studied the footprints leading to the closed front door. About fifteen feet of open space lay between where he crouched at the tree line and the splintery grey shack.
Through the netting, sunlight reflected off the single remaining pane. The interior rested in darkness. No sounds from within.
His adrenaline spiked with the need to advance.
Alek shifted his attention behind him, backing up. He turned, intending to circle to the side of the cabin.
Steely green eyes and an upheld hand stopped him. Special Ops member Bomani, in familiar true equine form, crept to Alek’s right, anticipating his move and signaling him to follow. His four hooves were silent, knees and hocks bent. Naturally camouflaged in his dappled palomino coat, the elite Centaur warrior kept his head low and his hi-tech crossbow lower.
Alek followed likewise, and they moved a safe distance away.
Bomani stayed crouched, keeping his eyes on the hunting cabin. “Got word through the Wood Nymph network you might need backup on this one. Who’s in there? They said she’s mythic.”
Alek gave a rueful grin. Figures Bomani would be on the scene. Since his promotion, the male was everywhere at all the right times. “Unconfirmed, but I think it’s a female Troll. Perhaps the rebel who just moved into the palace neighborhood.”
Bomani nodded, his long honey-blond hair tied with an old-fashioned strip of leather. “If it’s the suspect, then you’ll need to interrogate. Not tag a body bag.”
“Affirmative.” No need to announce his personal relationship with the Troll in question. Not yet anyway.
“We have the advantage of surprise on our side. Let’s do a quick reconnoiter and take the human out.” Anticipation of a fight set the warrior’s flaxen tail into motion. It slowly swept the ground, teasing leaves and snagging twigs. He lifted his hand to palm the tiller of his handsome military crossbow. Designed and tailored specifically for Bomani’s measurements, the bone crushing power and blistering speed of the weapon made it a flagship for other instruments of attack.
Aleksander scanned the hunter’s cabin again, straining to hear any sounds from within. From what he could see, the west side didn’t have windows, but they’d have the sun in their eyes. Additional assessment was in order before he’d make the call to go in.
“We need to avoid human casualties. Queen’s orders. Last year we had human patrols in every sector for months after Rhycious and I killed the hunters who kidnapped his wife. Queen Savella wasn’t happy to put her mythological court on lockdown while human search parties roamed our woods.”
Bomani’s sharp green eyes were all business. “I wasn’t there when it happened, but I heard it was us or them. The Remedy Maker made the right call.” His muscular arms flexed under the traditional Centaur body armor vest, showcasing the width of equally muscled shoulders. Beneath the armor’s rolled bottom edge, his abdominal muscles rippled with strength before melting into a broad equine chest. “It’s your call, sir. What do you want to do?”
Alek rubbed his goatee, the scratchy whiskers helped to focus his thoughts.
Bomani reflexively reached up to scratch his own beard, which he trimmed
to appear as two-day-old growth. Most likely to hide the numerous nicks and kick scars gained from bullying kids in his youth. The short statured Centaur adjusted his child-sized sword, though nothing childlike remained of the male. Pound for pound, Bomani had more guts than most warriors twice his size.
Alek would need every ounce of courage he could get if the palace—and Ella—required a battalion of defense. Gods…keep Ella safe!
“Bomani, we’re going to need a faint.” He lowered his tone and gazed down on the soldier.
Today, size would make all the difference in the world for a diversion.
*~*~*
The human wearing a camouflage of forest colors, took out a large red apple. He began to peel it with his knife.
It was mesmerizing, watching the bright, polished silver blade move around the apple.
An impossibly thin strip began to spiral downward.
“Hey girl, if that’s what you are,” the hunter scoffed. “I wondered how long you’d be out.”
Ella’s head felt stuffed with moss, and pounded as if a Minotaur had kicked it. Tied securely by the wrists above her head to some type of swivel mechanism, her splayed arms ached horribly. Dread invaded her bones and it was hard to breathe. To reach the floor she stood on the tips of her toes and wished she could stretch taller to relieve the pressure on her shoulder joints.
With the stern-faced hunter blocking the door, she was trapped. Not to mention, he outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Even if her arms were free, she didn’t want to go anywhere near his glittering knife.
“I missed out on my last hunt. Good thing, too. My three buddies never made it back,” he sneered. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
The peel slowly fell to the floor. The human wore a goatee like Al’s, but not near as well groomed. With a few flicks of the knife, he carved out a piece of apple.
Troll-y Yours BBW Erotic Curvy Fantasy Romance (The Centaurs) Page 8
