Howl & Growl: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by Various Authors

  But he’d pulled her from her manic slumber, and found her wanting. She trembled under his gaze as her eyes widened, staring at him so frantically.

  “Issue... a trade?” she whimpered, her voice so strained and hoarse from the lack of water she so desperately craved. Lhea had always been the braver of the two, and Fillia cowered from the dark elf.

  He turned his attentions upon her fully, and for a moment it seemed like he lunged at her. But instead he was gone, simply gone…

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?!” he shouted into her ear from behind, loud enough to make her eardrum pang. His fury was as unquenched as her thirst.

  “I have sent countless offers! They slay each carrier and refuse to hear me out!” he bellowed at Fillia, making her shiver and quake beneath his rage. And for a moment he looked like he might hit her, or do something even worse. But he didn’t.

  He was a man — a creature — she did not understand. His rage held in check by some invisible force of will. For since she’ awoken, she was tainted but left physically unharmed.

  “I would trade a thousand of you for just another moment with her!” He shouted again as he walked away, tearing at his shirt again, until it dangled from his waist in mere scraps. Then he strode up to his throne of thorns and slumped into it heedlessly, slouched down as he stared off over Fillia’s head at nothing in particular.

  She quivered still, curling in upon herself as she watched him with frightened, uncertain eyes.

  “If... you let me go, they won’t see you as a threat any longer,” she said with all that naivety and fae hope still in check. Despite the horrors of what she’d experienced, there was still that goodness within her.

  “Oh shut up,” he said at her with such depths of irritation. He had enough of her shit, clearly.

  It was then that the great gates to his hall boomed and then opened, the sound of old wood creaking, groaning and breaking filling the throne room as they slowly swung open behind Fillia. Though what came through was quite different from the usual assortment of monstrous creepy crawlies that inhabited the madman’s lands.

  No, this time it was an equally as foreign of a sight to poor Fillia. A large, burly man of the human sort, trod on through dressed in furs and thick leather. He made for an odd sight, so contrasted to the creatures of the madman’s kingdom, where everything was made from a warped version of nature.

  That man was horrifying in his own way, dressed in the garb of murdered creatures of the woodland realm. A thick mane of blonde hair with scruffy fur-like hair about his face even. A monstrosity if ever Fillia had seen one!

  Where he wasn’t covered by fur and hides, like his left shoulder and arm, he was all bulky, bulging muscle. Like no creature she had seen in elven or faerie lands!

  With him he carried a long bow, made from the bones of a once-living creature, and this… abomination in his own right came to stand defiantly before the throne of the Mad King.

  “Why have you summoned me to this ass end of the forest?” came the man’s deep voice, as if he spoke with lungs full of gravel and a throat of sandpaper. It grated on Fillia’s delicate ears so!

  The Mad King sat slouched upon his throne, taking a while to summon his energy to respond.

  “You are a hunter of all things, yes? Of both fae and man?” came the madman’s words, so much softer in his wearied state compared to the towering brute.

  “Aye I am! And even I detest settin’ foot in this mire of yours, so tell me: what have you brought me here for?” he demanded, his great, brawny chest puffed out in proud defiance, his thick mane of blonde curls held back as he stuck his nose into the air, refusing to be cowed before the dreaded dark elf.

  The Mad King’s ruby eyes rolled about the place, resting for a moment on just about everything except for Fillia herself.

  “I have a job for you, hunter. One of great notoriety, and—” the brute interrupted the King.

  “What is the pay? I care for naught else,” he insisted with a derisive snort.

  The dark elf sneered, not accustomed to being interrupted, or spoken to in such harsh terms.

  In response he slowly rose up from his throne, standing there with his bare chest. And though he looked so strong and muscular to Fillia at first, he was but lean and lanky compared to the huntsman.

  “Power. Power to walk the lands of the fae without fear. To feel the flow of our magic, and reap your kills with impunity as one of us would. Power such as that, and more beside,” he pledged to the brute as he moved to the side of his throne, where a dark, thorny cistern arose from the dark tower’s floor.

  “Very well,” the huntsman said in a bellowing tone that carried through the hall. “I shall kill any that you wish for this favour. Name them!” he boasted pridefully.

  The dark elf plucked up a chalice and dipped it into the cistern, pulling up a goblet of the blackish-red bubbling liquid inside it.

  “I wish you to kill an elf, a huntsman like yourself. He resides in the forests, where men go to trade sometimes,” he declared to the hunter, descending the steps with goblet in hand, drooling its substance down the sides.

  Suddenly the huntsman’s boasting seemed for naught, as he looked put off by that duty.

  “You ask me to commit suicide!” he declared with an insulted thump of his fist to his chest. “I will not toss myself into oblivion for naught!” he said, choosing to hide his inadequacies behind rage as he prepared to storm off.

  “Drink of this, and you will have the powers I promised you. Powers enough to make you accomplish the task,” the Mad King promised, coming before the human and offering up the chalice to him. “Once you complete the task, I will make it permanent,” he promised the human stony faced.

  The huntsman’s blue eyes travelled between the Mad King and her. Fillia. Resting upon that faerie for a long moment in some quiet contemplation.

  “I want more,” he stated gruffly to the Mad King, who opened his mouth only to be cut off again by the huntsman. “When I do the job, I want the fae girl too,” he said, gesturing towards Fillia with a nod of his head.

  Fillia stiffened as he said those words, fright clear in her eyes. Whatever the Mad King had done to her, she knew what to expect with him. She could maybe think of a way out, find some escape.

  The Mad King was simmering, looking incensed by the human’s foolhardy bluster and defiance. Though he cast a look between the huntsman and Fillia. Contemplating hard.

  Fillia shook her head at him, as if that small, singular action could potentially tip the scales in her favour.

  “I will release her from the service of the Court of Thorns when you are done, huntsman,” claimed the King in his smooth voice, the high-pitched mania having drained out of it some. “And then you shall be free to claim her as yours,” and with that he thrust the chalice back at the towering man.

  Fillia retreated in upon herself, curling her body so very small as she watched in horror as the hunter took the chalice in one of his large hands, the fingers protruding through his fur gauntlets. Without further hesitation he downed the contents, choking down its foul taste until it was gone, and he let it fall to the floor with a clatter.

  He wiped the back of his mouth and gave a hard look to the King.

  “I will—” he paused, and then clutched his stomach, doubling over then falling to his knees before the dark elf. His eyes bulged and he tried to choke out an accusatory word before he instead vomited up bile and fell to his side as his flesh began to change colour and bulge.

  Fillia was certain she screamed, the sound resounding within her mind, her entire body trembling as she watched the man mutate.

  “I need what’s mine returned to me,” declared the vile elf as he casually turned and strolled back towards his throne, past Fillia. “You’ll find my gifts essential to pulling it off. But perhaps the costs are too high,” he said with a smirk, stopping at the top of the steps leading to his throne, watching as the man was seized by dark tendrils of shadow and changed ami
d the sound of snapping bones and rending flesh.

  ~~

  The days were agony upon Lhea, the awful sun a torture as she struggled to hide herself from it in the tree-bulb. More and more she was tempted to down that awful vial, and risk its burn in the trust that her Master would free her.

  Yet like clockwork, every time she contemplated it, one of His creatures would wriggle its way through the tree, tainting it. And giving her hope.

  The tall, whip-thin elf came to her once more, looking dour as ever.

  “Have you reconsidered my proposal at all?” he asked of her, hands clasped behind his back. He looked so much less opposing without his gear, his knife, his bow. Yet she knew he’d dared infiltrate the dark tower of her Master.

  Her fingertips found that vial again, holding it. It was terrible, terrific torture to hold it, but she didn’t care. It was a distraction, something sharp and lovely to remind her of home.

  “I’ve considered it many times,” Lhea said with a crooked smile as she looked over him almost wantonly. Her innocence had been stripped of her, and it showed most of all in her expressions.

  She couldn’t imagine a potion reverting her to the past, that for her no longer existed. No longer could exist.

  In the early morning light darkness, just before dawn showed its hue over the horizon, the elf stood before her and asked:

  “Will you take it now then and help us?” His look rather imperious as he stared down upon the petite fae.

  Her fingers rolled over the vial, feeling out that burning, tingling sensation as she considered his words.

  Considered her odds, once more.

  She could lure him into her Master’s lair, trap him. Make him pay for his insolence.

  But only if she willingly drank the potion, and only if she retained enough of who she was. That she wouldn’t revert back to that innocent, albeit curious, fairie.

  She rolled the vial in her fingers, looking at him seriously as she uncorked it, then drank that foul, burning, horrifically holy liquid down into her gullet.

  It seared through her and she screamed in agony. It had been so long since she’d felt pain that intense, and for a brief moment it aroused her until... she changed.

  The inkiness of her hair and wings dripped away — quite literally! — onto the wood floor of her cage and then into nothingness, leaving behind the iridescent white in its place. The pallor of her skin brightened, pinkness returned to her cheeks. Her entire body transformed, freeing itself of His taint until she vomited on the floor, darkness coughed up from the deepest parts within herself.

  The elven captor before her watched the whole transformation with but a glimmer of shock in his eyes, as if he’d seen such a thing on more than one occasion before.

  As the tarry blackness flowed from her lungs and onto the pale wooden floor, he parted the branch-bars, making way for him to enter and crouch down near to her. He bore witness to the final transformation, seeping all that darkness out of her hair, her wings, her whole being.

  “You will be alright,” he assured her, reaching out to place his hand upon her slender shoulder comfortingly.

  Instead she sobbed, the warmth of life seeping into her and replacing that loneliness, that dark hollow that lived in her chest for so long that only He had been able to fill.

  She sputtered and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her tears inky black at first before they became tiny crystals upon her cheek.

  “It burns,” she wailed, for even as she emitted such horrible sludge all over the ground, her body pouring out such fowl darkness, it worked deeper still.

  The tall, lanky elf pulled a cloth from his back pocket, then offered it up to her, helping wipe away some of the viscous black gunk from her face. Though two of the tarry black tears refused to leave her face entirely, their inky droplets affixed there upon her pale skin.

  “In time your whole horrible experience will be forgotten,” he assured her. “And all the marks of it will leave you.”

  But that only made her cry more, her entire body shaking with the tremendous force as they ripped through her. It was horrible, and yet she could remember back on all the pain inflicted on her to get to that point with only a deep need that was quickly beginning to waiver.

  Her memories swam, emotions overlapped each other and conflicted with such absolute force, like a lightning bolt striking sand. It shook her to her core. It upended everything she thought she knew about herself, about her life, and then prodded deeper still, to the darkest recesses of her psyche.

  “Fillia,” she gasped out, the memory of her fairy sister one of the brightest sparks that felt almost blinding behind her eyes.

  “Yes,” the elf said, “we can save her now. With your help.”

  He helped the petite little faerie up to her bare feet, supporting her with his tall frame. She was shaky at first, but with his held she started to make her way down the spiral ‘stairs’ of the tree, which were actually just a growth of the trees roots that wound up around its trunk.

  He took her down below the forest canopy, into the elven village below. There, as dawn had broken, awoke the whimsical elves, chattering among one another in their lyrical voices. Among them other beings flew or strolled, the houses and stalls all of bright and garish colours.

  “Before we talk of such things, however, you should eat something. To keep your strength up.”

  The idea of eating something made her stomach turn and rumble at the same time. She thought of those little wriggly insects and felt nausea rise within her once more, though she quickly tramped it down.

  Her body felt so heavy, as though she weighed a million pounds. Even her scalp hurt from the weight of her hair, and she so wished she could just rest, but knew she couldn’t. She had to save her friend.

  The elf took her to a little hut made out of the hollowed husk of a large mushroom, he sat her down to a little toadstool table outside.

  “Wait here,” he beckoned before vanishing inside the mushroom, down some stairs as it apparently led into a root cellar of some sort.

  As she sat there, cradling her forehead against her palm, a curious sight approached.

  A towering brute of a human came lumbering on up, with none of the elegance of the fae folk. A sight she’d almost never seen, though even for the few humans she’d crossed, he was an especially large on.

  All dressed in furs and leather, with his thickly wrapped armour draped from one shoulder on down to the opposing hip, he looked like a savage. His long thick blonde hair around his hairy face… it was all so strange to Lhea.

  Stranger still was when he approached her with wide eyes.

  He so towered over her he had to bend one knee to reach her height.

  “Faerie,” he remarked, in a deep, gruff voice that was not at all like the lyrical elves that populated the village.

  “What?” she winced, more in her confusion of the situation than in curiosity of the question, her skin prickling a little as his breath washed over her. There was something there she felt was so familiar, something she longed for.

  But there was no way a human like he could remind her of anything. She’d never seen anything like him, certainly.

  Yet… those eyes of his, they reminded her of—

  “I know who you are,” he said to her low, trying not to be overheard, an impressive feat for so large a savage human. He looked around cautiously, and so close as he was, Lhea could smell his curious musky human odour, so strange yet oddly hinted with the familiar.

  Her nostrils flared as she found herself lost in his gaze, her own ocean blues staring into the pits of his eyes.

  Even free of the taint, though, Lhea had always been a curious fae, never shrinking from adventure. From intrigue. That was what had gotten her into the Mad King’s realm in the first place. And she found herself drawn to the human, to what he was sent for.

  “You wish to be reunited with someone, yes?” he asked in his low, gravelly voice, speaking so cautiously as he loomed
over her. He was easily the largest person in the village that she’d seen, and all those furs and leathers draped about him only added to his imposing presence.

  Her little heart raced in her chest as she stared at him, mouth parted. She nodded, her head slowly worked up and down. Fillia.

  Him.

  She was free of the taint, but the conflict still burned within her.

  The longing. The memory of a longing. She didn’t know which it was, but she was pulled in nearer to the human, her curiosity burning.

  “Meet me tonight. By the edge of the village,” he said to her in a quiet rumble. “I will find you and take you there. But you must say nothing to anyone until then. They will only ruin our chances,” he said, the massive man doing an impressive job of keeping his voice masked from the village.

  She nodded again, though she didn’t know why. Was she sincerely agreeing to go with the man?

  She thought back to the elf, to the protection he could provide her. All she’d have to do is tell him of this man, let the human think he’d won and have the elf follow. It would be so simple, and then Fillia could be free from the Mad King.

  And Lhea...

  What would come of her?

  “Tell no one,” he cautioned again with a tilt of his head and a serious expression. “I will help you this evening. Make whatever excuses necessary,” he said to her as his final word of warning, just before the light sound of elven footsteps rose up from the mushroom hovel beside her.

  Lhea looked aside towards it to see the elf arise, but when she looked back to the man, he was simply not there. For all his brutish size, he vanished without a trace.

  “I’ve gotten you some more nuts, berries and honey nectar,” the elf proclaimed, laying down a platter of it before her.

  And she could remember loving those foods. Eating them with such relish and delight, so she accepted them and tried to give him a warm smile. It came out as more of a grimace, however, and she touched them with dainty fingers, as if trying to appease what she expected he wanted of her.