Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2013 Anna Keraleigh
ISBN: 978-1-77130-252-4
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Cheryl Harper
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For the broken.
FAIRY UNBROKEN
A Fairy Novel, 3
Anna Keraleigh
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
It was night. The stars lit up the dark sky like fireballs hovering in space. The air was scented with a fresh ocean breeze that Keyn knew all too well. It was a dream, the images before him memories. Ones he did not want to relive. He was a child then. Nearly fourteen years old, he was also a fairy, born to Leetha and Perrimen of the fairy kingdom. He was too friendly for their species, happy despite the aging of his parents. They weren’t long for this world and it was evident on their faces. Still, he woke every day with a hopeful heart, took in everything he could, learning all his parents wished him to know.
That all changed on that one beautiful night Keyn fell from the sky.
His red and black wings were not yet ready to support him so long and he had spent most of the day playing with a human child by the name of Abigail. As the sun began to set, he lifted off the ground and headed for home. Keyn flew over the green hills of Ireland and a small cluster of treetops. That hint of the nearby ocean filled his lungs. He rushed, maybe too fast. He didn’t want his parents to catch him playing with the forbidden humans again. Perhaps it was the sudden gust of wind that knocked him off course or simple fatigue but an ache began in his back. It was a cramp of muscle that spread like wildfire in a drought. Keyn’s eyes widened, and his fists clenched then opened as he struggled to fly. It was useless. He was not yet strong enough.
Keyn fell from the sky.
His lungs gasped that salty air and he held the scream as the treetops rushed at him. Branches scratched his bare skin, the loincloth doing nothing to protect his delicate skin from their rough edges. He did have the sense to tuck his wings together to keep them from being torn asunder. Without them to slow his descent, he landed with a sharp thud. Air rushed from his lungs and aches began all over his small body. He could hardly breathe his chest hurt so and the darkness made his heart race in fear. He stared at the stars he admired with a fading consciousness.
It wasn’t long before he heard them. Those voices that would forever haunt him. Male humans, their steps heavy and their accent distinctly not Irish. They came from the darkness like angels, wishful thinking in his state of pain. Those men came from hell, demons, the devil’s minions, but he hadn’t known that then. If he could relive that day, he’d pull himself together and drag his battered body under a nearby bush. He didn’t know to stay quiet.
Keyn called out for help.
His lips opened and, with his not yet matured voice, he begged for help. Three men surrounded him, speaking kind words and reassurances until they saw his wings. At first, they were scared then it didn’t matter what species he was. The men discovered that after the fact. As a boy, he couldn’t understand why these human men were bringing him to a bright part of their camp beside a roaring fire. Why did they use their weapons to cut away his loincloth? The cold blade on his skin made him shiver and they seemed to like that. It made no sense. He didn’t understand until they used that shiny blade to tear into him. With one downward plunge, the blade sliced through his delicate wings and pinned him to the ground. They did the same to the other side and he cried out. He remembered screaming for help, asking them why.
It was only minutes later that they began to touch him and Keyn the boy ceased to exist.
He floated away, too scared to remain, and in his wake was a vacant shell. Those men fouled his body and made him hurt in ways he never knew possible. They pulled the blades free and proceeded to hack off his beautiful wings. Maybe they thought it would kill him.
He almost wished it had.
Keyn was there again. Though he knew it was a dream, he could smell the ocean, feel those dirty human hands lowering to his cock. He bolted upright in bed. Sweat dripped down his back and his forehead. His lungs were burning and it took a full minute for him to remember how to breathe. Gasps echoed in the silent chamber he called home. Keyn’s hands gripped the material beneath him as he came from the nightmare world.
The dreams were back.
For almost a year, he had not woken to those horrible, shameful memories. Keyn spread his wings and clenched his teeth. A single tear slipped down his clammy flesh, and where there was one, more appeared. They fell silently as he rushed from the bed. He hurried from the house. His door swung wide as he took to the sky and shot straight toward those burning stars. The tears dried in the wind. He didn’t want to admit where he was going, but whenever the memories plagued him, he’d rush toward her, the stranger whose eyes seemed to see through his hard shell and into his broken soul.
The sun began to rise. Small rays lit the horizon as he landed beside her house. It was a small home with a view out to the water and a yard crammed with decorative flowers. A white fence separated her from the hills and surrounding cluster of trees. He hid behind the nearest tree, took a deep breath, and glanced around. His heart skipped a beat. It did every time he looked upon her. She was pure enchantment. Her hair was the color of gold nuggets beneath a rushing river, not blond like the sun but not brown like the land. Her body made his shameful manhood rise and his soul yearned to see what color her eyes were.
She was standing in the yard, her clothes splattered with various colors of paint and a canvas before her. She was focused on each stroke of the brush. Unaware of the man, the fairy, that observed her. He couldn’t stop watching. The way her hips swayed when she stepped back to survey the painting. She had these plastic things over her ears, and from this distance he heard the rumble of music. Her body swerved with the soft beat of drums, and after a small smile crept onto her lips, she returned to the painting.
This was his mate.
There was no doubt. She always calmed the beast within him and he didn’t even know the color of her eyes. Then again, he didn’t want to know. She was still a human. Keyn landed on his knees. A shiver dashed down his body. How could the Goddess be so cruel? He both hated and loved her. It was tearing apart his soul. He fumbled with his loincloth, shoved it aside so his straining cock could breathe. It pulsed, blood rushed from every part of his body to surge through the thing. Shame ate at his mood but lust conquered all. He reached down and grabbed his massive erection. His breath came in gulps as his fingers worked the appendage. Up and down he pumped. Memories surfaced. They broke down his lust and Keyn fought desperately to hold on to the licentious feeling.
It was no use.
His hand fell away. Through tear-blurred eyes, his mate smiled while memories of his violations battered his senses. He had not been able to find pleasure since those men. Keyn sat beside the tree. His fingers sank into soft dirt as he listened to the sweet sounds of his mate. He sat there for a while, listening, remembering, and then her soft footsteps led away. She had finished for the day. He picked himself up, squared his shoulders, and took off into the sky.
It was time to return home and play warrior.
****
Keyn flew away from hi
s mate, heading toward home in the distance. The fairy kingdom was hidden from human eyes. Very few even knew of its existence. Currently three humans called his home theirs. King Carrick’s mate, Queen Brook, Thame’s woman, Breena, and her grandmother, Abigail. The same woman that was once his childhood friend. A few days ago, he left his corner of the palace and moved to a remote house on the edge of the kingdom. He swooped down through the clear dome and headed for that little house. It was right beside the waterfall, and he often went to sleep with the rumbling sounds playing through his open window.
The house had three stories and a red dome top with balconies at every window. He flew to the bedroom, one with the doors open wide, and landed, mentally exhausted. The sun was up and soon he’d have to join the others and keep watch. The trolls, the enemies that plagued them were determined to steal their land. They’d come close when they snatched the queen. Thank the Goddess she was found. Now, they attacked in greater numbers and the fairies were forced to forget mercy and defend their homes.
A lot would be solved if the fairy population hadn’t dwindled so quickly. Nine fairies remained and the theory they could have offspring with humans had not yet been determined to be fact. He settled on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands, and long black hair slithered from his braid and feathered around his face.
What would he do if they did start producing? Little human fairy hybrids running around might very well be the death of him. He would have to leave and find a home where he’d spend the remainder of his life alone. That sounded as bad as dealing with the humans. He stood on shaky legs and grabbed the sword from the side of the bed, strapped a sheath around his waist, and then planted the sword against his hip. He placed two knives on the opposite side and returned to the sun-caressed balcony.
Sleep was unobtainable.
The patrols were long and lonely. He had no problem with either. Since Thame had been attacked and nearly killed by the trolls, they’d taken up a more defensive stance. Each fairy warrior was alert despite the slow mist that began to fall. Water was not their friend. It slowed their speed, and if it rained hard enough, flying was out of the question. That’s why Keyn found his friend Wick huddled under the nearest tree just outside their kingdom.
“Only a fool stands in the rain,” Wick muttered. His green wings fluttered.
“Only a fool is afraid of rain on his back,” Keyn replied. If the trolls wanted to take him, let them try. He’d slaughter every last one of them. Today he was in no mood to be challenged.
Apparently the trolls thought otherwise. They attacked just as the rain reached its crest. Big fat drops fell from the sky like dull arrows. They landed heavily on his wings and each slither of the water made a quiver rack his body. He didn’t like anything touching his wings. The trolls, ugly with beady eyes and thick almost lizard-like skin, rushed from the surrounding trees. Keyn ground his teeth and released his sword. “No mercy,” he whispered and ran toward them.
****
Trillian glanced out the window. The rain fell like God dumped a bucket on the world. Long streams of water rushed down the windows of her home as she sat protected and dry behind them. Her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. The steam rose to add fragrance to the air. She was beyond tired and mentally exhausted. Trillian worked seven days a week and it was finally taking its toll. She couldn’t sleep, weight dropped from her hips, and the only joy she found now was painting. A wet cough sounded from the other room and Trillian heard the creak of floorboards. Her brother shuffled from the doorway with a black blanket around his shoulders. He looked worse than she felt. “You should be sleeping.” Cameron’s dark hair was ashen, his cheeks sunken, and his already pale skin was ghost-like. She stood, placed the mug on the window sill, and helped him to the couch.
“I should be helping.” His words were whispers followed by a hacking cough.
Tears once again began to form. This was her older brother, the only family she had left, and he was dying. The doctors couldn’t figure out what caused his body to wither. The new specialist was the cause of her exhaustion. She had extra shifts at the bar and even used the college money she saved for his health. Trillian would give the very clothes on her back to get him healthy again. She missed his smile and his teasing.
“I feel useless.” He frowned and sat on the couch.
“You’re just sick. Once the docs figure it out, you’ll be good as new and going back to the army.” He was a United States Marine and she was so proud of his accomplishments. The day he returned here on leave, she noticed his lack of color. His motions were slow, not at all like the strong man he had become.
“Think I’ll stay awhile,” he murmured, his lids falling to cover his bright green eyes.
“You’re going to that hospital in Dublin today, so they can run those tests. Your lazy butt’s going to be gone for a few days. Maybe then I can get some cleaning done.” She spoke with what she hoped was a playful tone. In truth, she was being torn apart, her heart crushed and kicked by this sickness that no one seemed to be able to cure.
****
Keyn watched her, hidden in the shadows as rain soaked his body. Fat drops fell like a thousand tears. He welcomed each one. Nothing would get him to move. His woman was at the window, her eyes glancing over the yard but she didn’t see him. She looked so sad, her lips were downturned, and the skin around her eyes was red. Had she been crying? Why did he care? He looked away briefly, confused by the damned emotions that plagued him.
A part of him wanted to press his face against the window and finally show himself to her. Would she run away screaming? Would she be curious? Thoughts were rampant as she stood and stretched her hands to the ceiling. Moments later the front door to her home opened and she pulled a hood over her head. Some tendrils escaped and were attacked by the rain. She was running, moving fast toward his position. Did she see him? He held his breath, prepared a thousand different speeches in his head, but alas, she veered to the right.
She headed toward the small building made of wood with a single petite window. He ran, shaking the water from his wings, to that glass pane. She stood at the door, her hood still up and her fists balled. Then she let out this heart-wrenching scream. Keyn jumped and goose bumps broke out over his skin. Had his woman gone mad?
She began to move then, grabbing the nearest canvas and throwing it across the small space of the room. He heard the shredding material even over the drumming of rainfall. Another half-finished painting followed the first. She was in a frenzy, hurling not just the painting but also the brushes, a broom, cans of paint. Anything that she could lift, she did. It all landed in a messy pile and then her knees gave way. She buried her face in her hands and her body shuddered.
She was crying. Keyn took a step forward, pressed one hand against the glass. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her. There was no doubt she was in pain. Her heart must ache and he knew exactly how that felt.
She then looked up and he finally saw the color of her eyes.
Chapter Two
She had green eyes. They were gorgeous, like sun hitting the hills but when they widened, reality came crashing in. She could see him. He jumped back as she rushed to her feet. In moments, he took to the sky, the wind rushing by his dark wings and thick erection. He couldn’t get her eyes out of his mind. They were breathtaking. Keyn didn’t look back even though he heard the rustling of the door opening. She was probably calling the human authorities about a prowler, or worse, a Peeping Tom. Yes, he was both, but he would never admit it aloud. She was after all, a human.
He landed on the outskirts of the kingdom. Keyn walked wearily toward the palace. The rain still drenched him in its tears. His hair was plastered to his back, heavy against his red and black wings. The doors to the palace were already open and he stepped through just as thunder rumbled above. King Carrick had called a meeting and Keyn reluctantly had to make an appearance. He walked the halls lined with portraits of former kings and their families. It seemed like so long ago
that the kingdom had once been buzzing with his species. The short walk gave his wings a much-needed rest but they were still damp. He frowned as he turned into the designated room.
Instantly his skin prickled and a shiver worked its way up his body. Humans were here. His pulse hitched, hands fisted. His hatred for them seemed to grow more every day. All the humans were in the large glass room that he was supposed to enter. With focus on each breath, he settled for leaning against the doorframe. Though his body appeared relaxed and carefree, sweat beaded his skin. Besides the humans, nearly every fairy left in existence was in the room. It looked like he stumbled into the middle of a rainbow with all the wings fluttering. Green and yellow wings belonged to Wick, Mord was sky blue, and Brielle’s white wings stood out like an angel in their presence. Mord and Brielle had been mates for years but they were obviously drifting apart. Keyn noticed it by the way Brielle leaned into the tall warrior and Mord stood stiff. Flance’s brown wings were beside Bray’s red and brown wings. They were hugging and their hands were roaming each other’s bodies. Those two were like rabbits on crack.
Thame stood closest, his wings bright gold with the slight tint of red along the edges. The coloring was the effect of having his wings cut off by the trolls a few weeks ago. Thank the Goddess for Brielle’s healing abilities or else they’d all be in trouble. He stood next to his human mate, Breena. She seemed to brighten up his mood and then there was Abigail. The child who used to play with him was now an old woman, grandmother to Breena.
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