by Jessa Slade
But it wasn’t a bear, too small. And too big to be a wolf. It moved like a predator though, intent and aggressive.
He didn’t think it had seen him. It was circling toward the house and he had come up on its rear flank. He kept the bulk of a big pine between them as he advanced.
He was so focused, he didn’t hear the cabin door open or see the spill of light over the porch.
He heard his name though, clear and beautiful as a second bell ringing.
“Josh?”
Shit. He hadn’t expected her to come out. Neither had the thing he was stalking, obviously. It froze on the other side of the tree.
Just for a heartbeat though. Then it sprang toward the house.
“Adelyn!” he yelled. “Get inside! Now!”
The thing moved fast, freakishly fast, and its dark hide reflected no light. It would have been invisible against bare earth, but it stood out against the snow, thin legs skittering over the ground.
On the porch, wrapped in his comforter, Adelyn turned toward his voice.
He was already running. “Get inside!” he roared. “Go!”
She turned, but the thing—a blur of motion—was almost at the bottom step. She screamed as she stumbled toward the door.
Wolly burst from the shadows. He launched across the steps to slam the thing hard.
The two shapes rolled across the yard, giving Josh precious seconds to reach the fight. Wolly yelped in surprise as he was thrown off. Josh hauled back and gave the creature a bar-room kick, the boot-powered kind that could lift a grown man several feet in the air.
The thing shrilled some unearthly cry that iced his spine. It scrabbled at him with—what the hell?—three legs?!
He dodged away as one of the three spindly legs stabbed at him again, piercing the edge of his coat. The sharp tip of the leg gleamed as it went right through the heavy sheepskin.
It spun toward him, oddly graceful. And one bulging eye glared at him from the middle of its head.
He choked. Shock made him hesitate and it launched at his face. Instinct as much as intent drove the knife out in front of him. The thing slammed into him and impaled itself.
It shrieked again, but it didn’t stop. All three legs scrabbled at him.
Adelyn was screaming, not incoherently although he didn’t quite understand her. “It’s an imp, Josh. Kill it!”
The broad jaws gaped as it squealed again, and foul air erupted around its tusk-like teeth. But Josh took the kill it command to heart.
Before it killed him.
Suddenly, the thing fell back. Wolly had grabbed it from behind. It whirled, thrashing, and Wolly yelped again, not surprise this time but pain. Josh stabbed with grim precision, to no apparent effect.
“Josh! Take this iron. Strike the eye!”
He half turned toward Adelyn and something was flying toward him. He reached out to grab...the old horseshoe from beside the front door? How was that going to help when his knife hadn’t slowed it?
“Get my gun,” he shouted back.
He lunged at the thing. Imp, she’d said. The imp reared back on one leg, aiming at the fallen Wolly with two sharp appendages.
Josh stabbed the eye with his knife. The imp abandoned Wolly to whirl on him, wrenching the knife from his hands.
Which left him with the horseshoe.
Holding one end in his fist, he lashed out awkwardly. The imp flinched, but not fast enough. He buried the blunt metal in its eye.
With a hissing scream, the bulging orb burst into flame.
Josh stumbled away from the fierce blue fire, his heart pounding. The imp shrieked a rising crescendo of agony. It turned in a half dozen circles through the snow, blazing a mad corkscrew pattern in the darkness.
Shock kept Josh pinned for a moment, then he bolted for the house.
Adelyn stepped out the door with his gun, her face ashen above the comforter tucked around her. “You don’t need this now,” she said. “The iron will end it.”
He racked a round as he ran back to the imp. Her words—no, not her words, the calmness of her tone—rang in his head louder than the gunshots as he emptied half the magazine into the motionless thing.
The silence afterward hung thick with shadows and secrets, and the embedded horseshoe stuck up from the imp’s eyeball like the curve of a question mark.
“Close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades,” he muttered. “Sure wish I had the grenade.”
Wolly hobbled over to shove his nose under Josh’s hand.
Josh smoothed the still-bristling ruff. “You okay, boy?” He did a gentle pat down. No blood, but the dog turned his head away stoically when Josh touched his shoulder. Hopefully just a bruise, but something to watch. Whatever that thing was...
An imp, Adelyn had said. She’d been surprised at its appearance, but not shocked. She knew what it was. And she knew how to kill it.
So who—or what—was she?
Chapter 7
Adelyn threw on the clothing Josh had put aside for her and joined him outside. The night chill bit sharp as any imp’s claws. Still not as sharp as the glance Josh shot her when she clomped across the yard in an extra pair of his too-big boots.
She couldn’t meet his gaze and focused instead on the dog sniffing suspiciously at the still-smoldering imp. “Is Wolly all right?”
“Just sore, I think.”
“He was brave to charge like that, braver than most humans...” She tried to swallow back the word. Most people refused to believe the phae right before their eyes.
But she knew Josh wasn’t most people.
Sure enough, he turned to face her. “What the fuck is an imp?”
She dragged her gaze up to his. “What do you see?”
“What do you mean, what do I see? A fucking monster with a horseshoe burned through its eyeball. Its one fucking eyeball.”
“Josh—”
“I’m sorry. But fuck!”
She laughed, then pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry too.”
He sighed. “Go ahead and laugh. This is crazy.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“I didn’t think I was.” The edge to his tone said he might wish otherwise. “So an old iron horseshoe through the eye finished it off when a knife and gun wouldn’t?”
She nodded. “More might follow. I suggest we go back to the house.”
“And find more iron.”
She nodded again.
With Wolly at heel, they returned to the porch. Josh paused to stare back at the night. “What about my stock?”
“The imp only went after Wolly to...”
“To get to you.”
She bit her lip. She knew she should be afraid of Raze’s impatience, if the Queen’s vizier had already sent another spy. She should probably be even more afraid that the Hunter would be warned by the appearance of an imp and be coming to kill her next.
But most of all, she was afraid of the look in Josh’s eyes. Cold and hard as iron, resistant to any illusion. A musetta’s seductive allure wasn’t going to distract him this time.
In the house, she had a brief reprieve as Josh wiped the mud off Wolly’s coat, murmuring good dog while dispensing small crunchy bone-shaped cookies. Wolly lay down with a soft whine.
The sound ripped at her. “Let me see.”
Josh stared at her, narrow eyed, then he angled over to let her crouch beside him. “What can you do?”
She didn’t answer. Musetta didn’t do anything. Or so she’d always believed. But just as she inspired tunes and odes, could she encourage the knitting of muscle and bone? She would never have tried such a thing in the phaedrealii, but here...
For a moment, she hesitated, nonplused at her own nerve. Why did she think this would even work?
Work. Josh used his hands for his work. She would do the same. She brushed her fingers over Wolly’s shoulder, so lightly the red fur didn’t ruffle as she let her thoughts drift.
On his belt buckles, Josh etched pa
tterns and laid in his polished stones so that the pieces became more than metal and rock. He put a little of himself into each one, and what he left behind was real and true.
The dog was already real and true. If she just reminded him...
Wolly waggled his stub tail and lowered his head to the cushion with a sigh.
Josh scowled. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. I...” She lifted her chin. “It’s magic.”
Josh’s jaw flexed and he stood as if to get away from her.
She gave Wolly a tentative pat on the shoulder and got another tail wag and no whine in return. She smiled before rising to face Josh. “The log rack there by the fireplace is iron. You have the iron skillet in the kitchen and two iron spoons that could be smelted into—”
He took a step toward her. “Why iron?”
“Because that is the only thing that stops them.” She wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her icy hands close to her body. “Be careful though. Many things you might think are iron are alloys and won’t have the same effect.”
“And you know this how?” He took another step closer, looming now.
She tightened her grip on herself, staring at his chest where the imp had slashed through his coat. He could have been killed. “I...”
Gently, he put his hands on her shoulders. Despite what he’d been through, his hands were warm as he trailed down her arms, unwinding her grip around her belly, past the bandages at her wrists.
He flattened her hands out between them.
Her right palm was blistered from when she had grabbed the horseshoe and wrenched it off the wall.
He glanced up from the wound and said softly, “You know this because you’re one of them.”
She flinched and tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go.
“Who are you?” His tone allowed no prevarication just as his grip permitted no escape. “What kind of person gets burned by iron?”
“No kind of person.” Her voice sounded hollow to her ears. “I am phae.”
She said the last word with the flowing tones of her kind, and from the widening of his eyes, she knew he understood, on some atavistic level: She was other.
But he did not release her hands. Of course he didn’t. He had put a horseshoe through an imp’s eye. He would not be frightened off by a musetta.
She let out a long, slow breath. “You humans call us fairies.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “You aren’t pink. And where are your sparkly wings?”
She grimaced. “Did you ever read the original fairy tales? They run red with blood. Pink is the watered-down version.” She tugged at his grasp again. He resisted another moment then let her go. She paced a short distance away. “Some phae are winged, but I am musetta.”
“Musetta.” He wrapped his lips around the word in a way that made her shiver in memory of his lips on other parts of her. “What does that mean?”
“Your stories call us muses, inspiration to artists, poets and the like.”
His gaze sharpened. “That’s why you were interested in the belt buckles.”
“I wondered if you had iron,” she admitted.
“Because you knew that imp might come?”
She hesitated, just a moment too long.
His gaze sharpened another strop. “What is going on, Adelyn?” He drew out the syllables of her name just a touch, as if he questioned it.
The suspicion stung, although of course she had lied about everything else.
But how could she explain without putting him in danger? The Queen had strict policies against initiating humans into phae mysteries. At least humans who weren’t trapped in the phaedrealii and her bed. Turning the accusation around, she challenged, “If I had said, ‘I’m a fairy princess in need of rescue,’ would you have believed me?”
“Probably.”
The way he said it made her think he was telling the truth. Too bad she couldn’t afford to do the same.
She swallowed back the urge to tell him everything. “I don’t want you to be hurt because of me.” Merely looking at the rip in his coat, she felt as if the tear went through her own chest.
He must have heard the sincerity in her tone because his gaze softened. “I won’t let anyone—or anything—touch you.” He went to the couch and patted the seat beside him. “Was that imp after you?”
She wanted to stand on her own, but his big body with the strong crook of his arm across the back of the couch was too tempting. She joined him and curled into his chest. “I don’t know what it wanted. But nothing good.”
“Yeah, I got that part. So what next?”
“No one will come looking for it until tomorrow night. They prefer to avoid daylight when they might encounter humans who might see what they are.” She broke off.
Josh sighed. “Humans. Right. Like me. Which you are not.” He rubbed his forehead as if he could force the new reality into his skull. “And who is ‘they’?”
“The ones who hurt me. I’m here because of them.” She tried to stay with the truth, or at least such truth as could be had from the phaedrealii. “Our Queen accused me of treason and wanted me dead. I’m trying to avoid that fate.”
He brushed back her hair. “I’m with you on that. On everything.”
She smiled, though her throat tightened. No one else in a court of phae who had supposedly loved her had been with her. Not a one of them had spoken on her behalf. Maybe there was a downside not knowing anyone’s true name; there was no one to call out to and no one who need answer.
She touched his chest through the rip in his coat and murmured in distress when her fingers encountered long scratches. “You took more damage than Wolly. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
His arm behind her shoulder tightened for a moment. “Let me get that skillet first.”
When he returned from the kitchen, she threaded her fingers through his and led him to the bedroom. With careful hands, they stripped each other naked, avoiding her burns and his slashes, then he guided her into the shower. They left the light off, and the stars through the skylight turned the steam to liquid silver.
She bit her lip as he gently cleaned her burned hand and then pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“You hurt yourself to help me,” he murmured.
“Actually, it was Wolly who was in trouble,” she reminded him.
“You hurt yourself to help my dog,” he amended. “Should I admit that makes me love you more?”
Her heartbeat stuttered. Love? “Josh...”
He kissed her. “Don’t worry about it. Not your fault I fall for impossible women. My ex-wife only wanted to live in a real city. But you, you’re a damn fairy princess. You probably live in a castle.”
She did not correct him on the fairy princess part, nor did she try to dismiss his comment about falling. She was musetta. She existed to inspire passions.
In silence, she cleansed his wounds, taken for her. Imps were vile but not toxic, and Josh’s coat had protected him from the worst of the damage.
No, she was the phae who would hurt him.
They anointed each other with the last of the salve she had brought. Then she led him to his bed and into her body, trying to give as much of herself as she could. Though what did she really have? She had come into his world carrying only a few spores and her intent to betray his friend. She would leave only a withered toadstool ring and more emptiness around him.
For his part, he played her with an almost cruel gentleness, rousing her to a fierce wanting she thought would tear her apart. He teased and stroked her to the edge of release, his tongue and cock finding every aspect of her pleasure. Each time, he drew back, leaving her panting and longing, only to provoke her higher until she could take no more. With a cry, she arched into him, convulsing around him. He plunged into her with abandon, and she almost hoped he had all but forgotten her in his own fury until she looked up and found him staring down. She came again with his name on her lips, but before she could say more�
�what she intended, she had no idea—he kissed her and shuddered into her depths.
Afterward, he pulled the comforter around them in a cocoon. She could almost imagine it was a sort of portal, taking them to a hidden place even the phae couldn’t find.
He tucked her close under his arm and she kissed his chest.
“Josh?”
“Mmm?”
“About...about you falling...”
His arm tightened, not a hug, more a warning. “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing. She didn’t want it be nothing, even though that would be best. “A musetta—a muse—inspires. That is what we do. That is what we are. We inspire...feelings. And passions.”
“So you said.”
There was an edge to his voice, but she couldn’t stop. “What you feel isn’t—”
“I’m only half blind, and I’ve been around myself long enough to know what I feel.” He kissed the top of her head and sat up. Cold air rushed into the space he left. “I want to check on Wolly and walk around once more. It’s okay if you fall asleep.”
He didn’t return for a long time, and her tears where they soaked the tartan plaid turned the yellow threads to gold.
Chapter 8
In the first rays of morning light, Josh finished fixing the last iron blade to the wooden mop handle. The spear looked weirdly exotic in a log cabin. But no more out of place than the fairy princess in his bed.
He propped the spear by the front door, next to three others. The tools to render down the skillet were out in the shop and he didn’t want to leave Adelyn alone, but he’d been able to turn the spoons and log rack into useful weapons.
She wasn’t leaving without a fight.
But she would leave eventually.
He had heard it in her voice, in her exquisitely kind attempts to tell him his feelings—damn feelings—were confused. Just hours ago, he had killed some sort of fairy monster and she thought he was confused about his feelings. It wasn’t his feelings that confused him.
“Damn you, woman,” he muttered. But she would just tell him she wasn’t a woman.
Wolly wagged his stub tail in commiseration.
