Romance Novels of the Fae Realm
Earth Child
Rosemary Green
Copyright
Copyright © 2013 by McLeod Agency, Inc DBA McLeodPublishing.com. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
About the Author
Rosemary Green Lives in Rogers, Arkansas with her husband and three children. Rosemary is following her passion for writing while finishing her Bachelor's degree in English. Her exciting and descriptive Sci-Fi Romance novels are appropriate for all ages.
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Table Of Contents
Preface
Chapter 1 Who is Watching Me?
Chapter 2 Hiking Eagle's Nest
Chapter 3 Really! Me?
Chapter 4 Suddenly Popular
Chapter 5 Can the Prom Really Be So Important?
Chapter 6 The Scent of Spicy Woods and Green Grass
Chapter 7 What is Home?
Chapter 8 Fae Realm
Chapter 9 When Do I Go Home?
Chapter 10 Meet Them In The Open
Chapter 11 Jumping Down From the Dais
Chapter 12 The Arwydd Stone
Epilogue Blended
Preface
Earth Child
Alexa Kassabrov always knew she was adopted. She looked nothing like her parent, Richard and Nancy. Lately she has been haunted by dreams of a woman running through the woods, fleeing some sort of evil and hoping to escape with her life. Deep down Alexa knows this woman is her birth mother, her life forfeited by whatever was chasing her.
Alexa’s dreams aren’t the only thing that has changed recently. Everywhere she goes, it feels like someone is watching her. Anxious and on edge, Alexa’s paranoia starts to get the better of her until one Saturday morning she meets Cerus. Dressed like a business mogul in the small town of Pineville, MO, he immediately stands out. Tall and muscular and pale as silvery moonlight, Alexa is instantly drawn to this mysterious man.
Cerus is a protector, a member of the Royal Ceffyl Gard, it is his job to keep Alexa safe. She isn’t your average teenager. Soon Alexa finds out that she’s half-human, half-fae and the direct descendant of Mother Earth. Not only that, but the fae realm is divided by those who want to keep nature in balance, and those who would use the power of nature for dark and immoral purposes. The Shadow Fae.
Now with Cerus’ help Alexa must claim her rightful place on the Earth Throne, defeat the nefarious Shadow Fae and bring peace to the fae realm. She is the Earth Child, the one to bring balance to the realms. Can she do it? Can she find a way to balance her human life and her fae life?
Chapter 1
Who is Watching Me?
I awoke in the night with a positive sensation. I was not alone in the room. In the black stillness I lay there waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Carefully I sat up in bed and looked around. Everything seemed as it should be. My dresser drawer half open, clothes scattered across the floor and bean bag chair. My desk littered with books and crumbled wads of paper; unacceptable drafts of my World History report. With a groan I glanced at my alarm clock. 3:00 am. Ugh. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to wipe away the feelings of unease. Settling into the folds of my blankets I lay there with my eyes half open trying to think of nothing so I could go back to sleep. My mind has always been on overdrive, it’s hard for me to settle down. Just as my eyelids start to droop, I feel it. There’s a breeze in my room. The hot humid air blows over my cheek again, stirring the hairs around my face. Wide awake now I sit up and turn more fully to the window. The Strawberry Shortcake curtains I’ve has since I was five softly move in the breeze. I never sleep with my window open. Especially not with the high humidity that Southern Missouri is known for.
Slowly, I slide out of bed and quietly tip toed toward my window. With shaking hands I pull the curtains apart and gaze upon the dimly lit yard. The non- threatening bushes and trees give off a more menacing feeling in the eerie yellow fluorescent from the back porch light. I can’t see anything, but it’s too quiet. The crickets and cicadas temporarily silence their cacophony of noise sensing a greater danger in the shadows. Opening the window I lean out into the unremarkable backyard. On the deck there is the barbeque grill, a patio table and chairs, and steps down to the grass which gives way to the woods.
“Hello?” I whisper to the darkness.
Out of the corner of my eye I see something move along the edge of the forest. Startled I pull away from the window and forcefully slam it closed, quickly reaching out to lock it and close the curtains. Slowly the crickets resume their soft chirrup, and the normal sounds of the night return. I crawl into my bed, pull the blankets over my head and try to will morning into coming.
When I finally do wake up, it’s already mid- morning. The sun is shining brightly through the crack in the curtains. With a groan I roll out of bed and stumble, still half asleep into the bathroom. I have never been a morning person. I think it’s because I have such a hard time falling asleep, that once I do, I don’t like to wake up or be woken up before I’m ready. But, today is Saturday, my shift at the Fotohut starts at noon, so I go through the motions of making myself presentable.
After a quick shower I put on jeans, a t-shirt, and my tennis shoes. They’re big and clunky and probably not the most stylish, but since I stand for my job they are very functional and comfortable so I wear them anyway. I hardly ever wear make-up, but I take care of my face. I can’t function without my cleanser, moisturizer and face sunscreen. There is sunscreen in my body lotion too. I don’t do well in the sun. My fair skin doesn’t tan; it burns, so I always take precautions.
In my opinion the rest of me is normal. I have a normal size nose, normal lips, and a normal chin. My eyes are a deep green. Sometimes they look blue. My hair is a deep auburn. Sometimes it looks brown. I keep it long, but don’t like having hair in my face so it’s always up in a pony-tail or a lose bun. I’m not too tall and not too short. I have curves in the right places, but I am also strong. Have you ever stared at your reflection so long that you start to see someone else? Sometimes I do this, and feel like I don’t belong where I am. I just sigh and shake my head and don’t think about it for too long. If you ask someone to describe me they might say that I was pretty. I would say pretty average or pretty normal or pretty boring.
The proof of my average, unremarkable, boring appearance you ask? I’m a senior in high school and the only boy to ever bother to spend time with me was Sam. I don’t really count him though. He is my best friend. When we were both seven, we had our tonsils out. His bed was next to mine in the hospital. The first time I saw him, his mother was trying to convince him that orange popsicles were just as good as red and promising him that if he ate it, his throat would feel better. Sam is stubborn though, and he hates orange popsicles. After a while she left to go get a drink and something to eat in the cafeteria. I hopped out of bed to trade my red Popsicle for his orange one. We’ve been best friends ever since.
Sam is tall, probably close to six feet, maybe taller. He has big brown ey
es and sandy blonde hair. He’s skinny, but by no means a weakling. Instead he has those long lean muscles like you see on runners or swimmers. He is a pretty low key dresser also. He usually wears jeans or cargo shorts and a t-shirt. The one thing he always has with him, rain, snow, sun, tornado or whatever is his Navy messenger bag. Not navy as in the color, but Navy as in the branch of the military. He bought it when he was 10 from the Army/Navy surplus store. He thinks it’s cool. I just kind of roll my eyes at him and go with it. His bag always contains the following, what Sam calls essentials; leather bound journal, a pen, a camera, extra batteries, a baseball hat, and gum. Of course the bag will hold other items from time to time, but these are always there. After he finished his Eagle Scout our sophomore year he added flint, steel, and a one of those super tools that combine pliers, pocket knife, screwdriver and other miscellaneous tools. If said tool was ever found on his person at school it would result in his immediate expulsion. Zero tolerance was a good thing at times. Other times we all think it’s stupid.
See that is one of the things I love about Sam. A lot of kids our age think things like scouting is dumb. They’d rather spend an afternoon at the mall than outside hiking in the woods. Not Sam. He loves being outdoors almost as much as I do. Almost every weekend we go hiking or floating, or anything just to be outside.
Scooping up my bag and a light sweatshirt I stomp down the stairs and head toward the kitchen. With school almost out, it is getting too hot to wear the sweatshirt outside, but the air conditioner at the Fotohut is always on full blast, and it can get a little cold there. I can see my dad in the yard. He’s pulling the lawnmower from the front lawn to the back. Most Saturdays he’s either doing yard work or washing his car. Our yard is flat enough and big enough to warrant a riding lawn mower but Dad insists on the traditional push mower. He considers it his exercise. Two summers ago he broke down and bought a self-propelled one so even though he still walks behind the mower, it is considerably less strenuous. My mom is sitting outside on the deck reading the newspaper and drinking some orange juice.
They’re not really my parents. Richard and Nancy Kassabrov were not able to have their own children. When I was three I was adopted. They say that children that young don’t usually remember their life before adoption. I could remember bits and pieces though. Every now and then I would dream about a woman with white blonde hair and leaf green eyes. She is always running from something. Sometimes she is carrying me in her arms, other times she is alone. She is scared of something behind her, something that is determined to catch her. This threat is never seen, but the undeniable menace is felt with a strong almost overpowering presence. Somewhere deep inside I knew that she was my real mother. When I dream of her I get the feeling that she doesn’t belong to this world either.
Last month was my birthday. I turned eighteen. Richard and Nancy sat me down in the living room to tell me I was adopted. I kind of figured that out already though. Richard and Nancy were both short and round. They also had olive skin, dark eyes and dark hair. The world of genetics is mysterious and unique, but looking at them and looking at me, there was no way I could be a product of their genetic make-up. They wanted me to decide if, now that I was old enough, I wanted to find my birth parents.
Looking into their eyes I could see how much it hurt to ask me that. They loved me, but they were terrified that if I found my real parents I would leave them. I thought of the face of the woman in my dreams. Part of me longed to know who she was. But then I remember her fear and her running. I didn’t have to look. I know she is dead. Richard and Nancy are my parents and nothing, not even genetics would change that. Opening the sliding door, I stepped out onto the deck and slunked into an empty chair.
“Good morning, sweetheart” she greets me with a smile, “are you working today?”
“Yes, my shift starts in a couple of hours.”
“Any plans for later?”
I know she is hoping that I will say yes. She doesn’t think that I have enough friends. I’d probably have more if the girls my age were into things other besides killer jeans and Gossip Girl.
“Just World History,” I reply, “I want to get it done tonight because tomorrow Sam and I are going hiking at Roaring River.”
“You spend an awful lot of time with him.”
“He’s my best friend mom,” more like my only friend I think to myself.
“Have you ever considered being more than friends? He reminds me of a young Matthew McConaughey.”
Appalled, I looked at her with the best eew face I could muster.
“He’s tall, handsome, considerate,” she continued.
“No! No way. Not ever. He’s Sam!”
“That’s exactly my point. You two already know everything about each other. All your bad and annoying habits, what makes you tick. Sometimes you can have a very satisfying and romantic relationship with your best friend.”
If what Mom was suggesting was not bad enough, the mental picture of her and Dad having a satisfying relationship was disturbing. No child adopted or not, wants to think of their parents that way.
“No. He’s Sam. Even if, and I am talking about a really big if here, if we were to date it would totally screw up our friendship. Our relationship is just fine the way things are.”
“Well if you say so. I still think that there is more going on than you realize. If I were your age I would have already snatched him up.”
“Eew Mom! He’s Sam!”
“So you keep telling me,” she replied with a laugh.
By this time Dad had finished mowing the lawn and started toward us.
“Good morning sugar,” he greeted me with a kiss to my forehead.
“Dad! You’re all sweaty!” I protest.
“Well that’s what happens when you do physical labor,” he grinned, “so what are my two favorite ladies talking about?”
“I think that Alexa should start dating,” Mom answered.
“What’s this? Does little Lexi have a crush?”
“No Dad. She wants me to date Sam.”
“Sam?” he questions with a puzzled frown, “but – he’s Sam.”
“Exactly!” at least Dad understands my point of view, “I got to go. I need to stop at the library before going to work. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
“Have a good day sweetheart,” Mom says with a kiss goodbye.
“See you later sugar,” Dad says while attempting to hug me.
“Dad! Sweaty!”
“Sorry Lexi.”
I grab my bag and an apple out of the bowl on the kitchen counter and head out to my car. I kind of have a love/hate relationship with my car. I love that I have my own car and don’t have to rely on my parents to get around; It’s nice having that little bit of freedom. I hate everything else about it. I am the not so proud owner of a boat. A giant Chevy Cordoba. The exterior is a cracked and faded maroon. The interior is the same. The radio doesn’t work, but the tape player does. Can you believe that they still make cassette tapes? Sam thinks I should get a tape adapter for an iPod so that I can at least have music. Yeah, I don’t have an iPod so all my CDs have been made into cassettes.
The trunk doesn’t have a lock. Anyone with a screwdriver and a little muscle could get into it. I never keep anything in there anyway because it also leaks. Southern Missouri doesn’t get enough rain so that the leaking is a big problem, just enough to make it annoying. Sometimes the summer thunderstorms cause flash flooding. A few years back Sam and Dad drilled holes in the floor of the trunk so the water could drain. The passenger door doesn’t open from the inside. Any passengers have to either roll down the window and reach for the outside handle or wait until I walk around and let them out. Oh, and the latch to the visor is broken so if I brake too hard I get
smacked in the head. Sam thinks it’s hilarious when that happens. It is a piece of junk, but it has four wheels and a working engine so I use it.
I opened the door and tossed in my bag. I was just about to slide in when I felt a tingling sensation on the back of my neck. It felt like someone was watching me. I turned around expecting to see my parents or an animal or something like that. No one was there. Everything was quiet and as it should be. Not even the wind was blowing. Suddenly and with a screeching yowl the neighbor’s cat came streaking through the bushes and off into the woods. I jumped, and with a little laugh at my paranoia, got into my car and drove toward the library.
I don’t remember much about the orphanage in Romania. The buildings were squat and an ugly gray. Even the ground was dull. Everything was dirty and broken, the aftermath of so many wars. The country is beautiful though. I’ve looked at pictures. Rolling meadows full of sweet grass for sheep to graze on and mountains covered in a blanket of giant evergreens. If I ever travelled there I would want to visit the Voronet Monastery. It was built in the fifteenth century. Painters covered the outside walls with portraits of Christian Saints. The picture I saw of it was amazing, but I am sure it would be more stunning in person. The Romanian country side actually reminds me a little of my home now.
The small town of Pineville, Missouri is probably like any other small town in Middle America. Not a lot to do outside of school. There is a Super Wal-Mart about 15 minutes south, and there is a McDonalds by the Wal-Mart, but that is about it. The houses in the main part of town are small, usually just one story if they aren’t mobile homes. Most of the city is made up of warehouses and industrial type buildings. Of course there is a courthouse and a school and a small library. If I didn’t have a car I would have to be bused to the nearby town of Anderson to go to High School. As it is I drive the 13 minutes north. Maybe the reason people don’t talk to me much is because I live on the nicer side of town. Richard works at the University up in Pittsburg so he makes more than the average citizen of Pineville. Our house is huge in comparison. We also live on the outer edge of the city on Vancil Street. The closest major city is an hour South to Fayetteville, Arkansas. People go there for a real night out. There are restaurants and movie theaters and real shopping malls.
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