“First off, Malus, you don’t tell me what to do,” Finn said, sounding like he was growling himself. Faith rolled her eyes. While Jag was hot when he was manly, Finn was…gross. The testosterone contest was never finished, was it? “Secondly, I only came here because Light wanted to see Faith, not because I was hoping for a peek at things I already saw—and, honestly, weren’t that nice to look at anyway.”
Was he—Faith grew stunned—was he talking about her chest? That was the only thing he saw in the bath in Springsweet. She glanced down at her chest, pinned to Jag’s. They weren’t huge exactly, but they weren’t mosquito bites either. A perfect size in the middle. She could still buy her bras at Victoria’s Secret or Target and not outsource them to some website that only sold triple D’s and bigger.
Jag slowly let Faith down, her legs unhurriedly dropping from their position around his waist. He went for the edge of the pool, heaving himself out in one, fluid motion. Shaking himself off as only cats and dogs did, he stood, stark-naked, and glared at Finn. As if he didn’t have a hard dick. “Insult her again, Human,” he baited him, his tail flicking back and forth.
Faith knew it was for the best neither man addressed Jag’s current hardness, but it still didn’t make the situation any less awkward or rage-inducing.
“I could take you any day of the week,” Finn said, rolling his neck, fingers curling into fists. With his strength implant, Faith knew he could take Jag. In all probability, Finn was the strongest of their group, though they hadn’t encountered a situation yet where his super-strength was needed.
“I would like to see you try,” Jag said, spreading his feet.
Groaning and rolling her eyes, Faith muttered, “Boys, boys. That’s enough. The moment is officially ruined, so I might as well see what Light wants.” She moved as close to her clothes as she could before hoisting herself out of the pool for the second time, grinning to herself as Jag positioned himself firmly between Finn’s eyes and Faith as she dressed.
Finn gave Jag a haughty look, to which Jag growled again.
Boys.
Hard to think this was Faith’s new normal. It was anything but normal.
Chapter Two
Faith marched to camp before Finn and Jag, heading straight to Light. The Elf knelt near a small carcass of some mammal, skinning it before handing it to Cam so the Ulen could cook it over the campfire, a makeshift fire pit after they’d pulled the grass from the area. Nothing but flat, roaming hills as far as the eyes could see. Almost on the borders of Alyna, where the Elven influence faded and the wilds took its place.
His tall, lithe form looked good in leather, his yellow hair shaven close to the sides of his head, an inch or so longer on top. His deep blue eyes flicked to her as she approached, and he gave her a warm smile.
She knelt to his level, saying, “Finn said you wanted to talk to me?”
Light tried to hide the smile forming on his thin lips, but he could not. And, even if he could, he could not hide the dimples on his cheeks. “I do adore speaking with you,” he said slowly, “but I said no such thing.”
Her so-so mood plummeted to just plain mad. Faith stood, shooting a glare at Finn as he emerged from the area where the pool of water sat fifty feet away. Jag was near him, trying to tie his pants’ strings together as he walked and having an awful time at it.
Finn met her glare and smiled. The bastard smiled like he found this all amusing. As if it were the funniest thing. Like he wasn’t the Second’s biggest asshole, Dread King notwithstanding.
She meandered to Cam near the fire, never once taking her eyes off Finn. “That one doesn’t get any food tonight,” Faith muttered, crossing her arms.
Cam moved closer to her, the orange of the flames behind him dancing on his painted-grey skin. The sun on the horizon started to set, the blue sky above them dimming. The no moon and no stars thing was one aspect of this world Faith still hadn’t gotten used to yet. “You can’t starve him,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Her eyes locked on Cam’s cloudy amber ones. So different from Light, it was hard to imagine them as brothers. “We don’t need him, do we?”
“You do,” he whispered quietly, staring at her.
“I do not,” she hissed, feeling defensive, which she shouldn’t be. There was nothing to be defensive about. She didn’t need Finn. She definitely didn’t need his antics or his annoying smirks, like he thought he had it all figured out. Ugh. What a pain. “The only thing I need from Finn is for him to go back to Earth. It was better here without him.” If it sounded like she pouted, it was because she was pouting. Never too old to pout.
Cam shook his head. “Soon enough, you’ll face it. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.” He lifted a hand, swiping some of her wet hair behind her ear. His fingertips grazed her jaw, slowly moving to her chin.
For a moment—just a quick moment—Faith thought he was going to kiss her. Finn was busy arguing with Jag still, and Light was intent on his fresh kill. It was the perfect time to do it, since Cam never left the group. Never alone, he was always with one of them, and it was never her. Usually it was Light or Jag. From what she gathered, they grew up near each other. But, occasionally, she spotted the Ulen talking to Finn. Finn was usually trying to explain some foreign Earth practice to him, and Faith tuned them both out.
But Cam didn’t kiss her. His eyes simply lingered on her mouth, his fingertips on her chin for a minute before he turned away, staring intensely at the fire. “I’m sorry. I’m just…nervous, being back here. It’s so close to where Light and I grew up. I never thought I’d step foot here again, especially not with another Harbinger.”
Faith gave him her best smile, hiding the disappointment she felt. She was dying to kiss Cam, but she wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t comfortable with. “You know, I don’t have any memories from the last Harbinger. If you want, you can tell me about him.”
She wasn’t quite sure what had happened with the last Harbinger fifty years ago. She only knew it was after he slew the Dread King, after the gateways between Earth and the Second were opened for all. She didn’t know the whole story, but she wanted to, if he would tell her. And if not, she’d let him keep his secrets. When he felt like telling her, she knew he would.
Cam looked away, quietly replying, “I’m sorry. I’d rather not speak of it.”
Faith didn’t press him. She knew better than to, though she did let her mind wander. If Ulen had extra sharp senses, if they were faster and stronger than the average person, did it mean their memories were different too? More real, more vivid, even if said memories happened fifty years ago? She was glad she wasn’t an Ulen, for she knew she’d hate it with a passion. No one needed perfect memories. The mind could only hold so much. It just seemed unnecessary and depressing.
“Okay,” Faith said. “But if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here.” Since Cam did nothing but stare off into the dimming horizon, she left him with the intent of joining Light, but of course, the one person she did not want to talk to—or even look at, for that matter—moved in her way.
Finn didn’t know when to quit, did he?
“What do you want now, Finn?” she asked, hands on her hips in a way that should’ve told him to step aside or else she’d knee him where it would hurt. But he acted oblivious to her stance, to her facial expression, completely clueless in every way. “Haven’t you ruined my day enough already?”
“I plan on ruining every day for you until I’m back on Earth, actually,” Finn said, giving her as much attitude as she gave him. His attitude just had a square jaw and bulging muscles, while hers was of a more diminutive stature.
She liked to think of herself spunky. Spunky, sassy, and snarky. A bit irreverent. What eighteen-year-old wasn’t?
“Great,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Which wasn’t much at all.
Finn pursed his lips before he spoke, “When did you get a giant sword on your back? The more I think on it, the—”
She held
up a hand, swiftly interrupting him, “I don’t have a sword on my back.” It was like talking to a child. A child who didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. He was a moron through and through.
Red eyebrows furrowing, Finn said, “Yes, you do. I saw it in the bathhouse in Springsweet and I just saw it again.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not—why would I lie about this? What would I gain by lying about that? Sure, it felt good to break apart your sexy time with your animal—” Behind him, Jag called out, miffed, but Finn ignored him, carrying on. “—but I am genuinely curious as to why you’d…” He trailed off the moment Faith stormed away.
She didn’t want to hear him speak any longer. His voice grated on her ears, and his looks—well, his looks were just fine, but that was beside the point.
Faith gestured for Light to meet her away from the camp. She huffed as she walked away, incredulous at everything. At Finn, at the possibility of a sword being on her back. A giant tattoo of a sword was something she’d remember. She glanced down at her wrists, at her dagger Victi. Getting a tattoo, a Victus especially, wasn’t fun. Victus hurt going in, because it wasn’t just ink. It was more than that. It was ancient Elven magic scientists were still hazy on fifty years later. She sure as shit didn’t get a third when she wasn’t looking.
After Light gave Cam the rodent to roast, he moved to her side. They stood a good thirty feet from the others in the opposite direction of the pool, but Faith didn’t care about the distance. Not really. She wriggled out of her shirt, giving Light view of her back. “Is there a sword on my back?”
Light was quiet for a moment. His hand, rough from all his bow use, gently touched the base of her spine as he said, “Yes. Finn wasn’t lying that time.”
Growing alarmed, Faith held her shirt in one hand and reached her other hand to her back, swiping at the top of her spine as if she was activating a Victus. No sword appeared in her hand. Nothing magical popped up. She didn’t feel a single thing, other than her fingertips brushing against her own skin.
What the hell was going on?
Just as she started to voice her confusion, she suddenly recalled what Frey said, the look on his angular face when she’d told him she didn’t have the Ageless Blade. “Does it look like the Ageless Blade to you?” she questioned, biting her lip.
“Considering I only saw it for a split-second before it burned me,” Light paused, “and it was shining so brightly my eyes weren’t adjusted to the light yet, it’s hard to say.” He never saw her back bare before their encounter with the Ageless Blade. He wouldn’t know if the tattoo was new or not.
It was new, and it was one Faith did not get. It had to be the Ageless Blade, but…how?
She threw her shirt back on, turning to look Light in his eyes. “When we told Frey we didn’t have the sword, he laughed.” Faith thought back. “And when I picked up the sword that first night, it felt like something was taken from me. It felt so weird, and then the sword disappeared—I didn’t really think about it. What if it’s been with me this whole time?”
“If it was the Ageless Blade, shouldn’t you be able to control it?” Light asked a very sensible question, and then another one, “Shouldn’t you be able to bring it forth?”
Faith nodded once. “But I didn’t know I had it. It’s impossible to use a weapon you don’t know you have.”
“Should it not be intuitive? Shouldn’t you feel it?”
She rolled her shoulders. Her back felt the same as it ever did. No extra Victus itching to come to life. It had to be the Ageless Blade. There was no other explanation. But wasn’t Light right, in a way? When she’d faced down Dracyrus on the burial site atop Springstone, shouldn’t the Ageless Blade have sprung forth and helped her? It was the Harbinger’s weapon.
What was she missing?
“It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Faith asked, though she wasn’t expecting an answer. It didn’t make much sense at all.
“Well, we survived without it for this long,” Light told her, wrapping her in a hug, smothering her face to his chest. “And there have been Harbingers before who have triumphed without it. We will make do with what we have.” He squeezed her.
Faith closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of peace. All her worries washed away when Light was with her. She didn’t think about the Dread King or her impending death. It was simple with Light, and she loved it. If only everything could be so simple.
Then again, if things were simple, she might not have Light, Jag, and Cam with her, and she couldn’t imagine her life without them.
She needed them. She needed them all.
“Thank you, Light,” she whispered to his chest. Her freakout session was officially over, and Faith was ready to move on.
His thin shoulders rose and fell once with a chuckle. “For what?”
She moved her face so her chin rested on his chest. It was pretty sad he was so tall she had to stare nearly straight up at him. Ah, the joys of being a short Human with an Elf as one of her boyfriends. “You always know what to say,” she whispered.
“Well,” he said, bending his head down. She’d still have to stand on her tiptoes if she wanted to kiss him—and she did, but she’d at least wait until he replied fully. “Ever since I met you, I’ve had a lot of practice. Somebody I know tends to overreact over every little thing, and I can’t have that.” Through the dimming light of dusk, he smiled.
Light’s smile always got to her. Maybe it was because he’d never smiled when they first met. They’d spent all their time bickering and threatening to make each other’s lives for that week a living hell. He had done his fair share of rescuing, not that she needed it. She was no damsel, even if she was in distress quite often.
Then again she was no hero, either. Just a girl with a destiny she didn’t want, one she still had trouble accepting.
Bringing her hands to his neck, Faith stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He responded by bending his top half down so she didn’t have to awkwardly reach for him. His hands roamed down her back, settling on her butt. For an Elf who claimed to hate everything that made her Human, he did seem to be settling into things just fine.
It was weird, wasn’t it?
Not the kissing Light thing; the Harbinger thing. Faith was supposed to be a hero, the hero. She was supposed to want to fight the Dread King until death, to remain in this world until it was done. In all the movies and television shows, there were only a select few where the chosen one didn’t want to be chosen, even fewer where those whose chosen ones refused to play their part in the ancient prophecy that foretold their death.
Faith knew she was the Harbinger; the evidence was unarguable. But she wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. A part of her missed her old life, her old routine, not to mention Cara and Christine. Her mother, Penelope? Well, she could go a little bit longer without seeing her. She missed the Academy, learning the ins-and-outs of all the paperwork and government red tape she’d have to deal with as a graduated hunter. Now, she didn’t have to worry about it at all.
It wasn’t a comforting thought.
She enjoyed sneaking around, getting Victi, going on unsanctioned hunts for smugglers who stupidly used their real name while doing illegal business. Granted, it was only the one time, but Faith knew if she was on Earth, she’d be going on her own hunts more and more often.
No. She was the Harbinger, the chosen one. The special, special snowflake of a girl in a long line of men. Faith didn’t ask for this. She didn’t even want it.
Since she was stuck in denial, Faith refocused on the current situation: Light’s hand under her shirt, her tongue slipping into his mouth, the space between them immeasurable because it was so small. She forgot all about her specialness. Her mind crawled to a halt as it always did when she was in Light’s arms.
Why couldn’t everything be this simple?
Chapter Three
This was almost too simple, too easy.
Dracyrus did not fan
cy easy things. His nature was a prideful beast who only took pleasure in the attained that was previously unattainable. The harder he had to work for something, the better it felt when he finally had it. It would not be so, he anticipated, with the current Harbinger.
A weak, pathetic girl who, frankly, put the moniker of harbinger to shame. She was no Harbinger. She was…she was nothing. She was no challenge. She did not hold a single flame to those who he had fought before.
And he despised it with his entire being. Dracyrus did not want to finally win, to watch the life drain from the Harbinger’s eyes and finally wreak havoc on the Elves and Humanity, only because the Harbinger was a pitiful, female fool. It was not a true victory if he did nothing to win. It was not a war if there were no battles and armies involved.
Each time Dracyrus rose, he did a few things. First, he blocked out whatever memories he still carried of the waterworld and the blasted Fae woman. She was not worth his time; she never was, even in life. Second, he returned to the lands of Furen and fought the current ruler for supremacy. He always won, mostly because their horns were nowhere near as large and curled as his were. Then he amassed an army of willing Dracon who believed in his cause, believed their kind was meant to rule all, that every other race was undeserving to rule themselves.
This time, given how very different things were, Dracyrus did not head for Furen. He would not battle the High King for a crown. His mind grew tired of the games, weary of the life and death cycle he was caught in, and he wanted nothing more than to finish it once and for all. Even though he would take no pleasure in it, he would wrap his hands around the Harbinger’s neck—tiny as it was—and end it.
His desire to win was stronger than his desire for a public spectacle.
The Dread King: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 3) Page 2
