by Sarah Makela
The sudden realisation of what it was punched her in the gut. She dropped the bread and raced after the woman. Honora needed to find the safety of shelter. She couldn’t be out here when the Sluagh—restless spirits of the dead—flew over. What they did was worse than death. They captured their victims’ souls.
Behind her, the cries became impossibly louder. She didn’t have much time at all. She had yet to spot any homes or places to hide and knew if she were spotted she would be connected with the murder of the Fear Dearg, and hunted. She wouldn’t be safe unless she found somewhere soon.
Chancing a look over her shoulder, she saw a horrible black mass darken the sky. Screams of their victims filled her ears then. They were close. She caught sight of an elegant manor off to the left.
She sprinted, pushing herself to pick up her speed. Her legs ached with the strain, but she wouldn’t slow down. Not with the dark creatures flying behind her, closing in despite each step she took.
Within a few tiring moments, Honora reached the massive wooden door. She knocked hard and when there was no response, she pushed against it. The door opened easily.
Her ears hurt from the screeching noise. She pressed her back against it as a heavy force slammed into it, nearly throwing her from it.
Honora’s gaze drifted over the opulence surrounding her. Shite. She didn’t want to be here long. Who knew whom this place belonged to? She twisted around to face the door then slammed the lock in place. Whoever it was didn’t seem familiar with locking their door. Leaning against the solid wood, she heard the Sluagh circling the manor, searching for a weakness.
For whatever reason, they retreated. Uneasiness flared within her—they weren’t known to do that. Maybe they’d found another victim. No, she found that hard to believe. The other option was that they had recognised whoever’s place she’d entered. That didn’t bode well, did it?
She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to think of what would have caused the restless spirits to leave, but she didn’t have a clue. Nothing stood out as unusual.
Sighing, she scrubbed her hands over her face. Weariness soaked into her bones. Her adrenaline had faded fast after her frantic race. Maybe whoever lived there was merely a human who happened to be away and would never notice if she stayed the night. She could always hope.
Her home was a day’s ride, and she’d left her horse at her makeshift camp a good distance away. It might be foolish to stay, but she couldn’t bear to drag herself from temporary safety.
She walked into the hall where a fire was burning in the large hearth. No one would go away with a lit fire. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A place this size would have servants, so where were they?
Tugging her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced around again, one hand on the hilt of her short sword and the other near the throwing daggers at her belt, ready to use them if the need arose. Yet, try as she might, she didn’t find anyone to throw a blade at.
A sleeping mat lay before the fire. She tossed down her pack then slid back her hood, deciding to take advantage of what little good fortune she’d found. A small sound sent her spinning around.
But she’d been too slow. Before she had a chance to see the cause, Honora was crushed against a hard body, facing away from her captor. The hand on her knife was held in place near her belt. She struggled to free herself, but it was like being held by a wall of muscle. The person behind her didn’t give way.
Warm breath tickled her ear. “What are you doing in my home?” The deep voice promised dark things, and she couldn’t help but squirm a little at the onslaught of images rushing through her head—her standing naked as her faceless captor thrust into her, harder and faster, taking all she had and giving much more.
Her chest rose and fell with her panting. This wasn’t the time or place, yet the dull ache between her legs begged to differ.
She remembered the last time she’d felt this vulnerable. Memories of her family’s deaths and the horrible pain she’d felt stopped her desire cold.
“I knocked, but no one answered. I took shelter from…” How I am supposed to answer? Humans knew a little of what lurked in the shadows, especially those who resided around here, but she wouldn’t tell this man more than she had to.
“From?” he prompted, his slight Irish accent catching her attention.
“From the dark.”
“Ah, I see.” He chuckled. “Much good that will do you here.” The easy humour of his voice relaxed her, but something about what he’d said triggered warning bells. The world spun. No, wait, it was her.
She raised her eyes to stare into his—they were nearly black. The man’s pale skin reminded her of the moon’s glow. His raven-black hair trailed to below his shoulders and pale, pointed ears peeked from the dark mane. Cursing, she recognised what this man…creature…was. A dark elf.
Her hand lifted the throwing knife, but he squeezed her wrist in a sharp gesture. Pain shot through her arm and the knife fell from her grip, landing with a metallic thud on the floor beside them. Magic churned within his touch. Magic that shivered along her skin, tugging at things low in her stomach.
No bloody way!
She raised her free hand to throw a fireball at him, but he grabbed her wrists, twisting her arms behind her back. The dark elf shifted his steely grip to hold her wrists with one strong hand. Twisting and bucking only brushed her soft breasts against his hard chest. Moisture pooled between her legs.
“Release me,” she said.
He dropped his gaze to her chest where her cloak had fallen away, showing her pert nipples through her linen shirt. “I don’t think you want me to.” A fierce grin formed on his lips.
“Release me now! I will not ask again.” She brought her knee up, but he easily blocked her.
“And what will you do if I don’t?” He stared back into her eyes.
“I’ll have to hurt you.” Not that she’d normally have a problem with that, but for some reason this dark elf distracted her, awakened inexplicable desires within her. His kind had killed her family, yet…
She shook her head, ridding herself of excuses for why she shouldn’t kill this being.
The dark elf leaned in until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. “That’s a big promise for someone in your predicament.”
“What?”
“So vulnerable, so ready to take.” Smirking, he glanced at her lips. “I might even offer my assistance.” He slid his hand along her side to the pants she wore and arched an eyebrow. “You’re a woman. These pants don’t suit you.” He tsked, dipping his fingers beneath her hem of her shirt and stroking the flesh of her belly.
Honora jerked back, squirming in his grip. “You know nothing about me.”
He released her in the midst of her pulling away and she fell, landing on her butt on the hard stone floor. She reached for the throwing daggers at her hip, but they were gone. She looked up to see him waving them at her.
She’d teach him not to mess with her weapons. She extended her hand towards them. Her magic shimmered in the air, filling the blades with fiery heat.
The blades thumped to the ground by the dark elf’s feet. He hissed in pain, examining the red skin of his finger and thumb.
She shoved the knives into her sheath then crawled away from him.
He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t stop her.
Soon, she was near the hearth. Warmth caressed her back and the softness of the bed brushed against her fingertips.
“Who are you?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to find out.
He stared at her, his lips a tight, thin line. His only movement was the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
If she went for her weapons, he’d be on top of her. Although, she tried to convince herself, she could take him down, even if it killed her too. Yet her body betrayed her, yearning for something other than violence from him. Besides, he seemed nothing like the other dark elves she’d seen.
At last he spoke. “Why should I
tell you who I am, mercenary?”
Her teeth clenched and she narrowed her eyes. What does he know about me?
He sighed. “You wear their emblem.”
She brushed her fingertips against the guild’s brooch on her cloak. “You don’t fear me.”
“Why should I? You’ve not been good at your assault thus far.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I am Brennan. And you are?”
It was her turn to stare. Did she dare tell him her name? He might give it to his fellow dark elves and the other Unseelie beings. She didn’t want to risk it, not with her recent kills.
She kept her mouth closed.
Brennan strode towards her and he crouched out of arm’s reach. “There’s something about you, you know. Your colouring, your physique, the power inside you.” He smirked. “We’re more alike than you realise.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about? We’re nothing alike.”
His smile widened, but he didn’t clarify. “What shall you do? Stay in my hall? Leave?”
Honora glanced at the door behind him. Movement caught her attention, but it was too late. Pain ripped through her head. Her body fell back against the soft sleeping mat as darkness consumed her.
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About the Author
Sarah Mäkelä lives in North Carolina with her husband and cats. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, computer and video games, and travelling all over the world. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, as well as the Heart of Carolina Romance Writers and the Fantasy, Futuristic, and Paranormal chapters.
Email: [email protected]
Sarah loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Sarah Mäkelä
Oberon’s Court: Captivated
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