Warrior Fae Princess

by Breene, K. F.

  “Charity!” Devon hadn’t even meant to change. But the next thing he knew, he was lifting her into his arms. “Charity.” He bent over her and squeezed his eyes shut, drawing her pain into himself. Cocooning her with his magic.

  “Don’t just stand there, help her!” Cole boomed, having also changed.

  A wave of magic rolled over Devon, sweet and blissful. A song rose into the air and was carried on the breeze, playful and exciting, the call of the hunt.

  “What is this strange magic that flirts with ours?” a man said, stopping beside Devon and Charity and looking down on them.

  “How about you talk less and help more?” Steve strode up, nude, bloody, and ready to keep fighting.

  The man, barely older than twenty yet arrogant as a king, turned to Steve. He didn’t say a word, and even so, his sentiment was clearly conveyed. Your opinion is not warranted here. Be gone, ingrate.

  Steve’s response was just as clear, and he didn’t need to raise his middle finger to convey it.

  “Stand down,” Devon ordered him, soaking in the light and fresh magic of the warrior fae and funneling it to Charity. Her heartbeat, a moment ago sporadic and weak, increased. Her ragged breathing eased slightly. But she was a long way from safe.

  “She’s…” Devon stood with her in his arms. He faced the man, ignoring his people fanning out behind him, ignoring the elves walking up slowly, taking it all in. One of these groups of people was going to help Charity, and they were going to do it now. “She’s one of yours, we think. She doesn’t have control of her magic, and I can barely keep her from succumbing to it.”

  “She’s the spitting image of the First,” a fae woman said from just behind the man, her long hair braided down the side of her cherubic face, offsetting the hot violence in her light eyes. “Is she the one we seek?”

  The elves picked their way around the carnage, ever closer.

  “Her magic doesn’t feel like a guardian’s,” the man said, looking down on Charity’s face.

  “Yasmine, the picture,” Devon called.

  “It’s in her pocket,” Penny yelled, her voice thick with emotion.

  Steve dug his hand in Charity’s pocket and extracted the picture.

  The man took the picture before showing it to his companions. “Where did you get this?”

  Devon’s patience gave out. “Do you know him or not? The vampire Vlad thinks this man is her father. If he is warrior fae—a guardian—she’s one of yours, and she badly needs your help. She’s dying.”

  “I will help her.” An elf practically danced up to them, at once beautiful and aggravating, with its dramatic flair and musical voice.

  “You’ve helped plenty,” Devon growled, the force of his irritation driving the elf back a step.

  The fae woman’s eyes widened and a smile graced her face. “My, you are powerful.”

  “I’m an alpha, and you are wasting my time.”

  “I know exactly what to do with her,” the lead elf said. His comrades waited behind him.

  “You better back off, because I know exactly what to do with you.” Penny walked up with tears and fire in her eyes. “You didn’t help when we needed it. When it could’ve saved lives. So now you will back the ever-loving dingle dongs off.” She turned to the fae. “This woman clearly has magical poisoning. Are you so stupid that you don’t recognize one of your own? You should stop being such arrogant donkey dicks and help her out.” She bent and scooped up Charity’s sword before thrusting it at them. “This sword fits her magic perfectly. Does it also fit yours? If the picture didn’t convince you, maybe this will.”

  The man didn’t reach for the sword, but the woman behind him did—even as another of their group pushed forward to look down at Charity’s face. “I’ve heard of magical poisoning. It hasn’t happened in the village in…” She opened Charity’s eyes with her finger and thumb, exposing the bright, unnatural blue. She sucked in a breath. “This is…” Her eyes darted up, meeting Devon’s. “The magic has flipped. It has inverted, hasn’t it? How does she still breathe?”

  “My magic is keeping her on the precipice, but she needs help from your people,” Devon said, not sure if he was ordering or begging.

  The elf opened its mouth, and suddenly it jerked backward, swiping at its face. It screeched, now slapping, as though a swarm of flesh-eating flies had attacked it.

  “I told you to back off,” Penny said in a low, rough voice.

  “I don’t understand.” The man finally leaned in. “Has she not gone through the change?” He put a hand over her forehead.

  “Do you not listen when your betters speak, Hallen?” the woman with the braid said, stepping forward to peer down on Charity. “Halvor warned us of this. Where is—”

  “I’m here,” someone said from behind the handful of fae.

  The woman with the braid cleared to the side for an older woman to push in, jostling Hallen as she did so. She was out of breath, as though she’d been running behind them, unable to keep up.

  “This is a healer,” the woman with the braid told Devon. “She will know—”

  The healer sucked in a sharp breath when she saw Charity’s eyes. “She is in the change. Don’t you feel it? She’s at the crux of it. How old is she?” Her blue-violet eyes were strange, although they were a natural color, not like Charity’s.

  “Twenty,” Devon answered.

  “She’s late. No one turns that late,” Hallen said to the healer.

  The healer let out an exasperated breath. “You’re nothing but a boy. What do you know?”

  “The Arcana turn at that age,” someone whispered from the back of the group.

  “Precisely.” The healer motioned for Devon to follow her. “Hurry! Get a fire lit. This young woman is leaning into her grave.”

  “But this is impossible,” Hallen said, hurrying to walk beside the healer. Clearly he was the leader of this scouting party. “We would have been told if the one we seek is connected with the Arcana.”

  “Arrogance and youth, a damned annoying combination,” the healer muttered. She raised her voice, taking over. “Grayson, make up some draught. Ensure it’s potent. And chase those nosey elves out of here. I don’t need them looking over my shoulder, trying to steal the show for their finicky masters. And you can tell them I said that.

  “Boy, give that girl to Hallen.” The healer gestured at Devon. “Your magic has certainly helped her, but our magic will cure her. At this late stage, it will start with skin contact. Hallen, take her. Drop her and I’ll drop you.”

  Devon hesitated, possessiveness freezing his limbs. He remembered what Karen had said, though, that he’d need to do what was best for Charity.

  He released his hold, his heart breaking as he gave her up. Was this the point at which he should turn back? Was this the point at which he should say goodbye?

  Could he?

  “Devon, your pack needs your attention,” Penny said quietly, her hand on his arm. “I’ve done all I can.”

  “Do not, under any circumstances, let the elves take her,” Devon said to the woman with the braid, who was lagging behind the others.

  Her eyes slowly slid down his nude body. A smile pulled at her lips. “I have the same orders. We are reading from the same scroll, Alpha.” If a tone could capitalize a word, she just had. “Now, see to your pack. We will take care of the girl until you join us at the fire. I am Kairi. If you have any trouble, see me.”

  “Fae, a word?” The elf Penny had attacked gave her a wide berth before hurrying to the woman’s side.

  Devon could barely suppress a sigh as he watched them walk away. He had given Charity over to her people, but he didn’t have to leave just yet. They’d invited him to the fire, and it would be rude to ignore such an invitation. He wouldn’t have to leave.

  The rest of his pack sat in a circle, their heads down and their expressions drawn. Devon’s feet turned to lead as he neared them, seeing the limp form of Dillon at the center of their gathering. His rib
s had been crushed, that was evident, but Devon had seen shifters come back from worse. If Dillon shifted, then…

  “How is he?” Devon threaded between his people and knelt by his beta. Macy cried softly, her arms wrapped around herself, her face buried in her knees.

  “How is he?” Devon asked again, louder, panic giving his voice edge. Dillon was the first friend Devon had made as a shifter. The guy who had stood by his side as he rose through the ranks. Others had been jealous or eager to challenge Devon, but Dillon had always guarded his back.

  “He died on impact,” Emery said softly, his eyes downcast. “His heart has stopped. He’s gone, bro. I’m sorry.”

  Devon stared down at his friend. At his confidant. His second. A great hole opened up in his chest.

  “I did this,” he whispered. He hadn’t intended to say it out loud, but it was true—he’d pushed his pack to guard Charity at all costs. If he hadn’t taken up this detail, Dillon would still be alive.

  Devon felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Steve knelt by his side.

  “I heard Roger say that once,” Steve said for Devon’s ears alone. “And only once. You are a leader. You are responsible for your pack. But you can’t protect them all the time. There are losses in every battle. You need to be the guy that leads his pack through the bad times. You need to internalize your guilt and pain and be strong for your people. Be their hope, or their vengeance. Every good alpha has been in your shoes multiple times. It comes with the job.”

  Devon stared down at his friend’s crushed body, his limbs numb, his heart aching. He wanted to crawl into a hole and shut his eyes against this day.

  “It’s a helluva job,” Steve murmured, looking down at Dillon. “And he was a helluva wolf.”

  Devon nodded, steeling himself, knowing that Steve was right. It was the job, and right now, he hated this job with a passion he couldn’t explain.

  “How are the rest of you?” Devon lifted his head and turned to the others. He needed to take care of the living before he could mourn the loss of the dead.

  “A few of us hurt like hell, but we’ll heal,” said Andy, who sat in a pool of blood from a wound on his leg. Judging from that and the deep score down the side of his chest, he needed to pass out.

  “Barbara is barely breathing,” Dale said, and nodded to the blackened and bloody wolf who lay at his feet. “She’s hanging on, though. She’s had worse and bounced back. She’ll be all right.”

  “She needs time,” Cole said.

  “She needed better leadership,” Dale said, looking up at Devon. The glare didn’t stick for more than a moment before the defiant shifter pulled his gaze away.

  A fire crackled to life not far away, the fae working on that potion or whatever it was for Charity. A hush fell over the pack. Devon’s power flared in his middle as he stared the larger, older, more experienced wolf down. He wanted with everything he had to answer the other shifter’s challenge. To finally put to rest what Dale had started when they’d first met.

  But now wasn’t the time. His pack was grieving. He was grieving. Dale needed a pass, and everyone needed to see Devon grant it.

  So he let the hard stare linger for a moment longer, letting everyone see that he registered the offense, and looked down at his friend one last time.

  “Dillon always said that he wanted to go out like a hero,” Devon said, using everything he had to keep his voice steady. “That if he should die in battle, he wanted it to happen with honor. Well…” Heat prickled his eyes. Devon paused for a moment, collecting himself. “He did do it with honor. No one could’ve done better. He has been my best asset, and my best friend, and I will miss him.”

  Macy cried harder, hugging herself. Rod and Andy both stared at the ground, their faces ashen.

  “Let’s look after ourselves and the wounded, and let’s see if we can use the fae’s fire to send Dillon to his final resting place.”

  “We’ll deliver his ashes to his family,” Macy said between her sobs.

  “Charity?” Rod asked, sorrow creasing the skin around his eyes.

  “She’s being looked after. One of them seems to know what is happening.” Devon gritted his teeth. “Let’s hope they can bring her around.”

  Devon didn’t know what he’d do if he lost them both.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Second, they are bringing her in.”

  Romulus glanced up from his plans, which he’d been staring at all day without making progress. Halvor stood at the door of his work shed, straight and proper. Not bad news, then, thank the bounty.

  Romulus stood quickly, walking from around his desk.

  He’d received news yesterday evening that a girl of about twenty had been recovered, with inverted magic and eyes of an unnatural blue. According to the healer who’d treated her, she should’ve died months ago. She’d only survived thanks to a band of shifters and mages.

  The report sounded far-fetched, but given the accounts he’d heard of her magic, the elves’ interest in her, and the fact that she possessed a picture of Romulus himself, something that could’ve only been taken from the Brink… Well, waiting hadn’t been easy.

  “What news?” Romulus asked.

  “She has been kept under a sleeping draught. Magic seeps from her in great waves, and she tenses whenever it surges. They believe she is trying to subdue it.”

  Romulus frowned. “That must be causing her great pain.”

  “Yes, and it pains those around her.”

  “Why keep her under? Why not guide her magic until she can be brought here and properly trained?”

  A proud glimmer lit Halvor’s eyes. “Those in the seeking party are not strong enough to guide her. Only with the power of the Alpha Shifter were they able to subdue her. He calls it balancing, but Kairi called it competing. He is overpowering her magic with his and the pack’s magic to keep it from spiraling out of control.”

  “An Alpha Shifter?” Romulus frowned. “I remember stories of shifters. I would not think one of them could handle this charge.”

  “Some are stronger than others, as with anything. This young man, I have heard, is exceptional. I have also heard their magic complements ours, like the elders have always said. Those in the seeking party are all enamored by these shifters, especially the women.”

  Romulus waved the comment away. “The young women in this village are enamored by anything unique. How close is the party?”

  “They will be here within the hour. Where shall I direct them?”

  Romulus looked over his shed, filled with sunlight and flowers. It was the place he liked best in the world, the ideal spot to spend a tranquil afternoon. If there was one place he wanted to show his blood, it was this shed.

  “Here,” he said without another thought. “Take the tables and desk out and bring in a bed. Assemble the healers. Bring my mother—” He cut himself off. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. She was less than open-minded. Still, if this young woman was his blood, and she was as strong as these early reports indicated, they’d need another powerful anchor.

  He finished with a nod. Halvor matched it and disappeared from the room.

  Romulus’s possible daughter was coming. He could scarcely contain his hope and fear.

  * * *

  An hour and a half and a lot of pacing later, Halvor turned up at Romulus’s door again, his face strangely pale.

  “What is it?” Romulus barked, impatience getting the better of him. He schooled his expression.

  “We are nearly ready, Second. The runner has just returned. The party is nearly upon us. One thing…they are being followed by three elves.”

  Romulus frowned at his assistant. “They’re being followed by three elves? Are they accompanying her in a protective capacity to ensure she is delivered?”

  “We will know the particulars soon enough, but these elves stood by while the shifters fought a group of demons that had infiltrated the area. The shifters lost one of theirs and have another struggling to heal. Th
e elves have repeatedly offered to take the girl since then, and are only kept at bay by a fiery mage.” Halvor’s jaw clenched, his disapproval practically screaming through the shed.

  Hope flourished even as anger simmered. The elves were clearly reacting to the woman’s power, which meant great things for her, but their eagerness to abduct her from her own people worried Romulus. In the past, they would’ve helped get her home at all costs. What had changed, and what did it mean for Romulus’s people?

  “Alert the First of this troubling news. Have the elves attended to when they arrive, and then turn them away.”

  “Yes, Second.” Halvor excused himself.

  Romulus looked down at the fluffy bed in the center of his remade work shed. Colorful light streamed in from the stained-glass windows, showering the white sheets. The fragrance of flowers was soothing. A fresh breeze wafted in.

  He hoped this young woman found the space as rejuvenating as he did.

  Not long afterward, he heard shouts. Footsteps tramped in his direction. He saw a group of people through the window, hastening his way.

  His heart jumped up into his throat, and he scarcely knew if he should step outside to wait, or stay within the shed so as to appear calm and collected.

  “She comes, Second,” Halvor said, popping his head in. His eyes were tight, his reaction to pain.

  And then Romulus felt it, like hot, stinging needles along his skin and in the backs of his eyes. The healers surged into the room with their patient. Known to be the calmest of his people, they seemed unusually flustered.

  “Bring in the Alpha Shifter,” one of them shouted, supporting the girl’s head.

  “Spin her toward the bed! Spin her!” Alvine coached in a brash tone Romulus had never heard from her.

  The group of four turned, and as they did so, Romulus got his first good glimpse of her. His breath dried up and his composure fled. He had to grab the edge of the bed to keep from going to his knees.

  He didn’t need to see her photograph. He didn’t need to hear her story.