“Nice?” he echoed, the word like acid on his tongue. “This isn’t kindergarten. I don’t have to be nice.”
Her knee slammed into his, startling him. If it was lighter out, he would’ve seen her doing it and braced for it. His arms slid off his knees from the impact, and she muttered, “It’s called common decency. Don’t know it? Get a dictionary, look it up.”
“And what would you know about common decency? You blew up a dog in my face—”
“God, will you ever let that go?” she hissed in a bare whisper. “And for the last time, it was a cat, not a dog. I don’t even like dogs. Why would I spend my time building a robo-dog just to blow it up in your face?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question for years now.”
Beside him, she harrumphed. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure you spent so much time thinking about me after you graduated. I was all you could think about during high school and the Academy.” Though she was quiet as she said it, the sarcasm felt like a brick wall that was thrown at him full-force.
“I am well aware that if either one of us spent any time thinking about the other, it was you thinking about me.”
“Get off your high horse.” Faith sounded insulted. “As if. You were barely on my radar.”
Finn smirked to himself, glad the darkness hid it from her. She’d want to punch it off his face, probably. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she whispered angrily.
“You liked me,” Finn muttered. “Admit it.”
“I—I will do no such thing, because it’s not true.”
“You liked me.”
“I did not.”
“You liked me.”
“I did not,” Faith whispered as loudly as she could to still consider the reply a whisper.
“You like me,” he shot back.
The sudden change of tense confused her, and her strong whisper faltered, “I…I what?”
There was only one way to know whether Cam was right. One way to find out if she still liked him, if his confusion was even necessary or if it was pointless in the end. Finn couldn’t take another night of this constant wondering—he had to know, now.
Finn wasn’t a very patient man.
Through the darkness, he reached out, grabbing one shoulder, pulling her against him. His other hand went to her neck, cupping the back of her head. It might’ve been dark out, but the physical contact at least gave him some semblance of direction. Before Faith knew it was happening, before he could second-guess himself, Finn brought his lips to hers.
Frozen still in his grip, at first. Faith’s mouth was slightly ajar, her lips softer than he imagined they were. He nipped at her bottom lip gently, doing what he was good at. How long had it been? He couldn’t even wonder, couldn’t think—she was too consuming. He kissed her hard, wanting her to kiss him back, prove that Cam was right all along. He wanted to run his hands all along her, touch every single one of her curves, but he was afraid that if he let her go, she would run back to Light and the others.
They didn’t need Light or Cam or Jag. Finn certainly didn’t.
And then, so fast he nearly missed it, Faith’s lips finally responded to his, molded against his as her hands went to the collar of his uniform. God, where had she been all this time? Why didn’t he ever really look at her? Just as Finn was losing himself in the moment, his hand loosened around the back of her head. It was enough. Faith yanked her tender, wet, velvety mouth off his and gave him a hard punch on his chest.
“You asshole,” Faith muttered, giving him yet another punch. This one he steeled himself for. “How dare you. You don’t get to…to do that.” She then hit him on the arm that held her shoulder; he quickly released her, stunned at the sudden turn of events. “Everything about me is off-limits to you, buddy. That means no ass-staring, too.” She got to her feet, no longer drowsy at all, and meandered back to the group.
The camp was silent for a while, until Jag’s scratchy voice broke through the stillness of the night: “Harsh, but well-deserved.”
Scowling, Finn muttered, “Shut up, Malus.”
“It’s Jag, not that you care. She was right, though. We’d like you better if you weren’t such an—what’s the word?”
It was Light who said, “I believe the word she used was asshole.”
“Ah, yes. What a wonderfully Human word.”
Finn buried his face in his hands. The entire group heard their exchange. Of course they did. They were shouting while whispering, which was bound to wake the two with good hearing. Light was probably awake the entire time because he was spooning her like there was no tomorrow.
Finn had never felt as miserable as he did in that specific moment. He wanted to find a wall and bang his head on it, whether there was an X mark or not.
He bristled for numerous reasons, beside the fact that everyone else heard their little spat and what came after. He’d never been pushed away before, and the stupid thing parents always said? There’s a first time for everything? Well, he always thought it was a slight exaggeration. There was not a first time for everything, because there were certain things he knew he’d never do: set off a bomb, meet the Queen of England, or sleep with another dude, to name a few of the extremes.
Not once, not ever, did Finn believe a girl would push him away.
And, going along with that, he never thought he’d be hurt by it.
But he was. Hurt by it. A little. Also shocked, because damn—in the few seconds before she came to her senses—Faith was a great kisser. He’d never look at her mouth the same way again. Finn wasn’t supposed to look at her at all; that’s what Faith wanted, anyway, but how realistic was that? As if he could get through this mission without looking at her.
No, she’d have to get used to him staring at her. She’d have to ignore him entirely, because Finn wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to hold himself back now that he knew how good it felt to kiss her. He could only imagine what doing more would feel like.
It was so odd, though. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t kissed a lot of other women before. He had. Plenty. More than plenty. He’d also taken a lot of them home, both before and after he got his own place. He was not some inexperienced noob who’d kissed a girl for the first time.
All of the reasons why Faith was a bad idea came crashing down, twisting and changing until they didn’t seem like reasons to stay away. So what if she blew up a robo-dog in his face? It made her unpredictable, and unlucky. And just because she was the Director’s daughter didn’t mean she was off-limits. No, it made it sweeter. There was always something more thrilling about things that weren’t allowed. Her Harbinger status—well, he didn’t care about that one bit. He was here to help her, to make sure she came home after it was all said and done. That didn’t mean he had to distance himself from her. And, finally, where the other guys were concerned…that was still the one that gave him the most pause.
Would it be so awful? It wasn’t like they were using her, passing her around like a cigarette or a beer. They all seemed to look after her in different ways. They knew about each other and could probably infer what they all did with her. Did it bother them, or was Finn’s reluctance simply an Earth thing? Maybe it was common here to be in a weird harem relationship. Finn could understand why the Academy strayed away from that topic in his religions and cultures classes.
God, he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to do more than that, really. Touch her everywhere, kiss her in other, lower places…
After one kiss and a few punches, Finn had it bad, which led him to believe that Cam was right all along. Finn did have a thing for her. How stupid was that? Finn, having a thing for anyone, let alone Faith, the girl he begrudgingly remembered when he and his squad caught her on her little unsanctioned hunt. That felt like ages ago.
With everything he said and did, Finn knew things wouldn’t be easy from here on out. They’d be ten times more difficult thanks to his screw-ups, and maybe even a little awkwar
d. Which was beyond bizarre for him, because he didn’t do awkward. Never did, and he didn’t want to start now.
Faith.
He’d wear her down, eventually.
Somehow.
Chapter Twenty-One
Weary.
A pair of weary eyes scanned the battlefield. The death toll was too high to count. The Fae who had stood by Faith—by the Harbinger—lay in their shiny armor, their tiny bodies beaten and bloodied. The tiredness that seeped into her bones was not hers, but she welcomed it all the same. She could not fight this. This was not her memory to change.
Her hand dropped her sword. It clanged on the ground. It was not the Ageless Blade; too dim and dull and stained to be such a treasure. This was before the Blade’s time. This was before a lot of things.
It was also after a lot of things.
She turned, wearing a body that was not hers, armor that didn’t quite fit right. Behind her, the field of bodies continued onward as far as the eyes could see. These bodies, though not as numerous, were Dracon bodies. Their soldiers wore thick armor, the few who wore helmets had them specially fitted to their horns. Mostly men, with a few scattered women in between. Their wounds bled a different color than the Fae. Their blood was silver, shiny and thick. Their bodies were nearly double the size of the Fae, such a stark contrast between two races that lived in kingdoms that never crossed paths with one another, until now.
Until the Harbinger and the Dread King.
A lone tree sat amongst the rotting flesh, its leaves green against the bleak sky above. At the base of the tree laid the Dread King himself, Dracyrus in all his glory, as dead as his army. His black armor was stained with silver blood, his fur-lined cloak free of the stuff. His long, white hair swayed in the wind, his eyes open, staring up at the sky. He wore no helmet, his horns too large and too thick to make any use of one. Not that a helmet would’ve helped him here.
Faith felt her hand rise to her own helmet. The metal clattered to the ground, rolling away as she demanded in a deep voice that was not her own, “Was it worth it?” When the Dread King did not reply, she said again, “Was it worth it?”
He did not answer her, could not answer her, because he was dead.
And she felt dead inside, the cause of all this destruction and loss of life.
The Harbinger fell to her knees, knees that were not her own, as she worked to undo the straps holding the gauntlets to her wrists and hands. One by one, she worked at them until she was free of the armor on her arms and chest and back. Breathing in deeply, she heard the Harbinger’s male voice whisper sadly, “Nothing is worth this.”
Riches, power, revenge—there was not a single thing in either world that was worth this.
“I am tired, Dread King,” the Harbinger spoke, moving to sit beside his corpse. A shaking hand went to her side, and she felt it—the wound that would do the Harbinger in this time. The hand returned to her field of view covered in a dark maroon. It hadn’t even been Dracyrus who had landed the blow, but some other nameless Dracon. It didn’t matter, now.
Faith’s head, the Harbinger’s head, felt heavy, and it leaned back onto the tree. Eyes to the sky, the Harbinger’s voice whispered, “Let us pray our future selves are more fortunate than we were.” Vision fading, another murmur before there was no voice to be had: “Let us pray that this will one day end.”
The Harbinger’s eyes closed, and until the Elven came to survey the battle, their bodies would remain side by side. Eternity would have them together, even in death.
“This world is mine,” a light, feathery voice broke into Faith’s brain. Such a sweet tone—too sweet. Like an overdose of cake or candy, just too much. “And it will never end.” The sweetness turned to bitterness.
Faith stood in the waterworld, the water below her glowing a dull yellow, the sun in the distant horizon, a tiny ball of light. Did that mean Dracyrus was here? As she wondered that, someone attacked her from behind, bringing them both down to the ground.
A tiny form straddled her, even smaller hands went around her throat, choking her before Faith knew what was happening.
A pretty Fae, eyes glowing the same yellow as the sun, hair a beautiful golden hue, wore an unbecoming sneer and a tattered dress. Her eyes were narrowed, and she lowered her face to Faith’s as she whispered, “I won’t let you ruin this. This is his punishment—he is mine!” Suddenly, the Fae woman screamed, reaching for her head, allowing Faith the time to escape.
Just as she got to her feet, she noticed that the water was traveling up her ankles, encasing her in a moving, see-through shell. The Fae woman came to her senses, shouting “No” just as the water swallowed Faith whole…
…and dropped her, upside-down in a very similar waterworld.
Only this one was orange instead of yellow, and the water rippled above her, like she was beneath it. Odd, because she didn’t feel wet, and her hair was not doing that mermaid-thing. Faith spun around, gently touching her neck. For such a small being, that Fae was strong. But if she didn’t have the element of surprise, she wouldn’t have gotten such a good grip on Faith.
A Fae woman stood before her, wearing an immaculate gown of orange. The fabric clung to her wispy frame tightly, the bottom of its hem nearly translucent. Her yellow hair was up in a set of intricate braids, revealing her pointed ears. Nowhere near as large as an Elf’s. There was a reason for the term knife-ear. And her eyes—they glowed an orange that mirrored both her dress and the hue of this place. Behind her, the sun was above the water, casting everything in a glow. They both stood on nothing but blackness.
Faith took a step back, recognizing her. She was the same Fae who had just moments ago attempted to strangle her. Feet spread, she attempted to activate her Victi, for she wasn’t about to let her get on top of her again, but her Victi were nowhere. Her wrists were mark-free.
She was also, she now realized, naked.
“Don’t come any closer,” Faith stated, raising her curled fists. How much hand-to-hand combat could a Fae know? She was fairly confident in her skills, provided the Fae didn’t play dirty or use magic.
“Apologies, Harbinger,” the Fae whispered, glancing upward. “I try to keep her in line, but it is hard, especially now.”
“How do you know who I am?” Faith asked, having never before seen her. “And what do you mean, especially now?”
She gave her a smile that did not seem conniving or deceiving in the slightest, which probably meant she was both conniving and trying to deceive her. “I know you, because I made you.”
Faith snickered. “Uh, no. My mommy and daddy made me when they were getting frisky while my daddy was still around. You weren’t a part of it.”
“The Harbinger,” the Fae said. Her feet were cocked inward, no larger than a sixth-grader’s. “I grow weak here, while she grows strong. I fear that, since this is the end, she will escape. It will be up to you both to defeat her.” The Fae paused, glancing down at her own dress. The orange gown morphed into an ugly, old rag. “To defeat me.”
“Wait,” Faith asked, confused, “what?”
“The answers lie in the Well. Seek out the Cave of Memories in the far reaches of Alyna. There and only there will you find what you seek. There may you both find peace. For what little it is worth, I am sorry…” The Fae woman started to fade away, bit by bit, like she was made of sand.
“Wait!” Faith pleaded, though the Fae was not listening. If anything, she disappeared faster. “Who do you mean?” Both. She kept saying both. Surely she did not mean…
“Find the Well,” the Fae woman spoke, nothing but her torso and head left. “Find the well, and all will be revealed.” And then, just like that, she was gone, and all the water that stayed above them fell, right on top of Faith.
Inhaling sharply, feeling the strange need to heave a bit, Faith woke to a blue sky. She rolled to her side, coughing. Not like there was water in her lungs, but it felt real enough at the time. And that Fae—she thought about her as she calmed down, w
ho the hell was she?
The guys were already awake. Light was the first by her side, grabbing her hand as they both stood. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she was slow to say, meeting the worried stares of the others. Even Finn. Stupid, stupid Finn. Faith quickly looked away from him, not wanting to be on the receiving end of those green eyes for too long, otherwise she’d start to think about some awful things.
Like that kiss and how good it was.
Thankfully, after that night, they didn’t talk about it again. How many days had passed? Two? Not nearly enough.
“You wouldn’t wake up,” Jag said, hopping off a boulder and landing gracefully on his clawed feet. As he embraced her, she heard Light heave a sigh and Cam quietly explain how worried everyone was, as if it wasn’t already super obvious.
“I was in a dream,” she said once Jag released her.
“More memories?” Light asked, swinging his bow across his back. “You’ve been having more and more of them lately.”
“Maybe because we’re getting close,” Jag offered with a shrug.
She ran a hand through her hair, pretending not to notice how heavily Finn watched her. He had no right to look at her like that, not after he made a big deal about her boy toys, how he bickered with them all. And definitely not after he did a one-eighty and kissed her like that. “Maybe.” She should probably talk about the waterworld and the strange Fae, not to mention the Well and the Cave of Memories.
As if she needed more memories that weren’t her own.
No, right now she’d focus on reaching Springstone and getting hold of the bones. Faith didn’t want to talk about the Well or the Cave of Memories or even the fact that she was pretty sure the Fae had meant for her and the Dread King to work together.
Work together to stop her? It made no sense, so she wasn’t going to think about it. Not right now.
The Fellowship: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 2) Page 14
