She’d seen his discomfort when he watched her with that heated gaze. A man couldn’t hide such an impressive bulge just by placing his hands over his lap. What she didn’t understand was why the faerie king had tried to hide his reaction to her tied up body, when he could have acted on it. Faeries weren’t known for their self restraint.
She crunched over the broken pots and the door so she could make her way outside. The cottage looked like a war zone. Between the two of them, their magic had burst quite a few of the windows and ruined his floor.
She wouldn’t apologize for the destruction. He had started the entire battle, if only he’d laid down and died a little easier, she would have left without a peep.
Although, the portals made leaving a little harder.
That damned Aster should have told her she’d be stuck here for a season. The Celtic festivals made sense, considering faeries still valued the old ways. But what if she had killed the faerie king?
She couldn’t have gone home with no explanation. Alone. With all his creatures and plants angry that she’d just starved them to death.
Morgan glowered down at the grass and opened her arms wide. “Well? You’re supposed to be taking me somewhere to sleep. Preferably somewhere far away from the faerie king with all his tangled, dreadlocked hair and that ridiculous beard.”
At least she could focus on the nasty things. He was unkempt. Dirty. He’d smelled like earth, loam, and man sweat.
Men were disgusting creatures. Wild men were even worse. He couldn’t tempt her with his beautiful body and faerie magic.
All that power in a body like that…
“Stop it,” she muttered. “Enough is enough, Morgan. You can get some sleep, sacrifice a few fingernails, maybe a few teeth, and then figure out what you’re doing in the morning.”
Getting home was her first priority. She needed to find whatever portal was still working and then beg its guardian to let her through. And if there wasn’t a guardian, then... A blank space in her mind existed where a plan should have been.
Either way, she couldn’t keep standing in the middle of his garden like a giant dolt. She had to get moving.
The grass next to her right foot parted. Almost like someone had brushed it aside with a comb. A long line led away from the cottage toward the opposite rise.
“Ah, I assume that’s the path?” she asked.
The grass said nothing in response. Maybe this was one plant here who couldn’t talk.
She strode away from the cottage with measured steps, even though she wanted to run. Morgan would have liked nothing more than to sprint in a random direction. Far away from this place.
Whatever it took to make her feel as though she didn’t still have a piece of him in her.
The sun set on the horizon before she reached her destination. A guest room, the Monstera had said. Or something similar to that.
Faeries weren’t the cottage types. She was surprised the king stayed in the cabin, but perhaps the grass was bringing her to the proper castle. Maybe she’d just caught him at a bad time.
The sun dipped low enough on the horizon, and darkness swept through the forest. The grass changed its guidance. Instead of parting like hair, it gripped her feet. Every few moments she’d feel the ground become sticky. The grass would wrap around her boots and tug, shifting her direction without her having to see it.
Useful, but terrifying.
“Please tell me it’s close,” she said. Even for a green witch, grass doing all this was unnerving.
Plants shouldn’t move on their own unless she told them to. But these plants all had a mind of their own and were more than happy to prove it.
Whatever the king had done to them, they had powers unlike anything she’d seen before. Powers no plant should have. Powers only people should have.
Finally, the grass stopped tugging at her. Glowing white lights bounced in the distance. Orbs dancing where she must be staying.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her mother had always said politeness was the most important thing in a faerie realm. If one was helped, thank them. Otherwise, she would owe the faeries a debt, and no one wanted to owe a faerie debt.
She picked her way over fallen logs and through the trees. A small room had been created out of vines and bent tree limbs. The bed was made of moss and soft peat. Vines trailed down from nearby trees and created walls around the small nest. A pillow of autumn leaves waited for her head.
It was lovely, but it was not a bed.
“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected more from faeries,” she whispered.
“More?” his voice erupted from the shadows. “Is this not suitable for your needs?”
Morgan froze. She could feel the vibrations of his voice like a physical touch down her spine. As if he’d touched her. As if..
The king reached out and placed a hand against the small of her back. He was so warm she felt him all the way down to her toes. Warm and alive and filled with so much power it crackled up her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
She took a deep breath and tried to remember he was the man she was supposed to kill. Otherwise, those idiots in her garden would tell everyone what she’d done. They’d blab about those boys buried beneath the hedges. Those poor boys who had screamed when she took their lives because they’d wanted to do something unspeakable.
Because she’d whispered a spell under her breath and knew they’d done it before.
The memory cooled her heated flesh until she could barely feel his touch any longer.
“It’s fine,” she replied, stepping away from his hand. “I’ll only be here a little while, and I’ve stayed in worse places.”
“Yes, I imagine witches have suffered many odd sleeping arrangements.”
She turned around with a spiteful retort on her tongue, only to have the words die. He stared at her with so much heat she was shocked she didn’t blister.
The Mountain King licked his lips. A question burned in his gaze. Asking if he delved between the cushion of her mouth, would he find an answer he’d been searching for his entire life?
“Are you twisting my mind again?” she asked, her voice warbling and strange.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Why would I want to twist anything when you desire me just as I desire you?”
Morgan had time to slam down the barrier between her mind and his. This time, she didn’t let him cajole her into some foolish stupor. She was a witch! She knew magic and he could not use it against her.
She took a step away from him and shook her head. “No. I came here to kill you, king. And I intend to either do that or go home. Not entertain some tryst in the forest with a faerie who will forget me the moment I leave.”
“Who says I will forget you?”
She could see it written in his wild eyes and snarled beard. She could see it in the set of his broad shoulders and how he hadn’t even taken the time to put on a shirt. He was a faerie king through and through.
And faeries didn’t remember humans.
“I say you will forget,” she whispered. “And you can’t say that I’m wrong. Because you can’t lie.”
He frowned, but he didn’t reply. Instead, the Mountain King leaned down until his nose brushed her hair. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent.
Now he had a part of her in him. His magic glowed, hot and strong within her body. And her scent now lived inside his lungs. Magic stirred between them, zinging back and forth in electric sparks.
The king retreated, then bowed. “My lady, you do me the honor of visiting and providing more entertainment than I’ve had in centuries. My only quarrel is that you think so ill of my kind.”
“Faeries are easy to think ill of,” she replied. Morgan stepped back into her small “room” and reached for the woven vine door. “Good night, Mountain King. Perhaps you shouldn’t sleep too deeply.”
“Finding you in my bed at night wouldn’t be much of a punishment, witch.” A wicked grin spread acro
ss his face.
She bared her teeth. “It would be a punishment for me.”
He burst into laughter, deep from his belly. “Tell yourself whatever you must, but there is something between us. Come back to the cottage glen tomorrow. There’s a gathering of all the Spring Court. Perhaps you’ll change your mind.”
“I’ll think I’ll languish here until Imbolc comes,” she replied, then slammed the door in his face.
8
Morgan dreamt of flowers blooming in a field. They were more beautiful than any flower she’d ever seen, but infinitely untouchable. Every time she tried to put a finger against the petals, they withered and died.
Voices whispered in her ear, “Witches can’t touch faerie magic. Death will spread wherever you go.”
She jolted awake and sat up straight. Sweat slicked her back, sending shivers down her spine and arms.
It wasn’t the dream making her cold. She refused to believe that. How was she supposed to sleep in conditions like this? In the frigid air without a ceiling overhead? She wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed.
Anger made her cheeks red, but she knew it wasn’t the guest room making her upset. Morgan had always used anger as a shield between herself and the world. No one could get underneath her skin if she was a giant bitch.
Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she tried to ground herself. What could she see? What could she feel? Distractions were the best way to get through the night. The nightmares couldn’t hurt her. They weren’t real.
Something scrabbled overhead, claws scratching the walls as a creature climbed them. Spiders? Some faerie sent by the king to kill her in her sleep?
Morgan laid back down on her bed of moss and pretended she was asleep. If the king thought to kill her, he’d have to do better than an assassin in the middle of the night.
Witches rarely slept.
She started preparing herself for what she would sacrifice if she needed to kill this creature with magic. Her fingernails were easiest, but they hurt. She could get rid of her hair, magic could cover it until it grew back... But she was vain enough to want to keep her real hair.
Something crawled over the wall and started down the inside. Whatever creature had come to attack her, it crawled toward her with eerie speed and silence.
She held her breath as the moss on either side of her waist indented. It didn’t weigh much, likely a faerie the king had sent.
So it was to be like this? If she wouldn’t sleep with him, then he’d kill her? Damned faerie.
Something sharp trailed down her forehead and the length of her nose. It paused at the tip, then tapped. “I know you’re awake, witch.”
Morgan decided on the fingernails. If she needed to attack something, she needed every inch of confidence. She curled one of her hands into fists and felt magic pull out her thumb nail.
She opened her eyes and stared up at the monstrous creature sitting on top of her.
It wasn’t a faerie, more a creature of excess magic that had brought sticks and moss to life. The being was made of twigs and a few logs, held together by wayward magic, pulsing between the cracks with green light.
The finger touching her face was made of a few sprigs, though it was missing one appendage and had only a four fingered hand. This creature was little more than magic and earth.
She felt her pointer nail hit the ground and a pulse of magic filled the well in her mind. She could sense the power building, but not enough. Not yet.
This creature was made of the king’s magic. Excess power, perhaps. Almost as though he wouldn’t know the creature existed.
It tilted its head to the side, and its stone eyes rotated. “You want to hurt me.”
“You crawled into my bed in the middle of the night. Yes, I very much intend to hurt you before you attack me.”
Before Morgan could pull off more of her fingernails, the creature chuckled. The sound came from deep in its belly. The grinding stones made her ears ache. “I don’t intend harm, witch. I want to warn you.”
“About what?” She pulled out another nail. Just a few more and she would have more than enough power to knock it back. Then, she could shield the entire room as she should have last night.
She just hadn’t thought the Mountain King would be so aggressive.
“The people who sent you here want to keep the king from the throne. They want you to kill him. Don’t they?”
How could this creature know about the people who sent her? She’d told no one.
Morgan frowned. “What do you know of the people who sent me here?”
“I know they are dangerous, they are powerful, and you do not know who they really are.” The creature of twigs and sticks shifted, now crouched above her with its knees pressed against the moss at her sides. “You cannot kill the king.”
“I tried and failed, didn’t I? Now I’m stuck here.”
Again, the creature laughed. “Stuck or not, you can’t kill him.”
She pulled out the last nail on her right hand. “If I wanted to kill him, I could. I just need more time to prepare.”
“No, witch. I’m asking you not to kill him. He’s necessary. He’s needed for this world to survive.”
She glanced at the walls which shouldn’t exist and the trees who were clearly listening to them. They leaned their branches down low, whispering to each other through the leaves. “You don’t say? I hadn’t guessed he’d made this realm.”
The creature spat moss from its stone teeth. “No! He’s needed here. We need him to take the throne of power. He won’t destroy the world as your strange new bedfellows want you to believe.”
Well, it would be useful if she didn’t have to worry about killing him. “Why should I believe you over them?” she asked.
“Because I’m from here. I know the king, and they don’t.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think anyone knows the king.” She waved a hand up and down, gesturing to the pieces of the creature. “And you don’t look like you’ve been alive that long.”
It wasn’t even rotting in certain areas of its wood. She’d seen golems before. Strange creatures animated by magic and sent about to do their master’s bidding. They never lasted.
The creature huffed out another breath. This time, a ladybug flew out of its mouth and off toward the moon. “Age is just a number humans make up to convince themselves of power. I am not ancient, but that does not make my knowledge any less.”
Morgan felt bad for the creature. It clearly exalted the Mountain King. She supposed she would have as well if his magic had given her life.
The poor thing deserved to speak.
“What do you think your knowledge is then?” she asked. “What could you possibly say to convince me the king deserves to live? That you are telling the truth while these others are not?”
It shifted closer, excitement glowing in its chest. It stared at her with almost fanatic adoration. “The king is the earth. You are a green witch, you must have felt him.”
Oh, she’d felt him all right, and that knowledge terrified her. He was full of magic. So much that she didn’t know how to measure it. An ocean in his mind? A body of water so vast, no one could ever plumb its depths?
A being that powerful could obliterate the earth if he wanted. He could use that power to lift mountains higher. To raise the seas and swallow all humans if he wanted.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the creature said. “If he wanted. That’s what you keep thinking in your head. Isn’t that the key to all this?”
“What?”
“Killing the king will only transfer the magic to someone else. Another faerie. You will spend the rest of your life hunting the Mountain King through all the hosts.” It shifted even closer until the sticks touched her nose again. “Or, you can control the Mountain King in this body. Use the power for your own means.”
Morgan was tempted. Following the magic from host to host until all green faeries were dead didn’t sound like a lot of
fun. “They wanted me to kill this Mountain King.”
“Did they?” it asked. “Or did you sign your life away to spend the rest of your days chasing after a ghost? You cannot kill the Mountain King, witch. Only its host. The faerie king is nothing more than a pawn.”
If the creature was telling the truth, it sure threw a wrench into her plans. And it wasn’t as though the people who had blackmailed her were trustworthy.
She didn’t want to kill anyone. Morgan wasn’t a black witch or a blood witch who wanted to destroy the world as they knew it. She didn’t thrive off devouring spirits, and she didn’t feed her magic with pain.
All Morgan wanted to do was nourish the earth, feel plants grow, and to be left alone.
She made eye contact with the ocean rolled stones the creature had for eyes. “I don’t want to kill the king.”
It clapped its stick hands. “Good! That’s a start. Now, how are you going to control him?”
Morgan shook her head. “I don’t want to control him either.”
“There is no other choice, witch. You either chase the magic and keep beating it down for all eternity, or you deal with its host.”
“I don’t want the responsibility of manipulating anyone. He should be able to take care of the magic on his own, or he should die and another host should try. Whatever end he chooses, I want nothing to do with it. I just want to go home.”
The creature sighed and leaned back against the nearest tree trunk. The tree was partially the wall, and its bark melded with the creature until it almost disappeared. “You don’t get to go home, witch. It was your destiny to come here and deal with the Mountain King. Why deny it?”
“Because I don’t want to use anyone,” she replied. Vehemence made her words sharp and dagger-like. “Why do you want me to control him, anyway? His magic made you.”
“And the magic inside him is so strong. Killing him will solve nothing.”
“Neither will turning him into a slave. Isn’t that what you’re suggesting?”
The creature melted into the tree more, one arm raising and vanishing into a branch. “No, witch. I want you to learn who he is. I want you to listen to him and know the magic. Devour it as you did when you first attacked him. The magic is as much yours as it is his.”
King of the Mountains Page 6
