by Nina Walker
“Why are you here?” I press. “Seriously, why are you taking this risk?”
He cocks his head, his eyes unreadable in the shadowy darkness. “I thought it was rather obvious.”
My chest warms. I let out a breath and look away, putting the questions away for another time. I rummage around in my pack, find my waterskin, and take a quick drink and then pass it to Bram. I also find the last of my food and hand that over to him as well.
“What’s all this for?”
“I can get more food and water,” I say, “You take the rest of mine. You need it more than I do.”
His smile is barely there. I can’t tell if he’s grateful or embarrassed or something else entirely, but it doesn’t matter. We’re in this together and if he’s going to look out for me, I’m going to do the same for him. Hopefully there’s enough magic in my veins for the both of us to survive this place and travel to the human realm.
“Come on,” I say, leading the way. It’s time to put the bordering wall of thick fog behind us and head into the canopy of trees.
Save for the occasional glowing insect with their buzzing wings and our boots trudging across the rocky dirt road, the first few hours are met with silence. I find that worrisome, but what can I do but stay alert? The smells are more vibrant here, more earthy and alive. The magic feels stronger, too. In Drakenon the magic is mostly reserved for the Dragon Blessed. Sure, we have the merfolk and the occasional enchanted relic or forest, but the elemental powers stay inside the bloodlines of a select few families. The only randomness of our magic is which baby girl, with all four elementals, will be born to the newest generation.
But here? Here it’s different. It’s as if the land itself, the trees, the thin blades of grass and the pebbles embedded into the earth each have their own kind of magic. Is this where the Fae creatures get their power? Perhaps it’s not passed down through bloodlines but rather offered up from the land itself. I wonder if Bram can sense it too but I don’t dare ask.
The morning sun begins to rise, turning the sky a blue that will soon transform to pink. It lights up the forest, transforming it from menacing to enchanting. But I know not to trust what I see. Looks can be deceiving.
“Hello, good sir.” A woman’s cheerful voice echoes up ahead and we freeze.
She appears from between two trees, slipping through their opening as fluid as water running down a brook. Dressed in nothing but a sheer white dress, her nakedness is on display. I try not to allow a horrified reaction to show on my face because this is truly shocking. Are all the Fae like this? Her long raven hair trails to her feet in luminescent waves. Her mouth and cheeks are perfectly rosy, her smile seductive, her golden eyes latched onto Bram.
“Can you help me?” she asks sweetly. “I seem to have gotten lost.”
Bram’s eyes are shifty, his cheeks flaming. “Um…” He mutters a few incoherent words.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, stepping in front of him, “but we are in a hurry.” I can sense the magic about her. And the menace.
The woman ignores me, never looking my way. But is she a woman? Something about her doesn’t feel human. She’s certainly not like us and she doesn’t have the pointed ears of higher Fae. So who is she? What is she? My muscles pinch with tension.
Outstretching a dainty hand toward Bram, she speaks again, “Please, young man. I need your help. If you’ll just escort me home then I’ll be safe.”
“I thought you said you were lost,” I deadpan.
Bram’s eyes are on her now, both unfocused and focused. A glossy shine has fallen over the green of his irises, the black pupils narrow with intent on this woman.
“Bram?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
He lifts his own hand toward hers.
“Don’t touch her,” I growl, pulling him back. The woman hisses at me, giving me an enraged glare. Her pretty eyes turn deep purple and inky lines of scarlet bulge in her face.
Something shoots through the air with a snap and slams into her shoulder, knocking her down. She howls, rips the arrow with blue feathers from her skin, and scampers back into the trees. As she turns away, I flinch. Her backside is nothing but hollow blackness, a void.
“What was that thing?” I wonder aloud as I look around for the source of the arrow.
A man drops silently from the canopy of trees, landing like a cat a few feet from where I block Bram.
“That was a huldra,” the man says, looping toward us on silent feet. He raises a sly eyebrow, the color of spun gold. “Cousin to the siren. She and her sisters lure men to their deaths.”
I gulp, terrified of what could have happened to Bram. I know of the siren, though I’ve yet to encounter one, but not the huldra.
The man skulks closer, his movements as feline as some of his features. I study this new threat and widen my stance. He is tall and thin, with a beautiful face of high-cut cheekbones and cat-like blue eyes. Even his pupils are long slits. Dressed in finely stitched clothing, his golden hair tied back, his pointy ears framing his perfect face. A large bow with a quiver of thin arrows hangs over his shoulder.
Bram places a gentle hand on my arm and eases me back to him, the glamour having lifted from his eyes. “I know of the huldra,” he says slowly, “but that one caught me off guard.”
“You can’t look them directly in the eyes,” the man says, his own eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m Terek.” He extends his hand to me. “But don’t worry, Princess, I’m not going to bite you.” He winks. “Unless, of course, biting is your thing.”
I freeze. Princess. He must know me by my eyes. Of course he does. The Drakenon tradition has lasted ages.
Bram and I exchange a guarded look, unsure of how to proceed. He is an elf, meaning he’s one of the High Fae still alive. Someone was bound to recognize me. But the elves used to rule this territory and if anyone can help us navigate it, it’s them. Or they could just as easily be our demise. Before the Occultists, the elves were our greatest enemies. This one not only knows my identity, but he intervened and saved Bram’s life.
What does he want?
“I’m Prince Bram of Drakenon,” Bram says, surprising me by shrugging off his earlier hostility and shaking Terek’s hand. “And you’re correct in assuming this is our Princess.”
I quickly run through the list of rules Bram and I talked about before walking through the border fog. We aren’t to make any deals but we also aren’t to make any enemies with the Higher Fae, and we certainly can’t be caught by the Sovereign Occultists. I eye Terek. I can’t trust him, but I decide to try, to see where this could lead us.
He may be powerful, but so am I.
I pull off my hood, shaking out my mane of dark hair. Then I bring the most dazzling smile to my lips and take his hand. His nails are long and pointed, like a cat’s. I don’t let it bother me. “Hello, Terek,” I say, all confidence. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I glance around the forest, assessing its beauty like it’s a part of him, like I’m a guest in his home. “I think, perhaps, you and I have something in common.”
“And what is that, Princess?”
I hold his gaze with mine. “We share a common enemy.”
21
Hazel
I take my sweet time getting ready because it will piss Dean off—which is an added bonus for me—but also because I’m nervous. Deep down, I know that whatever is about to happen could change the course of my life. But this is what I wanted. I came here, came to him. I broke in. I did this. And I am not going to chicken out now.
So I pad into his ensuite bathroom and sneak a look into the closet at the back. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just a chest of drawers and two rows of hanging clothes. His closet is boring compared to mine, which Cora has lovingly named The Land of Misfit Toys. I snoop in the drawers as well, but it’s just underwear and pajamas and workout gear. Since when did I become the creeper who goes through someone’s underwear drawer? But more importantly, what kind of person doe
sn’t have a single nostalgic item hidden in said drawer? Or in his closet, for that matter? Heck, I brought my favorite stuffed animal to college with me—a floppy rabbit that’s seen better days—a blanket Mom made with pictures of us printed on the fabric, and a stack of ratty old t-shirts that mean the world to me because of the memories attached to them. I’ll never part with my oversized middle school band t-shirt, thank you very much.
As far as I can tell, Dean has nothing cool like that. Not one single thing.
I grumble and go back into the bathroom to undress, toweling myself off, and slip into the dry clothes he offered. The black sweatpants and cotton v-neck are super soft and way too big for me but they are clean and comfy and melt away my defenses. They smell like the same lavender fabric softener my mom is obsessed with, which makes me chuckle. I roll my eyes because of course, Dean uses this stuff. I fish my phone from my wet pants pocket, figuring I’m going to need to stick it in a bag of rice and pray for mercy. But miraculously, the phone is still alive. I shoot Mom a quick “I love you” text and then pull up the message waiting for me. It’s from Cora.
You’re sick, huh? This illness wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with why Dean took off ten minutes into class like a bat out of hell?
Maybe, I type back.
What’s going on with you two? Her reply is almost instant. Are you hooking up and trying to keep it a secret? Cuz you can’t keep that shit from me!!!
I snort and text her again. Not hooking up with Dean or anyone. But I am with him right now, actually. If something bad happens to me, you know who to blame ;)
She replies right away. Don’t even joke about that…
Well… I’m not really joking. BUT I’m fine.
You better be! What the heck?
Don’t worry. I’ll see you later. XOXO
You have to tell me EVERYTHING.
I drop the phone into the pocket of the sweatpants and run the towel over to the floor, mopping up the mess. I head out into the bedroom and then the hallway, cleaning up the trail of water that leads into the other bathroom where Dean threw me into the freaking shower! That experience was definitely not a steamy one to remember, dang it.
I hang the towel on the bathroom door and hurry downstairs, ready to face whatever is next with a mask of confidence.
I find Dean in the family room. He’s already swept up the glass and is busy taping up a flap of cardboard over the broken window. The wind outside isn’t helping matters. It keeps blowing the board into his face and while part of me feels tremendous guilt, the other part wants to point and laugh. Maybe take a video. Post it to YouTube. Start a channel. Strike it rich. Anything is possible, right Mom?
But I’m going to be a grown up about this. So I hurry over and help him finish the job, neither of us saying a word to the other.
When it’s finished, he steps back and turns on me with an annoyed groan. His eyes have settled back to their unreadable charcoal gray and he runs a hand along the stubble on his chin.
“You really want to know why that happened?” He nods to the stairs, his mouth pressing into a grimace.
“I have to know.” But my palms are sweating and my hair is cold against my cheeks and suddenly, I’m not so sure of anything except that I probably shouldn’t have ever come here today. A smarter girl would have left it alone.
“First of all, you’re not as stealthy as you think you are,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow. “I have a silent alarm in here. And I have three hidden cameras set to monitor the outside of the house. I knew you were here the minute you walked into my backyard and one of them alerted me on my phone.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. Well, that’s not embarrassing or anything…
“And what about the burning?” I ask. “How is that possible? Because nothing was really happening but my brain thought it was. I felt it. It was…” my voice catches, “horrible.”
“That was my ward doing its job.”
“Ward?” I’m stuck on that word, like a real muggle would be. Holy crap! “So what are you, like some kind of warlock? Are you a wizard, Harry?” I make my best attempt at the Hagrid voice but inside I’m reeling.
“Who’s Harry?” he asks, a worry line appearing between his eyebrows.
I blink at him. Has he been living under a rock? The poor, poor deprived man. But I can’t get into Harry Potter with him now. This whole wizard thing wasn’t what I was expecting. I don’t even want to say what I was expecting considering it had to do with dragons, shifters, trainers or something even more impossible. I guess the wizard thing makes sense if really I stop and think about it logically. Magic is a better explanation for what happened to me on those stairs than temporary insanity, which, let’s be honest, that isn’t out of the realm of possibility. I do see dead people. Not quite magic. But close.
“I’m not a warlock,” he says, with a slight sneer. “But I can cast a fire ward with my elemental, given what I am.”
I bite my lip. I have to ask the question. I have to know. “What are you?”
“Are you sure you can handle this? You’re positive you want to know?” His eyes are glued on mine and there’s a vulnerability there I’ve never seen before with Dean. My heart skips and I nod.
“I can show you right here, considering you’ve just about figured it out on your own,” he says. “But you have to swear never to tell another soul. Not your friends, not your family, not even Harmony. And you have to swear to help me because I need your help. I need you to do that mediumship reading for me.”
Again, I nod. This is what I wanted all along.
He points to a chair tucked into the far end of the living room. “You’d better take a seat for this. Keep in mind, it’s not going to be as impressive as if I were at home.”
Ummm… okay?
I stride over to the chair on shaky legs and plop down. My hands are shaking, too. I squeeze them together in my lap and take a deep breath. Whatever he is, I’ll deal with it.
Dean stands in the middle of the room for a long minute, staring at me, as if considering his decision. The black sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, his tanned skin popping against the fabric. His dark eyes glow with intensity and his perfectly disheveled hair falls around his cheekbones. It’s hot. I have to admit. Finally, he exhales and rolls his broad shoulders back.
And then, he transforms.
One second, he’s Dean, dressed in that standard attire of dark washed jeans and a snug cotton top, smirking in that exasperating way of his. The next second, there’s a glimmer of light and shadow, almost like what happens right before a spirit appears. And then, standing before me is something no longer a man, no longer a human. And it’s no spirit, either.
It’s a dragon.
A flesh and blood, living and breathing, real-life dragon.
It’s so large that it has to crouch so it doesn’t hit the ceiling. It looks so much like the spirit dragon that I almost believe that’s what I’m seeing. Except that creature is of another realm and this one is most definitely part of this world. It’s black and scaled like the other, but where that spirit dragon has blue eyes, this one’s are orange and red, swirling like fire.
“Dean?” I whisper.
The dragon nods its head.
His head. Dean’s head!
Somehow, I’m not afraid. And I know that’s crazy. I should be terrified, not believe my eyes. I should run for my life, hide away, never come back here. But instead, I stand and walk forward, my hand outstretched. His wings are wrapped in on himself and his claws look like they could kill me with one swipe, but I continue until I’m close enough to touch. As I’m about to press my finger to the scaly skin, he shifts again.
And it’s Dean standing before me, dressed exactly as before.
I pull my hand back.
“So now you know,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “And like I said, you can’t tell another soul. If you do, you’ll be putting innocent people in danger. And I’ll have to silence you.”
>
I gulp. “Is that a threat?”
He smirks but I know he’s serious. “You bet.”
“I won’t tell. Besides, nobody would believe me if I did.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, Hazel. There’s a lot to this world you don’t understand.”
I let out a breath, trying to open my mind to what he’s saying. “What does any of this have to do with me? Why did you tell me to get off your territory?”
“I’m sorry about that.” He moves to the couch and I sit on the other end. “When I first met you, I felt that you were different, too. I thought you were here to spy on me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
“Let’s just say, this place isn’t exactly my natural habitat. Where I come from, is much, much different. But I have to be here. I can’t go home. So I’ve made myself comfortable and I don’t want to leave. If the wrong people find me here, I will have to leave.”
“You thought I could be one of the wrong people.”
“I did,” he replies. “Now I realize you know very little about your gifts or lineage. You could be dangerous to me. But for now, it’s probably the other way around.”
“Gee—thanks,” I scoff, but inside my curiosity is piqued. And also, I’m a little bit freaked out. I don’t think I’m ready to ask him about my lineage because this is too much to process right now. And then I blurt out the next part before I can think like a logical person, “Did you have something to do with those missing girls?”
“Of course not!” His entire body tenses. “I’m a dragon shifter. Not a monster.”
“Glad to hear they’re not the same thing.” I raise my hands in surrender.
“Not at all,” he retorts.
“Because I saw that dragon spirit again yesterday after almost being attacked.”