Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence

by Anna Patrick Paige

  The barren woods turned to brush. I raced through it, narrowly avoiding branches and roots. I had to keep moving. My ears strained for the familiar pounding of heavy paws pursuing me.

  I held my torn hand against my dress. It bled and throbbed with each racing beat of my heart.

  I didn’t know the contours of the valley and fled blindly, hoping I would somehow stumble upon the main clearing by the cavern. In my periphery, the cat dashed as a burgundy blur in and out of the brush.

  By a stroke of luck, the river stretching away from the lake cut across my path. I raced up the rocky bank towards the shining body of water, needing the cool liquid to help numb the pain. Ignoring all reason or caution, I scurried awkwardly across the lake and dropped to my knees at the center, plunging my hand beneath the glassy surface.

  The lake convulsed and exploded, sending sprays into the sky that rained down to soak me. Specks of blue sparkles hung in the air and crested each wave.

  The wound fed a steady stream of blood into the frothy churn, and my cries of agony broke through the crash of the waterfall against the cliffs. I cursed through the pain. This affliction was more than anything I had ever experienced. Divine life had not prepared me for such an injury; I didn’t know how to work through the anguish.

  What am I supposed to do to fix this?

  I glanced at the cat for answers. She sat by the water’s edge, swishing her tail in an annoyed fashion. Her brows pointed towards her nose, creating an anxious mask over her amber eyes as she looked at something past me. I turned to see the object of her concern, and an entirely new wave of alarm rushed through my body.

  Darric stood by the stony bank on the opposite side of the lake. His inquisitive gaze turned into a cryptic smile when I noticed him.

  I panicked, and the water went out from under me, sending me plummeting below the surface. The icy lake choked the breath from my lungs. Working with one hand, I couldn’t right myself and searched for something to grab on to. My chest screamed for air. At last, one of my frantic swipes found the rocky ledge of the bank. I dug my nails into the stone, driving sharp granite into my sliced hand and sending lightning stabs of pain up my arm. I cried out and swallowed a mouthful of water.

  Darric reached down the embankment and grasped my wrist. I surfaced and took an enormous breath, immediately followed by uncontrollable coughs and gags as I hacked up a lungful of water. He dragged me onto dry land and ripped at the knot holding my sopping cloak to my back. Tossing the garment aside, he removed his own from his shoulders and wrapped me in the dry wool.

  His heady scent entered my lungs through spurts of gasped air. I knelt into the shelter of his chest until I stopped choking. Surprisingly, his arms circled my back and pulled me closer, allowing his warmth to penetrate my core.

  With the commotion of my gagging at an end, the nightly chirp of crickets refilled the void between the stillness of the forest and the waterfall. The beauty of the valley returned. I released a tremendous sigh of relief. I was alive. I had walked into the den of the beast and lived. My hand was not important when compared to the outcome.

  I rubbed my nose over Darric’s chest; his soft cotton shirt created a pleasant contrast over his hard muscle. The worry of never seeing him again dissipated. How implausible it seemed that I should feel this at peace in his arms. He exhumed strength from somewhere deep within me, the fogged brain he created a mere prerequisite to how he assuaged my fears.

  “I saw a kid from Varanus do that once.” He stifled a chuckle, his lips brushing my hairline. “I’ve been waiting for you to do something aberrant. I knew dreaming wasn’t all there was to you.”

  “So, I’m more valuable to you now that you know what I’m worth?” My teeth chattered with such intensity I almost bit my tongue.

  He laughed. “That’s a little nonsensical, don’t you think?” He shifted onto the balls of his feet and wove his fingers into mine to pry us from the ground. I graciously accepted one of his hands but avoided taking the other. His amused expression changed to worry as he gazed at the unmissable trail of blood falling down my dress.

  He tugged at my wrist. I tried to resist, but physically I could not prevent him from taking what he wanted. The moon moved from behind the clouds, and rays of white light illuminated the lurid gash dividing my flesh. It ached, and my fingers pulsed.

  “What the hell did you do?” he asked reproachfully.

  “You won’t like the answer,” I warned.

  He released my damaged hand, tightening his fingers around the other. He hadn’t held on to me like that since the day he brought me to the Hovel; the same calloused grip from years of wielding a sword pulled at my delicate skin. I tried not to overthink his actions.

  “We need to get this treated,” he said. “Come with me.”

  He plucked my wet cloak from the ground. I huddled into the side of his chest, mashing our joined hands between us, terrified he would let me go and disappear. The bear could be watching from the woods, waiting to find me alone. I scanned the tree line. No mass of forbidding chestnut fur loomed in the forest, but black eyes framed by a shining alabaster mane intently watched us. Darric nodded in Atlas’s direction, and the stallion faded into the trees with the slightest smirk across his muzzle. You snitch!

  “It’s quiet,” Darric noted. “Much quieter than it was an hour ago.”

  “It is.” I didn’t know how to tell him why the echoes of an injured bear no longer congested the valley. How could I explain what I’d done, how I’d survived? Dreaming, water’s peculiar reaction to me, communication with animals. No, one preternatural abnormality at a time.

  “Though cussing and defying the laws of nature does have a tendency to draw attention,” he added with a pointed grin.

  I took a shaky breath. “I was afraid you weren’t going to acknowledge the reason I’m soaking wet.”

  “I had planned to circle back around to it after I appeased my curiosity on several other subjects.”

  “I’d rather circle back around to it now,” I huffed.

  He shrugged passively. “You’re not the first Fae I’ve seen.”

  “Your dismissal is rather unnerving.”

  “What’s unnerving is the reason you came out here alone. Has everything that has happened over the last month not been enough to make you understand the risk?”

  He knows. Of course he knows. I lowered my head, ashamed. “I know you claim that nothing was my fault, but you’re wrong. Everything that has happened is because of me. The bandits. The bear. You and Flint. All me.”

  “How narcissistic of you.” He sighed. “Don’t concern yourself with anything going on between my brother and me. Our dynamic changes hourly. Better you ignore it than get involved.”

  “You said I didn’t fear vulnerability, so I took matters into my own hands.”

  His eyes darkened. “That’s what you got out of what I said? That it was acceptable to risk your life because you’re blindly audacious?” He stopped walking and pulled my shoulder, turning me to face him. I avoided his eyes and stared into the fragile threading of his shirt. The V-shaped neckline plunged to his breastbone, where the edge of a scar defaced his tanned skin. “Remind me to never pay you another compliment.”

  “I couldn’t stand those bellowing echoes another minute. I don’t want anyone or anything to suffer because of me.”

  He released my shoulder and kept walking. “Is he alive or dead?”

  “Alive.”

  He raked his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “What possessed you to do something so stupid?”

  Flustered, I pried my fingers loose from his grip. “I can’t explain it, but it was the right thing to do.”

  “Then you want to explain to me how you’re alive?”

  “I don’t want to tell you anything. You were in the Onyx Guard. I’m sure you can figure it out. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be around you? To tiptoe through your contradictions? To have you look at me knowing exactly what I am
and never understand how much I fear that?” I scraped my nails against my scalp. “Maybe . . . I’m not going to keep divulging information without some sort of compensation.”

  He gave an amused grin when I repeated his words. “What sort of compensation? What do you want?” He repeated my response verbatim. “I’m not used to having my own words used against me,” he said, touching the pout in my bottom lip.

  The cavern came into view. I would have certainly missed it without him, as the fire had reduced to a clump of embers.

  Darric slid the tripod off the coals and added wood to the fire to relight the flames. “Sit down,” he instructed and went inside the Hovel.

  The heat tingled my toes as my boots warmed. I wrapped his cloak tighter around my shoulders, briefly holding the woolly fabric to my nose and breathing in. I had yet to figure out why his smell made me lightheaded or why I wanted to continue to put myself in such a ridiculous state.

  The injured bear had peered into my head and seen the constant flood of my stranger. Was I truly obsessed with him? If my reaction to his smell was any indication, then the answer was a startling yes.

  Finding Darric captivating, a man who had spent most of our early acquaintance threatening to slice me in two, was no better than having an attraction to Prince Marcus. The Podarian heir was strikingly handsome; only an idiot would think otherwise. Graceful and poised, powerful and regal—I knew the supposed description of physical attractiveness. Darric looked nothing like Marcus, though their physiques were hauntingly similar, as though war had sculpted both their bodies.

  Darric looked rough around the edges, unpolished. Not one blond hair on his head was the same length. And his eyes—inscrutable and enough to make me dizzy.

  Despite not being a Fae, there was much I could learn from him, if I ever managed to stop the fog every time he came close to me. My brain was confusing curiosity for desire. Desiring Darric? I smiled and laughed at myself. What a preposterous idea.

  The Hovel door opened. Darric stood in the doorway, his heavy cloak laid over his arm and his gray haversack slung over his shoulder. Ridiculous. Inconceivable.

  After setting the pack by my feet, he pulled his cloak from my shoulders and exchanged it for the one lined with rabbit fur. It was double the warmth and as soft as my robes at the palace. “Do you want me to wake up Flint?” he asked.

  I wrinkled my nose, exasperated. “Why would I want you to do that?”

  “Comfort?” he answered with a shrug.

  I raised one eyebrow. Flint would only cause an altercation by accusing Darric of lacerating my hand.

  He smiled. “Bromly?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then may I suggest you stay silent during this process so as not to wake them.”

  He removed two bottles from his haversack: first the brown decanter of red wine, then another made of clouded dark green glass. He set folded white linen on his knee and uncorked the wine. “Bottoms up.”

  I bashfully took the decanter and drank a conservative mouthful. It tasted terrible, worse than it had the first time. I grimaced, and he pushed the bottle back towards my lips. “You’ll need it.”

  Conceding, I gulped several times before noticing his fingers positioned on the underside of the bottle to prevent me from stopping. I pushed away his hand, and wine dribbled down my chin. “Stop!” I scolded, wiping my face.

  He frowned and urged the decanter towards me a third time, but I shied away from it.

  “You are going to regret not drinking more of this,” he said. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything stronger.”

  “My day might have been hell, but I don’t need to be drunk.”

  He gave a defeated nod. “Suit yourself. Being stubborn doesn’t always pay off though.” He corked the decanter and set it next to his foot. Reaching for the clouded green bottle with one hand, he offered me his open palm with the other. “Give me your hand.”

  Wearily, I extended my injury. He snatched my wrist and tightened his grip so I couldn’t pull away, then uncorked the new decanter with his teeth and spat the stopper onto the ground. “Hmm . . .” He looked over the atrocious tear. “I should have brought you some leather.”

  “Why would I need leather?”

  “To bite down on. Too late now,” he said.

  Everything dawned on me at once. Trying not to awaken his brothers. The grip he had on my wrist. The wine. The linen. The new green bottle. Terror shot through me. What was in this decanter? I tried to break free of his grasp, but he didn’t allow me to budge.

  “Wait—wait—wait. This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” I asked frantically.

  “Yes.” In tandem with his reply, he poured a large splash onto my hand.

  The crystal-clear liquid felt like molten metal. Intense, fiery pain blazed up my arm as it washed away blood pooled in the fleshy gash. I wailed in agony, going weak at the shoulder, and tears welled in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he added and released my wrist.

  I drew my hand into the protection of my lap and doubled over, tucking my head down as the tears broke the barrier.

  Darric placed the evil bottle on the ground and brought his arm around my back to pull me to his chest. I buried my head in his shoulder and let the tears flow onto his shirt.

  “I know it hurts like hell,” he whispered beside my ear. His lips brushed my skin, sending an enticing tickle down my side. He gently rubbed the arch of my spine until the radiating pain began to subside. “You can’t scream like that again. You’ll wake my brothers. Unless you want them around now?”

  Quivering, I shook my head and smashed my sniffling nose against him. “You should have warned me.”

  “I did warn you.”

  “I wouldn’t consider yes a warning. Nor shoving alcohol down my throat without providing a reason.”

  “If I had given you any more warning, you wouldn’t have allowed me to do it.” He angled his head, trying to find my eyes. I fought the temptation to look at him, unsure my body could handle another rush of adrenaline. I didn’t want him to see me with a red nose, glazed in tears. “Aya,” he murmured, running his fingers through my almond tresses to pull the strands away from my face. His calloused fingers grazed the back of my neck. “We are going to count backwards from six.”

  “Six?” I blinked numerous times to refocus and met his gaze. Even as close as we were in our tiny private circle, the intoxicating blue of his irises became lost in the dim light.

  I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. I pushed away from his chest, needing to reduce the fog. My heart regulated, thanking me for the increased distance.

  He exchanged the bottles for a wooden spool of thick black thread with a silver needle tucked into it. I puzzled at the odd items; black threading was costly and silver no less expensive. He threaded the needle and waited patiently for me to reextend my hand.

  “Why is that necessary? Can’t we wrap it?” I argued in alarm.

  “It’s necessary if you plan to use your hand again.”

  Disheartened, I offered my hand, wishing I’d drunk more wine to counteract the pain.

  He reached under the cloak to wrap his arm around my waist and slid me close to him. “Hold on to me if you need to. You won’t hurt me.”

  I gripped his back and buried my face in his shoulder to avoid watching.

  “Backwards from six, all right?” His voice steadied in concentration.

  I nodded weakly.

  A sharp pinch zinged through the sensitive wound. It paled in comparison to the fire liquid, but at least I’d only had to endure that once. I smashed my mouth into his shirt, swallowing a cry that turned into a pathetic, muffled squeak.

  “Six,” he said softly and drove the needle through a second time. “Five.”

  My arms began to shake, radiating the vibration into my fingertips. The thread pulled my skin relentlessly, tugging at the wound and closing the gash. I dug my nails into Darric’s back and twisted a handful of fabric as the need
le pushed through again.

  “Four. You’re halfway,” he continued.

  I held my breath, unable to subdue my violent trembling.

  Once more, the needle traveled through my flesh. “Three.” He tugged gently on the string, tightening the center stitch. My skin felt tight, as if I should close my hand or risk tearing open the stitching.

  I drowned his next count with the scream I muted into his shoulder, gripping hard on his back. My nails sliced into his skin, but he didn’t react. Instead he drove the needle through my flesh the final time and pulled the thread taut. The pain lessened when the cold air could no longer torture the open muscle. I exhaled, and my entire body shuddered.

  He tied off the threading and lowered his head to bite through the remaining string. “It’s really advantageous that we didn’t have to do this to your neck. I would have lost as much blood as you. Your nails are a formidable weapon. That’s twice you’ve dug those things into me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

  He slid the needle back into the spool and tossed the thread into his pack.

  Physically and mentally drained, I held tightly to his shoulder. I wasn’t ready for him to push me away. If his past transgressions had not still dominated my thoughts, I might have considered falling asleep in his arms.

  “You don’t need to be sorry.” He ran a finger down my cheek and hooked it under my chin. Lifting my eyes to his, he searched my exhausted expression as his hand massaged my spine. My lungs forgot how to take in air. “If you ever come to understand what a baneful thing I’ve done by allowing you at the Hovel, you won’t feel sorry for anything.” He traced his thumb over my chin. “I might have to tell you sooner than I planned, if only to get you to stop looking at me like this.”

  A surge of nervous spasms nullified my fatigue.

  He brought his thumb to my bottom lip, catching his callous on my skin. “Aya . . . breathe.”

  I snapped away from him and let the trapped air out of my lungs.