Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1)

by Jessica Aspen

  The puca tossed his long mane into Logan’s eyes. “Lay off, or you’ll be eating dirt,” he snarled, nostrils flaring red in the dimming light.

  Solanum’s irritation put a hard smile on Logan’s lips. He tightened his legs and drove the puca harder down the hill through the brewing storm.

  A hound pushed in too close. Solanum’s hoof lashed out, connecting with a solid thud. The hound’s yipe sounded inside Logan’s head as he regained his balance, cursing the hound’s behavior and the puca’s intolerance.

  He was back. The hounds would get used to him again. And Solanum too.

  Thunder crashed in the sky, following him down into the shadowed hills as he approached the witches’ lair. Nostrils burning from the ozone, nerves tingling, he distracted himself with the dark moist wind, manipulating it to blow through the dry autumn brush like a child's tantrum.

  He laughed, the spiteful wind stealing away the dark sound as cracks of thunder echoed off the mountains. He let the anger simmer and the lightning moved further away. He wasn’t free yet, and he wasn’t suicidal. What he was, was trapped. And it pissed him off, the frustration riding him like a hag.

  What could he do when the queen changed her mind and refused to release him from her service? What if the bitch thought she could use him then put him back into her dungeons Underhill, calling him to her side like a lapdog? He needed a way to show her there would be repercussions. He needed leverage.

  In the distance, thunder rumbled. They tipped over the edge of the valley in search of the witch. A wavering glow of candles shone above the last few rocks.

  Almost there.

  The telltale traces of a spell raised the hair on the back of his neck. He extended his Gift to perceive what he couldn’t yet see. A labyrinth set by a single inexperienced witch. His lips twitched. As protection it might have worked, had the Faery Queen sent her regular henchman. Unluckily for the witch, the queen had unleashed him. The Dark Huntsman.

  He would kill the wench, and be done with this thing between himself and the queen of the Tuatha De Danann. And when the queen refused to release him? He’d deal with that when the time came.

  The wind carried the hot dry smell of sage mixed with the smell of fear and musky female. He inhaled the raw flavor of the witch, the taste of her fear and anger and power, slid down his throat, easing his rage.

  The anxious hounds shifted around him, sensing the proximity of their prey. Solanum rounded the rock.

  And there she was.

  The sight of her rocked him back like a blow, almost knocking him to the ground. And he realized—despite the stasis, fifteen years had been too long a time to be without a woman.

  Glimmers of power limned her naked body and the silver blade of the athame that gleamed between her breasts. Her legs were spread slightly apart, tensed for battle. Long black hair crackled and lifted with static. Her expressive face was poised on the edge of dilemma, her body caught between the need to hold the spell and the need for action.

  He paused to let the feel of power and woman roll through him.

  Beautiful.

  Unexpected.

  Green, almond-shaped eyes widened. Her stance firmed, her shoulders pulled back, and her full breasts rose, nipples tightened with cold or fear. Something wild and raw he hadn’t felt in a hundred years stabbed low in his gut.

  His agenda changed.

  The queen wanted to kill the witch. Why? His plan of placating the queen suddenly seemed weak. She’d never let him go without leverage, and here was leverage standing naked and lovely before him. He had a new plan.

  Screw the queen.

  THUNDER BOOMED.

  Trina glanced up the valley. The dying light made it impossible for her to see much more than the silhouette of a horse and rider barreling through the boulders and uneven terrain, tearing down the rocky hillside at an impossible speed. But no barrel racer would endanger their mount careening down the mountain in a thunderstorm. Or ride a horse the color of the absence of light with freakish red eyes. Only something truly inhuman would light up her inner sight with that particular eerie blue glow.

  The acid in her stomach rose into her throat.

  An elven lord.

  Oh fuck! I’m screwed.

  She swallowed the fear down. Her trap, her best effort, all her hard work. Dumb. Stupid. Pathetic. None of it would hold an elven lord—a full adult fae whose power would make her trap look like an art project. She wished she could hide the evidence, like a small child wiping up the crumbs of stolen cookies.

  Horse and rider skidded and slowed in a shower of ricocheting rocks. The enormous red hounds flowed out, surrounding the labyrinth as the cloaked rider and his dark mount advanced.

  She held still, athame at the ready in sweaty hands, prepared to bolt if she had the chance. Her eyes flicked from the approaching rider, distracted by the lesser threat of the huge, sharp-toothed, yellow-eyed hounds encircling the labyrinth like silent sharks waiting for the command to take their prey.

  Her.

  “Damn shame to kill you, witch.” His voice was smooth, well-aged whiskey with a hint of brogue.

  “Then don’t.”

  “What will you give me instead? A life requires a powerful exchange. And I was sent for your death.”

  Trina tried to keep her face even and not reveal her panic. She had nothing he could want. Anything of true power that a fae like this one might consider valuable, was safely out of reach and driving down the road in the van. Gone. Along with any reinforcements.

  “How about honesty?” She offered in desperation.

  “Funny girl.” The dark presence leaned forward, his impatient mount’s feet shifting on the gravel.

  The nervous sweat on her back grew cold.

  “Although I would enjoy taking the time,” his voice carried easily over the wind and thunder, “we shouldn't stand here bargaining. The queen awaits my report.”

  The lord’s level tone distracted her and she was unprepared when the horse moved. The pair crashed effortlessly into the labyrinth, cutting a destroying swath across the short, brushy sage and heading for her at the center. Spectacular violent explosions burst into cascades of colored lights, as if her carefully constructed wards were merely firecrackers, instead of huge magical grenades.

  The overwhelming smell of crushed sage rose, and she swore the evil-eyed horse laughed. She reached inside for what was left of her power, losing her grip on it when he leaned over and grabbed her arm. With no apparent effort, he hoisted her up.

  She scrabbled for a handhold in an effort to not fly over the horse into the waiting sea of teeth and dogs. She tangled one hand in the long black mane and held tight to her slippery knife with the other.

  Strong arms wrapped in leather tightened around her, forcing her upright, her toes dangling sidesaddle. Everything happening too fast. She barely had a grip in the long black mane when the creature flexed under her and they flew over the candles.

  The flames blew out.

  They landed on the other side of the labyrinth in a hard jolt. She slipped.

  If I fall, I could run.

  Before the thought had been and gone, her grip on the mane loosened. She slid to the side. Hot breath and the scrape of teeth on her ankle warned her, just in time. She yanked her foot out of range of the snapping jaws, and lost her balance. Making an instinctive grab for the mane with her right hand—she dropped the knife.

  Her kidnapper growled and tightened his grip on her stomach.

  She gasped for her voice. “Put me down!”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I either kill you or take you with me.” The sparkling black blade of his laughter cut deep into her soul.

  Accelerating faster and faster, they wove in and out of the treacherous rocks in a mad, blurring rush up the side of the valley. If she fell off now and hit a rock, she’d be roadkill. She anchored both hands firmly in the mane and leaned back into the solid chest of her attacker.

  They raced on, licks
of green fire lighting up the hill behind them. A deep maw of black within purple mist formed ahead, transforming the familiar landscape into a horror. The knowledge of where they headed slammed inside her brain.

  Trina’s heart sped into a sharp staccato.

  Words of denial formed in her constricted throat, gone long before she had a chance to know what they were.

  Don’t make me go.

  They rocketed to the top of the valley, the piranha hounds schooling tightly around them as they raced to the looming mouth of the portal. Steely muscles bunched and flexed under her. Launching into the air, they flew into the mix of fog and darkness encased in the sound of her scream.

  Chapter Three

  The chortling and screaming winds of the abyss snagged long fingers in Trina’s fine hair, tangling it tight around her face and neck until she choked. Days, hours, or seconds, she had no idea how long the ride lasted. Her sense of time was shot the moment they left the earth and plunged into the portal’s chaotic fog.

  Trina flinched as mind blowing images from someone else’s nightmare careened in and out of her vision. Moaning figures, screaming scenes of torture, and strangely solid-looking vistas slid by as they flew through the dark purple and grey mists. A blurry, tormented face with shapeless grey lips reached out soft hands that turned into claws, scratching for her and missing.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she buried her face in her kidnapper’s leather-clad chest and anchored her sanity in his solid warm reality. She focused on breathing, and not hurling the contents of her stomach.

  Breathe in... the smell of leather.

  Breathe out... the smell of heat.

  Breathe in...

  Then it stopped. Trina opened her eyes. Hazy pre-dawn light filtered through the dense shade of the largest trees she’d ever seen outside of Yosemite. They pushed through a rich undergrowth of vibrant, unfamiliar flowers that brushed against the horse’s underbelly and tickled her bare feet. Her captor relaxed his imprisoning hold and Trina eased away with an odd sense of reluctance, inhaling the strong sweet scents of the flowers in an attempt to calm her twisting stomach.

  Something wasn’t right. The pinks were too pink, the greens too green. Everything hurt her eyes with a subtle sharp edge. They approached a river, so clear she could see every detail of the oddly shaped multicolored fish through the glassy surface. Without hesitation, the horse plunged in, soaking her in icy water that sneaked up her calves to her knees.

  Trina shivered.

  The bright fish, the odd landscape. This wasn’t her reality. This wasn’t Wyoming, or even Earth. She didn’t know where they were, but she’d heard enough fae stories of lovely landscapes holding secret traps. Odds were good, here was worse than it looked. Escape would have to wait.

  They waded across the water, the silent red hounds at their heels. The elf leaned forward and breathed warm words into her ear and down her neck.

  “Hold on, the next portal’s opening.”

  The horse shifted into a gallop. Trina slid, grabbing a handful of mane to stop her fall. Her captor’s grip tightened and he pulled her back between muscled thighs as they jumped into the dark haze of a second portal.

  They erupted out of the grasping mist into the cold of a moonless desert night, lit only by a few straggling stars. The horse bogged down in the heavy sand, slowed, and finally stopped. The isolation was palpable. No crickets or owls. Nothing but the cold, dry desert night, a naked witch, and an all-powerful elven lord.

  “Where are we?” she asked, the dry air burning her throat.

  “Get down.”

  Her legs were wet and cold from their dip in the stream and her stomach still rolled from the twisting sensation of the portals. They could be anywhere. If she got down here and he left her, she could be stuck in another world, another time. As crazy as it seemed, this man was now her lifeline in a sea of possible universes.

  “No. I’m not getting off,” she said between chattering teeth. “What if you dump me here in some outlying pocket of Faery?”

  “Get down,” he ground out, his voice traffic cop hard.

  She slid off, her feet sinking deep into the sand.

  The horse’s intelligent, narrow red eyes tracked her every move. Doing what she could to cover up from his laser vision, Trina wrapped her arms around her shivering nude body. The large black head snaked out and his teeth flashed. Trina flinched, but he only puffed air into her face instead of the expected bite.

  She stumbled away, falling into the gritty sand, and she swore he laughed.

  “Leave off.” The elf smacked the creature hard on the flank, the sound loud in the empty landscape.

  The beast snickered, and shook his huge bullet head at her, sharp ivory teeth bared in an inhuman grin. Trina got up and took two more precautionary steps away, stopped short from running by the ring of silent yellow-eyed hounds.

  “Where are we?”

  The elven lord dismounted.

  Under the dark, star-scattered sky, she could make out little more than his shape. Tall. But not the slender ultra-tall of the few elves she’d seen. Maybe a little over six feet. And bulky. Not fat. Muscular.

  Not elf-like.

  But when she peeked at him with her inner sight he glowed blue with power, power that tugged at her, drawing her in with the dangerous innate lure that had ensnared humans for centuries. She peered closer, glad her heritage lent her some immunity from his charisma. The stars gave barely enough light to see his long dark hair was decorated with the silver jewelry that the elves favored. Braids, decorations, hair. She didn’t need the glow to be sure that under it all lay the tipped ears of the hated fae.

  Fae.

  An elven lord. The destroyers of her family. Could anything go right tonight?

  Dread shivered along her skin and she lifted her chin determined to ignore the disadvantage of her nakedness. He snorted, shook his head, and pulled a length of cloth out of his pocket. It started off small, but it grew and grew until it reached the size of a small blanket.

  “Here, you look cold.” Once again, his voice wrapped around her nerves, rough sandpaper encased in folds of brogue. Not Sean Connery. Not Scottish or Irish or Welsh... or anything human.

  She scrambled to catch the blanket he tossed. Softer than wool, softer than alpaca, even softer than angora, it glowed off-white in the moonlight. A rush of resentment warped her gratitude, trapping her automatic thank you down deep in her throat.

  “Where are we?” she asked for the third time, frustration sharpening her words into bold and angry slashes. There was no room for fear anymore. Not when facing a full-blooded elven lord who had all the control and whose magical attraction pulled her in, despite her anxiety and anger and desperation.

  “Where do you think, Alice?”

  “Underhill?”

  “Very good, but wrong.”

  “Then where?”

  “Another world, another time. It doesn’t matter much. I needed a location to foil pursuit. The water helped, now the sand will, too. More importantly, it gives me a breathing spot to decide what to do with an Alice.”

  “Stop that.”

  The starlight caught the curve of his lips, but she didn’t have to see him to hear the arrogance behind his soft mocking laugh.

  “Stop calling me Alice.”

  “Why? You’re a little girl who has fallen down the rabbit hole and the queen is coming to eat you up. The Black Queen, it is true, but she’s far more formidable than the Red one has ever been.”

  Trina’s spine stiffened. She was short. Young maybe. But she hadn’t been a girl since her parents were killed—killed by elves, just like him.

  “There’s only one Queen of Faery.” The mention of the queen burned through the magic of his presence leaving nothing but her anger. “The evil, murdering bitch.” She would have spit if she’d had any moisture left.

  “Yes, definitely an Alice.” The cold smile curved a little higher and she caught a flash of arctic blue eyes. “No, there is
n’t only one queen, there never has been. Certain parts of Lewis Carroll’s little book contain truth.”

  “He was an ass.” The words came from the black horse casting evil looks over his shoulder.

  Trina stepped back. “It talks!”

  “Of course he talks.” The elven lord turned away from her, momentarily distracted. “You met him?” he asked the horse. “You never said anything.”

  The creature snorted. “Get on with it. I want my dinner.”

  The lord’s sharp attention was back on her. “Now, what to do with you.” He rubbed his hand over his lips.

  She ripped her eyes from the talking animal, unsure now if it or the man in front of her was the greater threat. “Take me back.”

  “Do you want me to kill you, Alice? I’m reluctant to do it, but if it’s your wish, we can stop this right now.” He took a step towards her.

  She backed up, stumbling through the shifting sand, staying out of reach. “No! Take me back. Take me home.”

  “Just kill her, I want my dinner.” Red eyes gleamed in the desert night.

  “It would be easier.” The elf’s lips pursed, and he eyed her, considering.

  “No!” Filled with a fierce need to wrestle the decision from the thing with the wicked red eyes, Trina spoke up. She had no doubt it would kill her without remorse.

  “If you’re certain?” The elf cocked his head and waited for her answer. She stayed quiet. “If I don’t kill you, I certainly can’t put you back where I found you.”

  “Why not? It’s not like I’d tell the queen.” His head whipped around and even though she couldn’t see them, his eyes pinned her in place.

  “Once the queen has you on her torture table, you would say whatever it took to get her to stop.” His voice rang with knowledge and she shook with a deep wracking chill.

  Resting long lean fingers on his lips, he tilted his head as his gaze traveled her entire five-feet-nothing. Starting at her bare feet sunk deep in the sand and traveling up her legs, lingering at the hem of the blanket skimming her thighs.

  Heat flushed her cheeks as he paused at the tops of her breasts pushed high over the edge of the blanket by her tightly wrapped arms. As he reached her face, a strange expression flitted over his shadowed features, gone before she could evaluate its meaning.