“That is because the Huntsmen are not in your world to stop the fairies’ creatures.”
She glared at him. “What are you talking about? The Wild Hunt is known as a group of horsemen who kill everyone in their path. Sure, you might’ve hunted the Unseelie Court, but how many unfortunate humans got caught up in your fury?”
He growled. “Lies. All lies. Not once in all the years we’d ridden have we ever caused the death of an innocent on purpose.”
She wanted to believe him. She really did, but his last two words killed any hope that her fascination with him had been justifiable.
“On purpose?” She shook her head. “And that’s supposed to convince me you’re not one of the bad guys too?”
“Before you judge me for what you think you know of the Wild Hunt, come to me. Then you’ll see for yourself that I’m not the evil one.”
She held his gaze and asked the one question she’d always posed to herself. It had helped her survive. “Aren’t we all evil?”
“Everyone holds the potential for corruption, but people like us must struggle to maintain our honor.”
Struggle was the right word. The monster stuck inside her beautiful body wanted out. A monster he has sworn to hunt. Kill. She waited for fear to grip her. It never came. If she gave in to the lure of her heritage, she’d want him to kill her.
But he also promised to save me. Could he? Heal her, maybe?
She blew out a slow breath. Nothing was black-and-white, and she was too tired to figure out where Calan landed on the spectrum.
“Easy to say. Hard to do.” She closed her eyes in an effort to dim her fascination with the leader of the Wild Hunt. It didn’t help. His woodsy scent wrapped around her, leaving her feeling safe, content and needy. She wanted him to hold her. Be her hero. “Is that the reason you saved me? So I could release you?”
A long moment passed before he curled his hand around the nape of her neck. Her skin tingled and warmth spread. He dropped his hand before the sensation could consume her. She met his captivating eyes—her temptation, the greatest of all.
“Walk toward the lake, and you will find me. Don’t be afraid. I promise you, you’re safe with me.”
With his assurance given, he faded. She stared at the spot where he’d been and sighed. He’d never answered her. She supposed that in itself was one.
She was a means to an end.
Chapter Three
At the impatient knocking, Harley scrunched her brow and pulled the throw blanket over her face. The pounding continued to reverberate through her head.
“Open up. I know you’re in there.”
Unsure of where she was, she swept her gaze over the room. Dust sparkled in the afternoon sun. A bucket and mop stood against the wall and a grocery bag sat on the coffee table. Awareness returned with a rush of memories—Raul, Bea’s body and her ghost man. Guilt followed.
Calan had told her to walk toward the lake. She’d thrown herself into cleaning instead. She’d needed time to go over his words. Too bad she hadn’t been able to focus on them. The vivid memory of his blue eyes overpowered everything.
Another rap to the front door, and she jumped.
“Dammit, Harley, it’s Ian. Open the goddamn door.”
Ian. The tension drained from her limbs. She threw the blanket off and stood. “Hold on.”
She rubbed at her achy lower back and made her way across the room. At the mantel, she stopped mid-step. Her gaze darted to the picture above it, the one she’d looked at countless times and had never really seen—a charcoal sketch of a group of horsemen and their hounds racing feet above a burning landscape.
The Wild Hunt.
Harley had never really understood why her mother had bought it. She’d usually collected obscure scenes and objects. There was much about her mother that Harley didn’t understand, including her mom’s relationship with Raul. A maiden, he’d called her. Harley had never been able to figure out what that meant.
“Harley? Are you okay?” Ian asked through the closed door.
She forced her attention from the picture and the implications of her mother’s chosen subject.
“I’m fine. You just woke me up.” She shuffled to the door, unlocked it and flung it open.
Ian stood on the doormat with a bunch of grocery bags. Tall, wide shoulders, thick biceps and a beanie—he could’ve passed for a redcap, but she knew better than to let the thought take hold. Ian was a good guy, one of the few left. His girlfriend should consider herself damn lucky to have landed him.
“What are you doing here?”
He arched a brow several shades darker than the wavy, russet hair on his head. “Half the town is already talking about your return. It would’ve been nice if you’d let your dear old brother know first. Hearing about it at the grocery checkout isn’t how I wanted to find out.”
She cringed. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure I was actually going to stay. I’d thought about leaving.” After talking to the figment of the man I’ve obsessed over for my entire adulthood and realizing my savior only wants to use me to gain his freedom. She cleared her throat. “Being home is hard. The memories…”
“Aww, Sis.” Ian dropped the bags on the floor and pulled her into his embrace. “You didn’t have to come. I would’ve understood.”
“I had to.” She returned the hug, squeezing him tight. “You’re all I have left.”
“I’m glad you did. I need you.” He released a shaky breath. “I’m getting a horrible case of cold feet.”
She frowned at the panic in his voice. “Don’t. They say it’s common.”
“Maybe.” He eased out of the tight circle of her arms. “It’s just…”
After a moment when he didn’t say anything, she prompted, “Just what?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He crossed his arms and lowered his chin to focus narrowed eyes on her. “How long are you staying?”
“I’m leaving right after the ceremony.”
“Three days.” He dropped fisted hands at his sides. “I get my sister for three lousy days?”
“And if you hadn’t invited me to your bachelor party, it would’ve been less, so stop complaining.”
She still couldn’t believe she was going, but his argument that they barely got to spend any time together had convinced her. With her life constantly in danger, she had to grab the few opportunities to spend time with her brother.
“Do you know what Trevor has planned for me?”
Trevor, Ian’s best friend, had texted her the date, time and location only. She shrugged. “No clue.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t wait.” He worked his jaw back and forth. “I need a little fun.”
She glanced from his white-knuckled fists to his scrunched brows and sighed. “You want to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Same stuff, I guess.”
“Ahh”—she nodded—“your dream girl is steaming up your nights again?”
Years before, Ian had confided in her that he thought he was going crazy. When she’d asked why, he’d told her about his vivid dreams and the woman from them he’d fallen in love with. Harley had convinced him it was normal to fantasize about sex and not to worry about it, even though she didn’t believe anyone could fall in love with a make-believe person. It had eased his mind, though. That was all that mattered to Harley.
A blush crawled up his neck. “It isn’t right, Sis. I’m getting married, and I can’t stop lusting over a damn figment of my imagination.”
She’d suggest his girl was as real as her ghost man, but Ian was human. He’d never have to deal with the shit she’d had to endure. If anything, he actually was a little unstable. And why wouldn’t he have a few issues? His parents and little brothers had been murdered and his sister wasn’t human. That was enough to send any man over the edge.
&
nbsp; “Once the two of you actually have sex, you’ll forget about your dreams and want Cynthia only.” His very strict girlfriend had nixed any suggestions for premarital sex. “Is she nervous too?”
“No.” He snorted. “She told me she’s been reading lots of steamy books so she knows what to do with me once she gets me naked.” He shook his head, a small smile playing on his mouth. “She’s a good girl.”
Too good, in Harley’s opinion. Cynthia came across as fake. Her sickeningly sweet, always-happy reaction to the world wasn’t normal. Of course, Harley couldn’t help but see the bad in everything around her. She kept her thoughts to herself. The few times she’d met Cynthia and their brief phone conversations weren’t a good enough reason to ruin Ian’s chance at happiness. Besides, he was the one marrying her. After all the years they’d dated, Harley hoped he knew the kind of woman he was planning to spend the rest of his life with. Why else marry her?
“Look, I’m glad you came to visit, but I need some sleep.” And thinking about the happy life you’ll be living has reminded me how crappy mine is. “I’ll see you tomorrow at your party.”
She turned toward the stairs. Yes, she needed sleep, but she mostly wanted to go over what Calan had said. Hopefully, the nap she’d taken had cleared her mind enough to consider his words and not simply react to her riotous emotions. She’d learned not to let the strong ones take root. They left her teetering on the edge of temptation.
“Excuse me?” He blocked her path and glared at her. “I haven’t seen you in months. And what? You’re dismissing me?”
“Raul left another present for me. I skipped town and haven’t slept much since. I’m exhausted.” Which was true, just not her sole reason for wanting privacy. She sidestepped him.
“Wait a minute.” He grabbed her arm. “What happened?”
“The same thing a visit from Raul always brings. Death. This time he killed my neighbor, but…” She worried her lower lip. “But something was different about the whole thing. He didn’t make a play for me. He made sure I knew he’d killed her, then walked away.”
For serial killers, a change in their pattern often indicated an unraveling mind. Raul, though, wasn’t crazy or sick. He needed to kill. Without his victim’s fear-laced blood to soak his gauze cap, he died.
“Shit. That’s not good.” Ian released her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Until we figure out why, I’m postponing the wedding, and you’re going to the bunker for a while. I’m not taking—”
“No.” She raised a trembling hand. The thought of being locked underground in an iron prison chilled her. The metal acted as a buffer and made it harder for the redcaps and sluaghs to find her, but the last time Ian had insisted she go there, she’d had a breakdown. She feared closed-in places. She’d spent too much of her childhood locked inside her house. Inside the basement. Going outside had been a rare treat. “I can’t, Ian. I can’t. Please don’t bring it up again.”
He reached for her and let his hand drop. “If you take those tranquilizers—”
“No!” How could he even suggest it? He’d seen how drugs affected her. They made her delusional. Enraged.
Violent.
Rough pants heaved her chest, and the burn centered deep within ignited. Wicked laughter followed. Real or imagined, she wasn’t sure. She only knew she couldn’t let the emotion grip her.
She pulled up the image of blue eyes to chase away the rage. A few more heartbeats later, the scent of a campfire filled her nostrils. The fire burning her veins cooled. Her breathing slowed. The all-consuming wrath eased, and the taunting laughter cut off.
Calan might’ve left her alone to face temptation, but the memory of him had become her crutch. Maybe he had helped her the only way he could. She didn’t know and couldn’t figure it out with the echo of evil in her head.
She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and sat on the couch. “Medicine doesn’t work quite right for me.” She glanced at Ian. “I’m not human, don’t forget.”
He shifted uncomfortably, then dropped onto the seat next to her. “Okay, but I’m worried. Their patterns have been slowly changing.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s almost as if they’ve changed their goals from killing you to watching you. It makes me wonder why.”
She worried about the same thing, and the implications scared her. The temptation to embrace her rage had grown over the past few months; so had her awareness of the fairies’ creatures, Raul especially. At times, she wanted to get closer to him and take his taint into herself. It would make her powerful…unstoppable. Doing so would also destroy the good part of herself she’d been trying desperately to hold on to.
Calan had hit it on the mark. She did have to work hard at remaining honorable.
“It doesn’t matter. We both know I’m living on borrowed time.” She slumped against the cushions. “Hell, I don’t know why I’m still fighting. I can’t escape what I am. All I do is kill the people around me.”
He tugged her limp body up and captured her gaze. “No, Harley. Don’t fucking go there. You didn’t ask for any of this, nor did you ever cause a single death. You understand?”
He shook her, and she bit her tongue. Tangy, bitter blood filled her mouth. She swallowed the reminder of her nonhuman status. “But I—”
“No. Raul and those other hideous bastards would still be killing people whether you lived or not. You can’t blame yourself for their actions.”
She dropped onto the sofa. “True, but they usually pick people who live close to me.”
He turned his back on her and paced. “That’s not true either. You just focus on those. Less than ten percent of their victims have been your neighbors.” He stopped his prowling and faced her with glinting hazel eyes. “Do you want me to recite the damn statistics again?”
Ian had dedicated his life to studying the redcaps’ and sluaghs’ activities. Obsessed over them might be a better term, actually. She shook her head. She couldn’t bear to hear the worry in his voice over the rate at which their crimes had grown.
She wanted to stop them too but didn’t know how. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. If she believed what Calan had told her, she could prevent more deaths by freeing him.
“What do you know of the Wild Hunt myth?” It’d been playing over and over in her head. She kept trying to find a good spin on it, but the little she’d read about it left her wary.
He walked toward the picture. “I always wondered why Mom displayed this piece so I researched it.” He leaned against the mantel and faced her. “There are numerous versions of the Wild Hunt myth. Most have one thing in common. They’re a bunch of spectral horsemen riding across the night sky with their hounds. They’re unstoppable, and those unlucky enough to step into their path are killed or carried back with them to Hell.”
She sighed. That was what she feared.
“But,” Ian went on, “some said they were true hunters who roamed the earth in search of escaped beings from the Underworld. One version even suggested they hunted fairies.”
Hope rose. She joined him at the fireplace and stared at the picture. “Do you believe they’re real?”
“Maybe.” Ian shrugged. “I never thought redcaps or sluaghs were until they killed our family.”
“But do you think they’re good?”
“Good is relative. Look at you.”
She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her fingertips over the horseman leading the procession and thought of Calan. It wasn’t him. The rider in the sketch was a distorted creature that looked like a cross between a horned demon and a dog. He could be the one to stop the fairies, though. He only needed to be freed from his prison.
She glanced toward the sliding glass door and the deck that offered a perfect view of the lake. He’d told her she could find him there.
She had to go to him and discover, once and for all, if he’d told her the truth.
She touched Ian’s arm. “I really need to rest. I’m tired.”
“Okay.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “Call if you need me. The phone still works.”
He walked away. The front door closed with a click. The rumble of his car’s engine reached her moments later. She waited a heartbeat more, then ran to the bathroom. If Calan was real, she didn’t want to meet him looking like a homeless person.
A quick shower later, she made her way across the acreage separating her from the lake where Calan told her she could find him. The closer she got to the still water, the surer she was that he’d told her the truth about his location. Her skin tingled, but not with the itchy burn she associated with her darker side. Warmth infused her, fueling her steps, exactly as it had the night she had first laid eyes on him. By the time she reached the edge of the butterfly garden, she ran, hopping over fallen logs and rocks.
He was there. Impossible or not, he was there, waiting for her. She just had to find him, exactly as foretold in her dreams.
Her hero.
He wasn’t, though. At least he wasn’t her hero. He was a Hunter who had vowed to rid the world of the Unseelie Fairy Court. If she believed his tale, anyway.
Her steps faltered, and she stumbled at the edge of grassy area surrounding the lake’s shore. Thoughts of Calan’s true nature didn’t break her stride. The sight of the lake she’d gazed at over the course of her childhood did. Where murky water once hid the view of the deep bottom, a shimmery veil of bluish-silver stretched over a sinkhole.
She approached the illusion, because that was what it had to be. She’d gone swimming in there many times. The familiar landmark had been replaced by one out of a nightmare. Below the shrouded top, a rocky slope led down. Darkness masked the bottom. She couldn’t see how far it went.
Into Hell, maybe. She pushed the thought away before her fears took hold. Her sweaty palms and racing pulse warned her how close she was to a full-blown anxiety attack. She conjured Calan’s eyes, her crutch. The memory of his pale blue orbs calmed her as it always did.
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