Fae King's Temptation (Court of Bones and Ash Book 1)

by Layla Harper

  A hunting horn sounds in the distance. My heart stutters against my rib cage.

  Gauron’s mouth drops. Then his gaze finds mine. The disbelief in his eyes must mirror my own.

  “By the spirits, it cannot be.”

  A hound bellows.

  My throat goes dry. There is no denying what we both hear. “The Wild Hunt has commenced.”

  Which can only mean one thing. Someone violated the terms of the Reckoning and either breached, or attempted to breach, the gate between Alfhemir and Earth.

  I smell war on the horizon.

  Racing for my warg, I yell, “To the eastern border.” By the ancestors, I hope I am not too late to protect what is mine. And despite my furs, a chill rushes down my spine.

  Hopping on my mount, I unleash the monster locked inside me and race to the battle I am determined to win.

  Chapter Four

  Kyra

  I open my eyes. It’s dark. My body is shivering so bad my teeth chatter. Frowning, I turn my head—or attempt to. I can’t move.

  Why can’t I move?

  Crap, my arms are locked to the side of my body. My legs too.

  Shit… am I asleep? Is this sleep paralysis?

  I blink rapidly and stare into the murkiness. I’ve never experienced sleep paralysis before, so I have no clue if this is what it’s supposed to feel like. But what else could it be? I’m awake, talking to myself, but unable to move. I’m certainly not possessed. I can’t be possessed. It’s impossible. Spirits don’t exist, right? This, whatever this is, is all in my head.

  It has to be.

  But what if I’m wrong?

  Stop it, Kyra. Just stop it. Freaking yourself out will accomplish nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  My chest heaves. Cold air rushes down my throat, sending a shiver coursing through my system. It takes me a few seconds to realize the blackness I see is a covering over my head, and then as if an internal switch is flipped on, all of my senses come online at once. Pain radiates up my right arm, stemming from a spot somewhere on the outside of my hand.

  Instinctively, I yank my hand away from the burning pressure. A warm grip tightens around my wrist, nails digging into my flesh. I flinch. A breath bursts from my lungs as my brain begins to connect the dots.

  That grip belongs to someone who is doing something to my body.

  Panic shocks my muscles into action.

  “Let me go!” I scream. Wriggling against my restraints, I struggle to free myself from the invisible weight pinning my entire body to the floor.

  A loud, guttural yell bursts from somewhere above me.

  The alien words suspend the jerking of my muscles, but they do nothing to stop the hammering of my heart against my rib cage or the swarm of ricocheting synapses firing into my nervous system.

  The person—a man, I think, by the low baritone of his voice—speaks again. The words are as foreign and unfamiliar to me as the previous set he spoke.

  Where am I? The last thing I remember is running. Running my route, the one I run every morning. Except this morning I stopped because…

  The ring.

  I stopped because I heard the hum outside the Doras Ring.

  And Rick. I saw Rick.

  Mouth suddenly dry, I swallow and think back. I remember light flashing from the center of the ring and nothing more.

  A chill totally unrelated to the freaking cold shoots through me.

  It can’t be the ring. There has to be a logical explanation for what’s happening to me.

  A voice to my left interrupts my delirium. Heat radiates over my chest as if the person is bent over my body. The burning sensation intensifies over my hand, stinging something fierce. I bite my lip, trying hard not to panic. Panic will riddle my brain with anxiety. I need to be clearheaded so I can think my way through whatever is happening to me.

  Another shiver racks my body, spreading through my torso. It was cool when I left the dorm, but the temperature now is outright freezing, like it’s about to snow. I’m lying on top of something hard, but it doesn’t feel solid. Slowly I focus my attention on my left hand, zooming in on the pads of my fingers splayed against the surface. Is that grass? Am I still on campus?

  A spark of hope ignites. There are bound to be students walking from class to class, building to building. Stonehill is a small campus in comparison to other schools, but with twenty-five hundred students enrolled, most of them living on-site, how could someone not hear my shouts?

  “Help!” I scream. “Help me.” Louder. “Somebody, please, I’m—”

  Pain slices into my stomach.

  I gasp. Before I can inhale, I’m dealt another blow. My lungs lock. Choking, I cough and sputter and wish I could turn my head in case I vomit.

  The voice to my left barks a string of commands that sound both soothing and lethal all in the same breath.

  Fear sinks her claws into my soul, deflating what little courage I’ve gathered. My eyes sting.

  I’m going to die.

  I try to slow my breathing, but my brain refuses to cooperate, focusing instead on the pain in my hand. The skin below my wrist is on fire. My legs are completely immobile, eliminating any possibility of knocking my attackers to the ground.

  Fabric rustles to my left.

  Off in the distance, a horn blares, prickling my skin.

  The discussion between my attackers grows louder, almost frenzied, and there’s a dangerous undercurrent to the foreign words buzzing from their mouths that sends goose bumps racing up my arms. Holy shit. I don’t know how I know, but something bad is coming, and every instinct inside me is pushing me to run.

  I fight the restraints, but it’s useless. My only option is to lie here—wherever here is—and wait for an opportunity to escape.

  The man to my right speaks one word. It rakes over my skin and streams down my flesh, seizing my muscles and sinking its fangs into my bones. My heart stops. Heat fires my skin.

  Groaning, I curl onto my side, cough, sputter, and attempt to breathe through the pain when I realize… I’m free.

  I’m free!

  I rip the covering from my head to find I’m surrounded by tall trees. A bitter breeze sets my teeth chattering anew.

  Not wasting any time, I spring to my feet and take off through the trees before my attackers realize their error. My gaze flings from side to side. No concrete paths. No brick buildings. No pond. No Doras Ring. Just miles and miles of forest.

  How long was I out? And where the hell am I that it’s so freaking cold?

  I hear noises up ahead. I can’t distinguish if they’re animal sounds or bad guy grunts, so I forge ahead, pumping my arms and pushing my legs as fast as they’ll go.

  Fear is starting to do bad things to my insides. I can’t hyperventilate. I can’t. Not now. Not until I’m somewhere safe. A place where I can stop and make sense of this craziness without losing my mind.

  Something crashes against my back.

  I stumble, flailing my arms in the air in a futile attempt to catch my balance. I hit the ground hard, landing on my left shoulder with a loud “oomph.” Groaning, I quickly roll onto my hands and knees and freeze.

  Three men circle me.

  Wait, are those masks?

  Because if those aren’t masks over their heads, then three humanoid-looking men are staring at me through yellow eyes like I’m a dinner buffet on legs.

  I scramble back, the heels of my shoes slipping against the damp earth. This has got to be a nightmare. I’m probably lying on campus, unconscious, having the nightmare of all nightmares. I pinch my arm. Wake up, Kyra. Fucking wake up, Kyra.

  The guy in the center steps forward aggressively, cocks his head, and then bares a row of nasty-looking pointed teeth.

  “Nice costume,” I whimper. He’s short, about five feet tall to my five-eleven. “Look, if this is some kind of cosplay, I’m really sorry to interrupt.” I stand up and look over my shoulder before refocusing on the three gnarly dudes closing in on me. “I honestly ha
ve no idea how I got here.”

  The guy to my left growls. Like a dog. Vibrations and all.

  My eyes widen and sweep from the green guy on the far right to the growling dude on my left. What I see clashes with my take on reality. Green-skinned, dwarfy-looking people with really, really big ears and slightly hooked noses aren’t real. Not in America. Or Canada. Or wherever else I may have been transported in the short time I was unconscious.

  The middle dude snaps out a clawed hand to grab me.

  Adrenaline kicks in. I jump back, pivot, and bolt through the forest, running in the opposite direction of where my abductors originally left me. Three pairs of feet stomp behind me, edging closer and closer and closer…

  The ground shakes. A rumbling roar echoes through the trees.

  I don’t dare look back. I’m fast, but I’m already running at my top speed, and the green men are advancing. With my lungs bursting out of my chest, I start to worry that I might not outrun them. If I were the praying type, now would be a good time to belt out a couple of novenas. But God’s never been my friend, not when I was small and alone, and certainly not now when I’m grown and capable.

  The thought vanishes from my head when a herd of giant beasts explodes through the tree line. A scream locks in my throat. I skid and whip around, but the dwarfy guys are at my heels. I decide to sprint left, but a giant wolf appears out of nowhere, slobber dripping from its sharp teeth. Two, three, four… I count eight massive wolflike creatures, each carrying giant, pointy-eared riders.

  I stare open-mouthed for what feels like an eternity.

  One of the giants roars and waves a sword in the air, then jumps off his mount. He swaggers in my direction while shooting a death glare at the growling dwarfy-dudes, who are brandishing their own weapons.

  And what do I do?

  I laugh. I mean, what else is a girl supposed to do amid the craziest nightmare known to man? Because the reality is, if I’m truly awake and this isn’t a dream, then I’m about to die. If not at the hands of the green men behind me, then undeniably by the gargantuan warriors front and center. Or their beasts. My only other option is to run, and let’s face it, in this cold, it’s only a matter of time before I succumb to hypothermia. Which leaves me with crazy giggles over death for the win, please.

  The other giants hop off their enormous, yellow-eyed mounts and unsheathe humongous swords. Several of the beasts stretch their massive bodies. A few shake out their fur, the gray pelt appearing soft to the touch. The seven-foot giant sauntering over to me snaps his teeth, wrenching my attention away from the monsters to the behemoth prowling toward me.

  I jerk and take several steps back, craning my neck to get a good look at him. The other titans hang back, eyes peeled on the green men, and the man exuding authority and power from every pore of his body.

  He must be their leader.

  At five-eleven, I’m tall. But this guy? He’s got a good twelve inches over me. A broad, double-wide chest is hidden beneath a fur-lined cloak. I catch the glint of armor at his shoulders, a blue tunic over brown leather pants, and ropy forearms. Several sheaths are strapped to muscular thighs, and his boots almost reach his knees. I’d bet there isn’t an ounce of fat on his powerful body. My gaze slides up to the long black hair pulled away from his face, tied at the back of his head, reminiscent of the Viking hairstyles of old. Braids fall along the sides of his face, revealing long, pointy ears. They’re not as long or as wide as the dwarfy guys, but still inhuman.

  My mouth dries. I’m facing a black-haired Legolas on mega steroids.

  How hard did I hit my head?

  Red-tinged eyes narrow and wipe the dopey smile off my face.

  Yep. Totally not human.

  Nope.

  And not a man either. Alien maybe?

  I swallow, ease back another step or three, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m sandwiched in between my tiny green friends behind me and these warrior elves and their hungry beasts.

  The leader holds my gaze. His eyes soften. Or maybe I imagine they do. When he speaks, his voice has a gruff, almost husky edge to it.

  I shake my head. “English?” I know a few Portuguese words, but that’s as far as my language skills go.

  He frowns and says something over his shoulder, then gives me a “stay put” gesture with his hand. When he turns to the green men, his expression sharpens to fiercely scary, and this time when he speaks, his voice mirrors the menace emanating from his hulking physique.

  Three of his men crowd behind me, spreading out to form a living barrier.

  Oh no. This can’t be good.

  I tense.

  In a blur of speed, the leader charges the green men. Metal clashes against metal. Roars and grunts precede spurting blood and rolling heads. The melee is over in less than a minute, and where three dwarfy men once stood, there now lies decapitated corpses and ravaged body parts.

  Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

  Dodging the clutches of the nearest warrior, I cover my mouth and run for the woods. I don’t get far. Powerful hands grab me from behind and lift me completely off the ground so fast my head spins. I’m gently deposited before the leader’s house-sized body.

  His red-eyed stare is intense. He steps back to give me space, I think, but he looks ready to charge should I run again. An equally tall warrior with a scar running down the length of his cheek stands beside him. His eyes are amber, a rich honey yellow I’ve never seen before today.

  Glancing between the two, I take in my surroundings. We’re standing in a small clearing hedged by woods. His men are close, too close for me to escape. They stand stock-still yet alert, probably waiting for a signal from the leader to act.

  The scarred warrior murmurs something to his boss, who continues to stare me down. I assume they’re talking about me, but I must look panicked because the warrior is careful not to make any sudden movements.

  The leader nods to his buddy, and without shifting his deep russet gaze from me, he barks something that sounds like “Sa nooey after weakness.”

  In unison the men behind me—no, not men, pointy-eared males—mount their wolf beasts and gallop through the trees.

  I spin around to face the two titans left, and my heart stutters in my chest.

  Oh crap. Oh bloody crap. What do I do? Run? Fight?

  The leader extends his hands out, palms facing me. He turns his right hand in and touches his chest, then speaks a word I can’t quite understand.

  Wait…

  Is he attempting to communicate with me? He wouldn’t do that if he were planning to kill me, right?

  I squint and shake my head.

  He touches his chest, and this time I hear him say, “Rogar.”

  Rogar?

  Rogar has to be a name. His name?

  “Rogar,” he says again, then points at me.

  I laugh nervously. Maybe I’m not dying after all. Tapping my collarbone, I say, “Kyra. My name is Kyra.”

  “Ki-rah,” he repeats slowly, rolling the R with his thick accent. A strange sensation shoots through my body. “Kyra.” He points at me, then retouches his breastbone. “Rogar.”

  “Rogar.” My smile is weak. I’m not sure if this is a trap or if my luck has truly changed, but I’m wary all the same.

  The red-haired guard elbows Rogar. Both men drop their gazes to the hand I’m cradling against my stomach.

  I follow their line of sight and wince. No wonder my skin burns. Etched onto the outside of my right hand is a tattoo shaped like the Doras Ring. The skin around the design is angry and swollen. Blood continues to ooze, smearing against the circular symbols encased in crusted blood. I’m careful not to touch the wound with my dirty fingertip. Of course, if my abductor failed to sanitize his implement, a little dirt is the least of my problems.

  Great. If I don’t die from the infection, I’ll have to spend a small fortune removing the tattoo. I am so pissed I could spit.

  “I don’t suppose either of you knows how to undo this?”
Shaking my head, I point to my hand. I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like these two can understand a word I say.

  When I look up, both warriors are staring at my hand, and not in a horrified-for-Kyra kind of way. Blood drains from my face, rushing down to my feet to form blocks of ice. No, what I see isn’t concern. They’re are staring at me like I’m a problem that needs to be eliminated.

  The Doras Ring must represent something ominous if the mere sight of the symbol on my hand generates the ferocious expression both men are wearing.

  Another chill races through my body.

  “Um, I-I don’t know what this tattoo means.” I take a step back. “But I can assure you I had nothing to do with it. I swear.”

  The leader runs a hand over his face. He lets out a ragged sigh like he’s resolved himself to do something he’s not entirely happy about.

  I don’t wait to find out what that is. I’m running before the breath dries on his lips.

  Chapter Five

  Rogar

  The human’s scent lingers in the air, sweet like the petals of a wild Xanata bloom, a rare blossom found on the slopes of the Infernal Mountains.

  “I thought mortals were lazy,” Gauron muses. “This one runs like the winds of Moira at every turn. How long do you think it’ll take her to realize she’s running in the wrong direction?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.” Gauron wrinkles his nose. “Not with that scent.”

  We watch her disappear into the woods.

  “You should’ve killed her when you had the chance.”

  I growl because he is right. Eliminating the human is the easy solution, especially with the slave mark branded to her flesh. By the ancestors, could this day get any worse?

  Gauron folds his arms across his chest and rocks back on his heels. “Are you sure the goblins chased her into Drengskador?”

  “Yes.” And I would bet my best sword that the goblin king is involved in the attack. But something tells me he is not working alone.

  “What would they have to gain? Unless…” Gauron looks at me, his expression sobering. “There is another player hiding in the shadows.”