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

by Layla Harper

  Throaty haw haw haws croak overhead, the sound piercing my ears. Four ravens follow our escape. They’re relentless in their pursuit.

  “The Baobhan Sith’s bite will kill a male.” Aelinor presses her body against my back, her weight shoving my cheek against the horse’s crest. “And turn a female.”

  “Turn how? Like into big birds?” Wind lashes my face. Dark shadows descend through the tree canopy.

  Aelinor shifts in the saddle, steering the horse to the left. “Don’t let them catch you, human.”

  “Not planning on it,” I say between gasps, my thighs clenching against horse flesh.

  Sharp talons clamp onto the horse’s snout, and I gasp. The animal neighs, the sound a painful squeal. “Shoo, you stupid birds.” I throw my rolled-up musky top, the one I’d refused to wear, at the creature and nearly slide off the horse. Another raven joins the first, digging its claws into the horse’s eyes. I continue to yell, tears blurring my vision.

  A wall of mist forms ahead, its dappled shroud a sharp contrast against the portentous darkness looming ahead. I shift my gaze to the starless sky, but the next thing I know, I’m flying off the horse’s back. I crash to the ground, my back taking the brunt of the fall.

  Lying there, too stunned to think, I open my mouth to inhale but can’t.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I can’t breathe.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Sit up.

  Slowly, I try to let air back into my lungs. Aelinor is on her feet, nocking and shooting arrows into the canopy like a pro. A weird shimmering light around the bird’s black feathers causes the arrows to rebound. And, even stranger, they’re arching their wings oddly.

  What the hell?

  I forget about my spasming diaphragm and curl into a sitting position. The ravens morph into something else. Into…

  Women?

  No, not women. I see nothing but blazing eyes, sharp claws, and deadly fangs.

  Vampires.

  They’re freaking vampires!

  The mist coils low to the ground, rushing toward me like a hungry basilisk. Aelinor throws her bow and reaches for her sword. My eyes land on the riser. Now that I can work with.

  I push myself to stand. One of the perks of being a poor, parentless, inner-city kid is that sometimes local businesses sponsor events and fundraisers that actually make a difference in a kid’s life. During one of those occasions, an archery vendor enrolled me in a beginner’s class. The program only lasted twelve weeks, but it was the best twelve weeks of my fourteen-year-old life.

  I dart for the bow and slam into the mist. Shadows take shape around my body, the color alternating from brown to henna to mutating shades of green matching the foliage around me. The force within the funnel drives me back, away from Aelinor and the ravens charging at her.

  “No.” No. No. No. No.

  At the sound of my voice, Aelinor glances over her shoulder. Her gaze whips from left to right, then briefly settles on the dying horse before she refocuses on the attacking vampires.

  She can’t see me.

  I stab my hand through the mist. It’s like slicing through ten feet of jelly. “You can’t do this. You need to let me out. I can help her.”

  The shade doesn’t budge.

  Grunting, Aelinor side-kicks one vampire in the chest, sending the creature tumbling back with an angry shriek. The shaman quickly jumps into position to thwart the next attack, using her momentum to strike her opponent’s neck. The head lops off and rolls several feet away.

  Screeching wildly, the third vampire launches herself at the shaman, deadly claws inches away from embedding into Aelinor’s back. She pivots in time to block the vampire’s assault but trips over the decapitated body. Before the two enraged vampires descend upon her, she jumps to her feet and bolts for the woods. The frustrated screams of the vampires echo in her wake as they follow.

  Panic rises in my throat. I can’t stand here helpless while everyone around me fights to the death. We left a flock of ravens behind. Rogar could already be dead.

  “Ugh. You can’t do this.” Fisting my hands, I squeeze my eyes shut. If my words won’t work, then what? Feelings? Images?

  “Look, thank you. Thank you for protecting me. I appreciate it. But my friend’s lives are just as important. They’re in danger. You need to let me out, or…” I look around. “Extend your mist out to Rogar. Protect him. Protect Gauron and Aelinor.”

  The temperature inside the funnel drops.

  This isn’t working. I’m going to piss off a magical entity, and then it’s going to freeze me to death inside an oversized misty popsicle. I need to approach this another way.

  With my eyes still closed, I imagine the vampires surrounding Rogar. I see myself standing twenty feet away with the bow in my hand.

  The mist thickens, closing in around the exposed skin on my scalp, face, and neck. A shiver ripples down my arms, raising goose bumps.

  “Stay close if it makes you feel better. But I can help him.” I envision the arrow slicing through a vampire’s heart. I recall memories at the archery range. Mr. Janik’s instruction. The smile on his face every time I hit my target. “Release me.”

  I open my eyes.

  The mist wavers.

  I run through the shroud, grab the bow from the ground—it’s some type of longbow—and salvage the three arrows scattered near the two dead vampires. I debate on pulling the one lodged into the vampire’s eyeball, but my unruly stomach sways my decision. Aelinor is about my height, so I’m hoping our draw length is similar. Of course, she’s an elf with magic who probably has superhuman strength to boot.

  Fuck. I better be able to draw this bow.

  Holding the weapon in one hand and the arrows in the other, I backtrack to where we left Rogar and Gauron. When I reach the site, the scene before me is right out of a porn horror flick. Blood drips from the mouths of several naked women—er, vampires. It appears that for the guys, they’ve not only perfumed the air with their stinky cheese-scented pheromone, but they’ve reeled in their weird glowing eyes, fluffed their hair, and tapered the snarls.

  Moving confidently around each of the men on hoofed feet—I gape, do a double take, yep, hoofed—the vampires make cooing sounds, more hum than rattle, while flicking their tongues along bloodied lips.

  A group of four surrounds Rogar. He moves with the grace of a predator, sword gripped in one hand, battle-ax in the other. The vampires taunt him.

  “I can ease your lust, warrior,” one promises.

  “Oooh, the Black King. I can’t wait to run my claws down your back.”

  “Would you like these lips wrapped around your cock?”

  I want to smash my fist into every bewitching face to silence the mockery.

  Rogar moves with precision and delivers a lethal blow to the vampire on his left. But as quickly as he moves, the vampires move faster. It’s all he can do with his speed and strength to keep from being gouged by those sharp-tipped claws.

  Gauron is at the other end, his back almost to a tree, fighting off three vampires who continue to drive him farther away from Rogar. The rattle in their throats turns into a low moan, a soft din varying in pitch. The sound sends chills up my spine, but for Gauron, I think it has the opposite effect. His face is contorted. He wipes sweat from his forehead and thrusts his sword, drawing his brows together as if he’s fighting to concentrate.

  Or ward off a mental attack.

  Can the Bavansee whatever do that?

  Fending off another attack, he mumbles, “Mog. Gromron Shadowblood. The dregs of Uther. The blood of Myrkur the Dark.”

  His words make no sense.

  Is he sick? There are gashes on his arms and legs. If he were poisoned, he’d sweat. He’d probably mumble incoherently too. Maybe the vampire claws are poison-tipped?

  Rogar’s second is in deep shit.

  We need a distraction.

  The blond vampire lashes at Gauron while the other two advance together. They’re herding him back
toward the tree. But why?

  I tilt my head to view the branches above. A vampire sits crouched on the limb, hidden by the canopy, waiting to jump. From the corner of my eye, I see another charging toward Rogar. He’s thrusting and blocking, using both weapons in tandem against the two vampires left standing. But his back is completely exposed to the new threat.

  I’m running before I realize what I’m doing. To Gauron, I yell, “Above you.”

  I nock the arrow and aim, focusing my shot at the she-devil approaching Rogar. I breathe and still, letting instinct take over. I raise my arm, draw the string back to my face, anchoring with my finger at my jaw, and then let the arrow fly. I forgot how hard that initial pull could be.

  My aim is true. The arrow pierces the vampire’s back, the tip protruding through the front of her body. She collapses. I nailed her in the heart.

  Rogar whirls around. His attackers are in pieces. Blood drips from his blades. His gaze falls to the dead vampire, then lifts to me. I see a flicker of surprise, and then the corner of his mouth lifts into a sexy smile.

  I suck in a breath. The man is too hot for words.

  A blood-curdling howl rings out. Startling, I lurch left to the sound’s origin. Gauron is in his orc form, massive and terrifying, huge fangs protruding from his mouth. His back is on the ground. A vampire on his chest. A second about to lunge, two dead on the ground.

  I nock the next arrow. Aim. Release.

  And miss.

  Shit.

  I seat the last arrow and fire. It slams into the standing vampire’s shoulder. She jerks her head. And snarls.

  Fuck.

  Rogar races to Gauron’s side. With a roar, he swings his massive ax, severing the vampire’s trunk above the waist. Meanwhile, Gauron wraps his huge claws around the temples of the vampire straddling his chest. He twists until bone and sinew snap. With a growl, he throws the head and shoves the mangled body off his torso.

  Bile rises in my throat. I gag but don’t look away. I run to where Rogar bends over his friend, careful not to trip over the vampire parts scattered around him.

  The king presses his hands over the gaping wounds on his second’s chest. The vampire ripped Gauron open. Dark red blood streams down the side of his waist. He attempts to sit up, then falls back. “You know what this means?”

  In his orc form, Gauron’s voice is a guttural barrage of phonemes and syllables.

  “What?” Rogar tears a piece of cloth from his tunic and sticks it over the wound beneath his palm to staunch the blood.

  “I’m truly the pretty one. See? I’m an irresistible diversion.”

  Rogar snorts. “The pretty one will be spit polishing my boots if he does not keep still.” There is a softness to Rogar’s tone that breaks my heart. “I have a good pair I am planning to kick your ass with.” He shakes his head. “What were you thinking?”

  Gauron laughs, though it quickly turns into a gurgling cough. “It’s all part of my evil plan to steal your glory, my lord.” His fangs recede into his mouth as his body shifts back into the Gauron I know. He hisses out a breath. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough that you will need the elf’s aid.”

  “Cursed luck,” Gauron groans. “Stuff a handful of leaves in there and tie me up. It’ll be better than the shite she’ll formulate from bog and moss. Have you smelled her poultices?” He makes a gagging sound.

  Ignoring his second, Rogar turns to me. His normally confident expression is wrenched with worry. “Get Aelinor.”

  The urgency in his voice has me gripping the bow. “Hang in there, Gauron.” I turn and jog a few steps when I hear Rogar’s call.

  “Female.”

  I whip around.

  He looks torn. It must kill him to send me back into the woods alone when he’s sworn to protect me.

  “It’s okay. I can do this.” I hold up the bow and jut my chin to Gauron. “Keep him alive until I get back.”

  Rogar nods and his expression darkens. “We have no allies in these woods. Do not be deceived by a cordial appearance. Kill anything that moves.”

  With fresh arrows and Gauron’s quiver cinched around my waist, I retrace my steps. Aelinor should have emerged from the woods by now. I’d been so worried about Rogar, I didn’t stop to think about what might have happened to her. When I last saw her, she’d been fighting off two vampires. Alone.

  Crap.

  My legs move faster.

  From my peripheral vision, I spot the mist. My supernatural stalker keeps pace, weaving its diaphanous body between trunks and bushes with ease. Part of me feels safer with its presence nearby, but the other part not so much. That side has watched too many horror flicks to be comfortable with an unknown entity tracking alongside me.

  Up ahead, I can barely make out the outlines of the two vampires Aelinor killed. But before I can reach them, a warg bursts through the trees. I gasp and jump midstride. The giant wolf lands beside me, huge claws digging into the dirt.

  Gray.

  Shit. I don’t have time for this.

  The warg’s fur is matted with black blood. Scratches gouge his snout. He looks almost as bad as Gauron. Common knowledge dictates one should never approach a wild animal when hurt, especially a car-sized critter. But what the hell do you do when the animal approaches you?

  I lock my muscles in place to keep from moving, but my entire body shakes from the heaving breaths purging out of my lungs. I stretch my hand toward him. “Looks like you got into a scuffle with the vampires.”

  Gray whimpers and nudges my hand with his wet nose.

  “Gauron is hurt. We need to find Aelinor.”

  He growls.

  “My sentiments exactly.” I kick into a slow jog, the mist curling to my left and the wounded wolf limp-running to my right. Oh my freaking word. What am I, the Pied Piper of supernatural beings?

  Five minutes later, I see Aelinor kneeling over a large shape.

  The shaman’s head snaps up when I approach. Vapor emits from her mouth. A leather saddle is attached to the large mass by her knees. It’s some breed of animal judging by the saddle and the amount of skin sinking between its rib cage.

  My stomach goes sour.

  She isn’t kneeling over a random animal. It’s the desiccated remains of the horse we’d ridden.

  Gray growls and the mist swirls around my ankles.

  I hold deathly still. I have no idea what I’m witnessing, but every instinct screams for me to run, yet I can’t help but think there’s a logical explanation for why she’s kneeling there. Maybe some shamanic ritual to send the animal’s spirit to rest? I’m grasping at straws, but what else could it be? “What are you doing?”

  Aelinor rises and grabs the sword on the ground beside the horse’s remains. Her lips curl with disgust. “You did this.”

  Not a question. A statement.

  “You think… ” Ignoring the mist thickening at my heels and the growling warg to my right, I get within two feet of Aelinor and throw my arm out, pointing to the carcass. “You think I did that? Me? A mere human?”

  Gray’s snarl grows louder.

  “You and I were the only two here.”

  I keep my mouth from gaping. “With what magic? And if magic didn’t do this, then what? A twitch of my nose? No, wait. Hidden suction cups on my fingertips?” I can’t believe I have to defend myself from this mind-blowing accusation. “Look, we’re all under a lot of stress. I tried to save that horse. I didn’t do this.” How could she not see that?

  Aelinor’s gaze drops down to the barrier of fog forming between us. “Perhaps not physically, so you sicced your mist on the unfortunate creature and extracted its life force for your own nefarious reasons.”

  You have got to be kidding me.

  “You might deceive the king with this frail, innocent act of yours, but I see through you, human. I’m no longer blinded by your wiles.”

  “I’m going to ignore the diarrhea spilling out of your mouth right now. We have more important issues to dea
l with. Gauron was injured in the vampire attack. Rogar needs—”

  Aelinor bolts by Gray and me before I can finish my sentence.

  The mist disappears, leaving me alone and baffled beside the giant wolf. Slowly, I spin around and take in the damage before returning my attention to the husk of skin and bone by my feet.

  “What the hell is capable of doing that to a horse?”

  Gray blows air out of his snout. His freaky yellow eyes narrow on the carcass as if he’s seriously considering my question.

  At least he’s not growling.

  Or accusing me of sucking the life out of a helpless animal.

  I throw one last look at the remains and then make my way back to Rogar with an injured warg limping at my side.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rogar

  “Are you listening to me, Rogar?”

  I inhale deeply, tension mounting at the back of my neck.

  “The horse’s remains were desiccated. Its life force completely drained like the bodies of the sentries found by the border.”

  “And you think Kyra is responsible?” I cannot hide the skepticism lacing my tone. Kyra was nowhere near the winter realm when those guards were attacked.

  “If not her, then who?”

  My gaze strays to the woman in question. Brushing dark hair from her forehead with her arm, Kyra retrieves a piece of cloth from a bowl and rings water from the fabric. Gray sits on his haunches, eyeing the cloth in her hands with menace.

  “The killings were near identical in their execution. A fact you can’t ignore.”

  “These are serious accusations, Aelinor. What evidence do you have?”

  My cousin swings her silver-blond hair over a shoulder. “I lost sight of her after she was thrown from the horse, but no one else was in those woods, Rogar. No one but her and me.”

  “And the Baobhan Sith,” I remind her before squeezing the bridge of my nose. “There has to be another explanation. She is human.” And mine.

  “Then how do you explain that?” Aelinor tips her chin in Kyra’s direction.

  Holding the damp rag to Gray’s fur, my mate blots blood from his coat. A vat of Aelinor’s healing poultice sits by her knee.