by Sophie Oak
The sun had set. They’d eaten a small meal, but still Roan held fast to the after midnight rule. Hours and hours of waiting. Hours when they were supposed to get some rest for the hard night ahead. Hours neither of them intended to spend. But they couldn’t just make a mad dash for it. They had to play it cautiously. For all they knew, Roan was watching them.
“Let me know if I can do anything else to help you.” Rachel nodded as she stepped toward the ladder that led down to the barn floor. She stopped at the top, just as her feet hit the first rung. Her face turned down and her voice quieted. “Should I do anything for him?”
Shim held back a grin. Duffy was “patrolling” the barn, his axe on his shoulder. He’d sighed and gotten up from the dinner table when Roan had told them all to get a few hours of sleep before they headed out. He’d announced that he would watch over the princes. Shim would bet Duffy would be asleep in fifteen minutes. He’d always been able to sleep in the oddest of places, ever since they were children. If Duffy wasn’t moving with a manic animation, he was snoozing, often against his or Lach’s arm. “Don’t worry about Duff. He’s a tough one.”
Rachel nodded and disappeared. The minute Shim heard the door close, he turned to his brother.
Lach was already on his feet, a pack in his hand. “I took one of the vamps’ packs. He was already asleep. He won’t notice it’s gone until they’re ready to go. By then, it won’t matter. We’ll be gone. It’s got meal pills, a tablet, everything we could need. We’ll find solid food on the way, but the meal pills should work.”
It was exactly what he’d feared. Shim didn’t move. “Lach, give it an hour. Roan is still awake. The Harper kids are still running all over the place. And we need to get not only us but two horses out of here.”
There was a gentle nicker from down below. “Why two, Your Highness, when one would be easier and so much faster?”
There was a sound like the rushing of water and then a man with shaggy black hair climbed up the ladder. Shim did a double take because the man wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. He was young and very fit, but his hair was a wild nest of darkness, his eyes an amber yellow.
This was the phooka in his human form—a rare sight.
“Are you planning on killing us now?” Lach asked, no real worry in his voice. He had an amused air of expectation around him. It was a fair question. Phookas tended to hide their true form from all, though they had been known to imprint on sidhe from time to time, usually as younglings.
“Which of the Harpers do you belong to?” Shim asked, his mind making the leap.
The phooka grinned, a flash of sharp teeth. “Max. The idiot doesn’t even know I’ve been around him most of his life. He saved me when I was just a child. Some nasty sidhe killed me ma. I took to dog form, and Max took me in. He fed me and healed me wounds. I stayed with him for many years as a dog. Then I took hawk form and finally this one. I take the form needed to protect him. I came to him in my horse form a few months back. It’s the first time I’ve talked to him.” He growled a little. “He doesn’t make it easy to repay my debt. He’s reckless and obnoxious, but he has a good heart. And the children.” He sighed. “I’ve come to care for the little buggers.”
Lach leaned forward, studying the phooka. “Or you’re a tricky bastard and you’re feeding us a huge line of crap in order to create chaos.”
The phooka shrugged. “Or that. I don’t care what you believe, but I’m your best bet to get out of here before those vamps shut you down. Poor little princes. No one ever lets you play. Do you really think you can rescue your princess without getting yourselves killed? You can’t even control your own powers. You’re just as likely to torch her, aren’t you, Shim. Don’t worry, your brother here can bring her back to life. Well, he can bring her corpse back. Do it quick, Lach, before she starts to stink.”
Lach stood, his massive hands clenched into fists. There was practically steam coming out his brother’s ears, and that was Shim’s job. “Get out.”
Shim held a hand out. “Don’t be so quick, Lach. It’s his nature. But it’s also his nature to help his master.”
Amber eyes rolled. “He ain’t me master. He’s me friend, and yes, I want to help him. I was just making a wee joke about the stinking corpses. Come on, man, it was funny. Like the dog today. Damn thing tried to wag half a tail.”
The phooka laughed, the sound a bit maniacal, but he was right. Not about the half-tailed dog, but he was fast in his horse form and phookas were known to be hard to see unless they wanted to be seen.
“You know where Tuathanas is?” Shim asked.
Lach moved to sit beside his brother, a scowl on his face. “I’m sure he knows where everything is.”
The phooka scratched at his scruffy head. “I do, indeed. And I swear on all that Danu’s given me, I’m not lying. I want Torin out as much as the rest of you. Probably more since I don’t have anywhere else to go. There’s no kingdom waiting for me. There’s only this farm and those Fae, and Torin will kill us all if something doesn’t change. We’ve been safe here in the mountains. He hasn’t had the inclination to attack, but he will eventually and we’ll fall. So I’m offering you a deal, one time only, Your Highnesses. I shall carry you to the princess. I will be your ally. Me word is me bond. And I expect that you’ll treat your ally with every due care.”
The phooka’s amber eyes burned in the dim light of the barn.
Lach looked at Shim and slowly nodded.
Shim took the phooka’s hand. “Allies.”
The phooka’s hand tightened and his form wavered. “Don’t forget it, Your Highness. Don’t forget what we do to those who cross us. I’m the boogey man. I know what your fear is.” He turned those burning eyes to Lach. “And his radiates off him.”
The phooka changed, his hand releasing Shim’s. His form shimmered and reassembled itself. Shim shuddered and crawled back at what he saw sitting in front of him.
“Ain’t this what you both fear deep down?” The phooka’s voice spoke, but it was through Shim’s own lips.
Shim sat in front of himself, his smile wide and calm, but the rest of him was on fire, the flames flaring out and crackling, little tendrils of heat and agony pointing like accusatory fingers.
“Look at me. I’m brighter than the sun and a whole lot more deadly. I can’t control meself. I’ll burn down everyone I love.” The phooka changed, taking on Lach’s likeness, but this was a different Lach than the brother Shim knew. This Lach was sunken, all the light in his face gone as though someone had snuffed his candle out and what was left behind was a ruined, useless wick. Death hung on this Lach, a cloak he’d donned and wrapped around his soul. Maggots crawled on his arms, and a black-eyed rat poked its head from under his collar. “Lord of the Dead. Who could love you? Who wants a cold embrace when they could have a hot one? Is there an inch of you that truly lives, Death Lord?”
And then the phooka was a slight, wild-haired man again, his eyes narrowed. “Yes, I know what scares you both. Don’t you forget it when the going gets tough and someone like me is easy to leave behind. Know that you can never really leave me. I would be with you for always and always, a little nightmare under your bed.”
The phooka smiled as though they had been having a pleasant conversation. He tipped his head. “Meet me in an hour out back, and be ready to fly.”
The phooka disappeared, and they heard the rush of air and then a whinny signaling he was again a horse. There was the sound of hooves on the floor and then all was silent.
Lach got up and stared down at the floor of the barn. “I’m thinking once that fucker’s dead, he’s mine. How would you like that, phooka? How would you like dangling on my strings, dancing when I tell you to dance?”
Shim sighed. He was still shaken, but the truth was it was no surprise to him. “Leave him be, Lach. He didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. You’re afraid of what I’ll do, and I’m scared of losing you to the darkness.”
Lach scrubbed a han
d through his hair as he paced. “Why do you always come off sounding better than me? Though I still think I have the better idea. It can be hard on the road. Horses make good jerky. He’ll have a damn hard time sneaking under my bed when the bastard’s in my belly.”
There was a long whinny, but Shim would have sworn that horse was laughing. Lach sat down on the cot, his anger dissipating. “He has a point.”
“His kind always does.” It was sort of the point of the phooka and other tricksters like him. They knew how to go for the throat.
“Why would she ever want me? I make dead things crawl. I’m utterly useless unless you want to pet your dead dog one last time.” Lach sighed. “Maybe that’s why our connection isn’t as strong. Do you think she can feel how cold I am?”
Shim thought about planting a fist in the phooka’s muzzle, but they really did need him. “You aren’t cold, Lach.” He started to say something else, but then he felt it. Panic. Disorientation. Pain in his head like someone was taking a hammer to him.
Bronwyn was awake.
“I can feel her,” Lach whispered, his hand going to the back of his head. “I’m going to kill those guards. Can you talk to her?”
“Only when we’re sleeping and you know how it is then.” His heart was nearly stopped in his chest. Bronwyn was struggling. He could feel her panic and her intent. She was going to try to escape. In that one moment, she didn’t care that she would likely be killed. She simply wanted it to be over.
Lach took a deep breath. “We have to focus. We have to get her to calm down.”
Shim’s hands were shaking. “I’m open to suggestions, brother. She transmits well, but she never listens.”
“Make her.”
Shim could feel Lach’s will pressing on him. It was a palpable thing.
“What are you doing?” Shim asked.
“I’m opening myself up. I’m done letting this thing control me. We need power to connect us to her. Well, I know where my power comes from, and there’s a trail of dead between us and her. I can feel it, Shim. I can use it to push my way into her head.”
Shim took a deep breath and understood what Lach was doing. The phooka had shown them what they didn’t want to face. They feared each other. They feared themselves. But what if they didn’t have to? What if they could figure out a way to control it, to use their natural elements to fuel their power and not the other way around?
Shim closed his eyes, trying to push Bron’s panic aside. He felt the fire in the Harper’s hearth. The power rushed along his skin. That fire led to another, a stronger fire, a bonfire somewhere along the road. It was all connected, a line of flame and heat that bounced to another. Each one he grabbed hold of flared, possibly sending the Fae who sat around it reeling back a bit, but Shim kept control. The fire didn’t bloom out, burning anyone. He could do this.
Lead me to her.
He breathed deeply, the smell of flames and smoldering embers filling his every sense. This was his home, given to him the day he’d bonded with his mate, connecting him to the other half of his soul.
“So many dead,” his brother whispered.
Lach’s power was a cold chill that ran up Shim’s spine. His brother was so strong, but he feared his gifts. “Yes, so many dead who can lead the way to Bronwyn. Don’t stop.”
“I have her.” Lach opened his mind and, sure enough, Shim felt her. The connection was right there, stronger than ever.
Shim grabbed it, letting go of his own hunt, the fires dying down for now. “Hold the connection, Lach. Can you do it?”
Lach’s voice was firm and in control. “I have it. She’s in a jail. There’s a cemetery a short distance from it, but the place is coated in death. It’s easy, Shim. I can see her. Gods, I can feel how scared she is. She’s going to try something foolish.”
“Stop, a stoirin.” Shim put a wealth of power behind the word. He shoved every dominant trait he possessed into that one word, sending it over the line that ran from him to Lach to Bronwyn.
Nothing.
“She can’t hear,” Lach said. “But I think she can feel. I clenched my fists and she clenched hers almost like she was answering me. Shim, she’s trying to work the lock open. I think there’s a guard right outside her door. They’ll kill her, or we could lose her. She could run and we wouldn’t be able to find her. The war is about to start.”
Shim knew all the ways this could quickly go very, very badly. “We have to calm her down.”
She wasn’t listening, or talking didn’t work the way they thought it did. This connection was new to them. To be able to communicate when they were all conscious was brand-new territory. But if she could feel, then Shim knew what to do.
“Hold the connection, brother,” he said to his other half. “I know just how to turn our little mate’s mind to something that won’t get her killed.”
* * * *
Bronwyn stopped. She shuddered, the cold threatening to overtake her. They hadn’t even left a blanket in the cold, dank cell they’d tossed her into. There was nothing but a cot and a bucket. She didn’t like to think about what the bucket was for.
Her head ached. She wondered if Ove was even alive.
She had to get out of here. She had to. If she stayed the night, they would execute her in the morning.
Goddess, what had she done? She’d felt the heat in her hands, rolling up from her soul. She’d called it. It had been hers to command. Little Ove had been lying on the ground, her fragile body seconds from being kicked apart by brutal feet. She hadn’t thought. She’d acted and the world around her had gone up in flames. It had been natural. She hadn’t feared the fire.
But she was afraid of the cold she felt now.
She had to ignore it. She was scared. Sure she was. She was locked in a prison. She had every right to be scared. Her head throbbed. What had happened? She remembered everything up to the fire coursing through her veins. She was a pyromancer. It was the only explanation. She needed to come to terms with it. It could help her enormously.
She was done. Watching sweet little Ove lie there in the dirt had crystalized her resolve. She needed to stop hiding. One way or another, she was going to be Bronwyn again. In life. In death. If Torin was looking for her, maybe it was time to make herself available to the rebels. Gillian was wrong. Her only job wasn’t to stay alive. Her job was to fight.
She looked around her small cell. They hadn’t placed her in the jail, but in the private cell of the sheriff’s office. A thick oak door with a small rectangular hole stood in the way of her and freedom. She had to get out. Staring at the door, she tried to call the fire forth.
Nothing.
Her palms were cold, not hot. And she could feel them flexing almost as though they weren’t her own. Her hands clenched of their own volition. And yet there was something about it that felt almost soothing, like a hand reached out to embrace her own.
She ignored it. She was alone. No one had hugged her or touched her in years. Gillian would pat her hand or her back. Ove hugged her, but it was for the little brownie’s comfort. It had been thirteen years since she’d really felt compassionate hands on her body.
Except in her dreams. But she wasn’t dreaming now.
She got to her knees in front of the door, trying to peer out the keyhole. She could fashion a lockpick. She’d been taught by the best thieves. She simply needed two pieces of flexible but strong material. Her hands felt around the material of her dress. There was a pin that held her neat apron to the tunic. It would do. She pulled it out. Flexible and easy to work with. She could scrape the pins of the lock with it. Now she needed something more solid to hold the lock in place.
Sweet heat invaded her veins.
Bronwyn.
Her name rumbled along her skin. A dark, sensual masculine tone echoed in her brain. It said her name over and over. It wasn’t an unpleasant thing meant to draw her attention, more like a monk whispering a prayer over and over.
Except the low feeling in her womb didn�
�t remind her of any religion.
She struggled to breathe. Her pussy was warm. Except it wasn’t a pussy.
Bronwyn sighed and closed her eyes. What the hell was happening to her? A cock. She could feel a cock as though she had one herself. It was a wonderful thing to have a cock. A cock was the center of the whole world.
Bron felt her head roll back, her focus scatter. She couldn’t concentrate on the door. How could she think about anything but the warm feeling in the center of her body. Stumbling back, she held her hands out, trying to find that cot. Her feet felt dumb, her whole body being taken over by sensation.
What in all the planes was happening to her?
Calm down, love. Let it happen.
The words flowed over her. She knew that voice. It was the voice of her Dark Ones. They often spoke as one, their tone flowing in and out. She knew it well. Tears pricked her eyes. She was still asleep. She was dreaming. The whole incident with Ove had been naught but a terrible nightmare. It was still the night before the festival, and she had time.
She fell back on the mattress, worrying because this bed wasn’t hers. It was hard and unyielding, made of wool. Her sheets were of a soft cotton. They had brought them when they left the last province, she and Gillian. Those sheets had been easy to slip into their packs. A reminder of the home they had enjoyed for a few years.
So many “homes.”
She gasped. A hand circled her dream cock. Tight, strong fingers tightened around masculine flesh. No wonder men became obsessed with such a thing. She felt lit from the inside out. That hand laid a light touch along her cock. Her cock? What sort of dream was this?
The kind that keeps you out of trouble.
That voice echoed through her head like a shout from the wrong end of a long tunnel. She tried to call back, but was robbed of her breath as that dream hand grasped her cock and began to squeeze with light pressure.
She fell back on the cot, not giving a damn about the scratchy wool on her back. It could be pine needles for all she cared. This feeling was glorious.