Faery Tail

by Deborah McNemar

  The copse of maple trees at the bottom of the slope enfolded her. Underbrush rattled and snapped as Star forced her way through. Behind her, she could hear the croaking snarls of the imps as they followed. A rabbit screamed a shrill death cry as it became an unlucky victim. Star went still, trying not to so much as breathe.

  Imps were smarter than gnomes, generally speaking, but they possessed an insatiable hunger that tended to distract them. They were cruel and greedy, and absolutely merciless.

  Star listened to the scrabbling of nails on bark and the guttural growls as three of the imps fought over what remained of the rabbit. The taste of blood and fear would only make them more dangerous. She had to get away from here before they found her.

  The small grove offered little in the way of things that could be used as a weapon against imps. They might be small, but they were tough and resilient. Star spotted a stick large enough to make a decent club. Slowly and with great care, she bent and wrapped her fingers around it. The weight was a comfort in her hand.

  An imp slunk from under a nearby berry bramble. His black hide was a maze of silver scars and he wore three bands of beads on each wiry arm. His ears were so notched they were merely ragged tatters attached to his head. A High General, Star realized with a sinking feeling. He wasn't going to make the same mistakes as the others. Hefting her makeshift club, she waited for him to come closer.

  With his eyes narrowed against the glare of shadowed sunlight, the imp crouched, sniffing the ground like a dog. He crept closer, ropy muscles gliding under his skin. Another imp skulked too close and the General snarled a warning. When the youngster bared his teeth in defiance, the General ended the challenge quickly with a swipe of claws that left bloody furrows in other imp's face. The youngster didn't cry out or make any sign that he was hurt. He would be dinner for the others if he showed the slightest weakness.

  Star judged the distance to the open grass and tried to count the number of snarling rustles she could make out around her. The world seemed very far away and the silence was oppressive. If she could make it out into the open, the imps would not be so willing to attack. They preferred to do their fighting under cover where they could overwhelm their prey.

  A small, gray imp poked his head out of a clump of weeds only a few feet away. Dandelion fluff stuck to his batwing ears and rabbit fluff stuck to his pointed teeth. He gagged slightly and then hacked up a ball of fur that had once been a rabbit foot. Star swallowed the urge to throw up. That foot sure hadn't proven lucky for the rabbit, she thought hysterically. Gripping the stick tightly, she readied herself.

  Baseball hadn't been the same since the Dodgers had left New York for the warmer weather of California, but Star did her best to make them proud. The stick connected solidly with the gray imp's chin and his slight body arced gracefully through the air before crashing into a tree.

  Homerun!

  Star was already running full tilt toward the open meadow before the other imps figured out what had happened. She heard the old General spit his orders but she didn't dare look back. They would be following—there was no doubt about that—but she didn't want to have to see them do it.

  The noonday sun drifted down, oddly ineffective against the imps. Winter was the time of power for the Unseelie court and the solitaries that drifted around its fringes. Winter with her long nights, when darkness overpowered the light. In the frozen north, where days were counted in months instead of hours, the Seelie and Unseelie courts kept an uneasy balance, unable to gain the advantage over the other for long.

  Star darted to the left, doubling back toward the small lake. There was a stretch of trees and jogging paths between her and the water. It was a risk going back into the shadows but Star was willing to chance it. Imps hated water more than they hated even sunlight. Hopefully, these imps were like their brethren in that regard.

  The first imp landed between her shoulders, his claws digging into soft flesh. Her braid tangled in his teeth as he tried for a grip on her neck. Star stumbled but didn't fall. She was determined to make it to the water and no little runt of an imp was going to stop her. She threw herself forward in a roll that would have made an Olympic gymnast proud. The imp's hard, small body felt like a rock. Busy spitting hair, he lost his grip on her and fell away. The growls behind her were too close for her to count it a victory.

  Two more imps leapt for her. One missed, falling in a snarling, spitting tumble. The other latched onto her leg and sank his teeth deep. Star couldn't stop the cry that was wrenched from her as her leg buckled under her. She clubbed the imp hard with the stick, but it clung to her leg with the tenacity that was bred into the blood and bone of his kind.

  Thunder shook the earth as Star went down. Something whispered past her ear, a faint whip of sound. A pair of imps to her left screamed. They dangled from a tree, pinned like butterflies under glass by the arrow. As she watched, they dissolved into ash and drifted away.

  The Centaur broke from the trees, his powerful hindquarters driving him forward at a speed equaled only by the wind. He was already notching another arrow into the ebony short bow. His black hair streamed behind him, a silken flag as he bore down on the imps. The General growled his defiance but even he broke before the refined power of the Centaur. The imps scattered, hissing and spitting like cats, and even the one on her leg darted away into the shadows.

  Star stayed where she was, panting and cursing silently. Her back hurt like the blazes and she couldn't feel her leg. Every reason she had ever had for avoiding the Fae had come visiting today, and she couldn't imagine how this day could get much worse.

  The Centaur came to a stop in front of her, holding down his hand. “Come on. I startled them but they'll be back."

  There was no mistaking the black eyes that gazed down at her or the powerful chest—still shirtless she noted absently. Star ignored the outstretched hand, her lips curling as she struggled to her feet. She limped past him, heading for the distant city, her stick still firmly in hand.

  A pair of powerful hands clamped around her waist and lifted her high. Star squealed, losing her grip on her stick as the Centaur planted her firmly on his broad back. She stared at him wide eyed. He scooped up the stick and handed it to her, his eyes still scanning the nearby woods.

  "I'm faster in this form, but my hindquarters are more vulnerable,” he explained as he began to move. Star barely had time to wrap her arms around his waist before he was off. The wind whipped past her, stinging tears from her eyes.

  "You want me to watch your ass?” The words were out of her mouth before she could censor them. He glanced over his shoulder and she shrugged, embarrassed. “No offense meant since it's a fine ass, but I wouldn't exactly be much help in that area."

  His lips curved slightly as he veered suddenly to the left, back toward the lake. “I'll ride you and watch your ass if you want to kill the imps,” he offered politely.

  Star choked and decided that not only was ignoring him impossible, conversation was definitely out as well.

  They made it to the lake without any further trouble. The imps seemed to have vanished. Maybe they knew they were no match for him. Star dropped the stick as he slid to a halt in the heavy grass along the water's edge. He turned to wrap his hands around her waist again, lifting her easily, and set her on her feet with exaggerated care.

  Star stepped away, trying for nonchalance. Her bitten leg buckled and she yelped.

  "Crimeny! Those freaking imps are like so pissing me off.” Star sat and tugged her pants leg up to see the raw flesh, oozing blood and already swelling. “And you! You're leaking magic like a sieve. Can you just shut it off already?"

  Yelling at him was probably not the brightest thing she had done all day, but it felt good anyway. Yelling at Luna would be nothing short of suicide, but he was a little safer. As long as he wanted to marry her, she had a bit more leeway.

  Not that she understood that particular urge of his, either.

  Star tore a narrow strip of her jeans o
ff and wet it in the lake. Gingerly, she dabbed at the bite and hissed as the water stung the wounds. She didn't have to worry about the water being dirty. Being Fae gave her immunity to most human diseases so she couldn't get infected by dirty water. No, she just had to try to remember if imp bites were poisonous.

  He reached out and took the wad of wet cloth from her. He was back in human form and Star cursed silently. She had missed seeing him change. As much as she might not like most things Fae, she couldn't help being strangely fascinated by all things magic in spite of it. It was like being deathly allergic to chocolate and craving it anyway. She scowled at him.

  "Can't you just leave or something?” she demanded irritably. “I've been taking care of myself just fine for a long time. I don't need or want your help."

  He looked up from examining her leg and Star found herself lost in those dark eyes. As fathomless as the night sky, she thought. He had beautiful eyes and long, thick lashes. His face had been carved by an artist's hand. Only high cheekbones and a square, stubborn jaw kept him from being pretty.

  "I could tell you needed no help,” he mocked her softly and Star flushed, the spell broken.

  "I didn't. I haven't seen so much as an imp claw in one hundred and twenty years. You show up and—bang!—there they are. Coincidence? I think not.” She tried to take the cloth back but he refused to give it up and she wasn't in the mood to wrestle him for it. “Will you just go away? Please?"

  He tossed the cloth aside and met her gaze squarely. “No. I am here for a purpose and until that purpose is fulfilled, I will not leave.” He tilted his head, considering her, and Star felt suspicion crawling up her spine. “If you truly wish for me to leave, you must offer two more challenges and I must fail."

  "Two?” Star eyed him warily. “I thought it was three challenges."

  He continued to watch her with that intent gaze, saying nothing. Star gave up on the silent battle. She tore a matching strip from the other pants leg so she wouldn't look completely dorky when she walked out of here. She tossed the strip of denim aside and glared at him. There was no use fighting him. He would only stay until he had won and that was the last thing she wanted. She ran her eyes over him slowly.

  "If you're going to hang with me, you're going to have to dress the part. Trust me. Most humans have never seen dragon hide."

  Ok. So, maybe that hadn't been the brightest thing to say. If leather looked good on his body, denim was having a love affair with it. Soft, stonewashed jeans hugged a truly drool-worthy butt and powerful thighs. He still wore his dragon hide boots but they resembled western boots now. The glamour he wove was faultless down to the tag on the pocket. Star stifled a sigh. If half the women in New York didn't mug him the instant they set foot outside the park, he would be lucky.

  "Shirt,” she snapped, unable to form more than the single word through the drool forming in her own mouth.

  Death by white t-shirt. She groaned silently. The material clung to his chest and abs like water over granite. It really wasn't fair of Luna to do this to her after all this time. It had been easy to refuse imps, gnomes and one hulking brute of a troll but this bait was almost irresistible. Unfortunately, it brought to mind one glaring question.

  "What did Luna offer you to marry me?"

  He was silent for a moment. “I sought the Moon Queen, she did not seek me.” He rose and held down his hand for her.

  Star ignored the hand. “Why would someone like you want to marry me?"

  A slight smile curved his mouth. “On the day when you truly wish to know the answer to that, ask me again."

  He watched her go, a slight, fair-haired figure limping from the park. She was exactly what he needed. She was as impulsive and headstrong as the stories told. She would bolt and when she did, he would be there to take her in hand without the Moon Queen's heavy-handed interference. When she broke her word, he would feel no guilt for using her. Her own lack of honor would place her in his hands and then he would finish this once and for all.

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  Chapter Three

  Damien Morrow lived above an old warehouse that he had converted into a studio. It was spacious enough to suit his needs and the skylights rendered lighting he would never have been able to achieve artificially. Canvases of varying sizes were scattered throughout the lower level, fractured moments of time as yet unfinished.

  Star loved the huge, rambling building. It smelled of paint and inspiration, of sable and imagination. And turpentine. It was not the most aromatic mixture, but over the past three years the scent had become friendship.

  She had met Damien when he had been painting in the park for tourists. He had been wishing for things yet to come just as she had been wishing for the impossible.

  Star let herself in, wincing as the door clanged shut, echoing in the cavernous spaces. Damien was likely sleeping. He always said he did his best work at night when there were fewer useless brains tapping into the cosmic flow of creation. She smiled slightly at the thought. They were kindred spirits in that regard. She preferred the night as well though for different reasons.

  "Hey, there, Twinklie.” Damien leaned over the rail at the far end of the studio, barefoot and smiling. His dark hair was tousled and he was wearing only a pair of loose fitting sleep pants. He was a tall man with a quick smile and a smattering of freckles across his nose. In spite of his charm, Star was well aware of the fact that she was the only female who had a key to his domain. She was the only woman he trusted into his inner sanctum.

  "Hey, gorgeous,” she grinned up at him. “Whatcha up to?"

  "Waiting for you to give in and pose for me.” His smile broadened with lascivious glee, and he waggled his brows suggestively. Star shook her head.

  "I'll keep my clothes on, thank you just the same.” She headed for the stairs. “Can I peek at the newest masterpiece or do I have to wait for the gallery showing? You know I don't do patience very well."

  His smile faded. “You're limping. What happened?"

  "Got bit,” Star shrugged, hoping that he wouldn't ask by what. Even with Damien, imps weren't normal conversation. “Nothing much. Just sore. Come on and let me peek,” she wheedled. “It'll make this crappy day worthwhile."

  He met her at the top of the stairs, his overprotective streak gleaming neon bright. “Twinkle toes, are you all right?"

  Star's falsely bright smile faded. “Damien? Can I stay here tonight? My mom showed up unexpectedly and if I go home, that's one huge argument I don't need. Please?"

  If she kept her magic under wraps, neither Luna nor the imps would be able to track her. She wouldn't say that of the Tuatha de’ but he had agreed to give her a day of peace. One.

  "Your mom, huh?” He nodded in understanding. “You're always welcome to crash here, Star. You just got to promise not to eat all my marshmallows this time."

  "If you don't want me to eat them, buy the miniature ones. They don't toast right.” She smiled up at him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder but she never felt intimidated by his height. Damien was one of the kindest, gentlest men she had ever met. With him, she was perfectly safe even if he did say the most outlandish things.

  "Now, sit down and let me look at that leg.” The command was accompanied by a gentle shove toward the futon that served as his couch as well as the catchall for his mail. He pushed one stack aside to make room for her. “If I know you, you didn't even slap on a bandage."

  "Damien, I'm perfectly all right,” Star protested as she found herself pressed into the cushions and her pants leg pulled up. She tried to shove the denim back down but Damien was having none of it. Holding her hostage by the ankle, he glared at her until she subsided. She pouted at him but it didn't have any effect.

  Damien stared down at the puncture wounds, his expression unreadable. Star finally poked him. Hard.

  "Well?"

  "Well, what?” He blinked at her. “It wasn't a Rottweiler, that's for sure. Looks more like someone's pet poodle. Let me
just put some ointment on that and then I'll show you my new toy."

  "New toy?” she called after him as he vanished into the bathroom. Sounds of rummaging echoed back at her. There was a crash of something plastic on porcelain and a muffled curse. He emerged triumphant with a first aid kit, still wrapped in cellophane.

  "Mom, God bless her Irish soul, is convinced I'm going to slit my own throat one of these days. So, last Christmas she decided to forgo the socks and bought me this.” He brandished the white plastic case proudly. “Now, if I shoot myself in the foot with my air stapler stretching canvas, I'll be able to prove to the paramedics that she is a paragon of motherhood and is still looking after her idiot son. As long as I'm wearing clean underwear when it happens, she'll be content to be right."

  "You don't know how lucky you are to have a mother like yours.” Star watched as he ripped the kit open and dug around for the ointment. She couldn't help but wince as he dabbed the white cream on the raw flesh of her leg.

  "Oh, yes. Lucky to have a veritable Irish dragon breathing down my neck and trying to stuff me full of food every time she sees me.” He wiped his fingers off on his pants and gave her a lopsided grin. “You know, Saint Patrick wasn't really Irish. He was a blasted Norman Catholic. He didn't convert the Irish to the church. No, he did something far, far worse. He convinced the Irish women that it was their duty to save their husbands’ wayward souls.” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “Is it any wonder that Irishmen are known to drink? Heavily?"

  Star couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up inside her. “You love her and you know it so stop the whimpering already. You get no sympathy from me."

  "Heartless wench,” he shot back, sticking a couple of bandages on her leg and tugging the denim back down. “Want to see my new toy now?” His blue eyes twinkled at her with mischief.