Once Upon a Happy Ending: An Anthology of Reimagined Fairy Tales

by Casey Lane

  As the hurricane rages inside me, a face emerges like a half-remembered dream, forgotten and put aside. Eyes as blue as robin's eggs stare back at me with a look of love and concern.

  Tristan.

  The pain recedes behind the distant memory of a glorious afternoon. My senses flood with the scent of heather on soft breezes, the warm caress of a hand on mine, my skin pulsing with desire, and a kiss handed down by heaven itself.

  That was the day my soul awakened. And also the death of all joy.

  A high-pitched cry tears at my throat. The unfamiliar sound is not that of the beast. The voice belongs to the beauty Tristan awakened in me all those centuries ago.

  She wants to live. She wants to love.

  Why, in this last moment of giving up, must I be forced to relive what I lost all those centuries ago? Why now?

  Fresh pain resurfaces as I recoil from the beauty's defiant scream. I'm ready to go. The world can do with one less beast. There's no reason to stay. I want to die.

  Please, let this be over.

  She resists. Every nerve ending in my body suddenly lights up. Power surges around me, charging the air with raw, unbridled magic. The energy builds to an unbearable level, filling me with one single-minded intention.

  LIVE.

  The building power shatters throughout the cave in an explosion of glittering sparks, stark color and a deafening ring, like that of a million tiny silver bells. The blast sends objects flying–books, candles and chairs. I glimpse the flash of the hunter's eyes, bright as sapphires, before the lights are snuffed.

  Silence and darkness descend all at once. The agonizing pain in my side has vanished. Strength pumps through my limbs, filling me with renewed energy.

  But where is the hunter? Fear strikes my heart. Remembering the sadistic twist of his knife, I scramble backwards until my back hits the side of the bed. I huddle in a ball, hugging my legs to my chest.

  That's when I realize I'm in human form. Fumbling around in the pitch black, I run my hands over feminine features. I measure the length of my hair, feeling where thick, wavy locks end at my waist. I touch my chest, feeling the swell of firm breasts, naked and vulnerable to the world.

  I grab the coverlet from the bed and drag it over myself as a bright flame chases back the dark. The hunter stands over me, holding a lighter in his gloved hand. His knife is in the other.

  Fear locks me in place. I reach for the beast, my only protection. But all I touch is emptiness. The primal force that has forever stoked the fires of blind rage is gone. What has happened to me? Am I to be trapped inside this fragile human form until I die?

  Which by the look of the hunter, could be at any minute.

  He looms over me. "Is it you?"

  I clutch the blanket, holding it under my chin as I stare up at him. His voice is familiar. He sounds like a Scot.

  He steps closer and kneels down, holding the lighter out as he studies my face. "Aye, it is you. My sweet Heather, the lovely wee siren of the woods."

  Bewildered, and still wary of the knife in his hand, I look into his eyes. Blue as ever, though edged with experience.

  This can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream.

  He pulls the black scarf away from the bottom half of his face, revealing the square of his jaw, no longer soft with youth. The boy is gone. A young man in his early twenties has taken his place. Life has chiseled his features and there's a rake of scars across the left side of his jaw and down his neck. None of this makes him any less beautiful than the first time I laid eyes upon him.

  I lift my gaze to the irresistible curve of his mouth, still as inviting as ever. My own mouth falls open as I stare at his lips and remember the kisses he showered me with.

  He smiles in reaction. "Ah, you do remember me."

  "Tristan." The last part of his name dries away in a whisper.

  How can this be? The beast killed him. This has to be a trick. Even if he survived the attack, he would've died of old age long ago. I look at the knife he's holding.

  His smile vanishes when he sees my fear. He lays the knife down on the ground and holds his empty palm out to me. "No need to be afraid, love." He looks around, then grabs a candle, lights it and sets it down. He settles into a seated position in front of me. "Ask me anything."

  Still uneasy, I sit motionless, barely breathing. A thousand questions race through my mind at once, least of which…why is he hunting me? But one question burns hotter than all the others.

  "How can you be alive?" I ask, my voice a faint croak. "I…I killed you." Those last three words fill me with the centuries of grief I've been trying to outrun. A river of tears breaks free, shaking me to the core.

  He places his hands on my knees. The warmth of his touch soaks through the blanket. "No, you saved me."

  "I don't understand." His face wavers behind my tears as I stare at him, lost in a whirlwind of confusion.

  Smiling, he wipes the tears softly from my cheek. "I'll admit, you tore me up good," he says, trying to make light of it. Seeing the horror in my eyes, he backpedals. "I didn’t mean you. I meant the beast."

  He shakes his head as he relives the memory. "That day we shared, all I wanted to do was hold you. I had no idea my armor would burn you so badly when I took you in my arms. I never blamed you for turning into that wild creature who came so very close to ripping my head off."

  I reach out, touching the scars on his jaw. He closes his eyes as I trace my fingers along the welts until they stop at the bottom of his neck. I gulp dryly. "Did I do that?"

  When I withdraw my hand, he opens his eyes. "Not you, the beast did this."

  "How did you get away?"

  "That's just it. I didn't. After that swipe across the neck knocked me to the ground, I was ready to die then and there. There was no way I was going to fight you. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end to come. But it never did. When I finally found the courage to open my eyes and look around, you, I mean the beast, was gone."

  "I was up in the tree when I woke," I whisper. "I found your armor scattered down below. The blood…there was so much it." I didn't mention that I thought I'd eaten him.

  "Aye, you nicked me in the neck. Just missed the jugular. I thought surely I'd bleed out, but I managed to staunch the flow. Not before losing a gallon of blood, mind you. That's why I left my armor behind. I was too weak to carry the weight of it. It was all I could do to drag myself back to my horse."

  I'm hearing the words but I can't bring myself to believe them. I should be relieved, but I can't help wondering why he thinks I stopped the beast. "You're lucky to be alive."

  He takes my hand in his. "Luck had nothing to do with it. Your love for me stopped the beast."

  I jerk my hand away. "You're wrong. I don't know what love is." As grateful as I am he never died at my hand, I simply can't trust his motives. I narrow my eyes on him. "How is it you're still alive? You're mortal. You should be long dead by now."

  Disappointment splashes across his features. "You sound like you wish me dead. Have you really grown that hard?"

  His question knifes me in the heart. Maybe I have.

  "I knew you'd be thrown when you saw me," he continues, "but I thought surely you'd come round to being happy to see me."

  I want to be dressed. My transformations have always included clothes. I don't like relying on something outside of me to hide my nakedness. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I fold my arms over the blanket and hold it tight against my chest. "None of this makes sense. After centuries of thinking I killed you–and feeling horrible about it, by the way–I find out you're alive, and hunting me. Don't think for a second I've forgotten how you stabbed me in my wound and twisted the blade. What kind of sadist are you?"

  His blue eyes grow wide with sympathy. "Oh no, you thought I was torturing you?" He reaches out for me, but I shrink from his touch. "Don't you understand? I couldn't let you die. I'm sorry for the pain, but I didn't know any other way to get the arrowhead out."

 
; I'm stunned. Speechless.

  "It's true, I was out hunting with the others. When I first saw you in the alley with that boy, I didn't recognize you until you changed into the beast. I was shocked. I honestly didn't think I'd ever see you again. After I recovered from the attack all those years ago, I used to go back to the forest looking for you. I suppose the Highborns had already taken you away by then."

  "You know about the Highborns?"

  "Aye, lass, I work for them."

  Renewed fear grips hold. "What?"

  Tristan holds up his hand, warily watching me like a cornered animal that's ready to bite. Except I seem to have lost my fangs.

  "Don't be afraid," he says. "You have to believe I won't hurt you. Ever."

  My eyes fill with tears again. "Why do you work for the Highborns? They hate my kind."

  He swallows hard. "I'm with the Highborn death squad." He points to a scythe stitched on the arm of his jacket. "We call ourselves the Reapers. With the Wall being down, the Highborns are in a big hurry to build a new wall before there's a mass exodus. We've been sent in to thin the herd and guard the borders."

  "I wasn't trying to leave."

  "That was another Reaper who shot you. He was protecting the boy you were with."

  My cheeks grow warm with shame "I wasn't planning on killing him. I just wanted to teach the creep a lesson, scare him off the wrong path."

  Tristan nods. "Aye, but from where we were standing, it looked like you were going to do more than scare him. I could tell you were struggling to keep from doing your worst. That's when I knew I had to help."

  "What did you do to the other Reaper?"

  He shrugs. "Knocked him out. He'll wake with a hell-of-a pounder, but he'll be fine otherwise."

  A tiny spark of hope ignites in my heart. Tristan put himself at risk for me. Could it be I have a real chance at happiness? An existence that includes someone else?

  My insides soften, easing the terrible tension locked in my muscles. But not completely. "Are you a Highborn?" I say, blurting the question before I can stop it from coming out. The question's been hanging in the air since he evaded telling me how it is he's still alive after two centuries.

  His blue eyes gaze straight back at me. I can't see how lies could ever live there. Silence gapes between us, begging to be filled with something. Anything other than the truth I know he's struggling with.

  "Aye, I'm part Highborn," he finally says, his expression apologetic. "But only a wee bit. Mind you, it's enough to be recognized by the Highborns, or they wouldn't have recruited me to be on the death squad. That's how I found out I have fae blood. A welcome discovery since I had no idea why I've been cursed with this abnormally long lifespan." His eyes grow sad. "It's a lonely life outliving those you love."

  I wonder if what I've been feeling all this time could be considered the same thing.

  "It turns out I've got a high resistance to iron–the very reason the Highborns wanted me," he continues. "That's because I'm mostly human. I know none of this makes me much of a catch, but I hope you won't hold any of it against me."

  I'm not as much bothered by the human part as I am the Highborn part. Somehow, I'm not surprised Tristan is fae, and of regal blood. He's a prince through and through. Well that seals it. We'll never see eye to eye. Lowborn fae like me are beneath royal fae, lower than the vermin that eat through bark.

  The heat of humiliation scorches my face as my brief fantasy of a life together dies. I'll never be good enough for him. I gather the blanket around me and stand up. "Thank you for saving me, but you need to leave now." I stare beyond the small ring of candlelight, into the darkness of my cave. Tears burn at the back of my eyes, my lower lip trembling as I fight to control the sadness crushing in on me. I bite down on my lip and frown at him.

  Tristan jumps to his feet. I find it impossible to keep my gaze from meeting his. A shadow of sorrow crosses his face as he stares at my carefully resolute expression. "Tell me you don't love me and I'll go. You'll never have to see me again."

  "I told you, I don't know what love is."

  He steps closer. "Let me show you," he says, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  The air suddenly grows heavy between us, vibrating with energy. The intensity of his gaze makes me shift uncomfortably. A blush rises from my neck up to my face. A heartbeat later, he runs his fingers over my bare arm.

  I shiver, my heart beating shallow and fast. I know I should pull away but I don't. I can't. My skin's hungry for his touch. Or is it the beast's ravenous hunger I feel?

  I step back and turn my head.

  "Look at me, my sweet bonnie lass," he whispers. "Tell me you don't love me."

  "It doesn't matter what I feel. The hideous beast is what I am. This gentle girl you think you love is an illusion. She's not real. She won't last. The beast always returns." Tears flood my eyes. "Leave. I can't have you here when that happens. Not again. Not ever."

  Tristan takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him. "Don't you get it? As long as I'm around, the beast is gone. Only you exist–the beautiful soul that's standing before me right now. That's who you are when you're with me."

  I wrench out of his grip. "You're fooling yourself. All you're going to get from me is another set of scars."

  "I trust you. I can see the love in your eyes. I know you won't hurt me."

  "No. This time I could kill you, and I–" Sobs choke my words.

  He reaches out to console me. I turn my back on him. Nothing he can say will change what I am. How can I make him leave? Every second he stays brings him closer to death. The beast will claw its way out any moment now and do what it does best–destroy every shred of happiness I've ever known.

  No I can't let that happen. I'm not strong enough to live through the grief and sorrow of losing Tristan all over again. I'd rather die.

  My gaze lands on his knife and I suddenly know what must be done. Reaching down, I lift the knife off the floor. The metal handle sears my hand as I bring it to my neck.

  Tristan lunges, grabbing the knife from me. "What're you doing?"

  Angry tears stand in my eyes as I stare at him, too furious to speak. Why is he making this so difficult?

  "You think killing yourself will protect me?" He stares back, looking every bit as angry as I feel. "Well it won't. Watching you die will gouge a crater in my chest. I'll die inside every time I remember what you did. I'll be in pain with every breath for the rest of my miserable life. Is that what you want to leave me with?"

  "That's what its been like for me," I mutter, suddenly embarrassed to have shared my thoughts out loud.

  He lets out a quiet laugh. "Don't you see? Endless grief is what it is to have loved someone you lost. You loved me then and you love me now."

  I look at him, surprised. "H-how can you be so sure?"

  Tristan drops the knife and steps closer. "Because of how you were willing to sacrifice yourself for me just now."

  I shake my head. "I may love you, but the beast never will."

  He takes my hand in his. "The beast is part of you. There's no separating yourself from that wild darkness. It will always be there. But you've learned to tame it. That kind of strength makes me love you all the more."

  "I want to believe you, but I'm terrified I'll lose control."

  "You won't."

  The conviction in his voice awakens hope for the first time. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

  His eyes light up at the sight of it.

  "What now?" I say, puzzling over how this could possibly work.

  "Pack your bags, love. We'll leave here come first light. The Reapers will be looking for me. Not to mention, we need to be long gone before the Highborns can rebuild the Wall."

  "Where will we go?" I ask, suddenly tingling with anticipation.

  "Anywhere and everywhere. The world is ours," he says, drawing me close.

  I sink against him, breathing in the scent of soap still clinging to his skin within the warmth of his leat
her jacket. I rest my head against his chest, feeling as safe as I once did in the heather-carpeted hills of Scotland.

  I am home.

  Taking a step back, I let the blanket fall. My heart races as I offer every inch of myself to his eyes and his touch.

  Tristan lets out a sigh that shakes his entire being. Reaching out, he gathers me into the shelter of his arms. Even through the haze of desire building between us, I have the strongest impression of being protected and cared for.

  Could it be this once tragic fairy tale is destined to have a happily-ever-after?

  Yes, my heart whispers. Beyond imagining.

  About the Author

  Bestselling author T. Rae Mitchell is an incurable fantasy junkie who spent much of her youth dreaming up other worlds and bringing characters to life, such as the mysterious Mr. Nobody who left uplifting notes under the pillows of her two younger sisters. While most kids grow out of such things, T. Rae never did, and she sometimes took playing make believe a bit too far. Like the time a wizard hid a bottle of dragon beans in the back yard and left her son convinced he could grow his own dragons. Needless to say, the beans failed to produce and disappointments were had. That’s when T. Rae decided her crazy imagination was best funneled into writing. She has since begun her young adult series, Fate’s Fables, which can be found on numerous Amazon Top 100 lists, such as Coming of Age Fantasy and Fairy Tales & Folklore.

  Sign up for T. Rae Mitchell's newsletter and Read for Free: http://traemitchell.com/signup

  Fate's Fables Boxed Set Collection: One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales

  Magic Brew: Edge Chronicles (The Novel)

  traemitchell.com/

  Sleeping Cyborg

  By Aya Ling

  Prologue