Cursed by the Fountain of Youth (Unnatural States of America Book 1)

by Holly Kelly

  “Miss Lowhouse, you stay put,” Mary hissed—all the while, not moving.

  “The battle is drawing near,” Hope said.

  “That’s just your imagination,” Mary answered.

  “I never entertain fanciful thoughts,” Hope said, her temper rising. “They are truly moving this way.”

  “You will stay in place, Miss. Lowhouse!” Mary looked at the other girls, some of whom looked ready to bolt. “You all will stay in place.”

  “But they are getting closer!” another voice hissed. It sounded like Cornelia.

  “You’re just panicking,” Mary said, finally moving. She slowly peered around the trunk.

  A sharp crack pierced the air and Mary stiffened. Not a moment later she tipped over. Her open eyes staring into the sky. A red dot the size of a pine tree shilling dimpled the center of her forehead.

  Screams erupted from the girls as they scrambled, racing through a clearing like a herd of frightened deer—only much slower and more erratic.

  “Wait!” Hope shouted. “Keep to the trees!”

  Two more shots thumped into the ground nearby and Hope decided it was her time to run. She did her best to keep behind the trunks as she moved from tree to tree.

  The battle sounds faded, and she’d lost sight of any of the other girls. She located a fat oak tree with branches spread like a canopy in the distance. The trunk looked to be three feet wide—the perfect place to hide. Sprinting, she breathed a sigh of relief when she finally reached it.

  She squeaked a cry when a surprised face popped into view behind it. The barrel of a musket raised—pointed at her nose.

  He’s not wearing red. That thought calmed her heart just a bit—as much as it could while having a musket pointed at her.

  “Hope?” a familiar voice said as the musket lowered.

  Hope raised her eyes to a handsome face that make her stomach turn. “Mr. André? What are you doing out here?”

  A look of guilt flashed across his features just before he composed himself. “I’m waiting in ambush of course.”

  “But our troops are between us and the red coats. Do you hope to ambush our own men?”

  “Of course, not. You don’t know what you’re talking about. But then you’re a woman. I wouldn’t expect you to understand such things.”

  “I think I understand plenty,” Hope raised her chin.

  Mr. André stepped closer to her. His clothes were clean and expensive—very unlike most patriots who were gruff and not afraid to get dirty. He seemed more like he belonged with the red coats with their pressed jackets and fine wigs.

  “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why a proper, young lady like yourself is showing so much of her womanly attributes.” He fingered the fabric at her chest. Hope looked down in horror at her bodice. It had torn revealing the swell of her breasts. She slapped her hand against her chest, trying her best to cover herself as she took a step back.

  “Don’t cover yourself on my account,” he said, smiling as he stepped toward her again. “I truly don’t mind. It’s a nice distraction from battle.”

  “Curb your wicked thoughts, Mr. André, or I’ll curb them for you.” Hope narrowed her eyes and clenched a fist.

  He chuckled. “Feisty colts are much more fun to tame.”

  “You’ll never tame me.”

  “Is that a challenge?” he asked, amused.

  “It’s a promise.” She held his gaze unwavering. “Now I think I should let you get back to your ambush.”

  He shook his head. “I need to see to your safety first.”

  “I don’t need a keeper.”

  “But I insist.” He stepped forward and took her by the arm. His fingers cut into her.

  “Ouch,” she gasped as he dragged her through the forest and then up a steep hill.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked with amusement in his eyes.

  “Yes, you idiot!” Hope shouted her anger rising as fear crept into her heart.

  “Sometimes pain is a good thing. It teaches one her place.”

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “Somewhere we can be alone.”

  “We’re already alone.”

  “Somewhere we cannot be interrupted,” he said.

  Hope’s chest constricted so tightly she could hardly draw a breath. She knew exactly what was in his wicked heart. Her father had warned her about men like him.

  She wanted to shout, she wanted to fight—instead she seemed paralyzed. Why wasn’t she fighting him?

  “I know just the place that will afford us privacy.” He looked down at her as he pulled her up the hillside. “Oh, now don’t look so appalled. You’re of age, and I’m in need of a wife. Who will ever know but you and I if we know each other intimately before we wed?”

  Please just tell him no. Tell him hell awaits him if he puts a finger on you!

  What is wrong with you, Hope?

  “I know I haven’t asked your father yet, but how could he say no? You have no means, and I have plenty to spare. You are a lucky woman. You’ll find that out in the years to come.”

  They neared a thick grove of trees with an opening in the thicket.

  Finally, the shock seemed to wear off and Hope found her voice. “If you touch me,” she said, her voice shaking, “I’ll—

  “You’ll what?” he challenged. “Fight me? I’m twice your size. I’d be like a fly trying to fight an ox.” He proved his words when he pulled her roughly forward and smashed his lips against hers and pressed his body to hers, moving in an unseemly fashion. Hope used all her strength as she smashed her knee against his groin. Mr. Andre howled and pushed her away—dropping to his knees.

  Hope barely had time to take a breath when she was blindsided by a flying blur coming from the right. And then she was tumbling down the hill in a tangle of limbs and bodies. She was periodically crushed by an incredible weight, only to have that weight tumble off her as she continued her descent down the slope. She could hear Mr. André shouting in the distance. Finally, she came to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Hope was sprawled across a bare, muscled chest.

  Every part of her ached—but mostly her head. She was relieved that nothing seemed broken. Raising her eyes, she searched out the face of who was to blame for her fall.

  The most incredible, icy-blue eyes stared widely at her. She sucked in a breath when he shook his head and she caught sight of his ears. They were pointed!

  She blinked in amazement. And then the points were gone. His ears looked wholly human now. The fall must have addled her brain.

  Through gasps she asked, “Who are you?”

  “You’re human, right?” he asked as he raised up on his elbows. Hope slid down his chest and she scrambled back.

  “What else would I be?” she asked.

  “What else indeed,” he frowned. He looked up at the sky and shouted. “You can’t trap me here forever, Haryk!”

  “Trap you?” Hope said. “How can you be trapped outside in the open? Where did you come from? Who are you?”

  “You’re full of questions, aren’t you?” he stood and brushed the leaves off his pants. His clothes were strange. He wore no shirt. His chest was heavily muscled with a leather strap slung across it—from shoulder to adjacent hip. He was wearing brown pants and high, black leather boots. His hair was blonde—almost white. It hung near to his waist, and was pulled back with a leather tie. Despite having hair as long as a woman’s, there was absolutely nothing feminine about him. He literally oozed masculinity.

  When he’d cleared the crushed leaves away, he straightened to his full height—which was impressive.

  “Hope!” Mr. André’s voice rang out as he made his way down the hillside.

  Hope stumbled back—putting the stranger between her and her would-be assailant.

  The stranger narrowed his eyes as he looked from Hope to Mr. André.

  Mr. André came up short—his eyes wide as they looked at the stranger. “And who might you be? A re
dcoat who lost his coat?”

  “A red what?” the stranger asked.

  “Redcoat,” Mr. André enunciated each syllable.

  “I own nothing red,” the stranger said.

  “As if I’d believe you,” Mr. André said and then he raised his musket. “Step away from my betrothed.”

  “I’m not your betrothed,” Hope growled. “I will never marry you. You have an evil mind and wicked intentions.”

  The stranger raised an eyebrow. “Wicked intentions, huh?” He looked down at Hope’s ribbed bodice and lingered on her lips—still throbbing from the painful assault. Heat rose in her cheeks as she clasped the ripped fabric and held them together to cover herself. She looked up at the stranger’s face and was surprised to see the anger in his eyes.

  He turned back to Mr. André. “I may not be the most noble of creatures. I have no qualms about seducing women. I care not who they are or what circumstances they are in. If they are easy to look on and willing, I will not hesitate. But a man who would force himself on a woman is a coward and a snake.” At those words, he waved his hand and Mr. André was gone.

  “Wha…?” Hope said, stunned. “Where did he go?”

  “From his dress, he was obviously a soldier, and I can hear the sounds of battle in the distance. I sent him to do his job.”

  “You…sent him? But, how?”

  He smiled, amusement twinkling in eyes as he said, “Like this.” And then she was alone.

  She had definitely hit her head too hard. Had the stranger been there in the first place? Was it all a hallucination? The uncertainty unnerved her. What if it was real? It sure seemed so.

  Hope thought about what the stranger said. He obviously was not a righteous man. But he’d saved her from an even more wicked man. Perhaps good and evil were not black and white. Perhaps there were both darkness and light in everyone or variant shades of gray. Or perhaps her brain was damaged. That seemed the most likely scenario.

  The boom of a cannon brought her back to her senses. What was she doing standing here? She had much more important things to concern herself with. She had lives to save.

  Without hesitation, she ran toward the sounds of battle.