Warrior Fae Trapped: A DDVN Book

by Breene, K. F.

A hole opened up in the circle. Not thinking, she ran at it.

  Her moment of relief was short-lived.

  Coming at her, mid-leap, was the huge black wolf, graceful and effortless as it barreled into her. Paws hit her shoulders. The weight knocked her backward. Her head smacked the cement. Blackness took over.

  Chapter Ten

  A bluish glow bathed Charity’s face. Soft material hugged her body. Her mind swam, sleep hanging on, distorting her perception. She blinked in confusion at the rough stone wall rising to her right. It met an equally pockmarked stone ceiling.

  She did not like that waking up in odd situations was starting to become a norm.

  A rustic light fixture hung on the far wall. A bluish-purple flame, almost like one from a Bunsen burner, danced within the metal casing. But this flame didn’t look controlled. It flickered and moved, alive, like a flame from a torch.

  Am I dreaming?

  She palmed her forehead, trying to contain the pounding headache, and thought back to her last memory.

  A kid’s room. Two twin beds. A nightstand…

  Flashes of matted hair and black gums ruined the quaint image.

  Enormous wolves.

  Fear seeped through her as she envisioned the massive black wolf bearing down on her.

  Breathing heavily, she wiped her face and glanced around. Whatever those creatures were, they weren’t here now. There was no screeching or growling—no noise of any kind. It was as silent as a tomb.

  Vampires.

  She shoved that ridiculous thought away.

  Werewolves.

  And that one. Those thoughts were absurd. There had to be a logical explanation for what had happened. If vampires and werewolves were real, the human race would know about it. That was a secret too big to keep. Besides, there were about a million stories about vampires, and never once had she heard them described as swampy monsters.

  Had it been close to Halloween, there would have been some explanation for the insanity. Unfortunately, it was nearly March. The Easter Bunny wasn’t this messed up.

  So. What next?

  She glanced around the stone room lit by the strange, flickering flame, then lifted the cushy comforter. Someone had dressed her in sports sweatpants secured with snap buttons and a large T-shirt, probably a man’s. The shirt was clean and white and smelled like cotton. It was a comforting smell and a comforting setup in a non-comforting room.

  She gritted her teeth. She had better not be in some rich guy’s basement. Boy would he rue the day he’d made such a mistake. And whoever had taken Sam’s dress better have kept it and treated it right. And, you know, they better have grabbed Sam’s shoes, too, while they were wrestling her body away from the enormous, couldn’t-be-real wolves.

  Funny, this inability to feel fear at the moment. Her flight out of the nightmare house had apparently numbed her to this current predicament.

  That was handy.

  She pushed back the comforter and swung her feet off the narrow bed. A soft rug embraced them, but the movement made her newly aware of half a dozen aches and pains. She reached around and fingered her back, feeling the padding of bandages. More covered her arm. A bruise discolored her shoulder where she’d rammed the doorjamb in her haste to get outside. Various scratches and bruises marred other areas.

  She blew out a slow breath. The numbness wobbled.

  It wasn’t real, what she’d seen. It wasn’t. Maybe the partiers who had broken into her chosen room had dropped a tab of acid into her mouth. That would explain it.

  She hoped that explained it.

  The bed groaned as she pushed off it. Standing, feeling better on her feet despite her throbbing head and aching back, she took in her surroundings. A simple wood table sat next to the bed, holding a glass of water. An equally simple couple of chairs occupied the corner at the far end of the square room, next to a dilapidated dresser holding a porcelain basin filled with water. A mirror hung over a bare wooden shelf, and flip-flops lay next to the bed.

  Absently, she scratched her chest, then paused. An electric heat pounded through her middle, a feeling similar to what she’d experienced last night but amplified. Energy zipped through her, invigorating despite her soreness. Excitement—was it excitement?—coiled in her gut, urging her to spar, or fight, or pick up a sword and start hacking at limbs. She just felt so…good. Really good.

  Fucking amazing, actually.

  “What the hell is happening to me?” she whispered, padding to the door. “Seriously, this had better not be a rich man’s basement.”

  At the door, she looked down at the oblong handle and belatedly saw the rusty key sticking out of the keyhole beneath it. A relieved sigh exited her mouth.

  If it was a rich man’s basement, he either wasn’t trying to imprison her or he was really, really forgetful. And therefore really, really stupid.

  With a last glance at the dancing blue flame, she wrenched the handle and pulled it. Hinges groaned as the heavy wood door swung inward.

  Charity grimaced and peered out into the darkened room beyond, ready to slam it shut and turn the key should any of those creatures rush her. A soft rustle drew her eyes to a couch in the middle of the room. It sat opposite two modern recliners with a cozy coffee table between them, sporting a doily trapped beneath a fruit bowl.

  The blue light from behind her washed over a bare torso. Movement made Charity brace…and then the man sat up and blinked. He quickly wiped the sleep out of his eyes and stood.

  Relief flooded her at the sight of this remnant of her frantic escape from the mansion. Devon.

  Shirtless and with black hair sticking out in all directions, he walked toward her with the grace of a dancer. His upper body was lean but solid, his muscles defined. A tattoo covered his shoulder with elegant and artistic scrollwork, wrapping halfway down his bicep. Asian calligraphy cut down the side of his stomach, weaving between his six-pack and sculpted obliques.

  Scowling so hard that she absently wondered if she’d kicked his puppy in her sleep, he stopped a little too close, imposing on her with his size, easily half a foot taller than her.

  “Out to cause more havoc?” he asked.

  She matched his scowl, having no rebuttal for his vague accusation. Shouldn’t he be explaining things rather than bandying about insults and threats?

  “Where am I?”

  He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. Do you know what you did last night?”

  She blinked as an answer.

  “You single-handedly allowed all but three of the newbies to escape from that house,” he went on. “While we were dealing with you, we missed a mass exodus. You made me look incompetent!”

  The heat in her middle flared in the face of his anger. Adrenaline pooled in her body, demanding action of some sort. To run or fight or laugh or dance—to get moving.

  She shook out her sizzling limbs. “Look. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was running for my life last night! I just need to get home…”

  Footsteps pounded down wooden steps across the vast space. Charity squinted through the darkness. A large shape hit the bottom step and moved in their direction. The soft light from the open bedroom door highlighted firm, broad features. The man was…large. Not tall so much—shorter than Devon—but massive. Huge barrel chest, tree-trunk arms, thick, solid legs. The man was power and strength in an imposing package.

  “I see our guest is awake,” the newcomer said as he walked up, his voice masculine in a way Charity hadn’t realized a voice could be. The light fell across his features as he neared them. A wide nose adorned his square face, sporting scruff from a couple of days without shaving. His gaze zeroed in on Charity.

  She registered his eye color. One pale blue, one faded green, like a beat-up dollar bill.

  A memory jogged to the forefront of her brain. A wolf lunging at her. Barely missing. Crashing into the strange creature behind.

  The numbness pulled away again, and this time, a thousand images flooded her. The way he mo
ved. How he stood. Graceful death. “No. No!”

  Electricity flooded her like she’d been hit by a snapped power line in a storm. Before she knew what she was doing, she surged forward and slammed her fist into the big man’s stomach. The air around her fist solidified then exploded outward, as if she’d physically shoved him. He flew backward, surprise lighting up his face.

  Another memory started to surface, but Charity took off running. The itch in her chest blossomed out until it encompassed her whole body, giving her speed and power she’d wait until later to question. She rounded a rustic table and jumped onto the base of the stairs. Devon’s light steps followed directly behind her. Stronger and with longer legs, he was gaining.

  She burst through the dense, heavy door at the top, the effort costing her precious seconds. A hand closed around her borrowed sweatpants, trying to yank her back. The snap buttons resisted for a moment, then popped open, the pants ripping away from her body like she was a basketball star about to take the court.

  Devon stumbled and fell behind her, loud thuds against wood.

  She burst into a living room. Ten or so people stopped what they were doing and turned her way. Puzzled expressions followed her senseless flight through another door and into a large kitchen. More shocked faces turned. Eyes dipped, surveying her lack of pants. Not stopping, she barreled through the far door and flung herself outside. The word “Help!” died on her lips.

  She stumbled to a stop and her jaw went slack.

  Devon’s solid body slammed into her from behind, knocking out her breath and taking her to the ground. She was rolled over and pinned. Devon stared down into her face.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, his breath ruffling her eyelashes.

  “Where am I?” Panic threatened to overcome her. “What’s happening to me?”

  She felt his pressure ease up as he shifted then stood. He reached down a hand. She ignored it, watching the gold filaments swirl around his fingers.

  “Am I hallucinating?” she asked, tongue thick in her mouth. “Am I still hallucinating?”

  Strong hands hooked under her arms and hauled her up. Devon steadied her, leaning in close. “You’ve really never been here?”

  Blinking excessively, Charity shook her head slowly. “The sky is orange.” A tear leaked out of her eye, the first time she’d almost cried in four years. “This isn’t real. None of this is real…”

  Small granules of gold drifted by like dust motes, swirling playfully in the soft breeze. The sky was a soft orange, horribly surreal yet strangely beautiful. In fact, everything around them had a surreal quality, like they stood within a children’s painting of Fairy Land. A cobblestone lane ran under her feet, leading away from the gigantic castle from which she’d emerged, a medieval behemoth with rough stone walls and arrow slits made for violent defense.

  Devon’s intense gaze softened. “This is the Realm. We brought you here to ask some questions.”

  She scrubbed at her chest, that crazy feeling of euphoria pulsing within her. She wanted to laugh so hard that she couldn’t speak. And then stab someone with a gilded knife.

  “I think I’m going crazy,” she said in a wispy voice. Her legs wobbled.

  Devon stepped closer and wrapped a solid arm around her waist, keeping her upright. “I thought I was hallucinating the first time I stepped through, too. But you get used to it.”

  Small dwellings made out of clay, like rounded huts, with straw roofs dotted the lane opposite the formidable castle. Flowers decorated the front yards, many of which were encircled by white picket fences. Flourishing trees and bushes gave the folksy area a wooded feeling, closing the homes in with natural comfort and privacy.

  She looked back at the huge medieval castle. “One of these things is not like the others…”

  “C’mon,” Devon said. “Roger wants to talk to you. This may be your first time here, but we need answers for what happened in the Brink.”

  “The Brink?” She resisted his tug urging her back to the castle.

  “The human world. Non-magical.”

  “Non…magical.” A laugh bubbled up as she noticed a person walking toward them. She blinked. Then wiped her eyes and blinked again. “Is that…”

  “Don’t point!” Devon ripped her hand out of the air.

  “Okay, but just to be clear. That. Woman. Is. Blue. That should not be possible.”

  “She’s a sprite. Would you come on?”

  Charity pushed him away so she could stand on her own. Ignoring the wobbles from numb legs, she tried, and failed, not to stare at the petite blue woman wearing a bikini top made of leaves.

  The woman’s luminous green eyes darted up, connecting with Charity’s. A wrinkle wormed into her brow before her narrow face cocked to the right. They continued to stare at each other as the sprite passed, the sprite looking as confused and bewildered as Charity felt.

  “Is a human in this world as weird as…what I’m seeing?” Charity asked quietly.

  “You’re not human.” Devon gripped her upper arm, as though her words had suddenly reminded him of his purpose, which had, in turn, spoiled his mood. “You got in here, so you have magic in your blood. I have no idea what you are, but the smell and feel of you is different than anything I’ve ever encountered. You better stop playing me for a fool.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Her temper flared. “Here’s something that’s not a secret: you’re a dick.”

  “Nice.”

  “I’m in the Twilight Zone, and you make this about you?” She pulled up her hands, analyzing the tingling sensation. For some reason she couldn’t begin to explain, she yearned to hold a sword. A sword! What good was a sword in the age of guns, drones, and missiles?

  As she blinked at her digits, the throb in her middle turned into a manic pounding. The sensation ran up and down her body and back in fantastic vibrations, singing in her blood. It welled in her chest, fizzing and sputtering. Some of it branched out, traveling through her shoulder and connecting with Devon’s touch on her arm.

  Confusion stealing over her, she let her gaze travel up his round bicep, over his tattooed shoulder, and to his intelligent brown eyes, beautifully speckled with green and gold flecks. Their gazes locked. The humming between them, while completely foreign, felt absolutely divine. He flexed and his muscles popped, the effect somehow heightening the vibration between them, throwing her into a weird trance.

  Slowly, she put her tingling palm on his pec. The singing in her blood intensified. The prickling increased, stopping her breath.

  “Magic,” Devon whispered, clearly feeling it too. “You have a lot of it. It’s…flirting with mine. Somehow.” He tilted his head to the side, analyzing. “You’re not normal.”

  “Oh, well, thank you for your expert analysis.”

  “It’s also not the time to cop a feel.” His lips tweaked into a lopsided grin, as if he weren’t used to smiling.

  “It’s always time to cop a feel,” she replied absently, pulling back her hand. She stared at her palm as she took a step away from him. Although she missed the feel of him, the warmth in her chest remained, supplying electricity. It was starting to get annoying.

  “Why don’t you invite our guest back inside?”

  The guy with the dual-colored eyes stood in the doorway of the castle. His pose said he was trying for patience, but the intense energy crouched within him, straining at his skin, said he could just as easily spring and kill them all.

  “You were a wolf,” she said dumbly, backing away. Might as well get it all out there. Insanity was more fun when you shared it. “I saw your eyes. You were a… You attacked a strange creature. I don’t understand any of this.”

  “We won’t harm you.” The man held up his hands. “You are in no danger here. Maybe we should start from the beginning, and then someone can give you a tour of the Realm. Please.” The man gestured her inside.

  “He saved your life,” Devon said. Then, as if he were a male stripper, he ripped
off his sweats with one powerful tug, revealing a pair of fire-engine-red boxer briefs. Bending down, he began fastening his sweats around Charity’s bare legs to cover her up. It was a sweet gesture ruined by his attitude problem. “If he’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead ten times over.”

  Devon’s challenging tone, though certainly justified if he were telling her the truth, fanned the fire in her gut. Her fingers curled into fists, unbidden.

  Once he finished his task, Devon straightened. “So are you coming or what?” He lightly touched her arm again. Electricity crackled between them.

  “I’m coming,” she said through clenched teeth, clinging to calm with everything she had. Another tear leaked out. She batted it away.

  A few minutes later, she found herself seated at a worn table in the biggest kitchen she’d ever seen. Devon, who’d disappeared and then reappeared in another pair of sweats and a shirt—the castle clearly had a large supply—sat beside her, and the man with the dual-colored eyes, who had to be Roger, sat opposite her. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Let’s start with what happened at the party, shall we?”

  “Give the girl a minute to get her bearings.” A plump woman with curly brown hair turned from the counter. She set a steaming cup of brownish liquid in front of Charity and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m Beazie, dear.” The middle-aged woman smiled. “I run the domestic affairs here in the castle. That includes the kitchens and sleeping quarters. So if you need anything—anything at all—you come see me and I’ll sort you out. All righty?”

  “Am I stuck here? In this world?” Charity asked.

  “Oh my, no.” Beazie laughed and patted Charity’s shoulder again. “Of course not, dear. You’ll get to go home as soon as everything is straightened out, don’t you worry.”

  “That hasn’t been decided yet,” Devon stated, the gold specks in his eyes dancing dangerously.

  Beazie tsked at him. “Mind your manners, young man. This is your pretty guest. Be courteous.”

  The broad-faced man smiled good-naturedly, his attention never far from Charity’s face. “I’m Roger,” he said. The rest of what he said was gibberish. “I’m the alpha of the North American region. In other words, I oversee all the various packs within North America, and each of their pack leaders, my sub-alphas, report to me. I’m like a CEO in a large company. This is one of seven regions spanning the world.”