by Harper, Dani
The black dog simply thumped his tail on the floor.
“I’m glad it’s okay with you,” she continued, as she pulled up a barstool to the counter and ate her salad. “I’m thinking you should come to work with me as much as possible. Unless I’m out on a farm call or something. I just don’t want you to be alone all day, Rhyswr. I want you to be happy.”
The dog laid his enormous head on her thigh, and she rubbed his soft ears. Half an hour later, his head was in the same position as they sat on the couch and watched the news on TV together. Morgan had always loved animals, but Rhyswr had brought something new to her home, as if it was suddenly filled with life. A house is not a home without a dog. Or a cat or a bird or a goldfish. She didn’t understand how it worked, although she’d heard pet owners speak of the phenomenon many times. But now she was feeling it. Strange—she loved her house and had never noticed it lacking anything before. Now, because of the dog, there was somehow more.
Usually she did paperwork, caught up on reading veterinary medical journals, and did other tasks before falling into bed. Tonight, Morgan made popcorn—including a very small bowl that she left plain to share with Rhyswr—and put in a DVD. His behavior was impeccable. He didn’t jump up or get excited about the popcorn (and she’d seen plenty of dogs do backflips for it). Instead, he gently took pieces from her fingers as she offered them. The only time she had to tell the big mastiff to sit down was when he tried to lick the tears from her face during the sad parts of the movie. “You make a pretty perfect companion,” she said to him after the credits rolled. “You didn’t even complain that it was a chick flick.”
At ten, she almost changed her mind about having him sleep in the laundry room. Almost. If it hadn’t been for her certain knowledge of the volume of his snoring, she would have given in and let him sleep in her room.
The thick, comfy bed she’d made for him made the spacious laundry room look small. She hoped he’d be comfortable. Rhyswr obediently sat in the middle of the bedding, but his eyes looked alarmed as she went to leave the room. Morgan put her arms around his big neck and hugged him. “It’s just for tonight. If you really hate it, we’ll think of something else tomorrow, okay?”
Rhyswr thumped his tail and lay down, and Morgan headed off to her room. She knew she needed her sleep, needed every minute of it that she could get, but still it took all her willpower to leave the dog in the laundry room.
As she curled up under her blankets, she wondered why she hadn’t allowed herself to get a dog sooner. Her last thought before falling asleep was that she’d obviously been waiting for the right one to come along.
He’d known that the shattering of the faery-forged collar would summon the attention of the Tylwyth Teg, but Rhys hadn’t expected messengers so soon. Ancient beyond counting, beautiful beyond imagining, two beings stood in the room with him and banished the darkness with their living light. He squinted up at the Fair Ones, recognizing Tyne and Daeria of the queen’s own court, and waited.
Tyne studied the fragments of the collar that Morgan had placed in a box on the laundry table, then placed a single shard in the waiting palm of his consort. Daeria simply closed her delicate, long-fingered hand around it without taking her iridescent eyes off the large dog before her.
“What a surprise you’ve given us.” Her voice struck Rhys’s sensitive ears like hundreds of tiny bells chiming at once. Alluring, yet there was an underlying menace, darkness lurking beneath the light. The sound danced up and down his spine, and it was all he could do not to shiver. As a dog, he could make no reply, but none was wanted. “The queen was most impressed by the news. No grim has ever escaped his collar, and certainly no barghest has ever traveled so far. It’s provided fascinating conversation throughout the court.”
That could be good or bad. The Tylwyth Teg were immortal beings, but the burden of living for endless millennia was tedium. It was one reason that the Fair Ones tended to play terrible pranks upon mortals. Like bored children, they sprang upon the unwary, seeking diversion. So it had been when a weary Celtic warrior turned reluctant gladiator had fought his way to freedom at last. Wounded and near death, pursued by his former captors, he’d blundered straight into the territory of the Tylwyth Teg in the steep hills northwest of Isca Silurum…
“We came to see how this was done,” Tyne chimed in. “And now it is apparent that a mortal has had a hand in this. A most unusual mortal, in that she has beckoned you and actually sought you out instead of avoiding you. Offered you food and dressed your wounds. Each unselfish deed has weakened the links of our spell, and now the spell is unmade. This has never happened, not in all the ages of time.” He smiled, and it was like the sun in the high arctic. Bright but without real warmth.
“You’ve upset the balance of things. While it’s true that harmony was restored when you purchased this woman’s mortal life with your immortal one,” continued Daeria, “we remain unsatisfied. And therein you have provided the court with a very great puzzle. We wish your continued servitude, yet this mortal has managed to purchase your life with her unusual devotion. You are hers. Of course, her enslavement would provide redress for her interference.”
Rhys knew the game. He’d seen it countless times. They were baiting him, hoping for a reaction. He dared not give them one, forced himself to appear disinterested, as if Morgan’s fate didn’t matter to him. The couple waited, but he simply stared at them steadily.
Tyne shrugged finally. “The queen—”
“The queen revealed that she knew this mortal’s ancestor of twenty generations past.” Daeria delivered this tidbit with relish, like someone revealing juicy gossip. “Some say they were friends and the queen permitted the woman to visit the faery court freely.”
“And leave as she chose,” said Tyne.
Rhys knew better than most how unusual that was. No human entered or left the royal court save by the will of the Fair Ones. He’d seen many hapless mortals there over the centuries, some invited, most captured. Like him, they were forced to provide service or amusement for the Tylwyth Teg. Few ever left. If there had once been a mortal woman who was an actual friend to the queen, he hadn’t noticed. But then, he only ever saw the powerful monarch when she was in the throne room. Most of the time she did not deign to grace the chattering court with her presence.
“I suppose it was because of her blood,” explained Daeria, ignoring the glare of her consort, who clearly wanted to tell some of the tale. “There was a silver thread of fae blood in her mortal veins and in all her female descendants since. Royal fae blood. Including the woman who has showed you such uncommon kindness.”
Tyne nodded. “That is true. Though she is mortal, she is of us.”
There was nothing he could do—even with a canine face, Rhys couldn’t hide his astonishment at such news. He saw pleasure spring behind their otherworldly eyes, pleasure in knowing that they had managed to surprise him. He could picture them returning to their hidden land beneath the Welsh hills, delighting all with the gossip they brought. That foolish warrior didn’t even know that the woman was fae…
No, but he did know that Morgan was nothing like the coldhearted creatures before him.
Tyne put his hand on Daeria’s arm, and she waved an irritated hand as if giving him permission to speak. He made a slight bow, not to her but to Rhys. “In deference to that bloodline and to an old friendship, the queen has made her appearance in the throne room for the first time since the king expired.”
The king had not expired, thought Rhys. Having witnessed death in every form possible, he knew that only the sick and the weak could be said to expire, releasing their last breath and having not the strength to take another. The king of the Fair Ones had not only resisted his death by iron blades in the hands of power-seeking traitors but had fought to purchase time for his wife to cast an enchantment that bound the murderers. He saved her life but died mere seconds before she could save his.
“Her Supreme Highness, Ruler of the Nine Realms, called up
on the entire court to witness not one but two declarations. One, that Morgan Edwards is henceforth eithriedig—”
She had immunity? Rhys’s control nearly slipped again. She had been afforded an extremely rare protection—at least from those who dared not disobey their remaining monarch. His Morgan was essentially safeguarded from all faery malice, from simple pranks to spells and violence. With otherworldly threats thus removed, Rhys was confident that he could protect her from all else.
“The court was appalled. Such a valuable gift to be bestowed upon an insignificant mortal.” Daeria spoke the last word with a hiss of disgust.
Her companion frowned at her but continued. “The second declaration is that the Tylwyth Teg will relinquish our claim upon you, dark grim, until such time that this mortal woman relinquishes hers by the power of three. You are ours no more—”
“—until then,” finished Daeria, and there was no mistaking the threat.
The Fair Ones vanished, and Rhys was alone in the dark, relieved yet disturbed. Until then. Until a time when he no longer belonged to Morgan. The idea was surprisingly painful. He’d have to make sure that didn’t happen. He’d be a model dog, a devoted servant, a perfect animal companion and protector. She’d have no reason to ever make him leave.
FIVE
Morgan had gone to bed hoping for another visit from her fantasy lover and wasn’t disappointed. A dream whisked her away soon after her head touched the pillow, and she found herself walking the edge of a calm, silvery ocean. A bright moon shone high and full as a warm breeze licked along her naked skin. She dipped a toe into the water, then waded slowly into the shallows, the soft waves caressing her.
She saw him then—her familiar stranger, her lover—swimming toward her. Saw his powerfully muscled body emerge from the waves as he set foot in the shallows, saw the silvery droplets of seawater fly from his skin as he approached. Heat radiated from him as he enveloped her in his strong arms, and his mouth burned against her lips. An answering heat blossomed between her legs, and she wanted him to touch her there, please, please, please…
Instead, he feasted on her breasts. His powerful hands cupped and squeezed them while his clever mouth worked the eager nipples relentlessly. Her clit began to pulse in rhythm with the magic he was making, and she tangled her hands in his thick dark hair to hold him to her. Something deep within her began winding tighter and tighter, and she knew she’d shatter when it let loose—
Without any warning, the dream shifted and changed.
Morgan’s lover vanished abruptly, along with her pending orgasm. Damn it! She gritted her teeth with frustration as she found herself wandering long, darkened hallways through a house that resembled hers yet didn’t—when had it been so far to the kitchen? She wasn’t quite sure it was her own house until she entered the laundry room, wasn’t entirely certain she was still asleep even—until she saw her new dog communicating with glowing alien beings!
Good grief. It was almost a relief to have to slap the damn alarm clock off.
Morgan opened her eyes, contemplating her dreams for a few moments. She briefly considered getting out her favorite vibrator, but that mood was long gone, ruined by the bizarre visions of extraterrestrials among her baskets of dirty towels and jeans.
That’ll teach me to eat popcorn late at night.
She had the day off but wasn’t interested in sleeping in—after all, she had a new dog. And that dog was probably dying to go outside for a pee. Later she wanted to place an overseas call again in hopes of contacting Gwen—Morgan had been looking forward to telling her about the dog for two whole weeks now. She slipped into her bathrobe and barefooted her way to the laundry room to let Rhyswr out. She hadn’t been sure about the choice of accommodations, and he hadn’t seemed thrilled either. Small wonder. Although the room was large, it was on the opposite end of the house. But she couldn’t imagine getting much sleep with the great snoring creature in her room. Where could she put him so he could be close by? Maybe she could rearrange things in the kitchen area. Would the entryway be better? Deep in thought, Morgan was several steps inside the laundry room before pure shock brought her up short.
There was a man, a naked man curled on the dog bedding. A very big, very powerful, completely naked—
Morgan spun and ran. All the terror of the attack in the parking lot gave her speed as she raced through the house and straight out the front door. She headed for the only vehicle in the driveway, the clinic van, and tried its doors frantically. All locked, even the cargo doors. Damn it! Heart pounding, Morgan kept the van between her and the house as she peered back toward the front door. She’d left it wide open—a clear signal to the intruder as to where she had gone. “Crap! What am I going to do?” she muttered. “Think, think!”
The keys were in her purse in the house. Her cell phone was in her purse too. And her purse was—where the hell was her purse? Dining room table? Entryway shelf? Kitchen counter? Bedroom dresser? She’d found the stupid thing in all those places before. Where had she put it last night? And did she dare go back inside to look for it?
“There’s got to be something else.” Hers was the last farm on the rural road. She’d liked the privacy when she first bought it, appreciated the fact that only the occasional tractor or combine passed by. It had been such a welcome relief from the busy city. Now it felt isolated and dangerous. The nearest neighbors, Jorge and Katrina Klassen, were three miles away. Normally, she could walk the distance easily. Barefoot, however, would make it very tough going.
Morgan turned away from the useless van and left the driveway. It was the first place the intruder would look for her, although there was no sign of him yet. She jogged to a thick stand of trees and huddled down behind the bushes. Her stupid white bathrobe was sure to give her away if she wasn’t careful, but there was no point taking it off. Not with brilliant pink pajamas underneath. She watched the house while stealing glances at the old barn and the machine shed. Could she hide in one of them? She was just contemplating the grain bin in the stable when she remembered the dog. Where was Rhyswr? Why hadn’t he barked or chewed the intruder’s leg off?
The black dog certainly hadn’t been in the laundry room. Obviously, the stranger had let the dog out, but where would Rhyswr go? Her property bordered a forested area around a creek. Maybe the big mastiff had found a rabbit or a deer to chase? Morgan sighed heavily. She’d have to search for her dog later. Right now, she had much bigger problems.
Although there was no activity that she could see in the house, she couldn’t stay hidden long. She had to either sneak back in and try to find her keys, hide on the property somewhere, or start off walking to the neighbor’s house. She had just decided to follow the creek through the woods, which would take her from her own land and into Klassen’s pastures, when a loud whoop from the house had her flattening herself behind the bushes.
He was human. Human! Rhys leapt up from the floor and nearly fell over. He grabbed for a chair to steady himself. By all the gods, human! He was a man again, although he felt like a newborn foal with strange legs that didn’t want to support him. Slowly, he drew himself up, teetering just a little. It was almost dizzying. He’d been among the largest of dogs, but he hadn’t seen the world from a man’s height for millennia. And he’d completely forgotten all the colors. As a dog, the world had looked very different. There was color of a sort, but nothing like this. Everywhere he looked, he was assaulted with hues that had not even existed when he last walked on two legs. Suddenly Rhys wanted, no, needed to get outside. One thing would be the same, no matter how much time had passed.
He had to see the sky…
His body felt awkward, but it was still as physically powerful as if he’d awakened from an ordinary night’s sleep and not a centuries-old spell. Years of battle against the Roman intruders had strengthened it. Years of fighting in the ring for his Roman captors had honed it. His walking improved with every step, and gradually he stood straighter and didn’t need to brush his hands along the
walls for support.
The door stood wide open. Beyond it, Rhys could see a sprawling expanse of brilliant green. Had mere grass always been that incredible color? He had to rub sudden moisture away from his eyes with the heel of his hand. Walking over the threshold and into the light was akin to being born, and although his heart leapt, he didn’t look up. Not yet. Instead, he stepped carefully off the porch and onto the grass, strode barefoot through the bright, tickling blades until he was well away from the building. Then he extended his arms, palms up, tilted his head back, and stared up into the clear, bright blue of the sky.
The intense color dazzled him until he let himself fall backward onto the grass. Rhys lay there for several minutes in a state of near rapture, unable to take in the splendor, unable to look away from it. Blue was a sacred color, and he ran his fingers over the tattoo of a blue hound on his collarbone. Although the image had caused merriment for the Fair Ones and had inspired his sentence at their hands, the blue hound was his clan emblem—its color a part of his identity, part of his very soul. Looking up into the sky, the color filled him, soothed him.
Each unselfish deed has weakened the links of our spell, and now the spell is unmade.
Morgan had done it. He was free because of the woman who had befriended him, cared for him, even saved his life. Rhys closed his eyes for a moment in reverent thanks but opened them quickly when a sharp metal point pressed against his throat. He was shocked to discover his benefactor on the other end of a long-handled hoe.
“Who are you?” she demanded, forcing her voice to be steady, although she didn’t feel steady in the least. A close look at the stranger’s face had revealed eyes the color of ale and old gold. His features were as familiar to her as her own. He was the man from her dreams—but how was that possible? More, the blue symbol tattooed high on his collarbone was a perfect match to the enameled animal on Rhyswr’s collar. Shaken, she pressed the hoe harder and saw the man’s golden eyes widen.