Two things happened simultaneously; all sound abruptly cut off, and the ground shook beneath their feet. Cautiously, Skye unplugged her ears and opened her eyes.
The darkness teemed with alien creatures, all pointing down the road to something invisible to her.
“Phouka,” Kheelan muttered. “Crap.” He grabbed her arm. “My truck’s just ahead.” He jerked his head in the direction of the library parking lot by the side of the building. “Run as fast as you can.”
Skye responded immediately to his urgency and they took off. This drew the attention of the fairies and they began pointing their elongated arms.
“Tacharan. Changeling. They’re coming for you and your girl,” their voices taunted with evil screeches. Their eyes radiated the predatory gleam of cats and owls. One goblin, especially bold, drew close to Skye. He was only as tall as her waist, but he grabbed a leg and pinched her thigh viciously, over and over. The other fairies laughed and egged him on.
“That’s right, Tobogan. Give her a good pinch, she likes it rough.”
“She must be punished for looking at us. Disgusting human.”
“Leave her alone, damn you.” Kheelan smacked his car keys against the goblin’s green, skinny head. “Get out of here or the Phouka will eat you alive.”
Skye didn’t know if it was Kheelan’s anger or the threat of the oncoming Phouka, but the creatures took off, still cackling and glancing back at them.
Kheelan pulled her toward a beat-up Ford truck twenty yards ahead. Skye tried to ignore the pain in her leg as she sprinted to safety, eyes fixed on the truck. Only six yards to go when peppering burns erupted down the entire right side of her body. She screamed in fear and pain.
“Almost there,” Kheelan said, picking her up and carrying her. He flung open the passenger door, pushed her inside and then slammed it shut.
What had happened? The burning pricks of flesh itched and she clawed her skin, trying desperately to ease the agony. Through the haze of pain, she registered that Kheelan was peeling out of the parking lot with a loud screech of tires.
In the street, she felt the earth’s vibration increase. The truck shook violently.
Kheelan reached out, ran his fingers through her hair. “We’ll be okay now, they can’t hurt us with all this metal around us. How bad are you hurt?”
“Hospital.” She ground out the word between numb lips. The itching stopped, but was replaced by a tingling down her side. She beat at the right leg in a panic, and felt nothing.
A block away from the library, Skye saw what was causing the ground to tremble. “What are all those horses doing in the middle of the road?”
Downtown Tuscaloosa teemed with what appeared, at first glance, to be a herd of wild mustangs galloping through Main Street. They plowed through cars, doing no damage to themselves or the vehicles. She searched the other driver’s faces and saw no signs of panic, no cars pulling over to the side of the road to let the creatures pass. They were invisible to everyone else.
They approached within a few yards of the Phouka and Skye forgot her pain as she stared into their infernal yellow eyes. When they passed through the herd unscathed, Skye breathed a sigh of relief.
Until Kheelan passed the Tuscaloosa Hospital.
“Stop. I need help.” She pointed to the hospital emergency entrance. “They did something to my leg and I can’t feel anything there.”
Kheelan grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “The doctors can’t help you. I’m taking you to my place for an antidote.”
“Antidote to what?” At least with the numbness, she could breathe again and talk. She continued rubbing her right arm and leg, trying to restore circulation.
“Elf shot.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. How serious is this elf shot?” She tried to put on a brave front, biting her lips to stop the trembling.
Kheelan kept his eyes on the road and hesitated.
“The truth,” Skye demanded.
“If they’re being especially vicious, the darts they fling at mortals can be dipped in poison. If you felt a burn, I suspect the worst.” He faced her, his jaw set with grim fury.
Skye answered as calmly as she could. “What’s the antidote?”
“I don’t know all the ingredients,” he admitted. “Annwynn, a former guardian, insists that our pantry stay stocked with a bottle of the stuff.”
Skye concentrated on the passing landscape. The paved streets with shops and residential housing gave way to a bumpy country road with thick groves of pine trees and oaks crowding its sides. At last Kheelan exited onto a winding dirt road, pulling up short in front of a small, old-fashioned cottage with one window aglow, like a watching eye. It reminded her of the fictional cottage that drew Hansel and Gretel. The gingerbread cuteness of this place might be deceptive.
Shaking off the image, Skye fumbled with the car latch, only to discover her right hand was useless. By the time she reached over with the left, Kheelan had already flung the door open. He picked her up quickly and ran into the house. Thankfully, no bad fairies lurked about the place.
“Where did they all go?”
“Enchantments protect us out here,” Kheelan explained. He deposited her on a worn couch and wrapped a chenille throw around her legs. “Let me get the antidote.”
When he left the room, Skye examined her arm and frowned at the little pinpricks of splinters that had torn through her jacket and were embedded in her skin. She pulled one out and studied it. No larger than a toothpick, it was jagged, as if stripped unprocessed from tree bark, the end of it sharp and covered with her blood.
Concentrate on something else. She took in her surroundings. It was scrupulously clean—which she appreciated—and somewhat sparse. There were no photographs or personal mementos anywhere, a true sign of a bachelor pad. The room was saved from a formal, austere atmosphere by blooming flowers scattered about. A fire blazed in the stone fireplace. The faint scent of herbs, flowers, and burning oak reminded her of her home in Piedmont. Rowena Watters would feel comfortable in this place.
“What the hell is going on?” cried a loud, booming voice.
Skye started as a large, bearded man stumbled into the room clutching a bottle of Guinness. His hair was black, disheveled and shoulder-length and he sported a long coarse beard of the same ink-black color. “I knew I smelled a human,” he said.
They eyed each other in wary silence. Skye took in his crumpled, pimp-pink duster that exposed bits of torn and dirty lace frills at the cuffs and neckline. He wore tight-fitting leggings of lime green that disappeared into scuffed leather brogans. The whole effect made him look like a Renaissance Fair reject.
“Cool threads,” she said with a smirk.
Kheelan elbowed past the man, carrying washcloths, bandages and a jar filled with a murky black and green liquid.
“I’m not sure about this,” Skye said, eyeing the vile concoction.
“Annwynn swears by it,” Kheelan assured her. He knelt beside her and quickly arranged the items on a wooden coffee table.
“I said, what the hell is going on in here?” the man asked again, louder than before. He swayed, presumably drunk, on feet that appeared way too small for his stout frame. “How dare ye bring a mere mortal into my house?”
“I’m a mere mortal too, remember?” Kheelan didn’t look up from his ministrations, didn’t see the fisted hand raise and then land on his shoulder. It knocked him sideways. The open jar spilled, its contents running from the coffee table to the roughhewn pine floorboards.
“Look what you’ve done, Finvorra. Skye needs the medicine.” Kheelan frantically began sopping up the antidote with the washcloths.
“I’ll teach ye to back-talk me you despicable changeling.” He raised his fist again.
What the hell? She wouldn’t stand for it. Outraged, Skye jumped to her feet and almost fell when the right leg gave way underneath. “Leave him alone, you … you—”
Surprised, Finvorra turned his boozy, glaze
d eyes on her.
Kheelan moved between the two. “This is Skye. She’s helping me uncover the ring of pixie murderers. I don’t think Queen Corrigan and the Council will appreciate you hurting someone on our side.”
Skye peered around Kheelan, saw Finvorra tug the unkempt beard with gnarled hands. He looked like he wanted to strike them both senseless.
Finvorra lowered his hand with a grumble, and Kheelan firmly pushed her back onto the couch. He quickly helped her shed her jacket and shoes. When he started unbuttoning her blouse, Skye slapped his hand away with a significant glance at Finvorra who now watched with a leering smirk.
Kheelan scowled at the man. “Leave us.”
“Ye donna give me orders, Tacharan.” Finvorra crossed his arms and licked his lips while he stared at Skye. Evidently, his low regard for humans didn’t make him any less lecherous for a taste of mortal flesh.
This made her more ill than any elf shot. She struggled to sit up. “Get out of here,” she yelled, pointing her finger toward the door. She wished she knew some off-the-cuff spell to make this dreadful man, or whatever he was, disappear in a poof.
He glowered, lips turned down in contempt. His focus shifted to her hair and his eyes changed from scorn to a contemplative gleam. He scratched his head, saying, “A redheaded human, eh? Maybe I’m not giving ye enough credit, mortal. I’ll leave yer a bit of privacy.”
Skye looked to Kheelan for an explanation, but his head was bent, dark brown hair obscuring his face as he began unclasping the belt of her jeans. To her surprise, Finvorra raised the Guinness bottle at her with a wink, then left them alone.
What was that comment about redheads supposed to mean? Some kind of sexual innuendo, no doubt. The pervert. A metallic ripping sound drew her attention downward where Kheelan was unzipping her jeans.
“What are you doing?” She tried to slap his hand away, but his palm fisted to an immovable block of ice.
“Skye.” His voice held a note of command and she forced her flushed face to meet his gaze. “We need to get these off so I can put what’s left of the antidote on your leg.” A smile tugged the corners of his lips. “If it helps, try to think of me as a doctor.”
It didn’t. Skye clenched her teeth as he pulled off her jeans in one smooth tug, exposing her pink thong panties. But she forgot her embarrassment when she saw the dozens of inflamed patches marring her skin, tiny wood shards in their center.
Kheelan pulled one out and held it up to the light. It looked like a splinter, whittled from tree bark to a sharp point, bloodied from penetrating her soft flesh.
Skye’s mouth went dry. “How worried should I be right now?”
Kheelan cast aside the dart and stared down at the lacy panties, enthralled. His chest tightened and his breathing became heavy. Get yourself together. This was not the place or time. He picked up one of the wet washcloths, hoping there was enough of the potion left to draw out whatever the poison in the elf shot. After withdrawing the minuscule weapons, he placed the washcloth on the wounds as gently as possible. A soft intake of breath made him look at Skye.
“Sorry.”
She placed her hand on top of his head, sweet as a benediction. “Do what you have to. It stung at first, but maybe that means its drawing out the toxins.”
Kheelan had no idea how long to leave the washcloth on the wound. Once, when he was twelve, he’d been stung by a single elf dart. Annwynn had been there to clean up the wound and put on the medicine. It had still hurt like hell. No doubt Skye was in quite a bit of pain now that the numbness had worn off. He had half-hoped Annwynn would appear to advise him, but no such luck. Of all people, he knew not to rely on any fairy aid.
He continued to pull out the bits of fairy arrows, then dabbed each puncture wound with the soaked washcloths. At last, he finished the leg.
“We need to get your jacket and shirt off,” he said. Her white skin was even paler than usual, her eyes clouded, brow wrinkled in pain.
“It hurts too much to even be shy right now.” She managed a tight smile as she helped him shed her jacket and shirt. Skye’s skin was white and creamy perfection. Until he caught a glimpse of her back.
“What the hell is this?” He stared in horror at a row of quarter-sized scabs down the middle of her spine. “What have they done to you?”
Skye jerked away from his scrutiny and lay on the couch, effectively blocking his view.
“Those were already there,” she answered, blushing. “I must have scraped up against something at the shop. Don’t you need to get that medicine on me?”
Kheelan shook his head. She was hiding something, but now was not the time to push it. Upset as he was, he couldn’t help noticing the matching lacy pink bra and the iron medallion he’d given her earlier, nestled in the vee of her breasts. Some protection it had turned out to be. He tore his eyes from her cleavage, and his fingers trembled slightly as he set about removing the shards on her right arm. Once the wounds were clean, he took out the ointment.
“What’s in that?” Skye asked.
He figured conversation would keep her mind from worry, and his mind from sex.
“This is the actual antidote. The wound cleaner was lobelia mixed in apple cider vinegar. The ointment is made of plantain, chickweed and burdock root. Annwynn swears by it.”
“Annwynn?”
“My childhood Guardian.”
“I hope she was nothing like Finvorra.”
As gently as possible, he meticulously applied the ointment to every wound on her arm and leg. After finishing, he sat back on his heels and surveyed his handiwork with a skeptical frown.
“I feel a little better already.” Skye tucked a strand of hair behind his ears. “The stings are fading a bit.”
He ran a finger down her thigh, checking one last time to see if he might have missed anything. Skye drew in a raspy breath.
“Did I hurt you?” He leaned in closer and examined her skin.
“It’s not that,” she answered breathlessly.
She sounded funny. Kheelan glanced up and caught the stark hunger in her green eyes. Sexual hunger.
Need slammed into his gut like a heavy-weight punch, constricting his airways, commanding all his attention. His fingers reversed path and trailed upward toward the red patch of hair visible through her pink panties. He cupped her and she pressed into his palm. The silk lace was smooth and damp.
Skye whimpered and the sound of her passion spurred him on. Just a little taste. He lowered his head and rained kisses on the soft flesh of her thighs before placing his mouth over her core. His tongue slid into her hot folds and he feasted on her essence. Exquisite. The bit of lace added to the texture and excitement, more sensuous than if she had been laid bare.
Her hands pressed down on the top of his head, driving him deeper, telling him she wanted more. Kheelan slipped his hand beneath the elastic lining and replaced his tongue with a finger. Skye moaned and her insides clinched and squeezed against it.
A clattering of shattered glass exploded from the hallway. A sound Kheelan well recognized. Damn Finvorra. He’d stumbled again and dropped a glass of whiskey on the floor.
Skye scrambled to a seating position and crossed her hands over her breasts. Hastily, Kheelan grabbed an afghan from the back of the sofa and threw it over her body.
“Be right back,” he promised. With any luck, he’d get to Finvorra before his guardian stumbled into the den, demanding that he clean up the mess.
Kheelan hurried into the hallway where Finvorra leaned against a wall, staring stupidly down at the wreckage. Kheelan ushered him into his recliner, cleaned up the spill and broken glass, and retrieved more medicine from the pantry. At least Finvorra was down for the count and wouldn’t disturb them the rest of the evening.
In the den, Skye was already back in her jeans and slipping on her sneakers. She wrinkled her nose at the vile looking container of sludgy, black liquid he held.
“What the hell is that?”
“A little some
thing for pain.”
“No thanks. I’ll take some ibuprofen like a normal, twenty-first century person.” She hastily began buttoning her shirt, casting anxious looks at the door as if afraid Finvorra might burst through.
Kheelan winced at the word ‘normal.’ Neither one of them were, her because of her half-fae nature, and him because of his stolen childhood. While human children were raised with Fairy Tales, he had been read Mortal Tales of the ignorant and strange ways of humans. The stories only served to make him more of an outsider with the fairy children. If it hadn’t been for Ealdun and Hefeydd, he would have had no one to play with or talk to.
He started, aware Skye was waving a hand in front of his face.
“Hey, you. What were you thinking?”
“About normalcy.” He helped her put on her jacket. “Did you read fairy tales as a kid?”
“Loved them, still do.” She froze, one arm in the coat, the other out. “Did the fairies read them to you?”
“We read Mortal Tales. Only instead of Happy-Ever-Afters they had SEAs.”
“Meaning?”
“Stupidly-Ever-Afters where humans lived in dwellings cut off from the world of nature. They do stupid things like fall in love and get married, actually choosing to mate with one person for an entire lifetime, and even worse, they’re usually too blind to see the fairies dancing right in front of their noses.”
“And what about you, Kheelan?” Her words were so soft he leaned in to catch them. “Do you believe in love?”
He scratched the back of his neck. He should tell her ‘yes,’ lead her on. If he told Skye he loved her, she would be more willing to help him even after the attack tonight. But he couldn’t do it. All he knew was that he cared way too much for this human girl, and that scared him more than the Dark Fae ever could.
He cleared his throat. “Are you really feeling better?”
Her shoulders sank. “Positive. It’s getting late, I just want to go home, get some studying in, and then crash.” She buttoned her coat and he followed her out. They headed to the truck.
Changeling: An Appalachian Magic Novel Book 2 (Appalachian Magic Series) Page 12