Poison and Potions: a Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by Erin Hayes

  Without thinking, he was running towards her; but there were men on either side of him, he could see them moving through the branches. Damn. She would get away – he knew she would; she had to. There was no way that she’d risk getting shot down just so speak to him; he’d spank her ass if she did.

  Just when his legs started to slow down, accepting what his brain was telling him, a long, flexible branch appeared in front of him, and twirled around his waist.

  Holy shit. This was not a nice way to travel.

  The thing just flung itself forward and launched him in the air; then, another tree took him, and did the same, until he finally landed right in front of her.

  How many months had it been? Too many. She’d charged so much, it might as well have been another century.

  The Blanche he’d met had had something rather polite, polished, perhaps even a little meek about her; this one had shed it, and trampled over it, for good measure.

  She wore patches held together by leather straps – which meant that she looked like she belonged in a dirty magazine. Her hair had been plaited, which was the only thing even remotely cosmetic about her appearance. Her nails were short, chipped, her skin dry. Those damn full lips of hers were still of the darkest, most sensual blood red, though.

  “You’re alive.”

  Not the smartest thing to say, but he felt that it deserved to be emphasized.

  “For now,” she smiled lightheartedly, but the joke fell flat, for him in any case.

  He might possibly find it funny in a few decades, if she was safe, preferably under lock and key.

  Then again, maybe not.

  As she was obviously not inclined to say anything he might want to hear, and in any case, they didn’t have a history of faring well in the art of conversation, he just took her hand and pulled her up from her crouch, tugging on her arm until he’d completely engulfed her in a bear hug.

  Damn, that felt good.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  He didn’t formulate it like a question, because it wasn’t, yet she dared reply, “No.”

  What was that? Who cared. He just pressed her harder against him and dropped his head to smell her, drinking in her scent, getting used to the feel of her in his arms.

  “Give me every reason why you wouldn’t want to come with me, so I can argue each and every one of them – then, we can be on our way.”

  She stiffened a little, before sighing.

  “You don’t know me. I have responsibilities here.”

  “Yes, Miss Wood, I’m well aware of that. And don’t you believe you may fair better with the Alenian army behind you, when you move to seize the throne from that evil bitch?”

  “Witch. Close enough though – it rhymes. And no. I don’t want your humongous, rich, and powerful country to go to war with my kingdom, actually. I’ll not see Woodlandian blood shed if I can avoid it.”

  Sandro glared, but she didn’t avert her eyes, she didn’t even blink, totally out-staring him.

  “Blanche, you need to understand: I am of fay descent.”

  “Ditto,” she shrugged casually, as though it had no importance.

  “Fays have mates for life, and…”

  How was he supposed to explain that?

  She made it easy, by shrugging again, and finishing for him, “And I am yours; yes, I thought as much.”

  He would have really, really appreciated if that girl had come with a mind reading device, or some sort of decryption tool at least.

  “And that’s not relevant because…”

  “Because before anything else, I am the protector of the Woodlands, and right now, my country is in the hands of a crazy witch who wastes its resources every day. I need to get it back. But if I ever get to think about making babies and keeping house, I’ll call you.”

  Suddenly, thousands of years where the female sex had been talked to exactly that way came back to bite him in the ass, taking most of his pride, and a chunk of flesh, too.

  “Seriously?”

  If she shrugged again, he was going to throttle her.

  She did so, which meant that he just laughed and pulled her in, to kiss her, this time right on her forehead.

  “Okay, I get it. You wear the trousers, I won’t get in your way and all. Now, if you’d be so kind as to stop the bullshit and tell me how I can help, that would be great.”

  Pain in the Neck

  She’d gone over the whole “I’m really, really busy and if someone trails you, he might get to kill me,” thing, yet every day, he made it to her forest.

  Every. Damn. Day.

  “Give the boy a break, he’s trying,” Dashing, who unsurprisingly was very fond of Sandro, admonished her.

  He was trying. He’d brought food, at first, and pillows, too. When he’d asked what she wanted, and she’d replied tampons, he hadn’t even cried and run away. He did ask how she’d managed in that respect until then, though.

  Obviously, the man had a strong stomach.

  “You’ve changed a lot,” he told her, which was rich coming from someone who knew just about nothing about her, before.

  But he was right, she had; she’d toughed up quick – living alone with gnomes in the woods had that effect on a girl.

  “I’ve always seen the strength, but now you’re not hiding it. It’s good. You’ll be a great Queen.”

  She shuddered at the term; Queen had designated to Ilda for so long, she didn’t really like the idea of bearing the same title.

  “Flattery? You’d obviously make an adequate consort,” she replied, as per usual hitting him below the belt.

  It was the only effective way she knew how to keep him at a distance; and she needed him there, that was for sure.

  Just the memory of the split instant when she’d seen that arrow fly towards him was enough to make her want to stop – stop everything. Breathing, fighting. Her country deserved better than a lovesick puppy.

  Why didn’t he go away?

  “If you so wish,” he replied indifferently, like he really wouldn’t mind being nothing more than her consort – her trophy husband.

  Stupid. She knew she’d have him as King, next to her; everything else aside, he had more experience than her in politics anyway.

  His cloudy eyes found hers just as she said that, and Blanche had to wonder whether her thoughts were betrayed by her eyes because, for the first time that day, he asked, “Tell me, Blanche. What can I do to help, really help? You don’t have to do this alone.”

  Harsh, unnecessarily bitting words were at the tip of her tongue, but she closed her mouth and sighed.

  He was right. There was no point holding on to her resolve – not when her people might ultimately suffer from it.

  “I have plenty of subjects loyal to me. A lot of them are Huntsmen – noble hunters. They have the legal right to proceed to a coronation – the issue is getting Ilda’s abdication first. Or…” she started, but that sentence didn’t need to be finished.

  If her head so happened to fall from her shoulders and impale itself on a stick, it would work, too.

  “I see. Good plan, so long as you can actually trust whomever we reach out to.”

  “There’s the Ferns, from the Swan Lake. Laurie, their youngest daughter, enrolled to work with me, and she’s had my back for years. Odette will be easier to find, though. She’s famous – a professional ballerina. She lives in Alenia.”

  Sandro was shaking his head, “I’m afraid not. Odette Ferns disappeared a few weeks back; my brother’s men are still looking. But I can seek that Laurie in Nordeen, as well as anyone else you can think of. Give me a list of names, I’ll try to at least reach one of your allies.”

  He produced a pen and a notebook, and she did so, her heart fluttering with hope as she reached the bottom of the page.

  He was gone for less than three hours, and he came back with every single name on that list, and an unexpected addition.

  Blanche was sure she had seen the old, but elegant, dignifie
d scholar plenty of times in the past, but she couldn’t quite place her, until Sandro made the introductions.

  “When I went to the royal library the first time, Mrs. Briggs was so good as to run me through the history of your lineage – quite fascinating. She knows everything there’s to know about the Woods.”

  The woman may not be in her prime, but like any female comforted by Sandro’s charms, she blushed at the flattery.

  “I thought she might be of help concerning the technicalities of a coronation.”

  Gosh, her man was smart. She stared at him, dumbfounded for a while, contemplating how unfair it was that someone could look like that and have been blessed with brains, too.

  “And good thing, too. Tell her what you said, Mrs. Briggs.”

  The old woman started by throwing the worse news she’d heard in years, first:

  “Well, anyone who murders a Wood sovereign would be excommunicated – and that extends to accomplices, too – so none of us can actually harm your step-mother, your grace.”

  Dammit. Sometimes, it sucked to be citizen of a country with logical, descent laws.

  “However, I have been wondering what sort of terms her reign might be subjected to; she isn’t a Wood by blood – only by marriage, which means that she may very well be Queen Regent. Given the fact that you’ve now reach adulthood, that would make you our actual Queen, your grace. In which case, that law would go both ways, which means that if you were to be able to prove her attempt on your life, she’d be banished, too.”

  Blanche liked that, she liked that very much, but…

  “There’s too many ifs,” Sando sighed. “We would need to get our hands on some proofs – perhaps your father’s will. If Mrs. Briggs is correct though, this issue should solve itself. I can fabricate reasons why Dane needs the paperwork – land registry shit, or something equally relevant. Ilda’s not that smart.”

  That night, although it was raining, and there certainly was no room for more than one girl and seven gnomes in the tiny cottage she’d called home for so long it had become the only home she knew, Sandro stayed. She didn’t even try to kick him out more than once.

  She roasted a rabbit – courtesy of Foxy – and they ate it outside, in silence, Sandro against a tree trunk that consented to be comfortable, she in his arms, sitting between his legs, and her pet fox at her feet. It was nice.

  Okay, she would stop being nasty and admit that it was the best evening she could recall. She fell asleep like that, and at dawn, when she awoke with a pain in the neck and just about every muscle in her body hurting, she smiled up towards the gorgeous face of the man who was somehow hers. All hers.

  Totally worth it.

  One year, three months later.

  Two years.

  It had been two fucking years and still, the bloody Queen had evaded every single way they’d requested to see that damn will of Blanche’s father’s.

  “Come on, we all know her silence is incriminating,” Laurie grumbled.

  They had that discussion every time they met and every time they met, Sando replied, “We don’t know anything. We just assume.”

  But the discussion went a bit differently, this time around.

  Blanche got up, making it clear that she wanted to speak to the fifty men assembled before her – rumors had travelled and more and more came every day. There were plenty posted in the nearby villages, just waiting for her call; every weekend, they went out camping, and Blanche joined in, lost in the sea of boot-clad, parka-wearing hikers.

  “I agree with Laurie. Enough is enough. If she had nothing to hide, she wouldn’t hold on to it that way. There’s probably no will, in which case the law stands and I am Queen.”

  She was Queen – that much was obvious in the way everyone bowed their heads slightly in agreement.

  “Either way, we need to do something. Every season we wait, more people are evicted from their homes, lose their businesses. There are children who go hungry because we hesitate.”

  Damn she was a compelling orator, no word, no noise interrupted her speech; the entire forest was silent.

  “And I really, really want to sleep on a bed some day,” she added just as gravely.

  Everyone chuckled at that, except Sandro.

  How he agreed with that. He really, really wanted her on a bed, too.

  Sandro was no saint, so he had to admit to kissing her a few times, and perhaps even copping a feel, too, but he’d had no intention to fuck his soul mate on a bed of grass and roots, and she had no intention of leaving her woods, even for a night.

  So yeah, he had enough too. Although he could still see plenty of reasons why hastiness was a bad idea, he threw both hands up and cheered along with the rest.

  “So what should we do?”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Any idea, Blanche?”

  Everyone asked all at once, and it was clear that she’d though things through.

  “Now,” she replied quietly, “we feed her information about my location and let her kill me.”

  Sandro stood there, waiting for the punch line like everyone else, but there was none.

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  It came out as a growl.

  “A bit?” she admitted, her lip curling up on one side.

  Damn dryad.

  “She’s given up on her mercenaries, because they just can’t catch me, but given half a chance, and the means, she’ll try to take me out. I was thinking, we should definitely let her make a fool of herself publically.”

  She had everyone’s ear, now it was clear that she hadn’t grown completely mad.

  “Well?”

  Blanche got up again, heading towards a half empty basket, until she’d extracted an apple from it.

  Everyone groaned.

  The blood red fruits they called the royal apple as they only grew on palace grounds were rather disgusting, unless cooked, yet for some unfathomable reasons, Blanche liked them.

  “It is common knowledge that I enjoy these,” she said. “Let Ilda somehow know that I favor them, and I give her ten days until every single one is covered in poison.”

  “And poisoning you is a good idea because?” Grumpy grumbled, but Sandro had finally caught on.

  “I’m immune to diseases,” she replied.

  Her and most fay descendants out there.

  “I’d have to take myself out with a spell, just long enough for everyone to agree Ilda should be banished.”

  “Great – but how do we wake you up afterwards?”

  “That’s what counter-spells are for. Don’t worry, I’ll design one.”

  Everything went down without a hitch. Three days after they had the information on her whereabouts leaked, the care package she received for Mrs. Price reeked of arsenic.

  “Do you really have to eat it?”

  “Might as well,” she replied, happily crunching on her fruit.

  That woman’s tastebuds had obviously not been calibrated correctly.

  Sandro delayed the inevitable with plenty of questions, as he wasn’t fond of phase two of the plan.

  “So you’re certain this spell is efficient?”

  “Definitely, it’s pretty much a sleeping potion, ensuring that I don’t breathw. Or wake up.”

  That was totally reassuring.

  Or not.

  “And the antidote? I’ll just have to kiss you, that’s it?”

  It sounded less and less logical every time he said it.

  “Why me?”

  Not that he’d let anyone else get anywhere near her lips.

  “Because,” she retorted irritably. “Now, shall we have a pleasant evening or spend the last night we’ll have together for a while arguing?”

  She was right, so he shut it and held her closer to him, instead.

  White as Snow

  When Mr. Wild called murder, pointing his finger towards the Queen, he might have been easily silenced, but Sandro so happened to be there as the Huntsman brough
t the still, lifeless body of the woman who completed him through the doors.

  He had to tell himself that it was a trick, that she was fine really.

  Truth was, she was probably too beautiful for a corpse. Her skin, usually as pale as her mother had predicted, was now translucent, luminescent, white as snow, and the lips he so loved looked purple rather than red.

  But her chest wasn’t rising nor falling. He had to avert his eyes.

  “What the meaning of this, Ilda?”

  The Queen, who up until now had seemed victorious, looked appalled when she saw him.

  “Is it true? Was this girl really Blanche Wood? First, you make her serve in her home, and then you have her killed!”

  “No! I swear, this was all a misunderstanding, I’d never…”

  “There is to be an investigation. I’ll have to relay this information to Daniel,” Sandro told her. “The Woods are peers of the Alenian Court, too.”

  Dane and Ella, who had impatiently awaited at the border, eager to play their part in the little farce, were in the palace within hours at most.

  Every servant was interrogated, and the royal couple dramatically exclaimed at everything they revealed about Ilda or Blanche. Finally, it was time to deal with the Queen.

  “You understand that if we suspect falsehood, we will call to Sylvia.”

  Sylvia, Queen of Denker, their sisters, was a Siren, which meant her voice was enough to commend anyone, or simply drive them to madness if she so wished.

  She practically never made use of her powers, but for Ilda Wood, she’d make an exception. She’d threatened untold pain and retribution since she’d heard of the Woodlandian Queen’s actions.

  “The Sea Witch?” Ilda replied with a small voice.

  Cinderella nodded dramatically.

  “She’s only a few minutes away, if she feels like swimming from Denker.”

  The threat was taken for face value, unfortunately. Sandro knew Sylvia was dying to get involved, so it was a shame she ended up not being needed.

  Ilda swallowed her saliva and whispered a rather weak, “Very well.”