Americana Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  “That’s bullshit,” Corentin spat as the anger burned through him. He looked upon the sleeping Taylor and clenched his jaw.

  Ringo nodded and fluttered onto Taylor’s headrest. “His parents just tossed Taylor away. Taylor’s not trash. I know it.” Ringo smoothed Taylor’s hair from his forehead. “He’s special. He looks at the world with the skepticism of a mundane. I think that’s a great quality to have. He trusts his gut over blindly trusting, like other Enchants do. Which…. You probably know that well in your line of work.”

  Corentin ran a hand through his hair at the thought. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” He considered Ringo’s words. “So, Taylor’s parents are big winners, eh? They sound delightful. I don’t think I could keep my mouth shut if I met them.”

  “You want to meet his parents?” Ringo said, and Corentin caught his eager smile.

  Corentin frowned and wagged a finger. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that. None of that is going on between us,” he lied again. This time he was sure it sounded more believable.

  “None of what?” Ringo said, blinking his overly large eyes owlishly.

  Corentin scowled. “Don’t be making that face at me.”

  Ringo rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin in his hands. The smile stayed plastered on his face. “None of whaaaaat?” he purred and batted his lashes.

  Corentin slapped the steering wheel. “I will skin you,” he said in warning.

  Ringo snorted. “You lie more than a high-priced hooker on her back during the lunch rush.”

  “So skinning you,” Corentin grumbled. “Your days are numbered.”

  Ringo sat up again and folded his legs. “I was wrong about you. I think you’re pretty cool for a spawn of pure evil.”

  Corentin narrowed his eyes and offered a smarmy smile. “I think you’re pretty cool too, little man, for the first thing I’m going to cook if we don’t find food.”

  “You’re a jerk,” Ringo said and chuckled.

  “And you’re a steak,” Corentin said with a quick nod. He raised his fist toward Ringo. “Bros?”

  Ringo leaned forward and bumped his tiny fist against Corentin’s. “Bros.”

  Taylor honked a ghastly snore and rolled over toward the passenger door. Both Ringo and Corentin jumped and then turned to each other. It was Ringo’s crooked smile that made Corentin lose it with cackles. Ringo too gave in to the peals of laughter. Corentin tried to take a breath and then broke out into laughter again until he couldn’t breathe.

  “Aw, shit!” Ringo squeaked and wiped tears from his eyes. “We are so exhausted.”

  Corentin sniffed through the congestion and wiped his face. “Oh, fuck. That boy needs some Breathe Right strips.” He watched Taylor a few moments longer, smiling despite himself. Nothing was happening between them. And Corentin held on to that thought.

  Yeah, right. His decree to Phillipa made his heart pound with the memory. Taylor is mine, he had said. Corentin still couldn’t believe he’d said it. And he tried to twist the thought around that Taylor was just his target, and he was defending his territory. Territory. His mind felt along the contours of the concept. Is that what they call it now? He knew the double entendre when he saw it come up and slap him in the face.

  “Corentin!” Ringo screeched, and Corentin ripped himself from his daydream. Ringo took flight and zipped to the backseat.

  “What?” Corentin snapped. “What?” He watched the open road and cursed his headlights only reaching so far. He flicked on his brights again. And there it was.

  In the middle of the road, an elephant several stories high stood ready to charge. And the truck was careening toward it.

  “What the fuck is that?” Corentin said, shoving his foot onto the brake. “What the fuck is that?”

  The titanic beast raised its trunk and bellowed a sharp cry. The sound pierced Corentin’s skull. The elephant broke into a slow trot and then picked up speed into a gallop, ready to stomp the tiny truck. Corentin stood on the brake pedal, but the truck only sped faster. All the while, Taylor slept peacefully, unaware of their imminent death by elephant.

  “Stop the truck. Stop the truck!” Ringo howled.

  “I’m trying,” Corentin screamed in return. He threw the emergency brake, and the stick snapped off in his hand. “Fuck.”

  The elephant ran full tilt, the road warping with shock waves from its thunderous steps. It cried out again, and Corentin’s skull throbbed with the sound.

  He slammed the truck into park and tore the keys from the ignition. The truck still didn’t stop, and he saw the speedometer needle push into 150. Corentin threw himself over Taylor, trying to hold him secure and bracing for the collision. “I got you,” Corentin said and gnashed his teeth. “I got you.” He lifted his head to Ringo. “Hold on!”

  The impact with the elephant’s foot didn’t register in Corentin’s mind at first. The world seemed to stand still as the dashboard moved like putty into his back as he lay across Taylor’s sleeping body. He knew, in the startling moment of clarity, as the fragments of plastic and the burning engine block shredded and seared his skin, he would die to protect Taylor.

  A huntsman would do the right thing and be a hero.

  As Corentin’s body was torn asunder, Taylor slept, protected by Corentin’s mangled form. The windshield shattered in a delayed reaction. The reverse suction of air yanked Ringo out of the truck, and he vanished into the dark. He didn’t have time to scream. Ringo was there, then gone. The pressure from the crumpling truck popped the passenger door open, Taylor’s seatbelt shredded in seconds, and he tumbled from the truck. His still-sleeping body was a wet crunch onto the pavement.

  Alone in the truck, as alone as he had always been, Corentin burned into nothing….

  CORENTIN JERKED awake and fought for air.

  He coughed and forced his heart to slow. To clear his blurry vision, he wiped his eyes. He ran his hand though his hair and then touched his face and checked himself in the rearview mirror.

  He was alive. He was safe. And he heaved a deep sigh of relief.

  “A dream…,” he told himself. Not nearly as interesting and pleasant as Taylor’s, that was for sure.

  Corentin looked out the windshield, and the warm afternoon sun shined on them. In the distance lay a beach, and rolls of ocean waves crashed onto the shore. The truck sat perfectly aligned in a parking space in a beachside plaza. Corentin drew a blank on how they got there, but he was thankful for the momentary reprieve.

  Lost in his own thoughts and still reeling from the nightmare, it registered a moment too late when the sleeping Taylor leaned into him. Corentin froze as Taylor rested his head on Corentin’s shoulder and put a hand to his chest. Corentin slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping. The feeling of heat was building again from Taylor’s touch, and the darkness in Corentin drifted into his thoughts. He clung to the steering wheel with his free hand, his knuckles bleached white.

  Fight, fight, fight! Corentin screamed in his mind. The heat grew to a smolder through his clothes. The urge to take Taylor apart sparked through his mind, but at the same time, his cock swelled painfully. That hadn’t happened before, and the passion for violence and the passion for pleasure made the burning pain unbearable. If he just killed Taylor, the pain would go away. The need would go away. He could do this. He could do this.

  Corentin let go of the steering wheel; his lip trembled, holding in a roar of agony. He nested his fingers through the hair at the nape of Taylor’s neck. Corentin felt the vertebrae of his spine, tempting him into carrying out a clean snap.

  Just one snap. Just a quick flick. He’s asleep. He won’t even feel it. He’ll just sleep forever, Corentin’s poisonous thoughts teased him. This will all go away. Do it. The hurt will stop. Do it!

  Taylor nuzzled into Corentin’s neck, and Corentin fell apart. He clasped his free hand over the painful bulge in his jeans, trying to will it away. Taylor’s hand fell from Corentin’s chest and onto the hand in Corentin’s lap. Cor
entin panted, his lungs stuttering with the irregular breath. Sweat rolled down his face. He pressed his lips together and screwed his eyes shut, forcing the searing pain of Taylor’s touch to pass. His hand at his crotch trembled violently as he indulged himself and moved it away, allowing Taylor’s hand to rest on his throbbing dick hidden by his jeans.

  The pain shot through Corentin and made his vision burst into blindness. He shoved open the driver’s side door and threw himself from the truck. He gasped with the instant cooling on his skin, but his cock remained painfully hard. Balling his fists, he bounced into a crouch. He sucked down the urge to scream and hissed through the agony, then stood and wiped his face, trying to appear like nothing was amiss. Even if no one could see them, the awkward sense of being watched still possessed him. Corentin tried to walk it off as he paced around the truck. His arousal persisted.

  “Goddammit,” he growled. He had to get rid of it somewhere. Corentin turned in a circle, hunting for anything that might look like it had a private restroom. The Starbucks on the corner seemed like a safe bet.

  A shimmering wink of pink across the plaza caught his attention. He tried to focus on it and then made out the details of a floating box and a tray of coffee. Corentin shook his head and smiled. “Dammit, Ringo,” he murmured.

  Ringo fluttered in his bobbing butterfly flight path and reached Corentin with a large box of some sort of pastry and a cardboard holder of two cups of coffee. “Look what I got,” Ringo said happily. “Food!”

  Corentin forced himself to smile despite Ringo’s horrible timing. He accepted the box and peeked inside; the delicious scent of bagels hit him before he saw them. His stomach rumbled. But something was wrong. Corentin’s attention shot to Ringo. “How did you get these? There’s a dozen here.”

  Ringo tossed his head dismissively. “With money, boyo.”

  Corentin shook his head slightly. “Where the fuck did you get the money?”

  Ringo reached into his tiny pocket and pulled out Corentin’s duct-tape wallet. “From your wallet. Don’t worry. I served myself and left the money on the counter since we’re in this crazy space time whatever shit. Maybe someone might see.”

  Corentin snapped his wallet away. “Just so you know, I’m going to totally skin you. In five minutes.”

  Ringo held out his hand and pressed his fingers together, then opened and closed his hand to mimic a mouth. “Blah, blah, blah,” Ringo said in a mocking tone. “Last one to the beach is a rotten golden egg.”

  “Meet you down there in a bit,” Corentin said. “Gotta, y’know, take care of business.” He forced a smile, hoping Ringo would buy it.

  “Sure, sure,” Ringo said, fluttering toward the truck. “I’ll wake up Sleeping Beauty, here.”

  Somewhere it registered in Corentin’s mind Ringo had said something, but his own need deafened him to all else. He hurried across the parking lot, and the tempting green siren of Starbucks welcomed him through the doors. The line of patrons wrapped around the counter, and the overworked, overcaffeinated barista worked as fast as her trembling hands would cooperate.

  Corentin had to be careful. The mundanes could still be touched, and he had to avoid all detection. He sucked in his gut and held up his hands as he slipped between a mother and teen daughter pair. They considered the menu, none the wiser.

  The mother hesitated for a moment and turned to her daughter. “Do you smell that? Damn, that was the scent of a real man,” she said with her face flushed.

  Her daughter laughed. Corentin furrowed his brow. They could apparently smell Enchants too. He filed it away for later and stumbled to the restroom. After nearly tripping over his own feet to get inside, he pressed his back to the door, then reached behind him and harshly jerked the lock into place.

  Corentin couldn’t wait another second and staggered to the toilet. He tore at his belt, ripped open his jeans, and shoved them to his ankles. His cock jutted free, and he was thankful for the release of the pressure. Taking his dark shaft in hand, he desperately jacked himself off. His eyelids fluttered from the slam of intense friction that he had denied himself for too long. He tightened his grip, imagining the sensation of being inside Taylor’s tight ass.

  There Taylor was again, in Corentin’s thoughts like a wound he couldn’t resist tearing open at every chance. A guttural growl came from deep inside, and he pumped harder. He clenched his thighs, slightly jerking his hips forward as he worked himself.

  Corentin needed this. He needed Taylor. He wanted nothing more than to defile Taylor’s sweet princess hole and then fuck his tempting, smart mouth, only to splatter cum on his beautiful face. Corentin couldn’t help the jackal grin cracking across his face. Taylor would be so pretty, lying back breathless and with Corentin’s seed smeared on him.

  And when Taylor got smart with him, Corentin would take him over his knee and spank Taylor like the spoiled shit of a princess he was. When Taylor couldn’t take it and his ass became red as a cherry, Corentin would fuck him again. He’d make Taylor scream out what he wanted, how he liked it. He would turn Taylor into the filthiest of whorish princesses. He’d make Taylor’s body ready and wanting at a mere word.

  And then Corentin would throw Taylor away.

  The thought hit him hard as his balls tightened and betrayed him with the rising climax.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Corentin roared and pounded the wall over the toilet. The darkness of Charles’s curse flowed into his pleasure, increasing it, making him unable to resist fucking his own hand. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was all wrong.

  He slammed the side of his fist into the wall, and the mirror on the left rattled in the frame. Corentin had to get rid of Taylor. He was a poison in Corentin’s thoughts. He couldn’t even think of taking him gently and with care. His first thought was to violate Taylor. That wasn’t him. He knew he wasn’t like that. The evil within him controlled his thoughts.

  Corentin’s thighs ached from tensing. He was so close to the edge and had to get himself over.

  He had to get rid of Taylor. If he just got rid of Taylor, the pain would stop, the confusion would go away, he’d get his curse broken, and he’d be free of the hellish road. He had to get rid of Taylor. He had to.

  Corentin bellowed wordless roars and frantically pounded the wall. The violence jostled the mirror off the wall, and it shattered into the sink. The shards scattered over the floor, catching the light like the flecks of the distant stars Corentin would never reach. The freedom he’d never have. The peace he’d never get.

  The vision of Taylor lying breathless on a bed bloomed into his thoughts—Taylor’s beautiful face painted with Corentin’s cum, his pink eyes staring into nothing, and Taylor’s stomach sticky with his own seed as he remained still. Silent.

  Corentin’s orgasm caused his knees to buckle and stole his breath. He creamed hard into his hand and sprayed the wall in front of him. He rode the last few waves, pumping slower, milking himself of every drop. He pressed his lips together and groaned. “Yes…,” he hissed. He cried out when another pulse of a smaller orgasm shot through him. “Oh Storyteller yes,” he cried and tossed his head back as he pumped himself through the falling pleasure.

  His body tingled from the release, his head fuzzy from exhaustion. He took a breath and then yanked up his jeans and restored himself to a sense of decency. The shards of glass crunched under his boots as he slowly paced to the sink. Gulping in large breaths as his heart thumped a slow rhythm, he brushed the glass shards away from the rim of the sink and from the faucets. Quietly, he scrubbed his hands, letting the evidence of his shame wash away.

  He couldn’t face Taylor and Ringo yet. They’d be wondering where he was, but he needed to collect his thoughts. Make a plan. Decide if he was going to do the right thing as a huntsman or do the right thing as a hero. He still didn’t know which side to choose. The legends of kindly huntsmen who had a change of heart were just propaganda to get princesses into their clutches.

  Huntsmen didn’t change. Huntsme
n couldn’t change.

  Corentin took a ragged sigh and placed his hands on either side of the broken mirror. He rested there, looking down into the sink and at his face, monstrously warped on the broken glass.

  Taylor belongs to me, he had told Phillipa.

  Those words would be Corentin’s undoing.

  CHAPTER 21:

  IN HIS EYES

  Hatfield Plantation, Atlanta, Georgia

  June 9

  EVERY TIME Atticus wandered by the rows of blessed sunflowers, he couldn’t withhold his hungry grin. Charles had instructed him to resist the temptation of the sunflowers. If he didn’t, there would be no mercy.

  Atticus chuckled with a surge of defiance and reached for the tall stalks. His fingers threaded through the enchanted leaves, and his cock swelled within seconds. His lashes fluttered as he rubbed at his hardness through his shorts, letting the long-denied sensations flow though him.

  It was the law of princesses never to know an intimate touch until true love’s kiss. But Charles had already been Atticus’s true love before Atticus was aware. Atticus hummed a contented note as he rubbed at himself. It was foolish to call Charles by his mortal name. He was Idi, the glorious Witchking. His destined true love from before Mother Storyteller hatched from her golden egg.

  Idi was the strength the world needed to know. Idi was the fire that awoke the winter queen Atticus’s closed heat. If Atticus had to suffer through his princess designation and never be a king, he was determined to be the malevolent queen the Enchants would never expect. He would reign alongside Idi, usher in a new era of chaos and ice. If the Enchants resisted the new regime, they would know the devastation of the Tranquil Frost.

  Taylor would come for him. Taylor, the Curseless princess, would draw his line in the sand and rally the Enchants behind him.

  Atticus fondled himself harder as he clutched the sunflower stalk. Taylor couldn’t have this. Taylor couldn’t have the love Atticus had with Idi. Taylor couldn’t even have his love. Taylor was nothing. Taylor was an insignificant speck in the universe. Taylor would never become a star; he would never have gravity; he would never be anything.