Bayou Shadow Protector

by Debbie Herbert

  Chulah helped a wobbly April to her feet. “Thanks. We’re good here.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying. She’s hot,” Leman whispered in his ear.

  Chulah guided April past the sea of men with disappointed faces. Outside, the breeze was refreshing. “Doing all right there?” he asked.

  She nodded. “A little dizzy, but okay.”

  “Do two drinks always affect you so much?” he asked, trying to trap her in a lie.

  She walked slowly, considering. “I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve had alcohol. I’m not sure it agrees with me.”

  “I would say not.”

  Hiccup. April covered her mouth with her hand. “’Scuse me.” Hiccup.

  She momentarily seemed to rise a few inches on the sidewalk and then lower down. He blinked. Must have been some kind of optical illusion. Chulah inwardly sighed as he took her arm and slowly led her down the sidewalk toward her place. Seemed he was always rescuing women and children. He’d had a spectacularly crappy day and could use a little rescuing himself. At least April was an interesting diversion; he’d grant her that.

  In fact, she was so diverting he’d almost forgotten to quiz her about her warning of evil. Chulah straightened his shoulders. He couldn’t have questioned her with a flock of men hanging around; much better to get her alone. Yeah, that was the only reason he’d scuttled her out of the bar so quickly. It had nothing to do with jealousy.

  At the Pixie Land shop door, April fumbled with the keys. Before Chulah could offer assistance, Steven opened the door.

  “What’s this?” he asked sharply, nostrils twitching. “You’ve been drinking?” He whisked April inside and frowned at Chulah.

  “Only a little.” April’s demure response was ruined by a tiny hiccup.

  Her face rose from his chin level to eye level. Just as quickly as before, she slipped down again.

  Chulah shook his head to clear it. Last time he’d ever order a double dose of whiskey. He faced Steven and held up a hand. “I didn’t twist her arm. How was I supposed to know she’d never had alcohol before?”

  Steven stuck his nose in the air. “Should have chaperoned the likes of you both.” He scowled at April. “I’ll fix you a strong herbal brew. Get you right in no time. Where’s your head at, missy?”

  No need to be so gruff. Chulah stepped between them. “I’ll fix her a cup of coffee. Didn’t you say earlier you were about to quit work?”

  His scowl deepened. “I’m not leaving until I see she’s good and sober.”

  Chulah rubbed his chin. The man seemed entirely too proprietary to be a mere employee. Perhaps a brother? But their coloring and build and mannerisms were so different, that seemed unlikely.

  He suppressed his irritation. He barely knew either of them. Yet it didn’t sit well to simply leave April in this condition with such an irritable man. “Go on and fix whatever it is you’re making. We’ll be upstairs.”

  Steven opened his mouth as if to object.

  “We’ll be fine,” April assured him, patting his shoulder before heading to the back.

  Chulah followed, eyeing the myriad glass shelves lined with pastel-colored figurines. There were winged fairies, ballerinas in tutus, mermaids with glistening tails and other magical beings. “You have a sense of whimsy,” he noted.

  “They are pretty, aren’t they?” She stopped and traced her fingers over one of the winged fairy statues. “What do you think of this one?”

  The fairy sported silver-and-purple hair, alabaster skin, sort of like April. He examined it closer. There were even...yep, a few tiny freckles on the fairy’s nose. “Favors you.”

  A mysterious smile blossomed on her lips. “I’d like you to have it.” She lifted it, and Chulah braced his hand under her unsteady ones, afraid she’d send the delicate figurine crashing to the floor.

  Her skin was so soft, so delicate and pale above his calloused, dark hand. A sensual ache coursed through his body. He hadn’t felt this way in years about any woman besides Tallulah. He took the sculpture and returned it to the shelf. “We’ll talk about the figurine later. Let’s get you seated while we wait on Steven to bring your tea or whatever it is he’s brewing.”

  Her full lower lip pouted a bit, which should have irritated him, but instead, he found it adorable.

  They climbed a narrow set of stairs and entered her room. The tiny studio apartment was immaculate, but sparse and utilitarian, featuring a bed, a kitchenette, a leather sofa and two chairs with a coffee table between. None of the whimsical shop figures decorated the room. It had a masculine vibe without a trace of feminine softness. It didn’t fit her at all.

  April plopped on the sofa and patted the spot next to her.

  “Doesn’t look like you’ve had time to decorate yet,” he said, sitting beside her. “I would have thought you’d have a pink ruffled bedspread at least,” he teased.

  She gazed about the room, as if seeing it for the first time. “It’ll do for now.” Her head rested on the back of the sofa and she reached out and placed a hand on his chest.

  His heart thundered under her gentle touch. April’s mysterious, womanly smile returned, playing on her lips, desire darkening her indigo eyes. Passion crackled and flowed between his heart and her hand. A moment of tension, of inevitability, sparked the air. As if guided by a magnet, his hand reached up and touched the quicksilver hair that charged like velvet lightning between his fingers.

  April was fire and ice. Pale coolness on the outside that burned like dry ice and winter’s frost upon contact.

  But a good burn. A very good burn that left him craving more heat. Their lips found their own way to each other, his arms encircled her slim, lithe waist, and his exploring fingers raced up and down her spine.

  And he was lost. Nothing existed but skin and heat and the fire of desire that glowed around their fevered bodies like an electrical corona.

  Bam bam bam. It took his brain a moment to register that someone—presumably Steven—was pounding on the door. Chulah drew back from April, wondering if his face reflected the stunned surprise in her own. She licked her lips and he was almost a goner once again. Abruptly, Chulah left the couch and went to the door.

  “About time.” Steven scowled and held up a steaming mug. “For April.”

  An herbal scent wafted upward. “I’ll take it.” He tried to remove the mug from Steven’s hand but the little man held fast.

  “Can I trust you—or are you the kind of man who would be taking advantage of an innocent woman’s compromised condition?”

  Warmth flooded his cheeks. Had that been where he was heading with April? He’d never been overly impulsive before, had never let passion override his common sense. Hell, he barely knew the woman.

  But that kiss.

  That mind-blowing-body-lit-up kiss had completely possessed him.

  “Who is it?” April called from the den.

  Even the sound of her voice sent blood rushing to his loins. Perhaps some distance was in order. He needed to get away and think on all that had happened, unencumbered by lust. “I was just leaving.”

  Before he could change his mind, Chulah brushed past Steven and scurried down the stairs, out of the glass menagerie of the shop and into the fresh air outside.

  Time for that long motorcycle ride he’d started to take earlier, intending to banish the sting of Tallulah’s rejection. But the image of the dark-haired, fierce Tallulah had been replaced by that of a silver-blonde graced with gentle curves and soft lips.

  Who knew way too damn much about him.

  * * *

  Note to self: never, ever drink alcohol again, April thought. Ever. She’d almost blown it tonight. April danced her fingertips over her lips. That kiss...

  Steven waved a hand in front of her face. “How’s the tea workin’?”

  “Like a charm.” The delightful, but dangerous, fuzzy feeling had faded, leaving her bemused.

  “Good. Now we can talk. Did you tell him you were Fae?” />
  “No.” But she remembered telling him she was on a mission to save the world. She’d also slipped up mentioning Tallulah, something she should know nothing about. She’d think of an excuse for that later. For now, she wanted to relive every moment of their brief kiss.

  “Perfect. It’s too early. Gradually weave a web of enchantment for a few days until he’s besotted with you and willing to do anything you ask.”

  April sipped more tea. If he took her silence to mean agreement, that was all on him.

  “The tea might have reversed the alcohol’s effects, but it’s clear that this Chulah has affected you much the same as strong drink. Physical contact with a human can be...most pleasant. Especially your first time.”

  She didn’t want to have this conversation. “So I’ve been told.” Hiccup.

  Her stomach rose to her throat and her body lifted and dropped back down on the sofa.

  Steven let out a low whistle. “You just levitated. Must be some glitch in the Fae glamour.”

  “Is that it? Whenever I drink liquid it makes me hiccup.”

  “Then be sure not to partake around humans. And don’t forget you’re only here temporarily,” Steven warned. “Take a few days, enthrall the shadow hunter and then warn him of the danger. If we’re lucky, he and the other hunters can take care of Hoklonote on their own, without our assistance. If that doesn’t work, then petition Chulah to form a mutually beneficial alliance with us to defeat our common enemy.”

  “I know my duty,” she snapped, setting down the mug. April paced the room. It galled her that her own kind cared so little for Chulah or any other human. She didn’t want Chulah fighting Hoklonote without help from the Fae. It wasn’t right to ask him to fight their battles for them. The Fae saw Chulah and the other shadow hunters only as a means to an end. Whereas she...she wanted Chulah to see the real April Meadows. To come to care for her as she did for him.

  But Steven couldn’t know that. No one could. It was her own secret wish.

  A fairy could dream.

  Steven arched a brow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “Just restless. A little tired.”

  “And starving, I bet. Have you eaten human food today?”

  “No. I forgot.”

  “I’ve made a pot of chili. Come downstairs and eat with me. You’ll feel lots better. While in human form, you need to consume what they call calories. It fuels your body, gives you energy.” He grinned. “Tastes surprisingly good, too.”

  “If you say so. Let me wash up and I’ll be down in a minute.”

  With a nod, he left. Finally, she was alone. April covered her face in her hands, felt Chulah’s lips and hands again on her body. She’d never experienced anything like that from the few Fae kisses she’d stolen from Fae lads while hidden among the lily pads or behind the wild azaleas.

  Had it been the same for him? She hoped he found her as desirable as Tallulah. Guilt twisted her gut. When they’d been sitting close together on the sofa, she’d accidentally flung a little fairy pheromone his way.

  Okay. So it wasn’t entirely accidental. She’d given Chulah the tiniest nudge for him to kiss her. But he’d wanted to, she could tell.

  Never again, she vowed. It meant more if he kissed her without the influence of magic.

  Curious as to how her human form appeared, April went to the bathroom and stared in the mirror. The Council had told her that this form would manifest her fairy nature, and she saw that truth in the mirror.

  Dismay clouded her eyes. She looked nothing like his true love, Tallulah. The white of her skin was the pale of the white bearded iris she slept under. Her eyes were the bluish purple of the wild violets she nibbled on for nourishment, and her hair was moon-bathed in silver, as night was the time she loved to flit about. She slept during the day after a bath in the dew of the early morn. She was thin and lithe as the stalks of sea oats, and the pale purple streaks in her hair were the whisper of eggplant behind a cloud at sunset.

  The Council had assured her the human form would be pleasing to the male human species. But April would have traded everything for Tallulah’s olive skin, black silky hair and muscular frame. She was like an Amazon warrior of old—the only female shadow hunter in the history of Bayou La Siryna.

  No doubt the Council would laugh at her jealousy if they learned of it. “Use your enchantment,” they’d advise. “No man can resist your Fae charm while under your spell.” But April was determined to do this her own way—on her own terms.

  She would succeed where her mother had failed.

  Chapter 3

  Chulah removed his helmet and sat on his motorcycle, studying the tree line at the point where April had suddenly—mysteriously—appeared from the backwoods. It was possible that some trace, some clue could be tracked down. With luck, he’d follow the signs to the point of origin. At least it would reveal if April had lied about getting lost after a simple hike. One that she claimed to have begun near her apartment. Her story didn’t ring true, and even after riding for hours, there was something about her...something disturbing he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Compounding his unease was his lack of physical control at her apartment. It was as if she drew him to her magnetically, removing his normal reserve.

  Chulah removed a flashlight from his saddlebag and stuffed it in his backpack, which he had weighted down with rocks. His eyes adjusted to the night’s dark veil, so he probably didn’t need the flashlight, but it never hurt to be prepared. The rocks were for any stray will-o’-the-wisps.

  Strapping the backpack across his broad shoulders, he approached the woods. He’d first glimpsed April by the massive oak. The tree had a sharp bend in the trunk, courtesy of Hurricane Katrina years earlier.

  The scent of violets and moss teased his nose, the same scent that April bore, one that niggled at his memory. Broken twigs and pine needles marked the ground and he followed the trail.

  She’d stayed close to one of the many narrow footpaths that veined the forest and her direction had been true. Never once had she strayed down a different path, or circled back to the one that led to the road and his home. Interesting. You would think somebody new to the area, and supposedly lost, would have strayed at least once, taken a circuitous path or explored a way to exit the woods.

  Deeper and deeper, Chulah journeyed to the dark, quiet interior of the bayou forest. Strange that April chose to walk a path so far removed from civilization. An uneasy prickle lifted the hairs on his arms. The scent of violets grew sharper and the trail abruptly ended at the base of an ancient cypress where a large patch of wild violets bloomed—totally out of season. They were spring flowers blossoming in the heart of autumn. Chulah turned from that mystery to another, more pressing question.

  Where had April gone from here?

  That same April who knew of the bayou’s secret, of its evil spirits, who knew things about him she had no logical way of knowing. Whose tracks stopped in the middle of the woods, in a spot that festered with some strange magick he’d never seen. Something was afoot, something he’d never encountered before in all his years of hunting shadows.

  He didn’t believe in coincidence. This place and that woman were connected. Tomorrow he would visit April and demand an explanation. Had she kissed him to distract his attention from her loose tongue? If so, it wouldn’t happen again.

  Eerie silence enveloped him like a wool blanket. That was what was different. Not what was there, but the absence of what should be there—no insect droning, no underbrush rattles from small animals, no hooting of owls or even the sound of the sea breeze in the treetops. Only silence.

  Baffled, Chulah raised his arms, allowing his senses to become totally immersed in the night, seeking out any sign of hidden shadows that secreted the bayou. The sensing was passed down from his Choctaw ancestors, a special line of descendants gifted to detect the evil shadow world. The shadow creatures considered humans intruders and sought to either drive them out or control the ones who stayed.

&
nbsp; His family had chosen to stay. And to fight.

  They had lived in this south Alabama swampland for hundreds of years, as far back as anyone could remember. Surely they had been here since the beginning of time—same as the shadow beings who didn’t want to share the land. Not only that, they wanted to dominate every creature—human, animal and supernatural—that roamed the bayou.

  Chulah sent a prayer to his ancestors for guidance. The silence continued, but Chulah’s feet directed him to a distance of about ten yards from the tree where April’s trail stopped. He looked down. On the side of his right foot, fallen leaves blew and rustled. On his left side, all was still and silent.

  Odd.

  He followed the divided, splintered land, walking a circle with the cypress tree at its center. Inside the circle, all was silent. Outside the circle, all was normal. Chulah rubbed his chin, puzzling out this new development. Was it possible there was some new manner of creature that he and his fellow hunters had never before witnessed?

  Quietly, he withdrew two large rocks and held each in the palms of his hands, ready for attack. He again walked the circle’s perimeter, yet found but one set of April’s footprints where she had walked from the tree to the road.

  It didn’t make sense. Something was off.

  Chulah halted, allowing the darkness to completely mask him from moonlight, drawing layers of the night’s shadow to wrap around his body.

  And waited.

  His patience was as still as the live oaks that encircled and filled the forest, living sentinels that discouraged most humans from entering deep, and contained the shadows within. A boundary between civilization and the primitive, mysterious evil that had been present since the beginning of time.

  As a shadow hunter, he lived in between the two worlds, not fully belonging to either. On full-moon nights, his soul ached to be in the bayou backwoods, a part of the shadows born to shelter mankind from the old spirits who meant them harm and who longed to escape the forest’s boundaries.

  He continued his watch, attentive to every sound and smell and movement. A gray fox, his namesake, stopped its lonesome prowling and stared at him solemnly before padding away on silent paws. The wily creatures never failed to greet him on his solitary vigils. When he was born, his father had entered the woods and waited for a sign on what to name his son. A fox had wandered close and stared. His father named him Chulah, Choctaw for fox, to honor his son’s appointed animal guide.