Black Ops Fae

by C. N. Crawford

  “A chitchat,” Adonis repeated with no inflection.

  I needed a snack. Didn’t Adonis know that the fae needed to eat?

  He reared his horse to a halt by my side. “I can help you control Nuckelavee if—”

  Distract him. “So you named your horse after a Greek god of death?”

  “Not exactly.” The wind toyed with his cloak.

  “Care to elaborate? How did Thanatos get his name, then?”

  “Thanatos is my true name, and my horse and I are inextricably linked. He appeared when I was born.”

  My mouth went dry, and I swallowed hard. “So…you’re a literal god of death.”

  “Archangels. Gods. Humans use these words interchangeably.” A nearly imperceptible shrug. “I suppose ‘god’ suits me, but I don’t like to brag.”

  I snorted. “What do you mean your horse—”

  A squirrel scampered across the field nearby, and Nuckelavee jerked me toward it in a chase. Pain screamed in my thighs. I grimaced, struggling to rear my horse to a halt again, when Nuckelavee stopped and began munching on a dandelion.

  “We should go,” said Adonis.

  “Hang on.” I caught my breath. “The horse needs to rest. You can’t run these beasts into the ground. Anyway, I don’t think you’ve explained your death-god thing to me well enough. What does it mean?”

  “It means that I’m incredibly powerful and destined to kill. You already know this.”

  Lovely. At least I’d found a way to stall him. “Can you escape your destiny? Who makes the rules, anyway?”

  “It’s a very interesting question, Ruby. One probably best left to philosophers and people who like to hear themselves speak.”

  “I took a psychology class in high school. Have you ever heard of the Thanatos drive?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Humans aren’t just driven to live, or to procreate, apparently. That’s Eros.” I chewed my lip. “Wait, is Eros a real god, too?”

  “He’s a demon.” Adonis arched an eyebrow. “He’s awful. Thousands of years old and he acts like an eighteen-year-old. What was your point exactly?”

  “Humans have a Thanatos drive. They’re attracted to death. It’s why they smoke, start wars, drive fast cars… Why they drink themselves into comas.”

  He nodded slowly. “Humans crave oblivion as much as they fear it. They crave release.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes pierced me, his dark magic curling around him in sharp whorls. “So they can have some peace and quiet, I should imagine. It’s an idea I empathize with at the moment.”

  I blinked, watching as Adonis took off at a gallop. Of course, he just expected me to follow. I gritted my teeth, spurring Nuckelavee on. Pain shot through my thighs, and I groaned.

  After another five minutes of cantering, I glimpsed an iron-gray river cutting through the field. Willow trees lined its banks, and an old stone bridge spanned the rushing water.

  How good it would feel to rest against the trunks of one of those glorious trees, or the stone bridge. How much I wanted to drink some water and lie down in the grass…

  Desperation screamed in my mind.

  “Adonis!” I bellowed, blood roaring in my ears. “Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!”

  He halted Thanatos, his eyes wide as he turned around to look at me. “Why on earth are you shouting the word uncle?”

  “I’m done!” I shouted. “I don’t care anymore. I’m tired. This is ridiculous. You win!”

  He cocked his head, his dark magic swirling around his horns, his leathery wings. “What do I win?”

  I swallowed hard. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was so angry, except that I hadn’t wanted to admit defeat, and now I’d done it. Humiliatingly, I felt tears sting my eyes, and I blinked them away.

  A shadow swooped over my head, and I glanced up to catch sight of Drakon soaring in lazy arcs above us. He opened his throat, breathing a hot burst of fire into the air.

  I cleared my throat, taking care to speak with a steady voice, the voice of reason. “We need to rest. I can’t keep riding.”

  “You should have just said so.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’m saying it now.”

  A small smile curled the corner of his lips. “What does uncle mean?”

  I swallowed hard. “It’s an American game. It’s not important.”

  He nodded at one of the trees. “Let’s rest under there.”

  I nodded, so grateful the tears nearly started again, but I clenched my jaw until I had control of myself again.

  Under the naked boughs of a willow tree, I dismounted from Nuckelavee, slowly sliding down his enormous side. I walked hunched over, my legs trembling.

  Adonis frowned at me with concern. “You look as if you can hardly walk,” he said quietly. His pale eyes stood out sharply below the straight, black lines of his eyebrows.

  “Not all creatures are made to gallop on horses for hours at a time. I’m stronger than a human. Not as strong as a death god. Plus, you’re part horse or something, as we established.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I pointed to his twisted wing. “How does that feel?”

  “I can hardly feel it now.” He nodded at a large rock on the river’s edge. “Sit down. I’ll help you.”

  Pain ripped through my legs as I lowered myself to the rock. “Help me how?”

  Without a word, he sat next to me on the rock. “I can take your pain away if you let me.”

  I blinked at him. “And are you concerned about my comfort? I thought we established that you’re a monster.”

  “I can’t have you slowing me down with a broken body.” A slight edge tinged his voice.

  Bone-deep pain screamed up my legs, my hips. “Fine. Whatever you need to do.”

  With a smooth movement, he brushed his fingertips over my knees. Shadows seemed to thicken around him, and his magic wrapped around me, both soothing and electrifying at the same time. Warmth streamed from his fingertips, swirling into places I had no business thinking about right now. As he touched my legs, he pulled the pain from me.

  But at the same time, his agonizingly light touch filled me with a hot ache. I wanted more of him.

  “That’s helping,” I whispered, disturbed by my own body’s reaction to him.

  Slowly, he traced his fingertips farther up my thighs, his warm, silky magic penetrating my body. I stared at the dark swoop of his eyelashes, such a stark contrast to his pale eyes. I fought the impulse to kiss his skin, to press my breasts against him. Sweet release. I hoped he didn’t notice the subtle arch of my back, or my pulse racing. I hoped he didn’t hear my heart slamming against my ribs. Molten heat pooled in my belly, and my mouth opened, ready to be kissed.

  As he soothed my pain, his face moved closer to mine, his breath warming my cheek. Up close, I had the chance to study the perfect, golden smoothness of his skin, the perfect, straight eyebrows. I remembered the thrilling rush of heat when my tongue had brushed against his…

  Then, he pulled away, and the loss of his touch felt like a cold, sharp shock to my system. I almost grabbed his hand and put it on my thigh again, before I regained some composure.

  Get a grip, Ruby. He has this effect on every woman he meets. The thought annoyed me. How easy it was for him to seduce, and how little it probably meant to him.

  “Better?” he asked, completely unruffled by what might have been one of the most erotic encounters of my life. If he could do that to me by just touching my thighs, what would it feel like—

  “Ruby?”

  I blinked at him, trying to remember how to form a sentence. “What?”

  “Does your leg feel better?”

  I sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “Oh, that. Yes. It’s better.”

  I narrowed my eyes at his wing. The wound had opened again, and a bright stream of blood spilled down the front.

  “Isn’t there something we can do for your wing?” I asked quietly.

  “Not u
nless you have healing powers like I do.”

  “If you’re a god of death,” I asked, “why do you have the power to heal?”

  “Because death is an analgesic.”

  I frowned. “This doesn’t have any side effects, does it? Like necrosis?”

  He smiled slowly, pulling his hands away. “No. You’ll be fine.”

  The pain had completely left my body, replaced instead with a warm, tingling excitement. I could get addicted to his touch, like a drug fiend craving opiates.

  Pretty sure the last thing I needed was to let Adonis’s seductive beauty lure me in. I’d be keeping my Thanatos drive well and truly suppressed.

  Chapter 9

  I stared out over the wildflower-dappled field. “I might not have healing powers, but I’m supposed to be the Bringer of Light, right? And the Old Gods will provide. All we need to do is tune in to their beauty.”

  “Is that right?” I heard a faintly mocking tone in his voice.

  “They’ve given me what I needed so far: poison, sap from the trees to light my arrows, the power of light.” I sat up straight. “Let me try it.”

  I closed my eyes, focusing on the sounds around me—the rustling of the wind through the grasses, the gentle lapping and splashing of the river. A faint whispering floated on the breeze, the words unintelligible. A vibrating power seemed to move up my feet, up my limbs, lighting my body from the inside out. Something faintly floral wafted through the air—an unusual scent for February.

  I opened my eyes, scanning the tall grasses around me, until I spotted a faint smudge of yellow in the distance. “There,” I said.

  “What?”

  “They’re giving us a remedy.” I rose on my newly healed legs. I bit my lip. “I don’t suppose you have any bandages though?”

  He nodded at Thanatos. “You can find a blanket in the satchel. Tear a strip off it.”

  I crossed to his enormous, bruise-colored horse, who reared back his head, snorting as I approached. Gingerly, I stroked his silver mane until he quieted. Then, I reached into the leather satchel, pulling out a thick woolen blanket. I slid my knife from its holster, then sliced a long, thin strip from the wool. I stuffed the rest of the blanket back into the satchel.

  With the bandage ready, I hurried over to a patch of white and yellow wildflowers blooming among the grasses.

  When I was a kid, my mom took me out on long treks into the New England forests. We’d walk through the forests, her pale hair gleaming in chinks of streaming sunlight, her hiking boots and jeans muddied. She always wore long sleeves, even in summer. She had some kind of brutal scar she didn’t want anyone to see. An attack from a wild beast that had disfigured her—a reptile, probably. She’d never tell me the whole story.

  In any case, those long nature walks were my salvation.

  I smiled, then plucked a handful of the weeds and stroked my fingertips over the delicate, fern-like leaves. I remembered Mom’s voice as she told me yarrow was a styptic—a substance that can staunch bleeding.

  I stripped the leaves from the stem, piling them into one of my palms. Then, I closed my eyes and held my palm up to the sunlight. Warmth blazed from my palm, the sun’s rays using my hand as a brazier, and an herbal smell filled the air. When I opened my eyes again, the leaves had been heated, dried to a crisp.

  I grinned. Maybe I didn’t know what the hell it meant, but I felt blessed by the Old Gods. This was the way of the ancient fae—live in the moment; merge with the beauty around you.

  I scanned the earth for moss until my gaze landed on a bright green patch among the rocks and grasses nearby. I knelt down next to it and pried off a cool, damp chunk.

  Clutching my handfuls of moss and dried yarrow, I crossed back to Adonis. When I reached him, I plopped down next to him on the rock.

  He was studying me with an intense curiosity. “Communing with the Old Gods, I suppose?”

  I opened my palm. “I have my own healing treatment for that shattered wing of yours.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “It will heal a lot faster than if you just rely on your own magic. And what if it heals all crooked?”

  “I must admit. I want to know what your hands would feel like on my wings.”

  My cheeks flushed. “What, is that some kind of sex thing for angels?”

  A slow shrug.

  “I’ll try to forget I just learned that.” I examined his midnight blue wings, cascading gracefully over the back of the rock. Streaks of blood pooled from the jagged break at the top.

  “So I’m supposed to trust the healing skills of a deceitful, feral fae?” A seductive purr softened the harshness of his words.

  “Yes. I know you hate the fae, but we have our own set of skills.” Carefully, I laid out the moss and crushed herbs on my makeshift bandage. “I spent my formative years with my mom, learning about the trees, the plants, the herbs. We found a broken sparrow once, and she taught me to treat and set his wing.”

  A wicked smile. “And you think I’m like a broken sparrow.”

  “Same idea. You’re just bigger.” Gently, I ran my fingertips over the top of his wing.

  Adonis inhaled sharply, his wing twitching, pupils dilating.

  “Did that hurt already?”

  “No. But wings are a sensitive area. I don’t normally let anyone touch them.”

  “It’s a closed fracture,” I said. “I think the open break has begun to set itself already. This will help with the tears in your skin and muscle.”

  “How ever did I survive four thousand years without you?”

  I leaned in closer to him and began pressing the dried yarrow against his wing, his feathers soft and silky against my fingertips. As I pressed the herbs against him, he gasped faintly, and his lids lowered. I couldn’t quite tell if he was enjoying this or hating it, but I tried not to think about it either way.

  “Yarrow will staunch the bleeding and clean the wound,” I said quietly. I picked up the moss from the rock and gently held it over the broken wing’s surface. “And this will help pack the wound.” Holding the moss in place, I reached for the bandage.

  Carefully, I tied it over the top of his wing, pressing the moss and yarrow to his feathers. He winced slightly, but as I threaded it gently around his muscle and bone, through the curtain of midnight feathers, his stormy eyes were locked intently on my face. I was pressing in close to him to reach his back, and his body radiated warmth.

  I sat back on the rock, admiring my work. He drank me in with his gaze.

  “There. Good as new.” I took a deep breath. “See? Fae skills can be useful. We’re not just beasts.”

  A twitch of his lip. “You didn’t grow up around them, did you?”

  I shook my head. “My parents left the fae realm long before I was born.” I swallowed hard. “What did you mean when you said you lived among the fae, helping them kill for fun?”

  Any trace of a smile disappeared from his face. “They’re savage and driven to dominate.”

  My wild antics obviously didn’t do much to dispel that notion—not that he’d seemed to mind at the time.

  “If they were so savage, why did you help them kill?”

  “I told you. I was born to kill.” He definitely wasn’t smiling now. In fact, his voice had a despairing edge.

  “But why the fae in particular—if you hate us so much?”

  Sharp tendrils of his magic cut at the air, and he pulled his gaze away from me.

  I heaved a sigh. “Fine. Don’t elaborate. I wouldn’t expect you to. We can get on with the journey now that you’ve healed my legs.” My stomach grumbled loudly.

  Adonis scowled. “You should have told me you were hungry.”

  I rubbed my belly. “I didn’t feel the hunger until now. Now that my legs are no longer screaming at me.”

  He cocked his head, studying me like a curious child would a dying insect. “And why didn’t you tell me you were tired?”

  My jaw tightened. “Because I didn’t w
ant you to know. You don’t tell me things, and I don’t tell you things. That’s our relationship.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “I see. I thought you were big on chatter.” He stood and crossed to his horse. He rummaged in his leather pack for a moment, then pulled out some packages wrapped in brown paper. He pulled out a flask too.

  The rock felt frozen beneath my bum, and I pulled my coat a little tighter around me. “Do you feel hunger?”

  “No. But sometimes, I eat for pleasure. I understand your kind need sustenance.”

  I began unwrapping the food he’d brought: a package of bread, one of chorizo, and one of cheese. My mouth watered, and I had to restrain myself from throwing my arms around Adonis’s neck to thank him for understanding the concept of “needing sustenance.”

  I drew my Nyxobian blade to slice the chorizo, before I gave up on manners and just started gnawing on it like a wild animal. When I took a break from the chorizo to build myself a hasty cheese sandwich, Drakon ambled over and snatched the sausage from the ground.

  I grumbled through my mouthful of sandwich. “That was mine.”

  When I finished eating, crumbs littered my blue coat. “Sorry. Did you want any?”

  Adonis’s eyes were wide. “I honestly didn’t know the fae got quite that hungry.”

  “Older fae can control it better.”

  “And how old are you?”

  I cleared my throat. “Not as old as I’d pretended to be.”

  “How old?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  His eyes snapped open. “Sweet heavenly gods. You were just born.”

  I folded my arms. “Johnny isn’t that much older than me. Born in the seventies.” I squinted in the sunlight. “How does it work, exactly? Why are you all such different ages?”

  He sipped from his flask. “Johnny, Kratos, and I—we’re different than other archangels.”

  “Different how?”

  “The Heavenly Host is made up of ten archangels. Like us, they’re nearly impossible to kill. But they’re heavenly beings. Johnny, Kratos, and I—we’re archangels who were born on earth.”