Huntsman's Prey

by Marie Hall

  This section of Kingdom was infected with madness, even the food that grew from the soil was tainted, and he was afraid that eating any of it could very likely cause the unwary to go slightly insane themselves. Consuming a single licorice stick wasn’t probably going to make him loony, but he suspected that prolonged exposure might do it. The only thing he allowed himself to consume was the water, and his reasoning was that water moved, it didn’t stay put long enough to become polluted. Of course, none of this was scientific fact, more his own theory, but one he’d stuck to in the past.

  Just as he was set to scoop the water up, a voice yanked him back to his feet.

  “Ahhh, the Hunter is here. Hurray, now we can all rest easy.”

  The courtly voice purred with sarcasm.

  Letting the water trickle through his fingers, he looked toward his pack where a fat tabby with impossibly large, pointed teeth sat staring back at him.

  “Cheshire,” he dipped his head, “have you seen the girl?”

  Fat body wavering between orange and purple and black stripped, the cat grinned, causing his sickle shaped teeth to appear even larger. Purring as he rubbed his body back and forth upon the Huntsman’s pack Cheshire laughed.

  “Do be more specific, I’ve seen many girls. One with eyes of blue and hair of shadow, another with hair like freshly turned soil and the greenest, jeweled eyes. Oh,” he chuckled heartily, “and there was another with blue hair and black eyes, she was strange indeed. And then there was the furry one, rather pretty in a fowlish sort of way. Oh and—”

  Ask a mad cat a question and get a mad answer. “You know to whom I refer. I’m here only for one, Cheshire.”

  “You mean the child with the moon’s mark upon her cheek ridge? Who slaughters any woodland creature idiotic enough to come within a foot of her?”

  Withholding a long-suffering sigh, he nodded. “The very one.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so to begin with?” Cheshire smirked and then sniffed the opening of his pack. “Did you perchance fill the bag with catnip? I’m quite suddenly…” his silvery eyes grew large and wide in his face and his lips pulled back into a feral sort of snarl, “ravenous.”

  “No, there is not catnip inside,” The Huntsman growled. “Where is the girl?” he snapped, finally at the frayed end of his patience.

  Just then, like someone drew the blinds down, the sky turned pitch black from threatening thunderclouds and the strangest thing happened. A radiant slice of sunlight poured from within their fluffy, dark folds.

  He shivered.

  “Why, beside you. Of course,” the cat purred.

  The Huntsman twirled at the animalistic growl that rolled through his right side like the snarl of an advancing predator. Leaping back a good five steps, he crouched in a flight or fight stance, waiting on her to make the next move.

  Cheshire’s maniacal laughter echoed throughout the woods before he vanished.

  The woman (who could only be Chrysalis) was more wild than he’d assumed. And the way the sunlight surrounded her; she appeared more of a macabre angelic being than a person. She wore a shredded dress of cotton candy blue that appeared stained dark in spots. More than likely dried blood. It fell to mid-thigh. Black and white striped socks with large gashing holes slid up to cover her knees. She wore no shoes. Her hair was a deep ravens wing black, and he could tell it was full of brambles and dirt. Red ribbons threaded throughout the hair, made him think at some point she must have been wearing it up.

  She just stood there, staring at him. A blank look in her electric blue eyes. A heart shaped teardrop of black ink snagged his gaze.

  As wild as she looked, he was surprised at his body’s instant response to her. Not fear, not wariness, but curiosity. How could something so beautiful, be so wrong? With her high slashing cheekbones, heart shaped jaw, and cat shaped eyes, she was stunning. The best of both Alice and Hatter.

  But there was something about her glassy gaze that coated his flesh in goose pimples. A sudden fierce gusting of wind whipped around her, pushing the strands of bangs to the side and suddenly he smelled flowers everywhere. Like an exotic perfume that coated his nose and lungs and filled his head with dangerously wicked thoughts.

  She never blinked.

  “How’d you find me?” he asked low, soothingly. She wasn’t attacking, which meant neither should he. It was easier to catch prey when coaxing them in.

  Cocking her head, she reminded him of a dog when a human gave them a command. As if they were trying to make sense of the jumbled noise. Did she even understand what he was saying?

  “How. Did. You. Find. Me?” he enunciated each word, and as he did he slowly, slowly slid his hand into the pouch around his waist.

  Her eyes landed on his hand and he stilled, heart fluttering in his throat. And where just seconds ago there’d been stillness, silence, an ungodly roar that could never have come from her, but did, spilled from her tongue.

  Mouth going wide, hands curving into claws, she leapt just as the clouds obscured the sun, casting everything in darkness.

  The Huntsman hadn’t been prepared for the ferocity of her attack. Or for the way her small body slammed against his with the force of a ten-ton dragon, forcing him to the packed dirt. For just a second he was able to flip around and take back the upper hand, pushing his hands against her shoulders.

  She screamed like a hellion, twisting and writhing underneath him. Fingers gouged at his face, clawed his back. Her legs wrapped like steel bands around his waist, snuffing the air from his lungs. And then she managed to somehow reverse their positions again. Now she was the one on top and her small hands were tight around his neck.

  Dark spots littered his vision as he gasped and choked for breath.

  He’d been holding back because she was a woman. But this was no woman. This was a monster without morals. Clamping his hands on either side of her mouth so that she wouldn’t bite down on his neck, he kneed her between the legs.

  Not only did it not shake her, it only seemed to enrage her further. Grunting, the Huntsman made the decision to release her mouth, no way in hell did he want to. But soon he’d pass out and be at her mercy if he didn’t do something drastic.

  Shoving his hips out, he managed to scoop his arm around hers so quickly that it knocked her off balance long enough for him to take a deep, bruising breath. Hacking at the fire that filled his lungs.

  She slapped his face so hard that stars exploded in his vision.

  “Enough!” he roared, to hell with what Danika said. This monster needed to be put down. Nothing like this deserved to live. Using every last scrap of strength he possessed he was able to leverage himself up, and take the dominant position back.

  Slamming his fist into her temple finally seemed to work.

  A whimper spilled from her bloodied lips. The sound so feminine, that for a moment he wanted to think there was something still worth saving inside this creature. Something human. A spark of sanity.

  But then she snapped at him with silvered fangs shattering the illusion.

  Keeping her pinned with one hand on his neck and clamping his thighs around her waist as tight as he could, he reached for the utility knife he always kept tucked into the sheath at his boot.

  He was grabbing the knife more for show, as a way to make her complacent. In the scuffle he’d lost the pouch he kept on his waist, the one with the netting. He needed to search for that, but he needed her to stop her struggling first.

  But the moment she saw the glint of metal she screamed, even though he was pinning her throat and weighed twice what she did, fury lent her strength. Again he was shoved back, but this time when she came at him, he didn’t stop to think about what Danika wanted, or what this creature’s parents desired, all he thought about was surviving.

  Jumping to his feet, he lunged at her at the same time she lunged at him. Her hands were up and all he could think was she was going to rip his throat out.

  He stabbed for her temple. Aiming to kill with one blo
w.

  But at the last second she twirled and jumped back, causing his knife not to puncture her brain, but slide down her abdomen. An unholy scream penetrated the woods. A mix of pain, fury, and agony.

  Suddenly it all stopped. He stood there, almost dizzy from the sudden ceasefire. She stood ten yards in front of him, grabbing onto her stomach as red bled through her fingers. Her breathing was jagged, and heavy. Terrible to hear.

  The bleeding heart beneath her eye was crying.

  Drip. Drop. Drip. Sliding out from the bottom of the heart as it rolled bloody down her face. Shutting off the automatic sympathy response he always felt around a woman’s tears, he slowly advanced, ready to end this.

  She was blinking hard, and shaking her head as if trying to clear her vision. Her steps were staggered, a drunken waltz. Then he spied his pouch not five yards from her.

  Pulling her lips between her teeth she spotted the pouch at the same time he did.

  “Don’t,” he warned, sensing she was going for it. “Please don’t do this, Chrysalis. Don’t make me do this. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to return you to your family.”

  For a second he thought that maybe he’d gotten through. Her eyes were wide and luminous and for the barest fraction of a moment he thought he saw clarity. Saw the intelligence hidden behind the lunacy. But like the snuffing of a wick, it was gone just as quickly.

  She dived for the pouch.

  Jumping for her back, his fingers were within inches of her neck. But she was too fast. Grabbing the pouch, she shoved it down the front of her dress and jumped quickly out of his reach. He knew the wound had to pain her, she kept wincing with each step she took. Inches separated them, but then she wiggled her fingers and something wickedly sharp punctured the back of his heel.

  Roaring, he twisted around, expecting to find a snake clamped on him. But it wasn’t. The rotten leech stump was no longer dead, a fat vine of barbs had wrapped itself around his ankle and was pulling him back, the barbs sunk deeper and deeper into his flesh the more he writhed and fought.

  Its sucked him back toward the stump, doing what it was designed to do. Immobilize him so that the tree could feed.

  Using the knife he still had on him, the Huntsman severed the vine. Black, rancid ichor sprayed his face and chest as the butchered half of the vine no longer attached wriggled back to the stump.

  When he looked back, Chrysalis was gone.

  All strength left after that. Lungs heaving, he took a moment to try and catch his breath. He could never have imagined that this was the way things would go down. That she’d be as strong as she was, or he as unprepared as he’d been.

  “Damn it!” He punched the ground, disgusted at himself for what’d taken place.

  The darkness evaporated. Sunlight shone down upon him once more. A few more breaths and then he snatched his pack away from the tree trunk. The vine was nowhere in sight, the leech tree was once again nothing but a dead stump.

  Somehow she’d made that thing come back to life when she’d wiggled her fingers. Could she control Wonderland just as her parents could? Right now, it seemed like an absolute possibility.

  Squinting into the sun’s bright rays, he crawled on his arms toward the brook, making sure to keep his mangled leg off the ground. It took forever to get to the waters edge. It felt like hours, but was probably closer to thirty minutes. Painfully he rolled his way to a sit up position, able to really study his leg for the first time.

  The tip of the vine was still embedded in him, but severed from the rest of the vine, it wasn’t the bright green of a healthy plant, it was dead, brown, and brittle. That didn’t make the thumb sized thorns any less difficult to dig out though.

  Cursing under his breath, he used the same knife he’d stabbed her with to lift the four thorns out. Unable to stop from grunting as he painfully worked them free. The first two were no problem, they’d only gone skin deep. The third one, however, had pierced his calf muscle; it took many painful stop and go’s to free himself of that one. The fourth nearly made him black out.

  The moment he touched the knife to the underside of the vine to pull it free, he knew it’d pierced the tip of his bone. Roaring as the fiery pain sizzled throughout every nerve ending, he blinked against the white spots dancing in his vision. His skin broke out in a fine sheen of sweat that had nothing to do with the midday sun.

  “You can do this you bloody damn fool,” he spat and then shoving a thick twig into his mouth to bite down on, he yanked on the final thorn with all his might.

  And immediately passed out.

  The moment Danika stepped foot inside the Cave of Song memories overcame her. Memories of her and Jericho together for the first time, where’d they’d finally consummated their love. She smiled softly, but though her memories were as bright and bold as if they’d happened yesterday, nothing about the cave looked the same.

  Thanks to June’s lies, the cave had been hidden within fairy magic for years. The spell was only just beginning to wear off. Vines and greenery was overtaking everything, driving out the magical illusion of a bottomless sea and a blanket of stars. The glowworms that’d inhabited the place for so long had moved on once the Ten had sealed it in.

  She sighed, momentarily saddened by it all when the faint, echoing strain of song pricked her ears. Maybe in another few years this wonderful place would become what it’d once been again.

  “Calanthe,” Jericho called her name, and the shivery timbre of his voice never failed to make her stomach bottom out.

  “Jericho,” she cried, throwing wide her arms to welcome him home. His hair was longer that it’d been last month, hanging shaggy around his shoulders, but the length didn’t bother her. The man was so gorgeous that he could have shaved his head bald and she’d find him just as mesmerizing.

  He had a long, aquiline nose. Wide, full lips that elicited wicked thoughts from her when he touched her with them. In short, the man was a walking sex god.

  The curse they’d both been under for centuries had lifted last month. And it always astonished Danika that her beautiful and vibrantly muscular male could love her middle aged and paunchy self. When they’d fallen in love, Danika hadn’t been Danika but Calanthe, a lovely flower fairy whose beauty could have rivaled Helen of Troy’s.

  But he swore her new form didn’t bother him and now with him gripping her tight and claiming her lips for his own, she believed him. Warm brown eyes held her spellbound.

  “My love, I’ve missed you,” he traced his knuckle down her cheek and made her shiver.

  “Och,” she murmured, brogue growing thick with emotion, “you’ve no idea how much I’ve needed you, love.” She sighed, because as much as she wanted to lose herself in his body and his arms, there were grave matters to discuss.

  He nodded. “I know, I’ve been keeping an eye out on you.”

  “How is Siria?” Danika snorted, the name spilled like venom from her tongue.

  Chucking her chin fondly, he waved his fingers through the air, calling his magic of the moon and stars to him and weaved a golden couch for them to sit upon. Though he refused to let Dani out of his arms for even a moment, he sat and yanked her down onto his lap.

  She kissed his smooth cheek and gave herself just a minute to enjoy being back together with him. This night would soon end and once again they’d be apart for another month.

  His hand rubbed up and down her back very gently, making certain to caress the outer shell of her very sensitive dragonfly wings with each pass. Moon glow filtered through his pores, surrounding them in its silvery lavender webbing.

  Jericho was The Man in the Moon. Meaning he commanded the night like no other creature could, his magic was always at its strongest when he came to visit her and he must have known how very much she disliked being in her crone form when he looked so youthful and masculine still.

  His glow poured through her flesh and its warmth reshaped her, made her into what she once was. He never made her b
eautiful for his benefit, Jericho had sworn he loved her any way she came, but she was ashamed to admit her vanity wasn’t overly fond of looking more like his Nana than his vow bonded wife.

  Their stones glowed in unison when she kissed him with all her pent up passion and longing.

  “Mmm, my love,” his deep burr made her stomach quiver, “I could worship you for an eternity, but my time is much too short.” He tucked a curl of her now glossy umber hair behind her pointed elfin ear.

  She smiled softly. “Aye, it is true. Please tell me you’ve discovered a way to mend this predicament with Chrysalis?”

  All serious now, he nodded. “Yes. You were right when you considered true love as a factor. I believe that can penetrate through the curse, but…” He grimaced and stopped speaking.

  It always made her unbelievably nervous when he gave her that look, for it never boded well. “Jericho, what? What is the matter?”

  “Gods, Calanthe, I did not want to tell you this, as I wasn’t certain of it myself, but last month when I tried to tell you, I simply couldn’t because I had to dig deeper and now I know.”

  “What, Jericho, what?” she nearly shrieked, causing the stone above them to vibrate like a tuning fork.

  “Siria is the one responsible for placing the curse upon Chrysa. The night she took control of my moon, it was she who did it. And I can only believe it was petty jealousy on her part that caused her to.”

  “That witch!” she hissed, wanting to use a much sharper word, but she’d promised Jericho that she’d try to work on her potty mouth. She’d become a bit of a rapscallion in his absence, a fact she thought he might secretly love.

  He rubbed her arms. “But as I told you then, there is a way to undo this. But not only this, my sweet fae.”

  His eyes were shining, and though it was dark, it wasn’t hard to mistake the bursts of starlight dancing through his irises. “I read the sacred lore—”

  She snorted. “As have I, there’s nothing but useless lies and rubbish written within.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No.” His smile turned jubilant and it was positively infectious, because she felt her own lips responding in kind.