by Dani Harper
“Hey, Ranyon.” Jay mouthed the words quietly. “Where’ve you been?” He wasn’t a tall man, but the little creature had to reach high to slap him on the arm with his twiglike fingers.
“Looking about, seeing what’s what. Ya could have waited a mite,” he declared, not softening his own voice one bit. “Not everyone has great long legs like you, ya know.”
“Nice to think I’ve got long legs compared to somebody,” whispered Jay. “I always feel like a skinny kid compared to Rhys.” He glanced around, apparently to make sure that Morgan hadn’t heard that remark—or perhaps to be certain she was blocking Liam’s view. Caris quickly pretended to be facing another direction entirely. From the corner of her eye, however, she saw Jay and Ranyon exchange a complicated system of clasps and knuckle bumps. Both grinned like fools afterward, and Morgan looked over her shoulder and winked at them.
Caris didn’t know which was more surprising, that this rare fae creature was here of all places or that the humans could see him. A grim was intended to be seen by the person it was sent to warn, but not many mortals had the ability to perceive the fae on their own. Nor did any fae show themselves readily. Yet Jay had demonstrated he could both see and converse with Ranyon. Morgan saw the little ellyll, but she didn’t speak to him as she tended Liam. Jay fell silent as well. Ranyon didn’t seem to mind a bit, as he simply kept up a running conversation all by himself. After a moment, Caris understood why his human friends were so quiet.
Liam cannot see or hear the fae.
Considering what the prince’s outlaw hunt had done to Liam’s once-lovely farm, she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. As it was, he probably blamed the destruction on a storm. What would he do if he knew the storm was not a natural one? She couldn’t guess the answer to that either, but she did know one thing: the trio of newcomers expected her to be as blind and deaf to the faery realm as Liam was. And for now, it seemed safer to let them think that.
SEVEN
It was her fault. She had forced him to do it.
Maelgwn was in a foul mood as he paced the crystalline cavern he’d chosen for his temporary chambers. Temporary until his palace could be built, a structure that would outshine the queen’s own residence in the Nine Realms. But thinking about the splendor he would surround himself with as he ruled Tir Hardd failed to cool his rage. Caris Ellen Dillwyn had spoiled his plans. Oh, not beyond recovery, of course, never that—no one was that important, and Maelgwn prided himself on his resourcefulness. But her value as a weapon would have made his plans far simpler to implement.
As a grim, it had been easy to hide her, but it should also have been easy to control her. For a time, it seemed to work. The same foolish mortal girl who had defied Maelgwn’s orders, and broken her pathetic little ffidil in front of him, had been his obedient dog for nearly two human centuries. Yet no sooner had he brought his hunt to Tir Hardd than he’d been forced to make an example of her. One of the other grims had spotted her attempting to escape and raised the alarm.
Where did she think she could hide that I could not find her? Most of his followers felt that mortals weren’t very smart, and Maelgwn was inclined to agree. But they could be trained. And he was determined that this particular human should learn once and for all. In his rage, however, he had wielded the light whip too fiercely. Lightning had struck repeatedly, and she hadn’t gotten up again.
Even now, he swore he could still smell the stench of burning dog hair.
How dare she die!
Maelgwn’s fury had known no bounds as he led his hunt on a rampage throughout the human countryside. The mortal plane would soon know they had a new master, and even now his fists clenched to think of it. He would be as the old gods, feared by all and worshipped with offerings. The stones in the silver breastplate beneath his tunic hummed, as if they liked the idea as much as he did. It made him think of the rich collection of relics and artifacts that he and his followers had brought with them, all possessing power in one form or another.
The prince had left the dead grim exactly where she had died, of course—after he had kicked her repeatedly, of course—but perhaps he should have someone retrieve the silver collar. The intricately designed torcs worn by the big black dogs were forged in such a way that they retained magic. At the very least, Maelgwn could bind a new grim with it. Perhaps I’ll bind Rhedyn with it . . .
Normally, the prince would simply send out grims to get the job done. But this could be an opportunity in disguise. After all, hadn’t he just forged a brand new partnership? Surely this was a perfect little task with which to test that alliance.
As Morgan sat with her friend to wait for the ambulance, Jay grabbed a bag and headed around the other side of the barn to check on the goats. The mysterious Caris went with him to help. The simple dark-green scrubs Jay had found for her looked absolutely rich next to her olive-toned skin and glossy black hair “Your girlfriend’s quite beautiful,” Morgan ventured. “Lovely accent too—sounds like she could be Welsh, though not from the same area as Rhys.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Liam said firmly. “And I have no idea where she’s from. I’ve only known her a few minutes more than you have.”
“Really? How did she get here?”
“Not a damn clue.”
“Well, it must be your lucky day if pretty women are dropping out of the sky.”
He snorted. “Not if I’m not looking for one.”
Defensive much? “Well, I just meant . . .”
“Besides,” he added. “She’s had a tough time of it. I don’t know what happened to her in the storm, but she’s really confused right now. You’ll look after her too, right?”
She blinked at his odd remark, but her answer was sure. “Of course we will.”
The ambulance pulled into the laneway of the farm just as she was about to ask Liam what he meant. Caris didn’t looked confused—in fact, she was taking care of Liam before we got here. As the EMTs made their way across the obstacle course that had once been a yard, Morgan squeezed Liam’s hand. “Look, I know you don’t want to be fussed over, but I really think you’ve got a concussion, possibly a bad one, and they’re nothing to mess around with.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I watch football,” he said. “Believe me, I have a brand-new respect for guys that take a hit on a play.”
Morgan moved back out of the way to stand with Ranyon, who still had the chicken tucked under one scrawny arm. No one could see the ellyll unless he allowed them to—but she couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to hide the hen as well! Ranyon undoubtedly was hoping to take it home to Leo’s house, to join his growing flock of “found” fowl. Do I need to talk to him about leaving it here? It’s got to be Liam’s chicken. She knew Ranyon would never steal it, but would he try to “borrow” it? The fae had many strange ideas about ownership.
Together they watched as the EMTs carefully put a cervical collar on Liam to immobilize his head and neck. It was a sure sign of how lousy he must feel that he didn’t protest, even when they strapped him to the stretcher. When it was obvious they were done, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry a bit about your animals, Liam. We’ll take care of all of them as long as you need us to. Just get some rest, okay?”
“I’ll probably be back in a couple of hours or so,” he said, but the gruff certainty was gone from his voice. Instead, he sounded tired, and his face was nearly as white as the sheet on the stretcher.
No way would any self-respecting hospital release a head-injury patient without at least an overnight observation, she thought. Meanwhile, she’d do her best for his livestock and make arrangements for their care. If Liam wasn’t worried about them, maybe he wouldn’t be so damn anxious to come home. “I’ll call and give you a full report on your animals,” she said, then added, “And about Caris too.”
“Thanks, Morgan. I’m glad you came. You’re a good friend. No wonder Tina
thinks the world of you.”
“You just get better—and I’ll call Tina to let her know where you are.”
He frowned, then winced, no doubt sorry he’d moved the muscles in his battered forehead. “Shit, if you do that, she’s just gonna worry.”
“Sorry, but relatives have that prerogative. But I’ll let her make the decision as to what to tell your aunt and uncle.”
“At least Tina won’t be able to find them right away. They’re on some kind of archeological tour of Peru right now. Aunt Ruby’s really into Aztec ruins and all that.”
“I think those are Inca ruins.”
“Same difference.”
She patted his hand, then stepped back out of the way as the EMTs moved in. “See you later, bud.”
“Make sure you help, Caris,” Liam called out. “And find that dog!”
Morgan watched after them for a moment, not envying their trip through the debris-strewn yard and wondering whether she should go with them and try to help. That’s when Ranyon reached up and tugged at her sleeve.
“Is he dying?” he asked solemnly.
“He’s got a concussion for certain, but it’ll heal in time.”
“So yer certain he won’t be dying?”
Morgan looked down at the little man in surprise. “Now you’re scaring me. What’s all this about dying?”
In answer, he held up his twiggy hand. It didn’t look strong enough to hold the heavy silver collar draped over his palm. The wide band of intricately woven links hung to the ground on either side of his upstretched arm. Morgan recognized the otherworldly workmanship of the piece at once, but its perfection was marred: dozens of scarred and broken links glinted in the sun. Many even looked melted, as if the collar had suffered some great violence.
“Omigod,” she whispered, as she took the collar from Ranyon. Her skin crawled at the touch of the faery-forged metal. She’d felt a strong fae presence here, but this she hadn’t expected. All the clues had presented themselves almost as soon as she’d arrived, however. A dog goes missing and a mystery woman from Wales shows up. What the hell else could it be? “Liam said he didn’t know Caris, but he was certainly worried about her. He said she was confused and wanted me to look out for her.” Her voice trailed away as she looked around, quickly scanning the farm in every direction.
Ranyon shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a female grim afore, but there’s a death dog here for certain,” he declared. “There’s naught else that wears a collar like this in all of the Nine Realms, and ya know that better than most. So if yer friend’s not fated for death, what’s a grim doing here? And worse came along with it, dontcha know.”
The ellyll’s words penetrated Morgan’s frantic thoughts. “Worse? What the hell’s worse than a messenger of death?”
“A fae hunt rode through here: it’s them that brought the storm down on yer friend’s farm.”
Morgan finally shifted her gaze away from the collar to stare at her friend. “Ranyon, are you sure? The place is a helluva mess, but I didn’t see any hoofprints at all.”
“Nor will ya, not from fae horses. But the air is disturbed, dontcha know—the energies are stricken as sparks from a flint. I feel their path and their passing. ’Tis their power we’ve been feeling ever since we came close to this place.”
Although she believed him, the situation made no sense to her. “But Lurien leads the Wild Hunt.” Not that she trusted the tall, dark lord one hundred percent, mind you. Nothing personal, but it was usually a mistake to trust a fae. Although the queen herself had become as dear a friend to her as had Ranyon, others of the faery realm were coldhearted and amoral at best, malicious and deadly at worst. Lurien appeared to have a code of honor, but whether it matched human ideals was another matter entirely. Still . . . “I’ve never heard of him leaving a swath of destruction like this. Never. He’s, well, too classy to do something so juvenile. And our friend, Aidan, certainly wouldn’t do it if he was filling in for Lurien—and besides, he and Brooke have been gone for a month now.”
“True on all counts, good lady. But I can feel the magic of this hunt everywhere, and it tells me another strange thing: the dogs were all grims, with not a single Cŵn Annwn to be found.”
Morgan frowned. “My grandmother used to say the Cŵn Annwn were faery hounds—they’re pure white, aren’t they?”
“Aye, and marked with red ears and red eyes. Lurien has a great mob of ’em. There’s nothing can follow a trail like a Cŵn Annwn. Grims might run along with the Wild Hunt for the sport of it, or because they’ve finally gone mad, but never in such numbers. There must have been half a hundred great black dogs here last night, and just as many riders.” He placed his twiggy hands on his hips. “And so ’twas not Lurien’s band at all that did this mischief.”
Fifty grims? The enormous dogs would make a terrifying picture. And although the true Wild Hunt was not immune from being hijacked by those with ill intent—and Morgan would never forget the encounter that had nearly killed her and her husband at their own farm—the implications of Ranyon’s words were much, much worse. “You’re talking about something altogether new then, like a rogue hunt?”
He nodded solemnly. “There are many vile creatures and scoundrels, fae beings that defy the queen’s authority and seek holdings in Tir Hardd unlawfully. Worse, they could bring harm to the human world above. We have the proof before us, good lady: someone has brought over an outlaw hunt, and look at what it’s wrought in a single night.” The ellyll waved a hand at the destruction all around them.
Great. Just great. The royally sanctioned Wild Hunt was terrifying enough, but they were bound by ancient laws. There were parameters, boundaries, rules for heaven’s sake. But a rogue hunt? All bets were off. They would likely do whatever they pleased—unless it was possible for the true Wild Hunt to find them and catch them. “No wonder Lurien’s been trying to patrol the new territory as well as the old kingdom. Now I understand why he needs Aidan’s help so often.”
Because of Morgan’s unique relationship with Gwenhidw, she was well aware that the sovereign had been compelled to lean on Lurien more and more as her right hand. As powerful as he was, the Lord of the Hunt had been forced in turn to rely on someone else to fill in for him at times—and that person was often Brooke’s husband, Aidan. The information was a well-kept secret, of course. Ranyon, Rhys, and Morgan hadn’t revealed it to anyone, not even to Jay and Starr. The fewer beings who knew that a mortal had a covert hand in fae business, the better Aidan’s chances of surviving the highly dangerous job . . . Personally, she was glad that his honeymoon with Brooke had made him unavailable for a while.
“We’ll need to be watchful,” continued the ellyll. “And you’ll be having to get word to Queen Gwenhidw.”
Easier said than done. Gwenhidw was her friend, true, but up until now, the monarch had always approached Morgan, slipping away from her heavy responsibilities whenever she could manage it unseen—which wasn’t often. Morgan had never attempted to contact the queen, nor had she been invited to do so. Fae social mores were not the same as human ones.
“I’ll try to figure something out,” she said. “That or try to contact Aidan—he might know how to get hold of Lurien.” She wasn’t sure of that, though. It was far more likely that Aidan had the same kind of relationship with the Lord of the Wild Hunt that she did with the queen. Don’t call us, we’ll call you . . . Besides, she wasn’t too confident she could even find Aidan right now. He and Brooke had chosen to honeymoon in Catemaco—but they had no itinerary. Brooke had wanted to play it by ear and travel around that area as her intuition moved her. Cell phone service seemed iffy. Morgan had gotten through to Brooke only once, and that was weeks ago . . .
As for herself, Morgan wished Rhys was with her right now. Although he was a skilled warrior, he couldn’t fight off an entire faery hunt—but she’d still feel a whole lot better just being wrapped i
n his powerful arms, even for a few moments. She sighed inwardly and turned back to the ellyll. “But the hunt has left, right? There are no fae here?”
“Aye, my magic tells me they’ve gone—save one.” Ranyon pointed at the collar in her hand. “Without the collar, a grim cannot be compelled to leave the mortal world, dontcha know. And I’m thinkin’ we need to be asking her some questions.”
Morgan nodded. “I’m thinking you’re right.” She set off at a jog in the direction of the goat corral where Jay had gone with Caris.
Like a parched desert flower absorbing dew, Caris drank in the myriad of sensations that surrounded her. It was a strange and contradictory mixture. The living warmth of morning sunlight on her arms and face, the peaceful breeze that stirred her hair, and the vivid colors that filled her gaze—all were a delight to her soul, even as the damage and destruction to the farm were an affront to her sensibilities.
Sounds and smells were different now of course, not as sharp or as keen as a dog experienced them. But she didn’t miss that a bit. Not when she had hands to command, not when she could reach for something and feel her fingers close around it! Her heart ached with the sheer joy of being able to grasp and to touch. It was a miracle to her to stroke the texture of a goat’s soft hair, to feel the frame and muscle of its body braced against her, as she held each animal securely but gently for Jay’s inspection.
She didn’t rejoice in the animals’ distress—many had been injured in the storm, with long gashes and finger-length splinters of wood embedded in their thin hides. All were subdued, and many leaned their heads against Caris as if seeking comfort from their frightening experience. She murmured to them in her native tongue, just some soothing, lilting nonsense that she’d often used to quiet anxious sheep.
“Some of those words sound like they could be Welsh,” said Jay, as he finished suturing a doe’s leg. “Isn’t cariad sort of a pet name for someone you love?”