by Marian Tee
Silviu leapt from his horse’s back, landing gracefully on the ground without a sound. At his nod, Granite followed his lead and emulated Silviu’s silent, stealthy footsteps.
As the distance between him and the human diminished, her curses also became more colorful. It seemed as if she was still trying to make her camera work, judging by the repeated clicking sounds of her camera’s button.
You will pay for this, naughty, naughty girl.
The wind howled as Silviu came nearer. The tall swaying trees bent closer towards the human, a sign of curiosity from the wraiths living within the trunks. The leaves rustled - a ploy to mask their whispers and murmurs. Silviu’s curiosity intensified. Why were they not striking her down? Their bloody history had made them feral and distrustful by nature. More often than not, humans who foolishly entered the woods were never to be seen again.
But this human---
“I don’t understand you.”
Silviu shook his head as he unsheathed his sword from his back, the weapon an intrinsic part of his body. This girl was amusing – uniquely so - with the way she constantly talked to inanimate objects. It would be a pity if he had to kill her.
“Is it because I’ve neglected you for years? Is that it? You were jealous and now it’s payback time?”
The words made Silviu’s shoulders rock with mirth even as he sliced the air with his sword, flicking his wrist left and right. It was rare for a human to make him laugh, but this one did effortlessly without even knowing it. If she was indeed a threat, he would be merciful and kill her quickly.
“Look at the damn moon. I’m begging you. Don’t you want to capture it? Don’t you?”
Silviu positioned himself behind the last cluster of trees, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. Here, his vision of her was limited to the splinters of space between the intersecting leaves of drooping branches. Even so, it was more than enough. This close, he could kill her with one swift strike.
The girl sighed, and she turned in his direction.
Silviu whitened, his heart shuddering to a stop. Slowly, his arm lowered to his side, the tip of his sword pricking the ground.
It was her.
So many different places Silviu had roamed in the last century of this millennia, so many moments he had wasted wooing women from every race – demon, angel, vampire, shapeshifter – he had dwelled among all of them, hoping against hope the Heavens would grant his wish.
Yet no matter where or how hard Silviu had looked, his soul had remained untouched, not one woman of the thousands who had experienced ecstasy in his arms able to make Silviu’s heart clench in recognition of a potential mate---
Until now.
Until this human.
So many fucking years, Silviu thought, his lean hard body trembling in relief. No fucking wonder he had not found his heartkeeper in his travels – how could it be so when she had found her way to him on her own?
She sighed again, and the sound rippled through Silviu like an intimate embrace. His throat dried, his muscles tensed, and his cock hardened to life. Silviu ached to touch her but knew he had to take his time. Returning his sword back to its secret place, he continued staring at her, his hunger knowing no bounds.
Her hair was dark and luxurious, but it was almost comically arranged in a tightly twisted bun at the very top of her head, almost like a toupee. She straightened, and the shape of her gloriously full breasts made itself evident even against her unflatteringly loose clothing - a baseball jersey and faded jeans.
This girl was his heartkeeper. This girl could be his to fuck for eternity. Desire rampaged through his body as the words played in Silviu’s mind. He wanted to start now, wanted to start fucking her right this very moment, wanted to take her hard on the ground, have her bend halfway from the waist so he could penetrate her pussy with his cock from behind, lift her up and have her long legs wrapped around him---
“DAMMIT, Paula, cooperate, please!”
Silviu shook his head, the words snapping him out of his lust-drugged reverie.
Looking back at the woman who could be his destined bride, he saw that her turquoise eyes were now bright with irritation. She glared at her camera, her cheeks flushed, its rosy color made more delectable by the porcelain perfection of her skin.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck---”
His future duchess, who from here on he would think of as Little Miss Potty Mouth.
A laugh escaped Silviu, the very softest sound, but the wraiths heard it and they cackled with him. Leaves on the ground crackled, roots crawled deeper into the soil, and the trees bent even lower – all in the space of a second.
This time, the girl noticed.
She screamed. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
Little Miss Potty Mouth, indeed.
Chapter Two
Here is my first snapshot of the Woods of the Wraiths.
And yes, those are honest-to-goodness-I’m-not-shitting-you SOLDIERS you see guarding the gates.
Apparently, this place is like, umm, Umbrella City. But instead of zombies you have vengeful…well…wraiths. And highwaymen. I kid you not. Highwaymen!
It’s “forbidden” territory after sunset, but Iet’s see if I can “steal” a shot at night.
#sneakybastardgirl #WoW #itsnotworldofwarcraft #punkD
Something was very wrong.
The knowledge came out of nowhere, the realization making George stop cursing. Her fingers tightened around her Polaroid like it was a self-defense weapon. If it came down to it – she probably would use the Polaroid as some kind of weapon, like a mace. After all, the all-steel custom housing of her camera should be able to do some damage.
Next time, George thought, I’m going to request for pointed bits for additional protection.
She really should have listened to her instincts. But then – that was always what her father told George to do, what her father always did – and look where that got him: missing and presumed dead in the ancient wilds of Romania.
The faintest sound of laughter trickled towards George.
Her head shot up, and it – everything – happened all of a sudden and all at the fucking same time. Leaves scraping against the ground without a wind to make them dance, roots fucking crawling like wooden snakes, and goddammit – was she going crazy or did those trees actually bend towards her as if needing to hear her talk?
George screamed.
Of course she screamed.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
And then she ran – well of fucking course she fucking ran!
Soon, all George could hear was the sound of her own heavy breathing and even heavier footsteps. She was getting tired and slowing down. She had the best damn sense of direction, needing no fucking compass to know which direction was true north – but for some reason she was lost.
She was so fucking lost.
Forcing herself to stop, body tensing and shaking alternately, George strained her ears for any kind of sound that would indicate she was being stalked. But there was silence – the very deepest kind, and it worried her even more.
Okay, think. What can I do to find my way back?
Look for true north.
Yeah, I can do that.
But ten seconds later, George was halfway to becoming hysterical. There were no fucking shadows, no way to see the stars – it was as if every goddamn tree in the Woods of the Wraiths was conspiring against her, needing to keep George in the dark.
Goosebumps formed on her arms.
She was a paranormal photographer. In her almost 25 years of life, she had never really seen a ghost but it didn’t mean they did not exist. It didn’t mean humans were the only ones in the world.
Okay, let’s think again. If all this had a supernatural source, how do I get myself out?
Apologize to elementals she might have offended.
Out loud, she said, “I’m sorry if I offended any one of you – I swear to God it was unintentional.”
Always remaining j
ust a few feet away from his future duchess, needing to make sure she was all right, Silviu blinked at the first words that came out of her mouth when she stopped – presumably to rest or to gather her thoughts.
Her voice only shook at the end of her unexpected apology, impressing Silviu with her composure and courage. This boded well for them. Brimstone did not need a coward for a duchess, and he did not definitely need one as a heartkeeper.
But --- why was she apologizing?
Nothing was happening, George thought numbly. Panic was starting to choke her, but she ruthlessly pushed it aside.
Let’s try it again, George.
Look for true north.
But there were still no shadows, not even one damn star to help her find it.
Could this be a dream – a nightmare she needed to wake up from?
George slapped her face several times.
Silviu’s jaw dropped. Now she was fucking hurting herself? Maybe…maybe she was more nervous than he thought. But before he could take a step towards her, the girl whispered furiously to herself, “Wake up, wake up, dammit!”
Slap, slap, SLAP.
Silviu winced – for her.
“Ouch.”
He tried not to roll his eyes. Of course that would hurt. She had slapped herself – hard.
“Please be a fucking dream, please,” the girl muttered.
SLAP.
He winced again.
“Ah, shit, this isn’t a dream.” George rubbed her now-stinging cheek. God, that hurt! The thought made her look up with a scowl. Damn---darn it, God, couldn’t You just have sent me a sign that this was not a dream?
She shook her head. Never mind. She checked her watch and was stunned to realize that only a little over an hour had passed since she left The House. It felt like she had been lost forever.
Get a grip, George. Let’s solve this.
She had tried to look for true north – and it was impossible. She had tried apologizing to elementals that might be lurking around – and nothing happened. What else could it be? She racked her brains for another solution, whether it was practical or paranormal. It didn’t fucking matter.
All she wanted – needed – was a way out.
George went through all the stories she had amassed over the years, the legends, the myths, and the hearsays, all of them passed on to her as the most terrifying bedtime stories by her mother Basiange.
Unlike most mothers, Basiange didn’t do fairy tales and happily-ever-after endings. Instead, she had encouraged George to consider every shadowy corner as a hiding place for something outside the realm of the ordinary. When she was tucking George in for the night, she would often tell stories that were terrifyingly exciting, and one of them had been about…
Oh! That could work, George thought feverishly as she recalled one particular Philippine legend Basiange had shared with her.
Once upon a time, elementals dwelled deep in the forests, and they were not the nice kind. Instead of wings like butterflies and faces like angels, they had veined fleshy wings like bats and claws and razor sharp teeth like monsters.
They trapped humans for food by causing them to hallucinate, and the only way to escape their nightmarish worlds was to wear one’s shirt inside-out, a symbolic ritual to “right” one’s world and return to reality.
George took several deep breaths. It was worth a shot, she told herself. No matter how silly it sounded. Anything was worth a damn shot because she had no plans of dying tonight.
Clutching the end of her baseball jersey, George began to take it off.
WHAT THE FUCK?
Silviu could not believe the sight unfolding before him. Was she fucking serious? Was she fucking insane? Was she really going to fucking show the world what belonged to his eyes alone?
It didn’t matter that only the wraiths could see her, or that all of the wraiths were once nymphs far more beautiful than any human girl could be.
She was his future duchess, his destined bride, his heartkeeper.
She was HIS.
Look away. He issued the command silently to the wraiths, infusing the words with the strength and power that came with his bloodline as the Duke of Brimstone.
The wraiths moaned at the command, the trees shuddering at the sound and shedding leaves just as the girl whipped her top off.
Silviu stiffened.
“NO!” A scream ripped itself out of her throat as George suddenly found herself captured within a stranger’s embrace, strong arms wrapping around her body as he flew – oh my God, had she just imagined that? Was she imagining this? Maybe taking off her jersey wasn’t enough? Maybe the darker forces were too strong and she had to get butt naked in order to defeat them?
Her back hit something solid the same time the man’s body completely covered hers, his hardness – every damn inch of him was hard, and that included his penis, his oh-my-God-that-thing-is-going-to-tear-me-apart penis!
George went wild. She screamed her head off, kicking, punching, and struggling any way she could. She was not going to be raped. She was not!
“Relax,” the stranger growled against her throat just before he twisted both her arms over her head and then -
He stepped back.
George tried to pull her hands away but it was as if someone – something – had pinned her to the tree. She strained to look up, but all she could see was darkness and the still-bent trees over her. She tried to pull harder, twisting in every way just to get loose but there was no…escape.
“What’s your name?”
The voice was hypnotically beautiful but commanding and powerful at the same time – the voice of authority, the kind that was used to being obeyed instantly.
“Fuck you.”
Her fierceness pleased him, making it harder for Silviu to keep his voice unsmiling but mild as he asked, “Why did you take your top off, milady?”
The accent and that last word he murmured tipped her off. A local, no---a titled local, George realized. She was almost out of her mind with fear, but she forced herself to file away the possibly useful information. Thoughts of Marquis de Sade entered her mind, and those she pushed away completely. Those thoughts, she totally had no use for.
“Milady?”
“I…” Oh God – did she tell the truth? What if he thought her insane…and that was some kind of turn on for him? “I…was…hot?”
“You are,” Silviu affirmed, unable to hold back the thread of possessiveness that lined his voice as he studied the girl before him. With her arms over her head and the tree against her back, she was forced to stand straight, thus pushing out her cotton-covered breasts.
He inhaled, struggling for control. As a half-incubus, desire was a power he wielded easily. Apparently, it was not applicable if the girl in question was his heartkeeper.
George could feel eyes travelling all over her body, the hunger in the stranger’s gaze palpable. It made her squirm in mortification.
“Look at me.” The voice was smooth as velvet, a silken command that George found herself obeying against her will. She saw knee-high boots, the most expensive kind – she had spent more than enough time here to know the difference by now.
His breeches were also expensive, appearing warm, luxurious, and custom fitted, outlining the strength of his obviously-muscular legs. He wore no coat – only the finest lawn shirt, white as snow, unbuttoned low enough to reveal a golden triangle of skin, smooth and hard.
George hesitated when her gaze focused on his lips, the sight of it – thin, defined, and beautiful – making her feel sick in the strangest and most shameful way.
Oh God, this couldn’t be happening---
“Look at me.”
She did.
And her worst fears came true.
He was the most beautiful man George had ever seen. Words like sculpted and chiseled were often used to describe someone who was gorgeous in a manly way, but somehow even those words did not feel enough to describe this man’s appeal.
His
every feature was perfect – high cheekbones, aristocratic nose, and strange bright eyes that seemed to be colorless one moment and then possess all the fucking colors of the rainbow in the next. And oh! That hair – gold, blond, shiny and long – George had always thought guys with long hair as aging frustrated rock stars, but on this man – ah, this man.