by Bekah Harris
Felicity’s elbow nudged her side, and when Raven looked up, Dante Zamora was at the top of the stairs, leaning casually against the railing. All the air went out of the room, and she couldn’t breathe. When she had met him in eighth grade, he had been gangly and awkward but still cute.
The fresh mountain air in Lost Cove had been kind.
Now, Dante was tall and well-built with a perfect V shaped torso that did weird things to her heart. And the way he watched her from those warm brown eyes made her stomach turn inside out. He wore his wavy black hair shaggy, the ends of it brushing over his collar. And he was waiting for her. Felicity was right. She was in a hurry to get to school because of Dante. When he saw them, he grinned, two perfect, irresistible dimples appearing at his cheeks.
Damn. Just damn.
“Morning.” Dante stepped close to Raven, tugging on a wild curl. “I have contraband.”
He pulled a brown bag from behind his back and handed it to Raven. Knowing exactly what it was, she and Felicity tore into it, peeking inside at the dozen chocolate chip cookies piled to the top. The scent of sugar, chocolate, and butter—real, from cow to churn butter—sent her stomach growling like a rabid dog.
“You are by far my favorite person ever,” Raven said. “Other than Felicity.”
“Technically, I’m not a person,” Felicity said, “so you were right the first time.”
Raven gave Felicity a look but handed her a cookie. Unleashing a huff of disapproval, she offered the bag to Dante, who snagged one and munched as they walked down the hall.
“Miss Lola go on another baking binge?” Raven asked.
“Obviously.” Dante’s reply was muffled by the whole cookie he had shoved in his mouth.
Miss Lola was Dante’s guardian through the end of the year. She was widowed and her own children were grown with families of their own, so she had offered to take in Dante until he graduated in the spring. He did all the yardwork and repairs to her cottage in exchange for a warm bed, three full meals a day, and, best of all, lots of cookies.
“These are so good,” Felicity said, her own mouth full. “God, I miss my mom’s cookies.”
“Facts,” Raven said. Lyric made awesome cookies with fresh vanilla bean and lemon extract, but Miss Lola’s would certainly do in a pinch.
They still had a few minutes before class, but they went inside so they could score seats before everyone else got there. Inside the classroom was a huge table with chairs all around. No desks. All of their classes were that way. And instead of worksheets and book work, they talked about ideas. They disagreed. They argued. They suggested and questioned. But their ideas mattered. Raven had never experienced anything like it, and no one, other than Felicity and Nan, had ever cared what she thought enough to ask her.
They sat at the far end of the empty table, positioning themselves perfectly to feel the breeze that drifted in from the row of open windows. Raven was busy staring at the small blob of chocolate at the corner of Dante’s mouth, imagining what would happen if she wiped it away with her finger, when books slammed down on the table beside her. She nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Seth, what the actual fuck?” Raven blurted. None of the other girls in Lost Cove cursed, and Raven was trying to control her potty mouth, but Seth Erwin brought out the worst in her.
Seth, Prosperity Glen’s long lost golden boy, yanked the chair across the floor and plopped down beside her with all the grace of a drunk orangutan. He had gone missing a few days before they had wound up in Lost Cove themselves, and his friends had blamed Felicity for everything. At least they knew what had happened to him. Apparently, Fhaescratch needed him for his knowledge of horses. He was being trained as the queen’s groom. Unfortunately, they had to put up with him. Again.
“What’s up guys?” Seth held his fist out to Dante for a bump. Dante stared at him with a bleak expression that translated to “seriously?” until Prosperity Glen’s missing star pulled his hand back and sat down. He turned to Raven, who had to fight off an overwhelming impulse to change seats, before he directed his attention to Felicity.
“Just hear me out,” Seth said. “I know we weren’t the best of friends back home, but we’re all stuck here together now. Don’t you think we should at least try to get along?”
Felicity lounged back in her chair, looking down at her nails as if they were doing something interesting. Raven followed the direction of Seth’s gaze and groaned.
“When you can actually learn to address Felicity to her face rather than ogling her boobs, maybe I’ll talk to you, but as it stands, her eyes are about a foot higher.”
Suddenly, Felicity sat up, her posture ramrod straight. With a venomous glare directed at Seth, she crossed her arms over her chest. When Raven turned around, Tristen and Luca were standing in the doorway, and clearly, they’d heard every word she’d said. A shadow passed over Tristen’s face like a gathering storm, and for a minute, Raven thought the Laltog Prince might gut Seth right in front of them. Which would have been totally hot in a protective Alpha male kind of way. Instead, he rounded the table and sat down across from him, his eyes flashing from black to red and then black again.
Seth sat back in his chair and pretended to be examining his copy of Dickens, as if he had ever read a work of literature in his life. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
Before long, the rest of the students filed in, sitting down in the empty chairs. Elder Eithne swept inside and closed the door, indicating that everyone was inside. But two of the human students, Raven noticed, were missing. In Lost Cove, skipping school was not allowed and came with serious consequences that included manual labor, which typically involved shoveling some form of livestock excrement.
She leaned over to Dante. “Where are Alice and Campbell?”
He looked down at her with those molten brown eyes. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek. “Nobody’s seen them. They weren’t in sixth period yesterday, and I didn’t see them at the fire craze last night.”
Weird.
As Elder Eithne began the conversation about female archetypes in A Tale of Two Cities, Raven stared out the window, wondering where two teenagers in a protected realm, especially one run by creatures who survived on blood, would possibly go to skip school. Assuming they were, in fact, skipping school.
Chapter 6
Tristen couldn’t help but notice that Alice Jennings and Campbell Scott weren’t in Human Literature class.
They were seniors and had been inseparable since they had started attending school together in sixth grade. It was widely whispered that they planned to marry after graduation. Campbell’s father was Lost Cove’s blacksmith, and all the children in their family learned the trade in order to meet the growing demand in their society, which was more primitive than the human realm that surrounded it. Alice studied the culinary arts with her mother and grandfather, who operated the lone bakery. Alice and Campbell’s career paths were already laid out for them, and the next logical step was to begin their respected professions and start a family.
Marriage in Lost Cove meant babies, which later meant more productive residents who would pay their taxes in blood.
A new generation to feed his coven.
It was why relationships tended to move more quickly in Lost Cove with most couples settling down by the age of twenty, but never before eighteen. Much to the human elders’ dismay, the kids weren’t as innocent as they’d like to believe, but Campbell and Alice never missed class.
In fact, no one in Lost Cove skipped school.
The instructors would turn on the students in a heartbeat by reporting their absences to their parents. So if Campbell and Alice were planning to sneak off and spend the day together, there would be dire consequences later—ones most people were unwilling to risk, even for a nice romp in the leaves.
Which is why their absence bothered him.
Hopefully, they were merely sick—which was certainly possible in October, especially if they’d caught somethin
g and tangled tongues. Tristen’s eyes slid down the table to Felicity, whose arms were still folded across her chest to shield herself from Seth Erwin’s lascivious gaze. As Elder Eithne continued to discuss Lucie Manette as a virginal archetype in A Tale of Two Cities, Tristen ground his teeth together. Seth had harassed Felicity for years, and now they were stuck together again. Tristen’s father had mentioned that Seth’s eye had fallen on one of Dr. Shelton’s daughters, but seeing him in the same room as Felicity, it was obvious the worm’s obsession with her hadn’t dimmed.
Which was to be expected, but it bothered Tristen more than it should.
As a Seelie Fae, Felicity’s allure was difficult to deny for a human, especially one as single-minded as Seth. And her blood was too potent for a Laltog to ignore.
He could smell the bloodlust rolling from the four coven members in the class, even Luca. The scent of hunger was musky, like clary sage and dried flowers. Tristen glanced across the table at Liliana and Gwendolyn, both of them shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. Liliana swept her long blonde hair behind her shoulder, biting her lower lip while Gwen closed her eyes and discreetly covered her nose with her hand. Luca popped his neck and flexed his jaw, a sure sign he was fighting against throbbing gums. The furthest from Felicity, Josiah, shifted his chair toward the teacher, turning his back to the humans. A deep sense of unease settled over Tristen. In public among mixed company and Elder Eithne, the Laltogs would remain in complete control of themselves. But outside of class or evening feast, if Felicity were ever caught alone, there could be a real problem. Tristen understood. He was engulfed by the alluring aroma of Felicity’s blood, and unlike the others, he knew exactly how she tasted. But self-control was one of the first skills a Laltog child learned to master.
Laltogs were more predatory and instinct-driven than other Fae or humans. If a Laltog caught Felicity’s scent in the forest without time to prepare himself, his first impulse would be to hunt.
“Your Highness?” Elder Eithne’s voice broke through Tristen’s thoughts.
‘Yes, ma’am?”
“I asked what creative risk Charles Dickens took when establishing a cast of archetypal characters.”
Tristen cleared his throat. “Because the characters are symbolic, Dickens limited his ability to fully develop them. Instead of being three-dimensional, the characters are predictable and under-developed. Some might argue that it suspends belief and pulls the readers from the story.”
While all Laltogs in Lost Cove studied Fae histories and literature during their early education, they were required to study human literature during all four years of high school. Though it gave insight into the human condition, Tristen found most of the great human volumes to be uninspiring and predictable, Dickens included.
Elder Eithne raised her brows without reply and asked Luca for a specific example. Tristen leaned back in his chair. Elder Eithne had never liked him. She was an Erroll loyalist, and Kyla had no doubt poisoned her against him. Felicity was staring down at her book, her brows furrowed as if in deep concentration, while every Laltog and human male in the class watched her with lust, and every female, even Raven, to a certain extent, looked upon her with jealousy. Tristen’s life might be easier if he couldn’t smell the emotion. As a mixture of sage and licorice wafted through the air, he realized his worries were not unwarranted as he had hoped. Felicity was the most tempting creature in Lost Cove, which was the worst possible thing she could be.
When classes dismissed for the day, Tristen hung back on the small lawn of the campus. Friends talked amongst themselves, enjoying the increasingly cooler temperatures. Samhain was only a few days away, and while many of the humans didn’t celebrate Samhain or Halloween, jack-o-lanterns and scarecrows still stared back from several lawns and porches, and the community square had just been decorated with hay bales, cornstalks, and fall colors. On Samhain, the Laltogs would hold a yearly revel, which was rivaled only by the Solstice Feast, and later, a traditional bonfire to light the hearth fires that the coming darker months would make necessary. Meanwhile, the humans who participated held games on the square and trick-or-treating for the children. When nightfall came, though, the humans stayed inside, tucked safely away from the ancestral powers at work on such a night.
“What did you want to speak with me about?” Luca asked, coming up behind him. “I didn’t think Professor Castillo was ever going to end Algebra.”
Tristen checked his pocket watch. It was ten minutes past three. Usually, the professors let them out a few minutes before the hour, but Professor Castillo was notorious for droning on for more than the allotted hour. Raven and Felicity were in the same class and weren’t far behind Luca. Felicity glanced at him from beneath a thick fringe of lashes but didn’t stop to talk as she and Raven made their way down the sidewalk, pausing beneath a cluster of dogwood trees to talk to Dante Zamora.
“And how is Felicity handling Algebra?” Tristen asked.
Luca raised his brows. “Like she handles everything else. She’s full of fire and strength. I don’t know many creatures—human, Laltog, or otherwise—who would stare down a pack of angry Laltogs and lust-filled, jealous humans with such…”
“Bravado?” Tristen finished.
“Exactly,” Luca said. “Academically, she can hold her own, and Raven is smarter than anyone in class.”
Tristen smiled in spite of himself, watching as Felicity laughed at something Dante said. “Raven and Felicity are why I asked you to meet me. I have spoken to my father, and you and I have been tasked to keep tabs on our Mage”
Luca wrinkled his brows. “She certainly has no filter when it comes to her speech, but I thought the King had fully vetted her.”
“He has. It’s not our Mage he has an issue with,” Tristen said. “Surely, you’ve noticed her… scent.”
Luca ran his tongue across his top teeth, and Tristen knew the thought of her blood was sending the ache through his friend’s gums.
“It’s difficult to ignore, but not impossible,” Luca answered.
“Yesterday, Elder Conlan was following her through the forest, and I asked you to summon him to the main house.”
Understanding flickered in Luca’s expression. “You think he was tracking her.”
“My father believes Elder Conlan might consider himself above the law when it comes to the blood of the Mage. And he is not the only one that has taken an interest in her.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Luca raised his eyebrows, a clear invitation for Tristen to discuss his own attraction to Felicity. But Fhaescratch was right. Tristen’s attraction to her was dangerous for everyone—including Felicity.
“The Mage is not to be harmed, sampled, or touched by anyone,” Tristen said. “If she lives in fear of us or the humans, she will be unable to fully perform her duties. And she is already proving to be the most powerful Mage we’ve ever had.”
“Not to mention the fact that King Fhaescratch made an Incorruptible Vow to the Seelie King to keep her safe,” Luca pointed out.
“Exactly, but if Elder Conlan believes my father doesn’t trust him, he and Kyla will rally their supporters against him. Or if they can bring harm to her, then my father will have broken the vow—and death would be inevitable.”
“So, he wants this to be done in secret?” Luca asked.
“Yes. I propose that we alternate days. Felicity will be made aware of the situation so that she doesn’t have to live in fear or use her magic, which would also result in disaster. Would you agree to help me with this?”
“Of course,” Luca said. “I’m happy to help. When do we start?”
“Now,” Tristen said, “but I’ll need to make sure this is kept a secret. I’ll take the first shift today, and then, tonight, after Evening Feast, we will meet in my father’s office to seal our agreement with an Incorruptible Vow of our own.”
A shadow flickered over Luca’s face, and Tristen felt guilt stirring in his middle at the lack of trust the vow suggested. But as his fath
er had pointed out countless times, any creature with royal blood could never be too careful when it came to issues of trust.
Chapter 7
Felicity had proven herself by taming last night’s fire, but she was nervous about Samhain. Of course, she had heard of the pagan Celtic celebration, and she had always loved the excitement of Halloween, but when it came to the task of actually communicating with Laltog ancestors, she had to admit, she was feeling a little squeamish. If she was being honest, it totally gave her the heebie jeebies.
“I just don’t get what I’m supposed to do,” she said, following Nan down a steep hill. “How am I supposed to communicate with dead creatures I’ve never met? It’s not like I’m trying to contact my great grandfather who I’ve been told stories about my whole life. We’re talking about immortal creatures who are thousands of years old, some of them gone for centuries.”
Nan stopped in front of a Slippery Elm tree, touching the trunk gently. She closed her eyes, ignoring Felicity for the moment. Felicity folded her arms, waiting. She had known Nan long enough to understand she wouldn’t be talking for a few minutes. Her human grandmother was connecting with the tree’s life force, asking its permission to strip off some of its bark. Slippery Elm had pain relieving properties, and Nan often ground it into powder, steeped it in tea, and used it in throat lozenges to ease cold symptoms.
The leaves shattered together in the cool breeze, as the sky darkened. It had been overcast all day, but now that the sun was dipping behind the mountains, everything had turned to shadow. Felicity shivered.