King of the Mountains

by Elizabeth Frost

  The tinge of his green magic inside her flashed with a vision. Not horns, but a crown. And not just moss, but a mantle of earth that rose from the ground and trailed behind him, spreading green things in his wake.

  But it wasn’t just green. The harder she looked into the vision, the more she saw faces frozen in the moss and flowers behind him. Human faces, frozen in horror with mushroom caps growing atop their heads.

  He wasn’t just going to be a king. He would be the end of the world as they knew it.

  She crawled out of the caves with her clothes in her hands, not caring that she was in nothing more than her underwear. She’d wash the clothes later when she had the time. For now, her mind was running a mile a minute.

  The Mountain King was controlled by powers she couldn’t fathom. That magic was old. Ancient even, but older than any she’d ever come across before. And she’d dealt with thousand year old vampires and gnomes born from lava fields. None of them held a candle to the magic she had touched today.

  Morgan wasn’t looking where she was going. Her feet carried her somewhere, but she didn’t know where.

  A sharp pain struck her ankle, bringing her down onto one knee.

  With a hiss, she slapped her palm against the sudden ache. Her fingers touched a smooth, scaled back slithering away.

  With a snarl, she glared at the garden snake sitting in the tall grass. “Arcane.”

  “Well I wasn’t getting your attention any other way, now was I? Someone is distracted.” He flicked his tongue, and she had the distinct impression he wanted to bite her again. “Humans never look where they’re going.”

  “You would be distracted too if the Mountain King had turned into a world ending god in front of you,” she muttered, still rubbing her ankle. Twin beads of blood bloomed every time she released her hold, and Morgan didn’t want to leave any trace here.

  Blood was the ultimate way to control someone. Even more than a name. She might be foolish, but she wasn’t careless.

  Arcane stiffened. He arched his back until he stood on the very tip of his tail. He stared into her eyes with his slitted yellow ones, and whispered, “What did you just say?”

  “You know what I said. Your king is terrifying when he wants to be.”

  Arcane flicked his tongue again, tasting the air. Scenting for a lie? “Yes, he is.”

  “And I have a feeling all that power isn’t Liam, is it?”

  The snake sank back to the ground and slithered back and forth. Pacing, it seemed, in the only way a snake could pace. “He told you his name?”

  “I don’t think he meant to. He wasn’t himself.”

  “No, that power doesn’t make him the faerie we all know.” Arcane twisted his body around a small stone, then started his circling again. “Where were you?”

  “The hot springs.”

  “Who told you about those?” He paused and looked up at her with wide eyes. “You aren’t supposed to be in there. Those are the king’s private bathing chambers.”

  “The faeries.” Had they tricked her? Were they trying to play some strange version of faerie matchmaker she wasn’t privy to?

  Arcane huffed out a lengthy breath. “Damned things. They know they shouldn’t be in there, and yet they still sneak in whenever the king isn’t looking. As if he doesn’t know when someone disturbs the waters.”

  Faerie matchmaker indeed. Morgan’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, even though the snake didn’t know what she’d been thinking. Matchmaker! The faeries shouldn’t want their king to end up with a human, let alone a witch.

  They might like her, but she wasn’t queen material. She knew that more than anyone. Shaking herself free from such thoughts, she stood. “Well, I’m going back to my nest, then.”

  “No you aren’t.” Arcane stretched his body up, reaching his head toward her. “Pick me up.”

  “What?”

  “Up, woman.”

  She couldn’t imagine this would be pleasant for either of them. Being carried was rather degrading, and she didn’t want to hold the snake who hated her. He’d already bitten her once.

  Still, he seemed to know what he was doing. So she sighed, leaned down, and lifted him.

  Arcane eased his way up her arm and wrapped around her bicep. He tightened until it felt as though she were wearing some piece of jewelry, not a living creature. “To the cottage,” he said.

  “Why would I go to where the king is?”

  “Trust me, the king isn’t in the cottage. If he’s losing control again, then he’ll be going somewhere he can be alone.”

  “Why?”

  Arcane tightened to the point of pain. “Don’t ask questions, human. Just do what I tell you.”

  She wasn’t great at taking orders, especially from someone who disliked her. But in this case, she supposed she didn’t have a choice.

  Morgan strode out of the gully and back up into the forest beyond. As she passed under tree branches and clambered over logs, she tried to remain silent. Arcane wasn’t chatty either until they were very close to the cottage.

  “Why are you in your underthings?” he muttered.

  “I was taking a bath.”

  “You’re still carrying your clothing. You could put them on.”

  She waved them in the air so they both were blasted with the scent of stale sweat, mud, and body odor. “I don’t think I want to put them back on until they’re clean.”

  He coughed. “Why didn’t you wash them in the hot springs then? Petunias and hyacinth, that’s a horrible smell! Is that what humans always smell like?”

  “No,” she replied with a chuckle. “That’s what humans smell like when you don’t let them bathe regularly.”

  “Yet another reason I’m glad to be the familiar of a faerie and not a witch.” Arcane breathed through his mouth for the rest of the journey.

  She would have preferred any other faerie to travel with. But he was rather humorous, she supposed. Certain parts of his antics made her chuckle, so maybe that’s why the Mountain King kept him around.

  Liam, she corrected. Every time she thought of him as the Mountain King, something inside her whispered more. She knew his name now. And it was a beautiful name that sighed in her head like wind through leaves.

  Maybe that was his magic.

  Morgan drew the shields of her own power a little tighter. Just in case. Liam didn’t appear to be in his right mind and someone who was out of control could poke around within the headspace of another.

  She would be careful. Just in case.

  Up and over the rise, she carried Arcane and down into the valley with the small cottage beyond. The door was back on its hinges, as she’d noted at the dinner. Everything had been cleaned from their banquet as well. No more table, chairs, or even a speck of food on the ground.

  She strode into the middle of the valley, then paused. “Well? What are we doing here?”

  “Getting you some proper clothing, apparently,” he muttered. Arcane released his hold on her bicep and slithered down to her hand. “Put me down, I’ll take you there.”

  “Where is there?” she asked as she set him on the ground.

  “It’s not some kind of magical place, witch. Not everything is an illusion in faerie realms.” He grumbled all the way to the front door where he reared up and poked the wood hard with his face. “Open it.”

  She reached forward and hesitated before she touched the wood. Was he in there? She didn’t know if she could survive another round of energy like that.

  Morgan had purposefully not thought of the orgasm worthy waves, how they had made her body feel so... strange. It wasn’t like physical pleasure, instead it was mental pleasure that made her feel like a goddess.

  If he was capable of that without even trying, what would he do if she gave in to him? She wouldn’t be the same woman after a night in his bed.

  Maybe the stories were true. All witches knew of human women who returned as blithering idiots after spending too long in the faerie realm. The
faerie-touched would only speak of the man who had stolen their hearts.

  Morgan could understand their addiction if she’d experienced only a fraction of what human women felt after a night with a faerie.

  Arcane tapped the door with his face again. “Witch. Door. Now.”

  She ghosted her fingers over the smooth, sanded wood. “This threw me back ten feet the last time I tried this.”

  The snake sighed and put his forehead against the entrance. He stared at the ground for a few minutes before he finally responded. “The king isn’t in there. You’re welcome in his home now since we know who you are. Just open the damned door. I’m trying to be nice for once.”

  Well, if he was trying, then she supposed she should try as well.

  Morgan opened the door and let the snake into his master’s domain. She stepped into the cool room and goosebumps spread across her body like the pox. Shivering, she stared at all the changes.

  It was as though they’d never fought. Every floorboard was where it should be. All the pots were in one piece again and the plants were happy.

  She could hear them in her head. Some were singing little ditties about sunlight and growing. Others were whispering about the witch who had returned. One was silent, but if she listened to the spider plant hard enough, she could hear it snoring.

  For all intents and purposes, it appeared nothing had happened here. How was that possible? She’d seen the faeries carrying the pots into the realm. And then she’d used all those new pots.

  Had he used magic to put everything back together? She didn’t think that was possible for faeries like him. Green magic affected only growing things.

  Although, he had created an entire realm with that power. And building realms had little to do with plants or helping them grow. So maybe Morgan didn’t know as much about his magic as she thought.

  Arcane slithered toward a door in the back, beside the one leading to Monstera. She could feel the plant on the other side of the cottage and sensed its roots growing deep through the floorboards.

  “Come get something on, witch,” Arcane spat. “There’s a chest in the back corner of this room. Should have something that will fit you.”

  Morgan set her clothing down on a nearby table and then made her way to the door. Opening it revealed a bedroom beyond. Not much of one. Just a chest of drawers on the left, a plain oak bed, and then a small table with a lamp. The chest was at the foot of the bed. Everything else looked as though it hadn’t been touched in years.

  Was this his bedroom? She stepped into it, holding her arms over her chest even though no one was in the room to see her.

  Yet, somehow, it still felt as though eyes were on her.

  The chest lid creaked as she eased it open. Everything inside smelled of mildew and moth balls, but the dress on top was beautiful. She’d never been much of a dress person, even back in the days when women were required to wear them.

  But this one... it was beautiful.

  White silk spilled down from the shoulders, creating a deep V in both the front and the back. The style was almost Grecian, and she had a feeling it might be that old.

  Gently, she pulled it out of the chest and let the fabric ease onto the floor. The silk was so fine it felt like spiderwebs in her hands. Spilling out of her arms and pooling at her feet, this was far too fine a dress for her to wear.

  She turned back to Arcane, shaking her head. “I can’t wear this. I’ll ruin it. Dirt on something like this would be...”

  Her words failed her. It wasn’t Arcane in the entrance. It was Liam.

  Moss still covered his shoulders, though the branch crown had disappeared. He braced himself on the doorframe with both arms, leaning into the room. His biceps bulged as though he were holding himself back. Even the veins in his arms stood out prominently.

  He wasn’t staring at her with anger, as she feared. Instead, the heat in his gaze seared her to the core.

  Morgan took a deep breath. “Arcane brought me here.”

  “I know.”

  She held the dress in front of her like a shield. “He said I could wear something from the chest, but this is far too fine.”

  His throat worked in a heavy swallow. “No. It’s perfect.”

  “I’ll get it dirty,” she tried to argue. She didn’t want to be beautiful in front of him. She wanted to just be the woodland witch with crazy hair and dirty skin. Someone unremarkable and forgettable.

  When people remembered witches, they started fires. A faerie king remembering her? She couldn’t bear to think centuries would pass before she didn’t have to look over her shoulder for him anymore.

  Liam released his hold on the door and strode into the room. Petals fell from the flowers still tangled in his hair, leaves dripping from him like rain.

  He took the dress without a word. Silent, he scooped his arms through the bottom then held it over her head. Waiting.

  She couldn’t suck in enough air to satisfy her lungs. The Mountain King, the Earth King, a faerie king was dressing her? He stood so patiently, waiting for her to lift her arms so he could slide the most beautiful white dress she’d ever seen in her life over her head.

  Heart thundering in her chest, she lifted her arms.

  Liam guided the dress down. He slid his hands over her forearms and biceps, leaving behind sparks of electricity like he’d planted them beneath her skin. Heat prickled wherever he touched.

  She lost her breath when he touched her ribs. His palms were just an inch away from her breasts, and he must feel her thundering heartbeat. He must feel the heat of her body and knew she was waiting for something, anything.

  Warm hands glided down her ribs and the sides of her stomach. Everywhere he touched was on fire. Then the silk cooled her with icy fabric.

  Liam met her gaze, and she saw so much passion in his eyes. He was still in control, but barely. She could see the glowing embers of desire and they reflected a need that made her heart race and her lungs ache.

  Slowly, he knelt before her. Easing down onto his knees so he could glide his hands down her hips, thighs, and calves.

  She looked away from him. A faerie king kneeling at her feet was too much. Far too much for a mortal woman.

  “Morgan,” he rumbled.

  Her cheeks burned, a blush spreading from her face to her chest. He’d dressed her. Why had he dressed her when all she wanted was for him to take the dress off?

  She had to resist him. He was a faerie, and she already knew he would ruin her.

  She liked her life alone. Every inch of her home reflected Morgan, and every inch of herself was who she wanted to be. No one else affected her life. She couldn’t let a man wander into her soul and reset everything she’d accomplished.

  Liam stood. His beautiful face was all she could see. The high planes of his cheeks, the elegant long nose, the close-cropped beard that felt so good against her neck.

  “You said I deserved better,” she whispered, a last ditch effort to push him away even though she didn’t want him to go.

  He lifted a hand and cupped her face. His fingers curled along her jaw and tunneled into her hair at the back of her head. “I was wrong.”

  Liam tugged her hard against him. He devoured her with a kiss that seared her to the bone. She could taste honeysuckle on his tongue, a burst of flavor like she’d bitten into a mango, and something earthy like the bitterness of kale. He tasted of all the green things in the ground while pouring magic into her as though she were a vessel to contain him.

  He clutched her waist, his fingers almost bruising. Liam held her as though she were the fields upon which he toiled. As though he could sow flowers and life into her body.

  So he drank in the air from her lungs. He conjured her soul to the surface of her skin until she could feel him there as well.

  He consumed every piece of her body, mind, and spirit.

  Seeds she didn’t want grew in her heart and in the deep well of her magic. Seeds that bloomed into petals so glorious, so glimmer
ing, she knew she’d never be the same again.

  His tongue swept between her lips, and she shuddered. He reached up and palmed her breast, massaging until she stopped being and only felt. His thumb pressed hard against her nipple, then soothed with a gentle flick.

  He knew how to play her body like a musical instrument and she didn’t even know where she was.

  The fleeting thought terrified her.

  Morgan had never lost control like this. Not once in her life. Magic could only run rampant when the owner was unaware. Thus, she was always in control.

  Always.

  Planting her hands hard on his chest, she pushed away from him. He let her go without complaint, but it still felt wrong.

  She wanted nothing more than to be in the heat of his arms again. Just a second out of them, and she desired him even more.

  How was that possible?

  Shaking her head, she darted around him and toward the door. “I’m sorry. That should never have happened. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

  He stood with his back to her, stiff and straight as a tree trunk. He didn’t respond.

  Morgan wouldn’t apologize, she couldn’t, not when her thoughts were running through her head. She fled the room, the cottage, and valley where she felt a part of her soul detach from her being and drift back into his arms.

  13

  Morgan slapped at the branches slowing her retreat. She didn’t want to go back to that place with the soft moss and a ceiling made of stars. He’d created it for her. Which meant he could come there any time he pleased.

  There wasn’t even a lock on the door. Morgan couldn’t create one from magic, because all her spells were partially his now. Green magic glowed in her well of power, familiar energy yet not her own.

  What had they been thinking?

  What had she been thinking?

  He was a faerie king. He was dangerous, far more than just a normal faerie with its pretty eyes and cajoling grin. She’d met faeries before and not a single one had tempted her.

  This one shouldn’t differ from all the others, she told herself. Maybe he had more power, and he was more interesting with his story and abilities. And she’d never met a faerie who cared about the earth the way Liam did.