There was blood on me, yet again. I was quickly becoming far too accustomed to the red stains on my skin, and the monster in me
wasn’t as horrified by it as I would have thought. I’d felt guilty when I’d killed Loris, wanting nothing more than to stop the magic that took control and ended his life. I’d even felt bad for killing the commander.
But with this Mist Guard in the woods, I felt only pride in my brother for ending him before he could end me. He’d shackled me with the iron collar like a dog, and, according to his own words, rendered me unable to defend myself.
I trudged through the woods as the sun began to disappear over the horizon, the natural night coming without magical interference. It was less all-encompassing than the false night we’d spent stumbling around in the dark, the hint of stars in the sky now lighting our way.
My feet throbbed as the blisters on my heels where my boots dug into the flesh bled into the wool socks that made my feet soak with sweat. I’d been dressed for winter, but the weather couldn’t seem to decide what to do with the Fae magic. The air had the fresh scent of spring; the plants revived with vibrancy all around us, despite the frost we’d feared would come too quickly only a day before.
Hunger and thirst cramped my belly, making it impossible to think about continuing on for another day without food or water. The berries we’d snuck off the bushes in the woods as we passed them could only last so
long, and I touched a hand to my grumbling torso as if the pressure of the contact could will it away.
“Look,” Brann said, pointing to a light up ahead. Through the gaps between the trees, I could just make out the glow of torch lights.
The brief rays of hope were quickly extinguished by the reality that being around people would likely be impossible for me. We had no money to purchase food or drink, and nothing of value we could sell.
Anyone who got a good look at me would try to dispose of me, and there was a brief, blinking wonder inside me at the thought. Would I hear the male who’d claimed me roar his rage before I died? Or would that only come when I was already gone from this world and wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway?
“We need food,” Brann said, taking my hand and tugging me to the edge of the woods. We watched as torch lights dimmed and then winked out, people settling into their homes for the night. I couldn’t blame them. I didn’t want to be outside either, when the Wild Hunt rode in the darkness.
“Wait here,” he said, giving me a pointed look as he moved into the small village. Nobody noticed him with the streets empty, at least not that I saw until he ducked out of sight. A few long moments passed with me waiting, considering continuing on into the woods and leaving him behind. He would be far better off for it, and I’d already endangered his life more than once.
But he was right; we needed food and water, and the unfortunate reality was, if anyone saw my neck, I’d be doomed. I couldn’t move through villages the way he could without drawing attention to myself.
He touched a finger to his lips when he stepped back into view, waving a hand for me to follow. I hauled my filthy cloak up over my head, keeping the Mark that I had yet to see hidden, and stepped into the clearing in the woods.
Hurrying quickly, in spite of the pain climbing up my legs with every step, we made our way around the edge of the village. Brann led me to an empty barn tucked away at the back of the clearing, hauling the door open a crack that was just wide enough for us to slip through.
A single horse stood in a stall to the left, chewing his hay loudly, but the rest seemed to be empty. “We passed a little pub a few buildings down. I’ll see if I can get us food in exchange for doing some work in the morning.”
“We can’t be here in the morning,” I protested. “If they see me—”
“Nobody will need to see you. You’ll be tucked inside the woods by the time the sun rises.” He nodded at me one last time and slipped back out the door without another word.
I spun in the space, twiddling my fingers as I looked around and tried to decide what to do. It felt wrong not to be moving, as if my body knew if it wanted to keep breathing, it needed to keep walking.
Ignoring what my body knew, I sank down on a pile of straw at the side of the barn aisle, easing the weight off my feet with a groan of satisfaction. They throbbed, swollen inside my boots, but I didn’t dare take them off, in case I needed to make a quick getaway.
Dropping my head back, I stared up at the rafters supporting the ceiling. The straw beneath me was warm, almost too warm, given the cloak wrapped around my shoulders. But it was all that concealed the Fae Mark.
“I’m really trying very hard not to frighten you,” a deep, amused voice said, and I froze solid in fear. “You’ve made that quite difficult staring at the ceiling.”
I sat up slowly, holding the cloak cinched tight at my neck as my fear spiked. Only the knowledge that quick, hasty movements could make me more likely to be discovered by others kept me from running.
I spun, sprinting for the door at the side of the barn.
“Fuck,” the man grunted, abandoning whatever he’d been reaching for in his cloak to chase me. His long legs ate up the distance between us quickly, closing in before I ever got close to the barn door. I couldn’t scream for help, not when doing so would mean people discovering me, and the potential fallout could mean taking a sword to the heart or unintentionally slaughtering an entire village full of innocent people.
A strong arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me back into a very male body as the other hand covered my mouth. His skin against my face smelled of the first frost of the season, as if he’d been clearing ice away from the flora in a garden to preserve the plants just a bit longer. “Shh,” he murmured softly, the spearmint of his breath caressing my cheek.
I thrashed in his grip as he lifted me off my feet easily, twisting my body from side to side and kicking my legs frantically. His hand slipped while he carried me further into the barn as if I weighed nothing, and the tips of his fingers pressed against the seam of my lips.
I bit down with all the strength in my jaw, not relenting when the coppery-sweet taste of blood filled my mouth. When any normal person would have shouted, or at least tried to get me to release his appendage from the vice-like grip of my teeth, he only chuckled in my ear and dragged me back to the pile of straw where I’d thought to relax.
“Careful, love. I just might like that.”
I mumbled against his skin, wincing when he tore his finger free without care for the way my bite tore his flesh open further. My teeth clamped together, the vibration of the impact radiating through my jaw. “Put me down!” I said furiously, my voice carrying through the otherwise empty barn.
He didn’t relent, giving me no choice but to fight against the threat I didn’t understand. He didn’t want me dead, not yet at least, but he also wasn’t letting me go free. In the world I lived in, especially with the Fae on the loose, the unknown was something to be feared.
I slammed my head back, aiming straight to take out his nose. He moved with lightning-quick reflexes, narrowly avoiding the strike that would have broken his pretty face. In doing so, his grip on me finally loosened enough for me to slip through.
I spun, moving with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins and snatching the dagger from the sheath on his belt. Twisting it in my hands the way Loris had taught me and ignoring the pang of guilt I felt over my lover’s death, I leaned into the thrust that pressed the sharp edge of his blade at his neck.
He blinked down at me in surprise, his features darkening, but he made no move to step away from the threat. He held my gaze, his body still and his breathing steady while I panted for breath and tried to fight my rising panic.
Why wasn’t he afraid?
He stepped closer, pushing the edge of the blade into his skin until little red droplets ran down his throat. He smirked as I bled him, that arrogant look broadening into a full-fledged grin when I didn’t back down and held my stance. “You’re a vicious one, aren’t you?” he asked, running his tongue over the top of his perfect bottom teeth.
“Only when it comes to pushy men who seem to think they have the right to touch me,” I snapped, leaning further into the knife against his throat.
“Fair enough,” he murmured thoughtfully, moving so quickly I didn’t have time to track what happened. His hand raised, shoving my elbow until the dagger slid across his throat, leaving a thin slash. Once it was clear of his throat, he disarmed me with the speed and grace of a professional, twisting the blade out of my hand and into his, until he threw it into the wood floor at our feet.
He shifted, drawing me into his arms, and lifted me off my feet. He tossed me gently, just far enough that my back hit the straw pile once again. Straw billowed up on impact, filling my face and hair with the itchy needle- like stalks that seemed to get everywhere.
His eyes dropped to my neck, and I swallowed back the unrelenting panic I felt when I could sense his gaze on that burning part of me that had been revealed in our skirmish by the shifting of my cloak. His square jaw tightened, teeth clenching down as he stared at the Mark, and something primal filled his gaze. “You’re safe with me,” he said, reaching up to grasp the collar of his hood. He tugged it to the side, revealing a swirling mix of black and white color on his golden skin.
“You’re Fae Marked,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the design as I brushed straw out of my hair and face and sat up. He reached into the pocket of his cloak once more, pulling out a waxed cloth canteen and holding it out to me.
“You need to drink. I suspect those lips are much prettier when they’re hydrated.” He stepped closer, holding out the canteen pointedly. Cautiously, I took it from him, staring into the small opening warily and sniffing the contents. Finally, lifting it to my lips, I poured the first drops of water into my mouth and groaned at the fresh taste.
The crisp water felt cool despite having been tucked into his pocket. I swallowed greedily and forced myself to stop before I was ready, in the interest of not taking all of his water. “All of it,” he ordered, touching the bottom of the canteen and tipping it up so that I had no choice but to swallow the entirety of it.
When I was done, he moved to the edge of the barn and the water pump I hadn’t seen tucked behind a saddle rack, refilling the container immediately and tucking it back in his pocket for safekeeping. “Thank you,” I murmured, my eyes dropping to the spot where I’d sunk my teeth into his finger. I grimaced, wiping the sleeve of my dress against the corner of my mouth. The pea green fabric smeared with blood and grime hinted at how much of a mess I must look.
The night in the woods hadn’t done any wonders for my appearance, if the filth was any sign.
He closed the distance between us, taking a seat beside me and drawing my hands into his grip. I shifted, watching him with wary eyes as I tried to make sense of what he wanted.
Up close, the ruthless beauty of his features was overwhelming. He was nothing like the boys and men of Mistfell, and, as he unfastened his cloak and tossed it to the side, the first glimpse of just how broad his shoulders were made the breath catch in my throat. His tunic strained at the seams to
accommodate his body, his trousers tight through the thighs as he turned on the straw to face me.
He poured water into his hand, raising it to my neck and cleaning what remained of the wound from the High Priest. When he’d finished with that, he held one of my hands out to the side and shoved the cloak out of the way and the sleeve of my dress up my arm. Taking out his canteen once more, he slowly poured water over my hand until I started to feel a little more human as the blood and dirt washed away, revealing my skin beneath the layers of filth that had accumulated since we’d left Mistfell.
When he was satisfied with how clean my hand was, he turned it over and inspected the thin cuts and the white scars that covered it intently. “What happened?” he asked, lifting the limb to look at the wounds closer. Soft, plush lips touched the back, the strong cupid’s bow of his mouth emphasized as it curved up into the barest hint of a smile.
“Twilight berries,” I said, swallowing as the feeling of his lips spread through me with an odd, tingling numbness. He took my other hand in his, repeating the process slowly and working his thumbs over the injuries as he inspected them to make sure they were clean enough to prevent infection.
“You’re a harvester,” he said, nodding as he splashed some of the water on his own hand. His enormous palm came toward my face slowly, waiting for me to panic and back away from the touch. The moment his skin touched mine, I leaned into it, even though I didn’t understand the urge.
The skin surrounding his callouses was surprisingly soft. His thumb dragged over my cheekbone, drawing a ragged gasp from me as his palm cupped my cheek. He set to cleaning my face with his wet hands, moving slowly and with a gentleness that I wouldn’t have thought him capable. I couldn’t help but stare, wondering what had possessed me to allow him to touch me, and to care for me like I mattered when he was nothing but a stranger to me
“Much better,” he said after he’d finished, clearing his throat and drawing his hand away slowly.
“I’m sorry for biting you,” I said, conceding that I’d perhaps misinterpreted the situation.
“I’m certain that’s not something you say every day,” he said, pursing his lips in thought.
I cracked a smile, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. “No, I can’t say that it is.”
“Well, the least you can do after wounding me is tell me your name. I must have something to tell people when they ask who bested me, and I am sad to say claiming a harvester I call ‘Little One’ doesn’t make me sound intimidating. I have a reputation to uphold, after all,” he teased, resting his hand on top of my knee.
It was a move that Lord Byron had done on more than one occasion after feeding me twilight berries, but whereas his touch had felt lecherous, this stranger simply rested his hand there. It wasn’t a pathetic attempt to touch me, but rather just a convenient place for it.
“What makes you think my name will be any better to that end?” I asked, leaning back on the pile of straw until I laid sprawled out beside him. I wasn’t sure when the shift had come, but at some point in the brief interaction, I’d realized that he truly didn’t mean to harm me.
At least not immediately.
“A woman who can bite so powerfully and cut me with my own dagger must have a terrifying name to accompany it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and lying back beside me. His hand rested only inches from mine, the awareness of his body like a living thing inside me. His fingers shifted until his pinky brushed against mine, and I wondered briefly if he felt the same current of tension.
Perhaps it was because we were both marked by the Fae, and the magic within us called to like. But whatever the reason, he seemed to be in no hurry to break the small contact between our bodies as he turned his head toward mine.
I followed suit, staring back at him and studying the way his dark eyes seemed to glimmer like onyx, with the faintest sheen of frost within his iris. My breath caught when his eyes dropped to my lips, and I wondered briefly if he might kiss me.
“Your name, Little One,” he repeated instead, making my cheeks flush in embarrassment as I studied him.
“Estrella,” I said, shrugging off the awkwardness I felt when his lips tipped into a smile.
“Estrella,” he repeated in a murmur, making the name sound filthy in all the best ways. “A star is much more intimidating than a harvester.”
“I suppose it is,” I agreed, wishing I had the strength of even just a single star that burned in the sky. Instead, I was the coward who ran and hid, who endangered my brother by taking him with me. “Now you know
who I am. What am I to call the man who likes to sneak up on innocent, resting women and terrify them?”
“Caelum, Little One. My name is Caelum.”
