King of the Wilds: Rosethorn Valley Fae #3 Page 2

  A tiny light appeared before her again. This time, it glowed long enough that she was sure it was there.

  Then another light appeared.

  And another.

  The first light winked out and more appeared, further down the path.

  They were too big to be fireflies.

  Miranda rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was losing her mind.

  You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since breakfast, she told herself. And that idiot Larry told you about spooky lights in the woods and put the thought in your head.

  But when she took her hands from her eyes, the lights were still glowing in front of her, twinkling and moving, as if urging her forward.

  They seemed to be moving right along with the path, though the path was almost impossible to make out now, since the glowing lights were brighter than the moonlight filtering through the trees.

  She took a deep breath and continued, moving slowly to be sure of the ground beneath her feet.

  You’re being an idiot, Miranda, she told herself. They’re not evil lights leading you into a ravine. It’s probably just big, healthy Pennsylvania lightning bugs.

  One buzzed past her face, and she swore she saw a tiny glowing human body with whisper-thin wings before it winked out and darted further down the path.

  Now her imagination was really working overtime.

  “One foot in front of the other,” she whispered to herself.

  The pain in her heel and the humidity faded away until there was only the pounding of her heart and the cold sweat prickling at her forehead.

  Why did the pounding of her heart seem so loud?

  She realized that the birds and cicadas had stopped their song.

  An instant later she heard thrashing through the trees to her left side.

  The twinkling lights seemed to shiver as a whole and then swarm around her, preventing her from being able to see a single step ahead on the narrow path.

  “No,” she murmured to herself.

  But there was no place to hide. She was lit up like a Christmas tree by whatever these things were, blinded by their light so she couldn’t escape.

  The movement drew closer. She could hear the snapping of individual branches. Whatever it was, it was right on top of her.

  The breeze carried its smell to her - a rotten, evil odor like a combination of spoiled meat and the tiger cages at the Philly Zoo.

  Miranda closed her eyes and screamed.

  There was an answering cry from somewhere in the woods to her right - low and throaty and raw.

  Her own scream cut off instantly at the haunting sound of it.

  Then the trees began to tremble and crash on the right side of the path as well.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and sank to her knees.

  Thunderous footsteps, almost like giant hoofbeats, rushed her. Something huge and hairy was coming at her from the left. And she saw a hint of sleek fur and the moonlit outline of antlers on the right.

  Oh, God. There are two of them.

  They were going to rip her to pieces in their turf war.

  She was going to die here in the woods. And Larry would stand over her grave and say, “I told you so.”

  2

  Bron

  Bron stormed through the trees in the form of a giant stag.

  There was a woman.

  What was she doing out here?

  Something about her primal scream left him undone, though the King of the Wilds was a fierce warrior and not one to be shaken by a mortal scream.

  He smashed past saplings and leapt over fallen logs. Fingers of foliage reached out to caress him as he passed, but he had no time to commune with them.

  He could see her now, huddled on the ground, arms over her head.

  Mischievous will o’ the wisps surrounded her like a cloud, their light showing the bloodthirsty fachan exactly where to find her.

  The fachan itself was nearly there. Bron could smell its horrible carrion breath.

  He let go of his stag form and shifted back into a man shape, then threw back his head and roared again, calling to his own to help him.

  The woman trembled.

  On the other side of her the fachan yelped in surprise as the roots of the nearest tree reached out to trip him.

  The enormous monster hit the forest floor so hard Bron could feel the wet ground reverberate under his feet.

  He roared a third time and was gratified to see the awful thing drag itself further into the forest, away from the woman.

  Bron stood over her, feeling a surge of pride and possessiveness.

  “Woman, are you hurt?” he asked.

  She wasn’t hurt, he already knew that. But he hoped it would make her feel better to answer the question.

  “I’m f-fine,” she murmured, slowly lowering her arms from over her head as the will o’ the wisps dispersed.

  She gazed up at him - her eyes were large, dark, and filled with fear. They were set off by the extreme paleness of her moonlit skin and the bright, fiery red of her hair.

  “Come,” he said, offering her his hands.

  She took them and allowed him to help her to her feet.

  He was surprised to see how tall she was. He still towered above her, but she was a very healthy specimen as mortals went.

  He felt an odd pang of kinship towards this other large being with flame-colored hair like his own.

  “What was that?” she asked him, looking over her left shoulder into the woods.

  Who are you? would have been a more common question for a shivering mortal, but she seemed utterly unafraid of Bron’s bare, muscled chest and impressive height.

  “That was called a fachan,” he told her. “It’s a one-eyed, hairy harbinger of hell.”

  “What did it want?” she asked.

  “To club you over the head and eat you… eventually,” he replied. “They like to play with their food first.”

  “Thank you for saving me,” she said earnestly.

  He smiled at her in spite of himself.

  Bron had always enjoyed mortals. He understood all living things to some extent, even the fachan, in its way. But Bron was considered too big-hearted by many of his fae brothers. He was vulnerable to small, fragile things.

  Including humans, despite the risks.

  Mortals like this woman were very reckless with their short lifespans. They had so little to lose, and it made them dangerous. Bron’s nanny had warned him since he was a child to give mortals a wide berth.

  But he was no child now.

  And he’d never seen another mortal quite like this woman.

  “Let’s get you someplace safe,” he said gruffly, trying not to let himself listen to her heartbeat.

  She nodded and took a step, wincing when she did.

  “You said you weren’t hurt,” he said accusingly.

  “Well, I hurt my foot, but that was before all this,” the woman replied. “I’m not used to the woods. And these shoes are the worst.”

  They looked together at her inadequate footwear. They really were terrible. Typical mortal female nonsense with pointed toes and spiky heels designed to give an illusion of tallness.

  Many creatures tried to appear bigger to ward off predators. But this human was of ample height. She had no need for such things.

  “Take them off,” he said.

  She removed them meekly.

  “I will carry you,” he told her.

  Her eyes grew larger still, but she didn’t protest. She merely extended her arms to hold onto him as he scooped her up.

  She felt incredible, warm and soft, her curves conforming to his hard muscle.

  “What were you doing out here?” he asked her, trying to keep his mind off the feel of her body against his.

  “I work for the developer who’s buying this land,” she told him. “There was an accident the other day and he wanted someone on the ground to ask questions.”

  “Did he know you were going out alone after dar
k without proper footwear?” Bron demanded.

  “Uh, the footwear is company policy,” Miranda said. “But it’s my fault it’s so late. I didn’t start off alone. I was working in the cabin and lost track of time. Everyone else went home.”

  “I see,” Bron said.

  He didn’t see though. The woman should not have been left unattended. The woods were full of monsters. Not that the mortals knew this. They were often blind to anything their meager senses could not explain.

  This particular mortal was taking the news strangely well.

  “So were you telling me the truth about the fachan?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “They’re very dangerous.”

  “Then why haven’t I heard of it before?” she asked.

  “It’s not commonly found here,” he told her carefully.

  “In Pennsylvania?” she asked.

  He chuckled at that. “Sure.”

  “And what were those… lights?”

  “How much do you know about faeries?” he asked.

  She fell quiet.

  “What about magic?” he asked.

  Still no answer.

  “Well, there’s no point beating around the bush,” he said. “What you saw were will o’ the wisps. They’re evil fae that lead mortals into danger.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He hadn’t expected that question.

  “I suppose they think it’s funny,” he told her.

  “And you?” she asked.

  Interesting.

  He had thought that maybe she wouldn’t sense his magic. After all, he looked like a human male, except for being much larger and clearly stronger than most human males.

  But he was beginning to realize there was something about her too, something… other than mortal.

  “I am the King of the Wilds,” he told her proudly.

  “Oh,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, your majesty.”

  She couldn’t bow since she was cradled in his arms, but he suspected she would have if she’d been on the ground. Instead, she lowered her eyes.

  “You may call me Bron,” he decided.

  “I’m Miranda,” she replied.

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said.

  “So why were you in the woods?” she asked him.

  “Some of my kind broke through the veil between our worlds, and are causing chaos on your side,” he told her. “My brothers woke me to help them recapture the monsters and put them back where they belong.”

  “You were asleep?” Miranda asked.

  “For centuries,” he explained. “One of my brothers gave these monsters succor. And all of us were punished.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” Miranda said, resting her cheek against his chest.

  Something about this simple, trusting gesture moved him.

  He lowered his face to inhale her scent.

  She was enchanting, her floral perfume mixing with the more interesting coppery scent of sweat.

  He found himself longing to bed her.

  It had been a few centuries, and he was clearly in need of a consort. But this human would hardly do. He needed a more sturdy partner for what he had in mind. Not some mortal that couldn’t find her way out of a forest.

  “So you and your brothers just come into the woods and look for monsters?” she asked after a moment.

  “Yes,” he told her. “And I’m going to take you to them so we can decide what to do with you until the fachan is captured.”

  “No, no,” she said dismissively. “I have to get home. I’ve got work to do and I need a shower and something to eat.”

  “The fachan got close to you, too close,” he told her. “He has tasted your scent. You are no longer safe.”

  She shivered in his arms and he cuddled her closer without thinking about it, brushing his lips across the top of her head.

  “Oh, there’s my car,” she said happily.

  He had brought her out to the lot where the workers had been parking.

  A single carriage remained.

  “I’ll ride with you,” he told her. “I can tell you where to go. I’m meeting them at a diner in the village of Tarker’s Hollow. It’s called the Barry White Diner. You can have food there and we can make a plan.”

  “I know the Barry White Diner,” she told him. “I’m from Tarker’s Hollow. We used to go there all the time in high school.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “It is decided then.”

  He was very sure she would accompany him. No one who had once eaten at the marvelous Barry White Diner would ever turn down a return visit.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go and meet your brothers. Pancakes actually sound really good right now. But I’m not agreeing to be under house arrest until you find the fachan. It’s just a meal and a conversation.”

  “Of course,” he told her. “As you wish.”

  He had to deposit her on the ground so that she could open the door to the carriage the humans simply called a car.

  He was surprised to find how cold and empty his arms felt without her in them.

  She dug for her keys and unlocked the car, hopping in the driver’s side. Bron got in as well, and she drove them carefully down the long, rutted track that led back to Rosethorn Valley proper.

  “They’re not going to let you in without a shirt,” she said, glancing over at him.

  He noticed how her eyes lingered on the tattoos that decorated his pectoral muscles. She was correct. He’d borrowed a shirt from his brother when he’d last visited.

  “I have one of my boss’s shirts in the back,” she said, indicating a plastic bag on the rear seat.

  Bron grabbed it and opened it up. He highly doubted that her boss’s shirt would fit someone of his size, but he was willing to humor her.

  Miranda kept her eyes on the road while he slipped it on.

  He was surprised to find that it did fit over his arms. It was tight in the chest and biceps, but he was still able to close it.

  “Will this be okay?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” she said, smiling at him.

  He felt another wave of some deep emotion and turned to look out the window instead of considering its source.

  Beware mortals. They have nothing to lose.

  But the general advice felt hollow in the face of this warm and fascinating mortal he had just saved from certain death.

  3

  Miranda

  Miranda stepped into the bright interior of the Barry White Diner and immediately was carried back in time to the sounds and smells of high school.

  The orange Naugahyde booths were the same as always, as were the waitresses in their skirts and aprons. As a matter of fact, Miranda recognized a few faces. The staff here was loyal. They must be doing something right.

  She could taste bacon, eggs, and happiness on the air. This diner was a refuge for anyone seeking company or a bite to eat when the rest of the world was sleeping. It was literally the only place open late in the tiny town.

  Booths full of teens giggled and shared plates of French fries while the old-timers at the counter sipped coffee and traded gossip. At this time of night, the Barry White was mainly host to the youngest and oldest customers in Tarker’s Hollow.

  Someone waved from a big corner booth.

  “Here we go,” Bron said, placing a big hand at the small of her back to lead her toward the table.

  Two enormous men, one light-haired, one dark, barely fit in the booth. They were accompanied by two women.

  Two very familiar women.

  Miranda froze in her tracks.

  “What’s wrong?” Bron asked.

  “What is the meaning of this, brother?” the dark-haired one demanded.

  The group of teens in the booth next to them giggled at the outburst.

  “This is who you’re working with?” Miranda asked Bron. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  Bron looked back and forth between the group at the tabl
e and Miranda, a confused expression on his handsome face.

  “Come sit down,” the woman with the longer dark hair said quietly, patting the seat next to her. “Let’s not make a scene. I’m Sara. This is Tabitha and the guys are Dorian and Tristan.”

  Miranda thought about it for a second.

  Her stomach growled, making her mind up for her.

  “Miranda,” she said, sitting down.

  “We know,” said the woman with the shorter dark hair. “And I’m telling you right now, if you start playing that game with us, we will play back.”

  Shit.

  “What game?” Bron asked, his brow furrowed.

  In the light of the diner, Miranda could see Bron’s masculine features better. His hair was almost the same bright copper as hers and fell around his shoulders in waves. His light beard was just a bit darker. But his eyes were his most striking feature. They were a deep green, like smoky emeralds, or a lush field after a rainstorm.

  His gaze was so intense that she could barely meet it.

  “She compels people,” Tabitha said. “We watched her do it at the presentation about the development of the mansion property.”

  “Is this true?” Bron asked.

  He looked fascinated, not angry.

  “I-I’m not really sure,” Miranda admitted. “I’ve always had a way with people, but it’s gotten stronger recently.”

  “Why is she here?” Dorian asked.

  “I was patrolling my woods and I heard something,” Bron said. “The fachan was about to attack her.”

  Tristan hissed in a sympathetic breath.

  “Why were you in the woods in the middle of the night?” Tabitha asked.

  “One of the surveyor’s guys got hurt,” Miranda explained. “My boss wanted me to check it out. I got caught up in work stuff, and ended up heading out really late.”

  “Someone got hurt?” Sara asked.

  Miranda nodded. “He’s in intensive care right now.”

  “What happened to him?” Sara asked.

  “I don’t know,” Miranda admitted. “At first I thought what the foreman said was all nonsense. But I guess the same thing happened to him that just happened to me.”

  “Lured by will o’ the wisps,” Bron explained, “then attacked by the fachan.”