Page 57 of Faun Over Me

The campers, she realized. Mac and the counselors, oh, Gods, no.

“Be here any minute now.” A vicious grin spread beneath the skull, sharp fangs white in the moonlight, a drooling tongue lolling to the side. “Do you know what I’m going to do when they get here?”

“K-kill me.”

“Kill you?” If that monstrous skull had eyebrows, they would have raised. “Oh, no, no, no, I’m going to defend you”—he flicked his fingers in the direction of the lights—“and kill them. Well, some of them, at least.”

“Why?”

The monster did not answer. He raised a hand to his face, gripped his skull, and pulled. Bone came away with the gesture, and only when the moonlight revealed a wolven face and sharp, predatory eyes did Cricket realize what she’d been looking at.

A mask. A deer skull mask. He fingered the fold running up the brow, lip curling into a snarl. “Bitch of yours broke it,” he muttered and faced Cricket, leaning close and cocking his head to the side. Claws scraped over bone, and he replaced the mask. “I suppose this will do. What do you think?”

She whimpered, muscles twitching and ready to run. But there would be no running, not for Cricket. She doubted she would make it half a foot before those powerful jaws clamped around her leg, and those claws tore into her body. So she pressed back against the tree as if to will the bark to absorb her and shield her from this monster. “Why?”

“To make them fear you,” he said. “You faun are so simple, so kind. You are so stupid, and you always have been. Keeping to the trees and befriending backwoods hillbillies. Even in our home world, you were loved and lauded, while werewolves were cast aside as less than. As cursed, nothing beasts. But here, in this world?” He crowded into her space, looming over Cricket. The heat and musk of him choked her nose and mouth with dank lavender and decaying pine. “The naga have no power over water, the wolven have lost their speed, and you have no magic to heal. All you can do is lure the deviant with your big eyes and bucolic song.”

“We never—”

“I’ve seen that faun with the camp’s director,” he said, foam frothing on his lips and tongue. “I’ve witnessed those idiots in Green Bank look away from a monster in the woods, I have smelled you on Elizabeth—I’m sorry, Avery Payne.”

“You keep her name out of your mouth!” Cricket hollered, her voice far stronger than she felt.

“No problem-o.” He grinned again and raised his hand, waggling furry, clawed fingers in her face. “I’ll keep it in my hand instead.”

“You—” She lunged for him, only to be thrown against the tree, the wind knocked out of her as a clawed hand drove into her chest. Bone and cartilage protested, the last air compressed from her lungs as he slid his palm up her sternum to her throat. Claws pinched her neck, his grip tightening.

Cricket scrabbled at his wrist, his hand. Soft velvet slipped against his dense fur, her nail-less fingers unable to grab hold, unable to injure or tear. She kicked her hooves against the bark, and the pain had her gasping for air. He pressed harder. White stars burst at the corners of her eyes, and she felt her hide popping beneath the press of his claws. Felt warmth dribbling down her throat.

“They’re close, little deer. Do you hear them?” He leaned in, dank breath and spittle crashing against her cheek. “Poor, stupid humans. They will see a deer-like monster in the woods killing their children. And when I find Avery Payne, I will eviscerate her where they all can see. Maybe I’ll add antlers, really dial in on the faun effect; what do you think?”

Cricket wheezed, the stars in her eyes dimming.

“No more rumors of a monster.” He raised his arm, the heel of his hand pressing harder into her throat as she was lifted into the air. Bark scraped against Cricket’s back, her hooves flailing, kicks slowing. “No more dances in a moonlight glade or whatever the fuck it is you tragic deer do to bedevil the humans. No more looking away. They will fear you and take whatever shitty deal my firm offers them for their land, and there will be nowhere left for the faun to go.”

“Why …” she wheezed. The strength in her arms sapped away, her grip on his wrist weakening.

“What was that?” He turned his head slightly, angling a pointed ear at her. “Sorry, you’re a little breathy.”

“Why—urk.” Cricket’s eyes bugged as he gripped her throat tighter. “Why Avery?”

The Georgia Man threw his head back, barking out a laugh before glaring her in the eye. “Can’t have a dyke daughter besmirching Nathan Payne’s good name, now can we?”

“Does … does he know?”

“Of course, he does, dumbass.” He straightened his arm, leaning away from Cricket to leer at her. “Whose idea do you think this was?”

“Wha—” The Georgia Man shoved all of his weight into his arm, entirely cutting off what little air Cricket could sip. Her hooves kicked weakly, her hands grabbing, patting, falling away as the world grayed out, her vision tunneled, and—

“Hey, douchebag.”

He turned his head into the fierce swing of a tree branch. One moment Cricket was pinned to the tree, strangling, and the next, she was crumpling to the ground. Pain howled up her leg, and she barely registered the sickening crack of bone against bark and the shudder of the woods as that massive figure thudded to the ground.

She hacked and coughed, wheezing as her stomach heaved, her entire body working to fill her lungs and clear her vision, and then a familiar warmth slipped around her back, strong fingers grabbing her wrist and hauling her arm over a soft, sturdy shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Avery grunted.

“Where is your skirt?” she asked in return, unable to take her eyes away from moon-pale, freckled legs in filthy sneakers and bike shorts. Her voice was a sandpaper rasp, and the effort of speaking made her throat ache.

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