Page 6 of Between Realms

“Um… You did?” I say as if it’s a question. I’m still confused about why that happened. I direct my attention to what’s left of the ghoul. Enormous claw marks mutilate its already disgustingly distorted and skeletal body. Its distended belly is flayed open and adds to its usual deathly stench.

“Unusual behavior for both the ghoul and the bear,” the elf murmurs to himself. Then he steps closer, eyeing me as if I were more than I appear to be. “Why did a bear kill the ghoul for you?”

“I… I don’t know,” I whisper, still baffled.

“Do you have magic over animals?”

“None.” Has this male been chewing on hemma weed and lost his mind? I point at my face to indicate my appearance as a human. “I’m mortal. I don’t have gifts like that.”

He doesn’t acknowledge my answer, but continues to probe further, “What’s a human doing alone on the road?”

Now I’m being accused of being a rogue. When will this interrogation end? I clear any irritation in my throat before I answer. “The Ryven Royal Court has requested my appearance. Please, sir, I need to be on my way so I can reach Crowland before sunset—before other nastier creatures might hunt me down.”

“Hmm.” He eyes me as if reading my every thought, every lie, and every emotion—all within a moment or two.

Will he let me be? Or will he try to claim me for his own servant before I can even reach Ryven? Although he would be a handsome keeper, I don’t expect the royal court will be happy if I do not show.

I dare to stare back, openly evaluating him as well. He doesn’t seem to be a cruel male, but looks can be deceiving. All my life, Merlara has warned me that elves and humans are both full of deception.

Being Elven, he’s gorgeous, ageless, and tall. His solid, muscular figure is barely contained by his fitted tunic cinched at his waist with a belt. A heavy, well-made cloak accentuates his broad shoulders. Silky brown hair hangs in loose waves over his shoulders, framing a strong jaw, and just covering his pointed ears. Amber eyes scrutinize every inch of me while I do the same to him.

In my quick assessment of a detailed hilt, I see he has a high quality and expensive sword in his back holster. Perhaps he’s an off-duty, high-ranking Ryven soldier or commander.

“On what grounds have you been requested?” He places his huge but well-proportioned hands on his hips.

My heart thumps wildly at the thought of his powerful hands holding my hips, or perhaps other, more intimate parts, of my body. It’s a silly and dangerous fantasy. One I will have to catalog for another day, or better yet, erase all together. My gaze finally drops to the ground, sadness overcoming me. “Unfortunately, I could be told to return to the mortal realm.”

“Have you done something to anger the courts?”

My eyes flash up to see if he knows my secrets. My pulse quickens, but I keep my appearance calm to not give away my crimes. “I… I don’t think so.” It’s close enough to the truth. I don’tknowif they are aware that I illegally practice with swords.

He raises his eyebrow as if he senses my tension. “Why are you in Elfhame in the first place?”

The line of questioning doesn’t surprise me. Fae, especially the elite Elven caste, are often curious about my presence, if not outright hostile. At least he doesn’t seem disdainful toward humans. Though elves rarely feel the need to be polite and tell me their names before an interrogation.

“I was a sick infant, a foundling. My Elven keeper discovered me abandoned during the war and petitioned to save my life.”

“Who was your keeper?”

Was.

By his choice of words, he must assume that the arrangement is over. “Merlara and Roul, House Zaleria of Betonie.”

“I heard there was a mortal in Betonie. Were you the only one?”

“I…was.” I drop my gaze, realizing life will never be the same for me again. If he weren’t here, I would let my tears flow.

Then the Elven male continues his walk along the road toward Ryven and motions for me to join him. “My name is Oakes. What is yours?”

Hurrying to catch up, I smirk to myself. Of course, his name is Oakes. With his massive arms and solid build, he’s built like an oak tree. He gives off an air of wisdom and a subtle, nurturing quality. And just like an oak, inexplicably, as I move closer, I feel safe just by being near him. I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“I’m Wynstelle.” I wave my hand casually as I add, “Although most call me Wyn.”

“To insult you?” Oakes asks with no malice.

“No.” I shrug. “Well, I didn’tthinkso… until now.”

“If that is the name you prefer, then I’m sure it isn’t,” Oakes says with authority. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

---