Page 84 of Defy the Fae

That’s when a figure materializes above me with wide eyes and a shocked expression that instantly erodes into hatred.

It’s not a Fae. It’s a human.

19

No, it’s not just one human. It’s a pack of them. Three males, in fact.

They’re staring down at me, their figures blocking the mortal sun, which is sinking below a mortal landscape. A plain of high grass shivers, the fields stretching into the distance, heading toward the pitched ceilings of a small town.

Reverie Hollow.

Images of shackles and cages flash through my mind. I shake off the haze and try calling through the roots to my kin, but it’s useless outside The Faerie Triad. I must have run fast and far past the border without realizing it, too frantic to pay attention to how much distance my Fae legs had consumed in seconds, too desperate to catch the boar and retrieve the petal.

The animal is nowhere in sight, but I hear it squealing from a remote spot, its noises audible only to my senses. The smart little thing had retreated quickly once I’d pushed it from the trap.

I focus on the men, whose eyes have slitted in triumph as their gazes slide from my cloven hooves, to my antlers, to my pointed ears.

Encounter a healthy Fae while you’re alone and unarmed, and you’ll turn and run.

Catch an injured Fae who’s impaled by iron, and you’ll become a lot more confident.

One of the men has shaggy hair as dark as spilled oil. As he plants his hands on his thighs and leans down, his face seems familiar. “Well, if this isn’t the best catch in The Dark Fables,” the cocksucker gloats. “I don’t know whether to skin your hide or saw off those antlers for my mantle first.”

“How about you swallow my fist instead?” I snarl through my teeth.

The man glowers and spits on me, which is quite the lazy response. He’s bare-chested, his torso carved with scars made by claws, talons, and canines.

What kind of human gets munched on by that many fauna?

The trio watches me spasm in pain, their iron trap chomping on my flesh. Heat sizzles through my veins, and the world blots at margins, coupled with the minced sounds of voices screaming.

Everything happens too fast and too slow. The commotion snags their attention. All three heads whip up, their profiles going slack at whatever they see, right before the men lunge toward a pile of crossbows and let the bolts fly.

Using what strength I have left, I haul myself onto my elbows. Ahead, two of the men charge and fire at my brother, whose midnight blue wings scissor into view. Lark vaults across the grass while looping her whip overhead, Foxglove throws her dagger, and Cypress roars while loosing an arrow.

My eyes jump across the scene, my mind sluggish despite what I’m seeing. The presence of iron is weakening Cerulean, his javelin failing to strike true. It also penetrates Cypress and Foxglove, their senses diminishing so that both miss a set of easy targets.

Only Lark is unaffected. Except something else stops the female in her tracks. As she gazes across the fields at the dark-haired man, a stricken look distorts her face. Her gray eyes are haunted, flashing with recognition.

He’s familiar to her, too. The man squints back, then sneers with malice.

They know each other.

This being Lark’s village, it’s no surprise but…

“It’s the whore!” he yells. “She’s on their side!”

His minions aim at her, then shriek as Cerulean’s left wing prunes one of them across the throat. The quills shave through his flesh so fast and sharp that blood sprays from his neck.

Lark recovers from her paralysis and hooks her whip into the second man, the honed lash resounding through the field.

My brother veers into the sky and cannons down again. His eyes slit with fury, and not just because the men went after his mate. No, his rage is older than that.

During the next lap, their leader dodges my brother, only because the iron is slowing Cerulean down. That’s when my gaze stumbles across the X of crossbow bolts inked into the base of the human’s spine.

Wrath fires up my muscles. That’s why his face struck my memory, as much as Lark’s.

He’s a trade poacher.

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