Page 25 of Moonlight's Mate
“Queen,” Beck retorted. “Queen of this valley.”
Under other circumstances, she might have laughed, maybe a little bitterly. She held only a small lake and a few homes, a spread of trees, a decent wi-fi connection, and one aging Cessna. And now she faced this eldritch being, barefoot with a flower in her hair.
Maybe it was Beck’s growl—or the iron spears—but the fae lord inclined his horned head. “It is a fine little valley. Queen.”
“The lake in the sunlight is quite lovely,” she said modestly. As far as she knew, the fae were not killed by sunlight, or even significantly incapacitated, but neither could they easily maintain their disguises under the bright, clear truth of day.
Although, if as Nally said, the spores could open portals anywhere, the fae would not be so proscribed in their comings and goings.
As for what the spores did to humans…Thatwas too terrible to contemplate.
“I hope to see it one day.” The fae hunter smiled thinly. “Perhaps soon.”
Okay, this was a reason why she wouldn’t be a good queen of old. This little game of words was going nowhere. “Why have you come?”
Apparently the Lord of the Hunt had as little interest in banter as she did. His tension made the stag stamp restlessly, its revealed bones clattering like a more gruesome version of Claudia’s wind chimes. “I have come for the alchemist.”
She rubbed her chin. “Sorry. Alchemist? I’m not sure—”
“The doctor.” The stag clashed its bones again at the hunter’s anger. “He is one of yours.”
She shook her head slowly. “My pack is small and simple. I know them all, and not a one is trying to turn lead into gold.” She gestured, taking in the rustic setting. “Would one like you seek really come here?”
“All manner of rogues and traitors have gone to earth of late.” His eyes blazed with the crimson fury the torches lacked. “If you lie—”
She spread her other hand, empty palm up. “Werelings are creatures of truth.”
The piercing red gaze did not leave her, and she felt balanced on the point of those horns. Finally, he lifted his head, and she almost imagined the bloody glow sweeping the darkness behind her. “He is near,” the hunter said softly. “And I will find him.” He returned his attention to her. “It will go better for you if you put your nose to the ground and save me the need to occupy your lovely little territory. We will return tomorrow night for the alchemist. If you do not produce him…”
Her hackles rose, not at the dog reference but at his presumption. If the fae queen thought this emissary was doing anything to smooth her way into the sunlit world, she must also like vinegar instead of honey.
But apparently neither of them wanted a knock-down-drag-out fight.
At least not yet.
Merrilee smiled, with almost as many gleaming teeth as the three-headed dog. “I will certainly do all I can to you.”
If the hunter heard her blatant slip, he didn’t acknowledge it. He spun the stag on its bone hooves toward the torch bearers. Instead of flinching away, they closed in around him in a circle, the black-winged killers in another ring around that.
Then they vanished.
For a heartbeat, the cold ripple of the torchlight remained in a thousand tiny twinkling lights. The same sort of light that led travelers into the woods, never to be seen again, Merrilee thought grimly. Then those too disappeared.
Beck stepped past her toward the space where the fae had gone. “Nice prevaricating,” he said conversationally.
“Thanks. All that time in the city has some upsides.”
Where the fae had gone stood a ring of toadstools. Even if she hadn’t had the night vision of all wolf-kind, she couldn’t have missed the circle. Each of the mushrooms was a hand span across with pale green tops glowing eerily in the light of the rising moon.
“Death caps. Biggest I’ve ever seen. Figures.” Beck used the tip of one fence shaft to methodically knock down the ring. In a snake of greenish smoke, each toadstool withered at the touch of iron.
Most woodsy folk knew to be wary of confusing the poisonous mushrooms for the edible sort, but this was a different danger. Merrilee shuddered. “Yet another reason to stick to mac and cheese.”
He slanted a glance at her. “Only because you haven’t tried my chanterelle bisque. I sniff out the truffles myself.”
She shook her head. “And you call yourself Alpha.”
Instantly she wanted to take back the bitchy comment, but he only grinned. “A real man knows how to get down and dirty.”
