Page 2 of Heart's Escape

He nods his head, a sort of impatient acknowledgment that there’s probably more we should say but he really doesn’t want to bother. I try to breathe, but my throat seems to have shrunk to the size of a piece of straw.

“Come with me,” he barks, offering me his left hand. “We need you.”

I blink. The undulating, malevolent light of his unstable portal casts strange shadows around the room where I’ve spent almost every night of my life, and it dances across the man’s cheeks and lips, making him look almost unearthly. Stars above, skin that shade can’t be healthy.

Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe he is one of the old gods, and he’s wearing a strange elven form to rescue me. Just like in a fairy tale.

Those tales usually end with the innocent woman’s heart being devoured.

I twist my hands around the thick leather strap of my traveling bag. The bag I packed in preparation for abandoning my life and everything in it to sneak into a freezing hellscape with a kingdom full of elves who will want to murder me.

Well, screw it. Whoever this guy is, whatever he’s offering me on the other side of that horrible, pulled-thin portal, it cannot possibly be worse than my life here in the Kingdom of the Summer.

I reach forward and place my hand in his. A hint of a smile flickers across his wide, full lips, and stars, despite the unhealthy cast of his skin, he really is handsome. I sniff the air. Sure enough, the heavy, almost spicy scent of illusion magic is thick around him.

My heart sinks. I thought this man was an old god, but no, he’s just another asshole using illusions to make himself look better than he really is. I suppose some things are universal.

The man tugs me forward. Heat pours off the portal behind him, which now looks like the surface of a stewpot at full boil. The man frowns at the churning mess of magic in a way that’s really not at all reassuring.

And then the portal explodes.

A flash of white light rips through my bedroom, blinding me. I stagger backward, my hand ripping out of the man’s grip, as the air fills with the scent of molten iron. I blink furiously as red after-images swirl through my vision. The man’s low panting fills the air between us. Then it stops.

“Shit,” he mutters into the darkness.

Chapter2

Alindra

WE NEED YOU

It’s as dark as the underside of a stone in here.

I press my back against my wall, breathe in the scent of the strange man’s illusion magic, and wait to see if he’s going to try to escape. Or to kill me. The minutes slip by with agonizing slowness. The stars alone know how many times I’ve imagined what kind of magic I would want if I had magic of my own. For the record, fire magic usually tops my list. But illusion magic can still create light, at least if the caster is somewhat competent.

Which I guess I’m about to find out.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Can you cast a light?”

A moment later a tiny golden glow flickers into life somewhere above my bed. It’s a neat little light, bright but soft and small enough to hide. I guess that means this stranger is at least somewhat competent. I frown, lean back, and stare at the man who just crashed through the portal into my bedroom. He’s holding the tiny ball of flame in his outstretched hands, and damn, that soft little light playing across his odd, pale features makes him look like a storybook prince.

Which is probably exactly what he intends, I realize as my gut twists bitterly. Because I can smell his illusion magic, and that’s got to be what it’s creating, those high cheekbones and full lips and strange, pale eyes. Stars, for all I know, even his bizarre pale skin is an illusion, something intended to catch my eye or distract me.

With a huff, I drop my bag on my bed, cross my arms over my chest, and frown at him. How many times have I imagined having a man in this room? And this is how it had to happen.

“Who in the nine hells are you?” I spit, trying to keep my voice low.

The man gives me a smile that looks almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About this. About all of this.”

He waves his hand at his chest like he’s apologizing for his very existence. I press my lips together and scowl, trying to look fierce despite the fact that he’s much larger, and he’s the one wearing a sword on his hip.

“Who are you?” I snap, keeping my voice low. “How did you get here? What are you doing?”

His smile widens, and anger twists in my chest. He’s so damned handsome; using illusions like that isn’t fair. I try to counter the rush of heat in my gut by imagining what he probably looks like without his illusions, even though that stupid trick never worked with Balmyr. Not even once.

“I’m Phaedron,” the man says. “Phaedron Undervale. And the rest of it is a bit of a long story.”

---