Courting Darkness (12 page)

“Who are you?” I gazed into his face and realized he was far, far older than we were, but he still seemed like a boy.

He let out a garbled cry, then leaped toward us, landing in a crouch at my feet. He reached out to touch my feet, and I cautiously let him, trying to avoid being poked by the tips of his antlers. Delilah poised to put a stop to him if he attacked.

“Aeval—Aeval . . .” His voice was guttural, and I could barely understand what he was saying, but I knew he’d called me by the Dark Queen’s name.

“No. I am not Aeval,” I started to say, but stopped as Delilah fervently shook her head. I paused, realizing he hadn’t understood me. Or if he had, he showed no sign of it.

“Aeval . . .
Q’n da dir.
” And then he snorted, like an animal, and stood to face me, his eyes luminous and glimmering and crafty. He reached out and placed his hand on my wrist, and slowly began to slide his fingers up my arm.

Nervous now, not sure what he was getting at, I glanced over at Delilah. He might seem young, but that was illusion. And he looked far stronger than me. As I waited, poised to go on the defense, he leaned close and sniffed long and hard at my neck. As he neared my skin, I reared back; I could feel the gnashing of his teeth right behind those closed, full lips.

His eyes turned bloodred, and he let out a loud screech and began to dance around me. I jumped over to Delilah’s side.

“What the fuck?” She held up her knife and he stopped, sniffing in the blade’s general direction. With a snarl, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know. I told you, the things in here are not human. The Elder Fae are as far from our people as we are from . . . well . . . the people of Aladril. Who knows what thousands of years has done to them?”

Antler-Boy was gnashing his teeth now, dancing from foot to foot, glaring at the knife. He knew what iron was, that much was obvious, and it didn’t make him happy.

“I have no clue what he wants,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

Delilah lunged forward, waving the blade at him. He dodged to the side, quick as a cat. She countered, and he took another couple steps back. “I sense Chase is in the general area, but I don’t know quite where. We can’t just leave.”

“This one would follow us anyway. It’s obvious he’s latched onto us for some reason. And I don’t trust him. He may have the antlers of a deer or elk, but he’s got something behind that mouth—I keep sensing nasty teeth waiting to rip me to shreds.”

I gazed into his eyes and once again fell into his beauty. Beauty?
No
, it was more of a glamour. “He’s trying to charm me.” I turned on my own, lowering my masks so my Fae heritage shone forth.

He blinked, rearing back. “
Aeval?
Heh . . .” And then the shifting movements began again, as if he were dancing to a hidden beat, or—like a shark—couldn’t stay still.

“He seems to be fixated on you as Aeval,” Delilah said, cocking her head to one side. “As if he thinks only Aeval could have glamour?”

“Maybe Aeval is the only woman he’s seen?” I motioned to her. “Let down your glamour. See what he does.”

And so Delilah unmasked herself, too. And Antler-Boy gazed from her face to mine, back to hers, looking disconcerted. He backed away another step, looking less certain.

Growing weary of this, I decided we should teach him a lesson. I had no reason to kill him, but maybe a light thrashing would take care of matters. I shook off some of the Moon Mother’s energy, shifting what was left into a pale ball between my fingers. Antler-Boy watched, suspiciously, as I gazed up into his eyes, slowly smiled, then sent the spell spinning at him.

I didn’t aim it to kill, but merely to glance off one shoulder.

He watched it approach, without trying to duck. When it lashed into his arm, striking with a force strong enough to knock him down but—I hoped—not leave lasting damage, he let out a scream and scrambled to his feet.

I motioned away, like I was shooing a cat. “Go—get out of here. Leave us alone!”

But at that moment, a loud rumble echoed through the woods. I jumped back, ignoring the odd Fae.

Through the forest, from deep in the dark wilds, the sound of thunder echoed with each footstep. Something huge was coming our way. Something ancient, older than time, was striding through the woods like we might walk through a garden. The scent of musk washed through the air—of primal male energy, strong and erect and dark.

We began to back away, but there was nowhere to run.

I glanced at Antler-Boy. A smug look crossed his face and he stuck his tongue out at me. I did not return the taunt but instead focused on keeping my wits about me. Whatever was coming our way was nothing to mess with.

And then, in a crash of lightning and the scent of heavy forest rain, out stepped a being who towered over the trees. Tall he was, with skin the color of moss. Spiraling horns rose into the sky, black as night, and his chest was matted with thick hair. His legs were shaggy and goatlike. A satyr, with hooves sparking fire every step they took. His arms were muscled and his face lined, and his cock and balls hung so heavy that they might be boulders in their own right.

“Herne.”
I whispered his name as I fell to my knees, unable to wrest my gaze away.

His eyes burned red, piercing my soul. Here was the consort of the Huntress—to the Moon Mother. Here was the god that roamed the night, reminding people why they could never conquer nature.

Catching my breath, I pressed my hands to my eyes. “Lord of the Night . . . ,” I whispered, bending over to touch my forehead to the ground.

Delilah let out a strangled cry and joined me. “He is . . . he is . . .”

“I am Herne, Lord of this land. And this is one of my sons, Tra. What have you been doing to him, Aeval? I thought I told you never to torment my children again, you devil.”

I slowly glanced up at the god, a terror so deep in my heart I could scarcely form words. “Your Eminence . . . I am not . . . if it please . . . I’m not . . .”

But he stopped me, with a sudden laugh. “You are not Aeval! Who are you? And why are you so familiar?” And then, another pause, and he leaned down, looking at me like I might bend down to look at a bug. “You carry the mark and horn of the Black Beast. Who are you? And what are you doing in my realm? And why should I let you live?”

And I realized right then just how much trouble we were in.

Crap.
And I didn’t usually use that term.

“We’re in trouble,” I whispered to Delilah. “We are in so much trouble . . .”

“Again, I ask you, girl: Why should I let you live?”

I forced myself to my feet even though I just wanted to cower at his.

“I am Camille, from Otherworld. I’m a priestess of the Moon Mother. I am the Chosen of the Black Beast. I am a slayer of demons.” The gods tended to respect people who weren’t shy about their exploits, so I decided to proceed on that premise and hope I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.

“Chosen of the . . .” Herne paused, and I felt him rifling around in my mind. The gods were good at that—getting inside your brain and worming around till they found what they wanted to find.

I hated the feeling—it reminded me of when Vanzir had been sucking at my energy, sliding into my thoughts just as he slid into my body. My mind, my magic, and my thoughts were my own. My body might be the temple, but my inner self, my
core
was the sacred flame.

But surprisingly, he didn’t stay long, nor did he tarry over things not his business. After a moment, Herne withdrew from my thoughts and stared at me with a puzzled look.

“You may wander in my realm, but I will not protect you. You carry magic far too powerful for your own good, and because of it, you are in danger. Indeed, danger rides you like a steed, it clings to your back. You reek of Aeval’s energy and yet . . . there is something beneath the stench of the Unseelie. And where you are going, young Fae, the Dark Queen will not be able to protect you.”

After a moment, he let out a dismissive bark. “Half-breeds are irksome. I don’t like puzzles.” He motioned to Tra. “Run ahead. This is not Aeval. Leave these two alone and neither help nor hinder them.”

“Wait—”

“Well, what is it? Hurry up.” Huffing, his hands on his hips, he stared down at me, eyes flashing. Delilah looked at me like I was nuts.

At first I thought to ask him about Chase, but then I stopped myself. No use putting the detective in danger, in case Herne’s bad mood extended to him as well. I quickly restructured my question.

“Have you heard of the Bog Eater? Do you know if he’s near?” Might as well ask something that could help us.

Herne choked. “Now I understand why I don’t trust you. Yes, that piece of filth is near. Anyone who cozies up with the likes of Stollen Kom Lightly deserves what she gets.”

“I’m not—” I started to say, then stopped as Herne and Tra vanished in a swirl of frost-covered leaves. Both confused and relieved—we’d gotten off lightly—I turned to Delilah.

She broke into a nervous smirk. “You know the old proverb:
Foolish are those who summon the gods, for the gods might just answer.
”

“I didn’t summon him. And Tra gives me the creeps. I hope he behaves and leaves us alone.” Still shaking, I forced myself to calm down. “At least we know the Bog Eater is near.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Delilah let out a long sigh and shook her head. “I smell Chase.” She pointed through a patch of waist-high ferns. “I think he’s that way.”

We plunged through the fronds, limp from winter’s chill, and the rattle of dried leaves echoed with our passing. The overgrowth was dry from the winter, and leaves shattered with our touch, breaking into shards as we pushed our way through the tangle.

“Why would Chase have come this way? Maybe he ran off the path?” Delilah asked, but I could tell she already knew the answer.

“Easy one. Either he was carried, or he was running away from something and looking for a place to hide.” I shook my head, gazing around in the unending sea of foliage. “How are we going to find him? I’m beginning to think we’re nuts for coming in here on our own. We should have at least brought Smoky with us.”

Delilah paused, then pointed ahead. “Look!”

I followed her gaze and there, in the tangle of a briar bush that bordered a glen, saw a jacket. It had to be Chase’s.

We shoved our way through the last of the bushes over to the brambles, and I gingerly removed the jacket from the branch. It stuck on the thorns and I tugged, then tugged harder, and it ripped into my hands. I held it up to Delilah’s nose, but even from here I could smell Chase on it. He’d come this way.

“He must have been in a big hurry if he had to leave this.” I peeked through the pockets and took out his wallet, badge, checkbook, and anything else that looked like it might be important. As I did so, a card fell out. It was the business card of a local psychic—one I knew was legit and fairly accurate. I said nothing, but put it back into the wallet.

Delilah leaned over, and when she stood up again, she was holding a gun in her gloved fingers. “Chase’s gun. And it’s been fired. This is not a good sign.” She looked around, her eyes brimming, but she didn’t cry. She merely slid the gun’s safety on and placed it into the bag containing the iron cuffs she carried.

“Should we continue?” I glanced around the glen. Ringed by tall oak and cedar, the glen was shaded and the ground dusted with a thick layer of white. Something caught my attention. At second look, I could see where something—or someone—had been dragged through the hoarfrost. “Look—there.”

Delilah knelt by the tracks. She sniffed, holding the breath deep inside for a moment before slowly exhaling. “Chase. Chase was here. Something caught him and he fired at it, dropping his gun. Whatever it was, I think it overpowered him.”

I followed the tracks with my eyes. “That looks like someone dragging dead weight—I don’t see footprints indicating he was on his feet.” If he’d been running after them, or resisting, it would have looked more like a scuffle.

“Come on.” Delilah headed across the glen and I followed her, not wanting to go farther without additional help. But Chase had been captured, and who knew what had hold of him?

I fell in beside her and we followed the trail of trampled grass. When we came to the other side of the glen, there was a short path through a ring of cedar and oak, and we cautiously navigated through it, with Delilah’s nose checking the air while I kept glancing over my shoulder to watch our backs.

And then, as we pushed through the trees, we found ourselves on the edge of a bog—long and wide—that stretched almost beyond eyesight. I caught the silhouette of land on the other side, but the marsh was covered with wisps of mist that lingered above the ground and it was hard to see much through the vapor. The smell of peat was strong, and the acrid scent of decaying vegetation rang sour through the air.