Dani Harper - Storm Bound

“Among humans, yes. But the Fair Ones are a law unto themselves. They do not think of things as we do.”

“It matters not what they think,” said Aidan, and threw down the hammer he was holding. “You said the fae are making their mischief here on the mortal plane, in this time and place. We cannot allow them to do so unchallenged.”

“Perhaps you should spend another thousand years as a grim—you didn’t learn a damn thing about the fae while you were there the first time.” That was as far as he got before Aidan’s great fist blindsided him.

Brooke looked on in horror as the two men grappled and rolled on the ground outside the forge, throwing punches and elbows, and straining to gain the advantage. Morgan was more philosophical.

“They’re pretty evenly matched,” she said. “I’m in favor of letting them work it out their own way. In fact, let’s you and I go put the dishes in the dishwasher and have some coffee and dessert. I have a chocolate cheesecake in the fridge that needs to be tasted to be believed.”

Brooke looked back only a couple of times on the way to the house. “You’re not worried?” she finally asked.

“When the guys are practicing for the Ren fair events, there’s always a lot of excess testosterone in the air. A guy’s temper can get pretty hot, especially if he’s just gotten knocked on his ass in a joust. So, hey, I don’t even pay attention much anymore. If someone’s bleeding, I’ll take a look at it. Otherwise, it’s their problem.”

They could hear the sounds of struggle, the curses, and the shouting subside by the time they neared the house. “See? Better already,” said Morgan. She glanced over at a paddock and stopped. “Hey!” she suddenly yelled, and jogged over to the gate. “Cygnus, what are you doing in there?”

Brooke looked up just as a big white draft horse raised his enormous head. Morgan looked tiny next to him, but she scolded him as if he were an errant puppy. She tugged at his halter, and Brooke expected her efforts to be as effective as pulling on an ocean liner’s mooring ropes. Incredibly, however, Cygnus allowed himself to be led, following Morgan easily and amiably.

He was even bigger close up. “Holy cow, Morgan, he’s…he’s…” She had no words as the great white beast loomed over her, regarding her with intelligent brown eyes that were both calm and full of mischief. His head alone probably weighed as much as she did.

“I named him Cygnus, Latin for swan , because of his color,” explained Morgan. “He’s young, so he’s not full grown yet, but he’s going to be our herd sire.” She patted his wide neck with her free hand. He snorted and stomped the ground with one of his dinner-plate-sized hooves, then bent his head to nose Fred. The mastiff wagged his tail. “And Cygnus sure seems to want the job. He keeps jumping into that paddock and cozying up to a couple of mares we have in there, whether we want him to or not.” Just then, a black-on-black pickup entered the farm’s laneway.

“Finally,” said Brooke. “It’s about time George—”

Without warning, a thousand chimes, clangings, and rattles sounded at once, as though a hurricane had just blown through a hardware store. Cygnus flattened his ears, but to his credit, the steady beast stayed where he was, with Morgan clinging to his halter. Despite the tumult, the air was still as death, and the hair on the back of Brooke’s neck stood up. From the corners of her eyes, she could see that every strange addition to every mounted horseshoe in the vicinity was behaving as if it were alive. Coils of copper wire waved wildly. Bells shook themselves. Keys and gears and all sorts of metallic paraphernalia moved of their own volition, vibrating, scratching, banging against one another or the horseshoes they were tied to.

A magical alarm system had just been tripped.

Fred growled low in his throat and his hackles were raised all along his brindled back. Yet he wasn’t reacting to the noise. Brooke looked to Morgan for explanation, surprised to see how much her friend had paled. “What is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“One of the Fair Ones just crossed the property line.”

As the pickup neared the house, the cacophony died away, allowing the sound of pounding feet to be heard. Brooke turned to see the men arrive. Rhys’s mouth was a thin-set line, and he had an authentic sword in his hand. Held vertically, point down, the blade was hidden as Rhys quickly stood just behind Morgan. In a well-practiced move, Brooke saw him slip her friend a dagger, which she turned neatly in her palm so it was pointed towards her elbow and concealed by her arm. Apparently, they’d been through this drill many times before. Even more surprising, Rhys spoke a word to Cygnus as Morgan released his halter. The creature stood rock steady as if his great feet were glued to the spot.

Aidan placed a solid hand on Brooke’s shoulder as he stood close behind her and spoke in her ear. “Rhys says one of the fae is here. The charms are a warning.”

“Do you have a sword too?” she asked quietly.

“Aye. And my knife, and a fistful of iron filings and nails. Be ready to get behind me, cariad .”

The truck rolled to a stop, and George came bouncing out, grinning. “Hey guys, I made it! I meant to be here a whole lot sooner, but Felicia was tired so we stopped to rest for a bit.”

Brooke resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. Some rest. “You missed a great lunch,” she said instead. She noticed that the monstrous dog by Morgan’s side wasn’t looking at George at all. His entire attention was on the passenger side of the truck—and his lips had pulled back from his formidable teeth. No , she thought. It can’t be. No, no, no, no, no.

“I want you to meet my girlfriend,” continued George, as he jogged around the front of the truck to open the door for her. He brought the blushing, beaming Felicia around to the front of the truck like a footman presenting a queen, despite the fact that her T-shirt was on inside out and her hair was mussed. “Morgan, Rhys, I want you to meet—”

“Celynnen of the House of Thorn of the Tylwyth Teg,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height and dropping her glamor to reveal her true form. Her ethereal beauty burst out like the sun from behind a cloud, and George stood with his mouth open in apparent shock. Brooke was stunned too—she had never imagined the existence of such a glorious being. Celynnen seemed lit from within, her luminous white hair cascading over a gown that was the exact blue of a cold autumn sky, its hem and sleeves dusted with vivid golden leaves that seemed alive. Her iridescent eyes were her most arresting feature, however, so beautiful that it hurt to look at them, yet Brooke could not look away. The faery princess smiled then, a perfect smile, a radiant smile, one that could delight children and break hearts and awaken yearnings from solid rock. But there was no feeling behind it. No warmth passed into those incredible eyes, and that was what finally snapped Brooke out of her fascinated state.

“Oh, and did I mention, heir apparent to the throne of the Nine Realms ,” the fae continued. Without missing a beat, she reached into the back of George’s T-shirt and seized a wide silver torc that looked to be made of chain mail. George made no move to pull away; he was still staring at her with wide-eyed disbelief.

“Recognize your collar, Aidan ap Llanfor?” she asked, and blew him a delicate kiss.

In less than the blink of an eye, Aidan grabbed Brooke and moved them both to one side in the same motion, as if the kiss had been a live round of ammunition. Perhaps it was. Brooke felt a tingle of magic pass by them.