Chapter 27

Ch. 27: Julian

As we run, my senses expand and my Fae features manifest once more. I taste blood and spit to the side.

Anyone who thinks it would be cool to have sharp teeth hasn't cut their lip on their fangs repeatedly.

At my side, Halloran moves with swift and silent grace, and I wonder if my own exertions appear so effortless. I doubt it, given the way my muscles burn and my breath rasps heavily in my ears. I've been running since high school, but while I've always felt I had a natural affinity for the sport, I never suspected I might have more than natural abilities. Not until after I learned of my Fae ancestry, at least.

As we near the place where it seemed the sounds originated, we slow our pace and proceed more cautiously, eyes and ears straining for a sign. Silence reigns beneath the night-shrouded trees, and if Halloran hadn't heard them too, I could almost convince myself I'd imagined the yelps of distress.

I glance at him, wondering if we ought to disrupt the stillness by calling for Ingrid — or for Dane and Freya, whom I can't imagine had failed to hear her cry. He seems to read my thoughts and raises a finger to his lips, shaking his head slightly before turning back to the search.

Ahead, a moonlit glow reveals a small clearing, and Halloran reaches over to bar my way with his arm, bringing us both to a halt. With a few gestures, he warns me to stay back and keep quiet while he takes the lead.

We creep forward through the trees, alert to the slightest rustle of leaves, until we reach the meadow's edge. There, we pause, letting our senses absorb the night.

Something is wrong, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is. No crickets chirp in the brush; no late-season frogs sing a last autumn song from the streams; no rustles or whispers betray the presence of small creatures moving among the leaves.

"Anything?"

Halloran's whisper startles me, sounding as loud as a shout in my ear. I wince and rub the side of my head, barely breathing my reply.

"No. It's quiet."

"Too quiet," he agrees.

A chill creeps up my back. He's right: with our senses so attuned, we should be able to hear the field mice fart, but I can't hear a thing beyond the meadow's edge. It's almost as if we're standing in a bubble of silence.

The thought has barely crossed my mind when Halloran hisses a curse. His grasp on my arm tightens painfully, and I gasp as he yanks me to the side and shoves me against a tree.

His strength is surprising, and he's pressed so close to me that I can barely breathe. I feel more than hear him speak with his lips against my ear.

"Don't move."

"What th—"

He covers my mouth with his hand, stifling even my whisper.

"It's a trap. Can you go Unseen?" His warm breath tickles my ear and I shudder as old fears awaken to join my present alarm.

I nod. Thankfully, his hold on me eases and he steps back. No sooner has he done this, though, than he goes completely still in a way that tells me something isn't right.

"Rian?" I mouth his name, but he merely stares at me, the gleam of his sapphire blue eyes just visible in the dark. Another sort of gleam glints at his throat, and I see the curve of a long blade beneath his chin. Behind him, a figure stands, barely distinguishable from the shadows, and two more emerge from the darkness beneath the trees — Fae, undoubtedly, though not like any I've seen.

The strangers wear fitted clothing made of soft gray leather or suede, which blends seamlessly with the dappled shadows. Two appear male, one female, and all are tall and pale with long, dark hair. They're armed, and one of those standing further back carries a limp, furry form over one shoulder.

Mingled fear and relief go through me as I remember Dane telling me Wolves regain human form in death. Ingrid's alive, at least.

Emboldened by concern for her, I step forward, intending to challenge these intruders, when the one holding Halloran releases him, and his demeanor shifts.

"Got you," he says, laughing. "You always were rather poor at stealth, brother."

Halloran's expression remains guarded, and he seems careful not to look at me. "Darragh, what are you doing here?" he asks.

The tall, dark-haired man shrugs. "Father is losing patience with you. He wants the leanan sidhe and sent me to see why you haven't brought it to him yet. Imagine my surprise when I discover that not only do you have the child in hand, but our sister is on the loose again. What have you been up to, Rian?"

Not much of this made sense to me, but I was fairly certain I'd just been called an 'it' and a child in one sentence, and decided to take offense.

"Excuse me," I say, "but who the fuck are you?"

The tall Fae turns to me with a smile, though it isn't a friendly expression, and raises his brows with mock incredulity.

"What? Has my dear brother failed to mention me?"

"Must have slipped his mind," I say, glancing at Halloran, whose face has become like a mask.

"Julian, this is my father's son, Prince Darragh," he says, "and my cousins, Alyth and Sylv."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," I say, although I'm not particularly sure at all. "What the hell are they doing here?"

Darragh smirks and turns his attention back to Halloran, ignoring me.

"So, brother, what is taking so long that I must come to discover the cause of your delay? You have the beast on a leash and Beauty here, in hand. Why do you not return to court?"

"You know it's become more complicated than that," Halloran mutters and nods at the Fae holding Ingrid. "What did you do to the Wolf?"

"Nothing. She's insurance. She'll wake up with a bit of a headache, but otherwise, she'll be fine. And don't bother screaming for the others," he adds, glancing at me. "We're in a pocket. They won't hear us."

Halloran frowns. "Pockets don't last long, and you can't stay here. What is your plan?"

"Simple. We take the boy home. Once he's been... re-educated... father will put him to use."

"Like he did Rhiannon?"

Darragh nods. "Only, this time, no mistakes. You should have known better than to get the changelings involved."

Slowly, I turn to Halloran, whose face has gone stark white.

"Julian... it's not what you think," he says, raising his hands. "It's—"

"Oh, I imagine it's exactly as he thinks." Darragh laughs. "The irony is almost too delightful," he adds, moving to stand in front of me. "Just imagine: if your Wolf hadn't contacted the Fae when he was so desperate to rescue you, we'd never have known you existed."

"If you hurt Dane, I'll—"

"Oh, never fear," Darragh says with a smirk. "We won't touch a hair on his wolfy head. We'll leave that to our cousins — the ones you call skin-changers."

Shot through with shock and anger, my muscles tense for attack and my Fae aspect grows more pronounced. With sharp nails and teeth and a snarl on my lips, I prepare to launch myself at Darragh. Unfortunately, the other Fae is faster, and with a motion almost too quick to see, he raises his hand and blows a puff of air in my face.

Surprised, I stumble back a pace and bump into the tree at my back as a fine powder gets in my eyes and mingles with my breath.

"What the..." I cough as my senses waver and my muscles go weak. Halloran catches me as I slump and supports my weight with an arm around my back, and I lack the strength to push him away.

"Just a little 'faerie dust," Darragh says, brushing off his hands. "Ignorant as you are, it seems you've stumbled upon some of your natural gifts through instinct, or dumb luck, and I'm supposed to deliver you unharmed."

"Deliver me...where?" I gasp.

"To Faerie, of course. Or, more precisely, to my father, King Oberon the Third. Now, we're breaking quite a few rules just by being here, and the Confusion I cast will only last so long. We'd best get moving. Rian, I assume you can handle the babysitting?"

"No." Halloran's arm tightens about my waist and he takes a step back, away from the other Fae. "I've told you — things have changed, Darragh. The war is over, and I have a duty here. The changelings are our enemies. We should be allying ourselves with the Wolves."

Darragh's smile spreads, transforming his beautiful face with a predatory grin. "Oh? Still feeling guilty, are you? Well, perhaps you're right; perhaps I'll go back to Father and explain exactly why everything went so wrong last time. I'm sure he'll forgive you — when you're dead."

"You wouldn't." Halloran shakes his head. "Brother..."

"Half-brother, as you're so quick to point out," Darragh says, his smile vanishing like a snuffed flame, leaving his face cold and his beauty cruel. Come now — we can settle our little family feud later. For now, it's a long walk to the standing stones, even through a pocket; and if I were you, I'd rather not be anywhere near this place when that Wolf catches wind of us."