Page 51 of Faerie Hunted

He knocked me hard enough in the side with his elbow to force the breath from my lungs. “Easy. This will all be over soon.”

We walk through the wall, magic cascading over me in a frenzied torrent. It pricked against my skin in an eager, almost hungry inspection before sliding around me, through me. Pure magic, I realize in some distant way.

Purefaemagic because I felt it even with the necklace keeping me protected.

The wall connected to the land itself, and although it seemed improbable, it had been built to reach the stars in the sky. It felt old. Primitive and powerful and…sentient.

It knew me, recognized me, wanted to learn more.

All of a sudden we were out the other side and I gasped, inhaling sharply. Had I forgotten to breathe the entire time? I blinked to clear my gaze, my jaw wanting to drop bumpkin-style at the sight on the other side.

A large expanse of tents extended back into the tree line. The canvas structures looked sturdy enough to survive a harsh wind but not out of place in the shadows of the forest.

Several fires had been lit and scattered between the tents of the small village. Camp. Whatever it was.

This felt temporary, like the tents might be easily taken down and reassembled at a moment’s notice. Did these people, whoever they were, move around constantly to avoid detection? My stomach dropped further and my heart gave a single threatening thud against my ribs.

“Where are we?” I asked One Eye.

The other men emerged from the wall, the facade of stone melting away with their passing like walking through a waterfall. They threw Noren to the ground and he glared at them, his eyes promising retaliation. I felt an answering need rising up inside of me.

“I asked you a question. What is this place?”

I lifted my voice to make sure they all heard me but there was no forthcoming answer from any of the men. One Eye took my elbow and marched me through the village.

Behind us came the sounds of a scuffle as the others took hold of Noren. Through the camp they paraded us, going slowly I suspected on purpose to give the people here time to come out and enjoy the procession.

They were fae going about their lives but without fail, they stopped to watch me. Us. Curious about the capture, no doubt. They had the vacant stares of the displaced, of refugees, of people on the run. I knew this because I recognized their expressions as the same I’d worn in the past.

Noren growled from my side and although his jaws were still bound, the sound rippled through the crowd and several shocked gasps rang out.

One Eye changed direction abruptly and took me right through the heart of the camp. The tent rising up in front of us stood out from the others with a slightly lighter shade of canvas. It glowed in the dim light from overhead with the gray translucence of fog.

The four men carrying Noren deposited him at the opening flap of the tent and then stepped back to give One Eye the floor. He paraded me inside, snapping to attention once the flap fell closed behind us.

“Sir? We’ve brought her to you, as requested.” His voice carried an alarming tone of deference.

My spine prickled.

A figure rose from behind a quaint little chiminea belching metallic smoke through a hole in the center of the tent. The dimness of the interior cast shadows on his features but his air was unmistakable.

I knew exactly who stood in front of me, without having to ask. The infamous Dorian Jade.

My mouth went dry, my throat constricting dangerously.

Dorian Jade stood a little over six feet tall. Hair so dark it shone almost purple rippled around a rectangular face. Slight stubble decorated a strong chin and his pert lips stood to attention against the pale cream of his skin.

His eyes were a deep rich blue, shining with an inner light and ringed by black lashes and thick brows. His nose was long and straight.

His trousers and shirt were tailored to his slender figure, the cut of his jacket embroidered with silver and gold thread adding to his general debonair civility. He didn’t look at all the way I’d always pictured—more like a mad zealot than an attractive thirty-something man.

“Tavi Alderidge. Finally.” Dorian took a step closer and his features twisted in an alluring smile. He snapped his fingers and the ropes keeping me bound fell to the floor, undone by invisible hands. “It’s a pleasure and an honor to meet you. I’ve heard much.”

I wished I could say the same but anyone I’d asked had been closed lipped abouthim.

He reached for my hand and took it between his thumb and index finger. His lips made a graceful arch across my knuckles.

Charm, I saw in an instant. This was the kind of intensely charming and good-looking combination that established a person as a man a cult would follow.

---