Page 3 of Heartsong
It had been like any other Gorsedd, the bonfires big and bright, and the dancing had gone on long into the night. All the guardian clans from across Albion had gathered at the Gorsedd, that night on Beltane, to celebrate the end of winter, the coming of spring, and, most importantly, for unmated guardians to find their mate.
Frey had had such hope, had felt it in his wing bases that this time it would happen for him. Just because the clans came together every few months for the Gorsedd didn’t guarantee that a mate would be found. Not all attended and some didn’t want to be mated until much later. The goddesses could be tricky like that, but Frey had been sure, sosure, that they would smile on him.
Instead, that night, there was only ruin.
He remembered the eerie light that had burst from the forest, blue and ghoulish. It sucked the very warmth from the bonfires, snuffing them like candles. The moon had been full and high, and guardians saw well in the dark—everyone beheld the fae on their fire-spitting mounts.
Frey had entered the battle with only his claws and his wits, weapons surrendered for the night of thanksgiving and celebration. He’d ripped through fae and beasts, all feeling the same under his claws. So many had been struck down in the first wave of attack, blood soaking the Gorsedd glen.
The second attack had been worse, so much worse. For centuries, Frey often wished that he’d been taken in the first wave. To go to the afterlife with honor and his kin.
Instead, he was caught in this stone hell with so many others.
The Faerie Queen had ridden her snapping, scaled mount through the crowd of them, casting a shimmering light across the glen that looked like the gray of dawn, but somehow without the promise of sun. She’d opened those perfect lips, stained with berries and blood, and cursed his kind, sucking their magick away.
Without it, they were mere blood and stone. Not enough to sustain life.
The fate of those frozen into their stone prisons had been much worse than dying. The centuries loomed across their scattered consciousness, a never-ending torment. From what Frey could remember, he was separated from his kin for a time, and those had been the hardest years of all, the silence overwhelming.
Slowly, as the years passed, he was rejoined with other stone captives, and it was a small comfort. There were dozens of them now, he thought. Why they were all gathered after being separated, he didn’t know. Why they had been moved recently from the quiet room they’d shared for centuries, he didn’t know.
At first, the new sounds and glimpses of many humans had overwhelmed his deadened senses. But then—
Shestood before him.
Just out of reach.
Frey came alive, sensation and feeling exploding through him in a meteoric strike. It’d taken days to determine the reason for his sudden change, but it always came with glimpses ofher.
He knew then that the centuries of emptiness and quiet torment were over.
Now, his existence had expanded and yet narrowed. It was all everher,and he raged behind his stone prison, his blood just beyond flowing, his heart just beyond beating. Although she was human, Frey knew that she would be his. She was living hope for him. For all of the guardians.
He didn’t know how or why, only that the goddesses wouldn’t have sent him his mate now for no reason.
He had to believe it.
He had to get to her.
But how?
2
She didn’t mind, she really didn’t, but Anna was starting to regret agreeing to stay late that night to meet the art specialist. Sure, she’d be doing the same thing at home that she was here—eating takeout while watching sitcom reruns—but she’d be doing it on her couch inpajamas. Her truest form came with stretchy lounge pants and a cozy fleece hoodie with deep pockets. But she’d told Carrie she could and would, and dammit, Anna was determined to be a gold star employee.
Luckily, June Parkhurst (whom Anna totally hadn’t stalked on social media off and on all evening, nope, not at all) arrived promptly at seven. She waved at Anna through the security doors, and Anna buzzed her in, knowing it was her thanks to all the internet stalking she definitely didn’t do.
Wearing a modest but sleek green sheath dress underneath a light trench, Dr. Parkhurst walked inside from the late-autumn darkness exuding chic academia. Lithe and graceful, her long, slim limbs moved seamlessly under the sharp lines of her clothes. Her fiery red hair was pulled up into a perfectly messy bun, and large square-framed glasses accentuated the curves of her face and gray of her eyes. In a word, she was lovely.
Anna had that awful first moment of feeling entirely inferior; she was tallish for a woman, but Dr. Parkhurst, even in her low heels, was an amazon. Anna carried her weight well, but she certainly struggled with it, especially after college. Working desk jobs and having little free time or inclination to take care of herself between migraines had meant that she’d put on a few sizes. She didn’t usually think much about her body beyond being an unlucky attachment to her often-aching head, but when faced with women who looked like actual fairy princesses, any mortal woman would feel a smidge inadequate.
That was, until Dr. Parkhurst gave her a small, shy smile, her long strides slowing as she cautiously approached Anna at her desk. There was something disarming about that smile, and it made Anna realize that, with her hands now wringing her purse strap, Dr. Parkhurst might actually be a little uncomfortable.
“Hi, I’m June Parkhurst from the—”
“Yes, hi! Nice to meet you!” Anna stuck her hand over the desk, and Dr. Parkhurst took it, giving her a limp, clammy handshake.
“Thank you for meeting me. I know it’s after hours.”
