Page 7 of Prince of the Northwest Forest
No joke, headed straight for me is some dude in a full-on sweeping cloak down to his ankles, its hood shading his face. The fabric billows behind him as his long, loping strides aim straight for me. Under the cloak he’s got on old-fashioned clothes: dark green moleskin pants with tall boots and a tunic. And a sword is strapped to his side.
Which, okay, he could be cosplaying. There’s a reason for the “Keep Portland Weird” bumper stickers, and the concept applies to much of the state. So he fits right in.
Except his head is turned like he’s talking to the small moose that’s keeping pace with him. Or maybe it’s an elk? Whatever.
Maybe he’s from one of the nearby realms. There are so many, I lose track.
I shake my head and notice a fox trotting ahead of him and off to the side.
Like I said: Forest-knight dude is keeping Oregon weird.
But the strangeness is more than how out-of-this-time he feels. There’s a presence about him. A power. It’s in the broadness of his shoulders and the mystery of his face under the dark hood that shrouds his features.
As I take a step back to let the three of them pass, I trip on a large rock, lose my balance, and feel the ground go out fromunder me. I fall backward and land with a huff, my ass on the dirt.
“Are you all right?” The forest-knight dude reaches out a tanned, rough hand.
I grasp it, and electricity pulses between us as he hauls me back to my feet. “Yep. Never better.”
Dusting off the back of my jeans, and then my hands, I shift my weight. Neither of us moves.
He pulls his hood back slightly, and our eyes lock. He has a big scar on one side of his face: a red vertical line from his eyebrow down to his cheek. It looks as if he’s lucky not to have lost his eye.
My cheeks heat. Something about him is familiar. My tongue darts out to lick my lips.
Stop staring. He’s going to think I’m staring at his scar, but I’m not. I’m staring at …him.
He’s very fucking pretty.
I clear my throat. “Hey,” I say. “Nice day we’re having.”
The man nods, his hood falling back over his face. “It is.” His voice is deep and clear.
Why does it feel like I’ve met him before? I’d know it if I’d met a knight. Correct?
Or is this another one of those things where I can’t trust my own mind?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” the knight asks again.
“Fine, fine,” I mutter. “Thanks.”
He pauses. It’s hard to see his expression, but he nods and continues past me. Just like a hero in Jails and Jackals.
I fanboy inside, then scold myself.Bad Justice. No knights.
The knight keeps going, along with his animal retinue. I watch him head down the path I just came from.
Seriously …
Who. The fuck. Was that?
A shiver runs through me. He’d better not be fae.
Although if he were, that could shortcut my life’s quest. Should I run after him and ask for help?
No. Bad idea. Be sensible. You don’t need any fae bargains or to end up in a worse situation.
I stare as he continues hiking down the hill at a rapid pace. I have no idea who he is. He looks like some kind of forest creature, except fancier.
