Once Upon a Forbidden Desire, page 61
“Rowan!”
The seed that had remained in her palm through her shift to wolf and back, and through her capture, was about the same weight as the geas. She threw it and this time her aim was true. It landed perfectly in his mouth.
Another fist connected with her face, followed by more than she could count. “Make your wish,” she called out through quickly swelling lips. She only hoped that he heard her.
The queen wouldn’t be able to get the heartseed and use its power, but at least Dariston wouldn’t either. And with his wish, she hoped Rowan would get free.
“WHAT’D YOU USE that wish for, human?” snarled the soldier walking beside him. But Rowan remained silent. All of his attention was on Shani’s limp form slung over the shoulder of one of the wolf-men.
After catching the seed, Rowan had made a big show of swallowing it and grinning at his captors. The grizzled leader of the troops, the one they called Dariston, had screamed in Rowan’s face, then beaten him to the ground. But the magic of Gran’s cloak was still in effect, for while he was certain the older man had shattered some of his ribs, when they dragged him up and forced him to walk again, he was able to do so without pain. Now it was Shani he was worried about.
He couldn’t get the cloak to her and wasn’t certain if her own magic was still strong enough to heal her. Their captors were complaining about the weakness of their power here, how it was fading faster than they’d thought. Tracking ability was apparently part of the powers a Lupkin possessed. But Dariston had screamed at the two soldiers responsible for magically tracing the route that Rowan and Shani had taken from Gran’s house—it took them far longer than the general deemed acceptable. Once he had the path, instead of traveling back the way they’d come, Dariston muttered a string of words, which caused a bright flash of light to coalesce into a portal in mid-air. However, the passageway was smaller than expected and only half the forces the general had brought made it through before the portal closed prematurely.
Fortunately, Rowan made it through without being separated from Shani. The portal vastly condensed the distance they’d have to travel, leaving them in the familiar woods not far from Gran’s home.
His gut clenched. Gran.
“We must kill the queen before she takes the seal,” Dariston said gruffly to one of his men. “Cull her entire bloodline from the land.”
Rowan needed to find a way to save his grandmother and Shani, and fast. But with his hands tied behind his back, there was little he could do at the moment save stare at Shani, watching her for signs of life.
When she cracked an eye open and closed it swiftly, he almost whooped in relief. She was just faking unconsciousness. Such a clever woman.
Wood smoke from the cottage reached Rowan’s nose a few minutes before they arrived in the familiar clearing. His stomach was tied in knots, worrying for the safety of his grandmother.
As the soldiers approached, the woman in question stepped onto the front porch, looking more regal than he’d ever seen her. She hadn’t changed out of her plain brown dress, or done her hair in any special way, but her majestic nature was plain to see. It shone from her very pores.
“What is the meaning of this?” she called out.
“We have your pathetic knight,” Dariston sneered. “And your servant. Come quietly and their deaths will be quick.”
A stunning smile bloomed on his grandmother’s face. It was an expression of triumph, not of defeat. She shook her head slowly. “You must have forgotten who I am.”
She reached into the pocket of the plain homespun dress and pulled out the little locket that she was never without. With a flick of her thumb, she opened the silver compartment and held up a tiny purple gem that had been hidden inside.
Rowan gasped. Between her fingertips, the amethyst began to glow.
“Kill her now!” Dariston shouted, and chaos descended. Shani leaped from her captor’s arms and was in her wolf form before she touched the ground.
She pounced on the wolves racing toward Gran, tearing into them in a frenzy of claws and teeth. Rowan wrapped his bound hands around the neck of the knight next to him, choking him out before the man could complete his shift.
As they fought, a purple glow obscured Gran’s form. Shani and Rowan were still outnumbered, though with half the knights stuck back at the heartseed tree, the odds were a bit better. Still, the brave female wolf staggered under the weight of the four others who attacked her. Rowan jumped onto the back of a furred body, trying to choke the creature and ending up in a tussle.
The bright purple light in his peripheral vision faded, and his grandmother’s voice called out, loud and strong: “Stop!”
The wolf in his arms went slack. Rowan released it and stood to find all the wolves cowering, dropping to their bellies in submission.
Even Dariston, who had retained his human form, was bending to the ground as if a mighty force was pushing him down, first to his knees, then prostrate on his stomach.
Only Shani was still upright. In seconds, she was human again, staring up in awe at her queen, who descended from the porch as if it were a crystal staircase.
“Gran …” Rowan whispered, throat thick with emotion. Now that the glow had faded, he could clearly see the glowing mark shining on her forehead: a sun, a moon, and a shield. The same symbols Shani wore on her chest—the seal of Eventide.
Shani took a knee and bowed her head. “Your Majesty.”
“Come here, children. Both of you.”
Shani rose and Rowan stumbled forward, his heart heavy with impending loss.
“You took the seal.” Hope filled Shani’s voice.
Gran nodded slowly. Rowan could read the grief behind the steel of her expression.
Shani looked back at the enemy knights, still unmoving on the ground. “The seal’s power is strong.”
“The magic that separated me from Eventide’s people is gone now, and all citizens are once again subject to the force of the seal.”
Rowan didn’t quite understand it all, but it was clear the queen’s power was quite a bit more than he’d assumed.
“So you will return,” Shani said.
His grandmother’s eyes were heavy. “I will do my duty.”
Rowan’s heart lurched. “No, Gran. Name me as your heir. Let me go in your place.”
The woman shook her head as if it weighed a thousand pounds. “My beloved grandson. I would never ask you to take my burden for me. And I will not allow you to go to Eventide and lose all of your precious memories.”
Shani’s head whipped back and forth between them, her mouth slack.
“But I won’t.” Rowan spat out the heartseed hidden in his cheek and held it up. “I saved this for you, but …”
He glanced back at the men who would have killed his grandmother. Killed him if they’d known his identity. “Allow me to spare you. You love your life here, and you should have it. You’ve paid enough. My life has barely begun. Name me as your heir, and I swear I will do my best by the people and the land.”
His heart stopped beating while she looked at him with love and pain in her eyes.
Finally, she cupped his face in her palms and tilted his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “You will be a wonderful king.”
When she released him, tears streamed down her cheeks. The tiny seed in his hand seemed to grow in size to match its importance. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed it for real this time.
Warmth slid down his throat, growing into a burning heat. “I wish for my heart’s desire,” he whispered. “To always remember everyone I love.”
His gaze slid to Shani, whose eyes were filled with tears as well. The magic of the heartseed infused his entire body. It spread within him, sharpening his memories and bringing them back into focus. His grandfather’s strong hands teaching him how to properly hammer a nail. The feel of his father’s tight hugs when he would return from his hunting trips. His mother’s laughing eyes as he told her a tall tale. They would never leave him; he would hold them close forever and come to visit as often as possible. Plus, as king, surely there would be money and resources to make their lives here easier, perhaps hire a tradesman for the jobs he would no longer be here to do.
He blinked as the heat and the magic receded. Shani was in front of him, staring as though she’d never seen him before.
“May I see your amulet?” he asked.
She pulled at the chain around her neck, slipping it free of her shirt. He covered her outstretched palm with his hand, holding the amethyst there between them. As the brilliant purple light surrounded him, Shani’s free arm wrapped around him as well.
He had much to learn as the king of Eventide. There would likely be more struggles than he could imagine, but he would never forget his life or his family—and his grandmother would never forget hers either.
When it was done, the seal of the land was emblazoned on his chest, visible just above his collar. Shani was still in his arms, where he hoped she would stay for a long time.
Later, when they were on their way to a world that before that day he’d never dared to imagine, he realized that Gran had never used her power to lift the geas. He shared his revelation with Shani and her brows lifted.
“Once you master your magic, you can lift it yourself,” she said.
“And what if I never master that particular spell? We can never be separated?”
Her bright eyes smiled. Her only answer was a press of her lips against his in a kiss that, heartseed wish or not, made him forget his own name.
L. PENELOPE HAS BEEN WRITING since she could hold a pen and loves getting lost in the worlds in her head. She is an award-winning fantasy and paranormal romance author. Her novel Song of Blood & Stone was chosen as one of TIME Magazine’s 100 Best Fantasy Books of All Time. Listen to her talk about writing on the My Imaginary Friends podcast. Get a free short story at https://lpen.co/fairy.
BACK TO THE WOODS
A Stepbrother Romance
(Hansel and Gretel)
JENNIE LYNN ROBERTS
SCORCHING
Hans walked away from his stepsister years ago, still burning with the love he knew was forbidden. But a shadow is growing over the woods. The witch has returned, and soon Hans and Greta must face their old enemy … and each other.
“Back to the Woods” contains memories of parental abandonment.
THE RAUCOUS SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER and off-key ballads drifted through the misty nighttime air, along with the acrid scent of smoke and the underlying fatty sweetness of roasting meats.
Inside, it would be a hundred times worse. Inside, there would be sweaty, unwashed bodies, spilled ale, and old straw. Hans groaned. Old sweat and fatty food. Hell. And, to make things even worse, the tavern was called The Oven.
Was that why she chose it? To prove that she was over … everything? That she could walk right in and not even bat an eyelid. It was why he’d decided to become a bladesmith, after all. He’d decided to work with fire. To tame it and bend it and turn it into something beautiful.
Damn, he missed his forge—the focused work, the honed weapons, and the isolation. But he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.
Hans rolled his shoulders back, loosened his sword just to feel the cool metal in his hand, and opened the door.
A wall of pungent heat hit him, and he swallowed down the urge to gag. He concentrated on breathing through his mouth and shoved his way between the masses of drunken revelers until he finally reached the long wooden bar. He leaned forward and caught the eye of the harried-looking tavernkeeper.
“What’ll it be?” asked the red-faced man, his heavy gut hanging over his belt, thin hair sticking to his damp forehead.
Hans dropped a gold coin on the counter. “I’m looking for someone.”
The tavernkeeper wiped his hands on the gray dishcloth tucked into his apron. “Aren’t we all?”
Hans shrugged. “Someone in particular.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “A monster hunter.”
There was a long, loaded moment of silence as the tavernkeeper looked at Hans, and Hans looked back. The revelry seemed to churn around them, surrounding them and yet somehow not penetrating the intensity of that slow, speculative stare.
The tavernkeeper slid the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead and then shook his head. “Keep your money,” he muttered.
Hans added another coin. “Word is that you’re the man to speak to.”
The tavernkeeper narrowed his eyes, and Hans leaned forward expectantly. Two gold coins were a lot of money. But the man simply shook his head again. “Never heard of her.”
Hans had to fight to keep his face blank. To keep his exhilaration locked down. To let the tavernkeeper think he hadn’t noticed the slip, or if he had, that it meant nothing to him. Never heard of her.
He shrugged and took the coins back, replacing them with a couple of groats. “I’ll take an ale, then.”
The tavernkeeper scowled, raking his eyes down Hans’s fine wool coat and polished boots. “I don’t think this is your kind of tavern.”
Hans added another small pile of groats. “I’m here now. Might as well stay.”
The tavernkeeper hesitated for a moment. Then he sighed and took the money. “Just one.”
Hans turned his back on the bar, resting his weight on his elbows while he waited for his beer. When it came, it was better than he expected, mellow and rich with malt, not too bitter. He kept his nose buried in the tankard, doing his best to drown out the reek of unwashed bodies as he glanced around the murky room.
A squad of soldiers was gleefully spending the king’s coin. A couple sat at a small table, their heads bent close together, hands almost, but not quite, touching. An archer swathed in a hooded coat sipped at his ale in a dark corner, his crossbow set across his table like a tangible “fuck off” to anyone who might have tried to join him.
No woman with hair the color of sunset graced the small tables. No green eyes turned to watch him. No bright laugh broke the clamor.
Hans slumped against the bar. She wasn’t there.
Still, the tavernkeeper knew her. He was protecting her. And he would almost certainly warn her that Hans had been asking after her. He might even send one of the kitchen boys … but not while Hans was standing at the bar.
He finished his drink and strode from the tavern, out onto the cobbled street. After a glance back to check he was alone, he slipped into the shadows of a nearby alley and disappeared into the darkness.
The alley was cool and damp after the press inside the tavern. The sharp scent of old piss scratched the back of his throat, but at least it didn’t smell of roasting fat. Voices rumbled from the houses stacked unevenly along the street and a dog barked in the distance while Hans leaned against the wall, watching the door to The Oven.
The couple spilled out onto the street, leaning together; his hand was around her waist, her face flushed and smiling as he pulled her along, their dance drawing closer to its inevitable peak. Hans watched them for a moment, allowing the brief flicker of jealousy to come and go.
No one else followed, and he sank back against the wall tiredly. He’d been traveling hard for days, following the rumors that had led him here.
All this time, he’d thought she was safe. Safe and happy and living the life she was meant to lead, surrounded by her friends, settled in her home. But then a carpenter from their old village had passed his forge and, with a few quiet words, unraveled all the stories he’d told himself.
Until then, he’d never given in to the temptation to visit—knowing that what he saw could only cause him more misery—but he couldn’t get the carpenter’s words out of his mind. He’d replayed them in his head until, eventually, he’d gone back.
The cottage had been long deserted. The door was hanging half off its hinges, and a heavy layer of dust lay thick on the floor. The forest had begun to reclaim the building—moss grew over the roof and mold stained the walls. It smelled of damp and rot. And over it all hung a presence, a dark sentience that stretched out, running its cold fingers down his neck, taking little tastes along his skin.
He knew the scent of that darkness far too well. Only now, it was deeper. More pungent. The darkness that had been contained within one evil cottage was now spread out over the entire forest.
He’d almost faced it then and there, simply stepped into the woods and battled it head-on. But a part of him had realized that he might not step back out again. He had only survived the first time because of Greta, and now the shadows were wider and deeper. What if he died, alone, in that dark wood? No one would know to warn her. Worse, the rumors might reach her, and she might go back alone. He couldn’t take the risk.
He’d traveled east, to the distant mountain towns far from the dark woodlands where the cottage lay decaying. For weeks he followed the rumors and the gossip, looking for a bounty hunter. A woman with fiery hair and green eyes. A woman who was lethal with her crossbow and slowly making a name for herself as a monster hunter.
Hans groaned. The monster hunter was lethal with a crossbow. With. A. Crossbow.
Fuck it all. She was inside.
GRETA LIFTED HER hand toward Kristof in brief thanks. She’d have to come back in a week or two and reward him for his help. For now, it was best to flick her fingers and disappear out the back.
She pulled her hood down further over her face, swung her crossbow over her shoulder, and made her way through the drunken crowds. Being tall and strong was a distinct advantage in her chosen career. And it certainly helped when she was lurking in dark corners—everyone assumed she was a man and left her the hell alone.
Greta shoved the back door open with more force than necessary, wishing she could slam it. She’d known him instantly, but he hadn’t even recognized her … and wasn’t that just the harsh reminder she needed? Bloody Hans.
What the hell was he doing there? How dare he invade her life? She kicked a stone, sending it crashing into a wall, and then winced at the noise. This was exactly what he did to her: screwed with her emotions. This time she was walking away, and he would never … damn. He’d just walked around the corner.
