Chapter 3
three
The shriek tears from my throat, and I throw the wine bottle as hard as I can.
Liquid arcs as it hits the shadow with a solid thunk—which probably means I’m not dealing with some sort of shadow monster—and a string of angry swearing follows.
I don’t actually understand a single word of it, but the tone speaks for itself. Swearing is swearing in any language.
I scramble to my feet, because if this isn’t a shadow monster, it’s a stranger in the woods on a dark night, and that never turns out well.
“Who’s there?” I snap, wondering if I should just run away instead. Running’s never been my forte, though, and between the uneven ground, the dark, and the wine I drank, I’d probably do more falling than running.
“What a stupid question,” the stranger retorts, sounding annoyed. Despite his obvious snappishness, his voice is smooth and resonant, the accent unfamiliar but very attractive. Impulsively, I bend over and grab my phone, turning on the torch app and shining it his way as I straighten.
He makes a hissing sound and lifts a hand to shield his eyes. “Are you trying to blind me? Put that away, you foolish boy!”
“Hey! Who are you calling a boy… or foolish?” I add belatedly.
Probably should have been more offended by that, even if I can’t really argue against it right now.
“Who are you, anyway? You’re trespassing.
” I angle the light a little so it’s not shining directly into his eyes.
I can always move it back if I need the distraction, and honestly, I want him to put his hand down so I can see his face.
You know, in case I need to describe him to the police after he tries to kill me.
Probably shouldn’t have watched that documentary about Ivan Milat last week.
“I’m not a backpacker.” I throw that out just in case.
“I live here. My family lives here, and people know me. My aunt is friends with the senior sergeant.” They have an ongoing argument about her propensity to park her car in No Standing zones, but the important point is that they’re on speaking terms and she could call him if I went missing.
“What are you babbling on about?” The stranger lowers his arm, sounding befuddled and disgruntled, and I get my first proper look at him.
“Ugh. Aren’t I having a bad enough night already without a hot-as-fuck trespassing wannabe murderer stumbling across me at my absolute worst?
” He’s definitely a serial killer. Or one of those guys who stops you in the street with a compliment only to try and sell you something.
Ordinary guys don’t look this good in bad lighting in the bush.
“I am not trespassing,” he insists. There’s an awkward little pause while I wait for him to continue.
“Aren’t you going to say you’re not a wannabe murderer?”
He sniffs. “At this particular moment, that would be a lie.”
What—wait, he wants to kill me?
Panicking, I scoop up the paring knife from where it’s still sticking up from the ground and brandish it toward him. “Stay back! I’ll stab you if you come near me.”
His eyes lower to my hand, and he shakes his head slowly. “Why me? Why?”
That doesn’t sound very murdery, so maybe I’ve discouraged him.
I’d still better commit his face to memory, just in case I need to describe him to a sketch artist later.
And also because when this weird fucking night is over, I’m probably going to wank to the memory of him.
(As long as he doesn’t actually try to kill me.)
His dark hair—brown, I think. Even in this light, it looks more brown than black—isn’t long, but it’s wayward and messy, going every which way.
His beard is much neater, and the combined effect is…
well, the semi in my trackies seems like proof that it’s sexy.
There’s something about a man with a well-groomed beard that does it for me.
What I can see of his skin is white, though not as light as mine, which is ginger-curse pale, and I can’t quite tell what colour his eyes are—brown, probably.
His nose is as straight as a blade, his brows heavy, and his arrogance overwhelming.
I can’t explain it, but the overall effect makes me want to drop my daks and bend over for him.
Though that could also be the wine. I get slutty when I’m tipsy.
Stiffening my spine against the urge to be truly pathetic and offer my future killer a blowjob, I remind him, “You still haven’t said who you are and why you’re trespassing on my aunt’s farm.”
He scoffs. “How can I possibly be trespassing when you invited me here?”
I gasp. “I did not!” Did I? I’d remember something like that, right?
Unless I accidentally opened one of the apps on my phone…
but that wouldn’t have given him directions to this secluded corner of Aunt Maggie’s farm.
“I don’t even know who you are, mate, and I’m not that kind of guy.
” I don’t think. Honestly, I’ve been that lonely lately that I might become that kind of guy.
With a sigh designed to make me feel stupid and a sweeping gesture that takes in the paraphernalia on the ground between us, he says, “What would you call this, if not an invitation? You even bound it to your blood.” He nods toward the knife in my hand.
My gaze drops to it and the brownish smears on the blade that are probably wine-damp dirt but could also be my blood, and I drop it with a shudder.
Then I realise what he just implied.
“What?” I croak. “I don’t know what you mean.” Because there is no way—no way—that he’s actually a faerie and I summoned him. No. Way.
He tips his head back and addresses the sky. “Really, my queen? Is this punishment? Nothing I’ve done can be deserving of this.”
“You’re kind of a dick,” I say before I can stop myself, and he lowers his gaze to me, brows drawing together.
“You summoned me here, threw a glass bottle at my head, accused me of trespassing, threatened to stab me, and now disavow any knowledge of it all. How am I the ‘dick’ in this scenario?”
When he puts it that way… But also, oh my god. Is he… a faerie? Did the spell work?
“Are you saying that fucking spell worked?” I blurt, and he throws up his hands.
“Finally, he gets it!”
The spell worked. Holy fuck.
“Prove it,” I demand, and he groans.
“I should have denied the summons. Anything would be better than this, even an eternity of desperate solitude.”
Well, that’s rude. But before I can tell him again what a dick he is, he holds out his hand, palm up, and a ball of light forms.
My jaw goes slack, and my phone tumbles from my hand, the light from the torch cartwheeling through the shadows before it lands screen up. It doesn’t matter, though, because the warm glow from the stranger’s light ball is doing more to illuminate the night than my phone could ever manage.
Then he lowers his hand, but the ball stays exactly where it was, and that’s all the proof my brain needs.
I summoned a motherfucking faerie.
My knees give out, and I land on my arse in the dirt. Again. I don’t care, though, because I summoned a motherfucking faerie.
“What’s wrong with you now?” he asks with another put-upon sigh, walking toward me. The ball of light moves with him, and if I wasn’t in the middle of having a crisis, I’d think that was epic.
“You need to go,” I manage between wheezing breaths. “Go home. Or… wherever you came from. This was a big mistake.”
He stops beside me, looming over me, and I tilt my head to see him properly because this is probably—hopefully—my one and only chance to see an actual real faerie and I want to make sure I remember everything about him.
This close, and with better light, I can see that his hair and eyes are in fact brown—a beautiful, deep, rich brown that makes me think of creamy dark chocolate.
His beard doesn’t quite hide the angles and planes of his face, which are too sharp to be classically handsome…
to humans, anyway. But classically handsome isn’t the only form of hot as fuck, and he’s definitely that.
For what feels like eternity, he stares down at me. I stare back, tipsy, overwhelmed, and feeling utterly foolish. What kind of idiot summons a faerie because they’re lonely?
Finally, he mutters something I can’t catch under his breath, shakes his head, and says, “I can’t.”
I blink at him. “What do you mean, you can’t? Just… go back. Do I need to reverse the summoning? Tell me how, and I will.”
He reaches down, grabs me by the upper arms, and hauls me to my feet. I know I’m not a giant, but it’s still impressive how effortless he made it seem. I’m five-feet-ten of… well, there are muscles in my body. Everyone’s got them, even me.
“It can’t be done,” he says, still holding my arms. “You summoned me for a purpose, and I’m staying until it’s fulfilled.”
I stare into his eyes, wondering how it’s fair for any one being to be this good-looking and have such a nice voice. The rest of us never stood a chance.
I didn’t, anyway.
Then his words sink in. “Seriously? You can’t go back, just because I wanted someone to spend Christmas with?”
He shrugs. “It would seem so.”
“But… but… that’s weeks away! What are you going to do until then?”
That earns me another “foolish boy” look. “I am here to be your companion, aren’t I?”
I swallow hard. He didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure he didn’t. Shame on me for having a dirty mind. “Um… but where are you going to stay?”
He… smiles. At least, it looks like a smile, but the shiver it sends down my spine is half dread.
“With you, of course.”
Ohhhhhh noooooo.