Chapter 6
The next time Attalus woke, he was convinced this time, this time for sure, he’d died and gone to the afterworld. There was really no other explanation for the vision standing above him.
He couldn’t see her clearly—if he were alive, he’d say his nictating third eyelid had closed but not the others. But he was dead, so it must have been a divine glow that surrounded the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.
Backlit with bright white light, she stood before him haloed in brilliant blues and purples.
Hair like starlight fell around her slim shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face that seemed to sparkle.
The sight of her shimmered and changed as light and reflections did across the rippling surface of the sea, a churning vision that filled Attalus with both awe and nausea.
Wait…should he be nauseous in the afterworld?
Surely those stories about divine, eternal punishment and retribution were just jest. He hadn’t been that bad, after all.
Then her scent hit him and everything, including the nausea, rolled away. He’d never known a scent could be so decadent—like jasmine and figs, amber and rain, sunshine and a southerly wind.
A happy rumble vibrated in his chest. Was this the messenger or guardian come to usher him to the afterworld?
There were so many stories of the afterworld, what it looked like and what it meant to go there, Attalus hadn’t bothered to pay attention to who of all the races might be right about it.
Whichever version this one was, though, was now his favorite.
His body was lethargic and alarmingly heavy; otherwise, he might’ve jumped when an outraged sound ripped from the goddess’s throat.
His vision stamped her little foot, turned on her heel, marched into the light where he couldn’t see her, and emitted the loudest, most unpleasant scream his ears had ever had the misfortune of hearing.
Dread began to pool in his stomach as the thought of eternal punishment flitted through his consciousness again.
Attalus could just make out movement, breaking up the white light emanating ahead. It was as though she paced agitatedly back and forth within it, her stomping and muttering growing angry with every turn.
She spoke in what sounded like several languages—none of them savraka. But they all carried the flavor of curses.
His orcish, Eirean, and faethling were rusty, but he managed to catch a few…rather unflattering things: “I’ll ring that seer’s neck…just wait until I…they’re having a laugh, they have to be…a dragon, a stupid fucking fire-lizard of all…”
Attalus tried to move his lips, to croon for her in the way dragons did for mates. To soothe, to entice. A few notes rattled in his throat before snuffing out. If she heard him, she didn’t indicate so.
Suddenly, she appeared above him again, her arms crossed and what he thought was a particularly wicked glower on her ethereal face.
“No, I don’t think he’s dead.” The female paused as she frowned down at him, only to answer an unspoken question. “Because his eyes are moving under there.”
Attalus…didn’t like where this was going. His mind might be murkier than his vision, but he was starting to suspect he wasn’t, in fact, completely dead. At least not yet.
“I’m not locking him in with a rockslide.”
Well, that was a relief at least—
“There might be other creatures in there.”
Hmph, Attalus huffed.
His vision went perfectly still. “Did you hear that?” Another strange pause. “I think he’s—ow! Fucking traitorous shit—ow!”
Something scrambled up onto Attalus’s snout, and he heard a series of tiny, heroic squeaks.
The female pointed threateningly at the squeaker. “Bite me again and I’ll let the unicorn eat you.”
Whatever this was—the last sparks in his dying mind or a strange scene concocted by his delirium—it certainly seemed like a fae woman arguing with a pine marten standing on his face.
Attalus wanted to ask, he really did, especially given that he increasingly suspected he wasn’t dead—just close to it.
Yet, his body wouldn’t move, the venom coating his veins and locking his muscles tight.
Dragons ran hot, but he could tell he burned with fever, and his hearts raced too quickly as the venom attacked them.
All he could do was lay there as the woman continued to inspect him and grumble.
She cursed the twin goddesses of the fae, as well as the sea and sky gods the dragons were partial to, the orcish All-Mother and Ever-Father, and even the human fates.
She ran the gamut, giving each their hateful due, as she worked her way down his body.
He knew the moment she found the bite wound. Breath hissed from between her teeth, confirming to Attalus that, yes, it was as bad as it felt. It might even have opened again.
“C’mere and hold the weasel back…Because I don’t want her to bite me again…Detain, not eat…Well, I’m not picking the fur out of your teeth if you do.”
There was a mighty scuffle of outraged squeaks and colorful curses before he sensed the woman kneel at his head.
With two fingers, she peeled back his third eyelid, letting light stab his eye. Attalus growled and winced at the blinding pain—but as his eye adjusted, something incredible happened.
He saw her.
The woman kneeling beside him truly was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. White hair in a loose plait fell to pool on the ground it was so long. Sapphire eyes rimmed in white lashes blinked at him under a concerned frown, and lilac lips had been pulled unhappily to the side.
He tried to croon for her again. Don’t worry over me, doe, he wanted to tell her. I’ll be just fine, for how could I die now having seen your perfect face?
That’s what she was. Perfection. A vision. His very own—
“If you can hear me in there, I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”
Attalus’s hearts wrenched in his chest when magic began to crackle across his scales. Wait wait waitwaitwait—
She was right, it fucking hurt.
He didn’t know, really, how much time passed after that. However, he was convinced now that he was indeed alive, for he couldn’t believe such pain could follow him into death.
What got him through the blistering agony of an open, envenomated wound was the promise of seeing his mysterious maiden again. He could sense her near, scent her, too, and her nearness gave him the incentive he needed to stick around a while longer.
There was often a weight on his snout or skull, and he liked to think it was her offering comfort; although, the weight often smelled too much of marten to be totally clear.
As he lay there in that vulnerable state, his fever raging and his body useless, he felt a strange, foreign magic pressing against him.
It wasn’t malicious; no indeed, if anything, it seemed almost…
curious about him. When it wasn’t coating his wound, encouraging the veins and muscles to heal and scales to regrow, he could often feel it tickling his wings or poking at his fangs.
Whenever he tried to inspect it for himself, coax it closer with a warm breath or cooing rumble, it fluttered away, a shy thing. He became entranced by it, so much so, that he hardly realized enough time had passed for him to open his eyes again.
Attalus finally came awake to a quiet, cool cave. The smell of ash was still present but not overwhelmingly so. His body was stiff and sore from laying on a cave floor, making his movements clumsy when he reached down to gingerly inspect the bite wound.
He found that strange magic there, twisting between his fingers. What he didn’t find was blood or seepage or even infection. New skin had closed over the wound, and he itched something fierce with the new scales already growing in.
“No itching.” A smack on his claws startled him.
Attalus looked up to behold his vision. A shuddering breath escaped his lungs to find her not a figment of his fevered imagination, but a real, breathing woman.
And what a woman.
Long legs led up to a trim hourglass torso below perfectly rounded breasts and slim shoulders.
That long, thick white plait laid over one, trailing down past her hips, where her fists had gathered into a universal sign of female annoyance.
Those jewel eyes glittered coldly down at him, her beautiful mouth thinned with apparent displeasure.
Gods, his cock shouldn’t stir at the sight of that, but perhaps he was just happy to be alive.
“If you’re awake, then you can answer some questions. Do you understand me, lizard?”
Attalus wanted to answer, truly he did, and he technically could in this form, but his lips weren’t as dexterous. His vision deserved a proper answer.
He wasn’t used to having to think about it, but with some effort, Attalus initiated the shift. His body shrunk and reformed, claws to hands, talons to feet, muzzle to face. It was a relief to feel himself in this form again, marking the end of what’d turned out to be a horrid few days.
In his best faethling, he said, “I understand I’m the luckiest man alive to have found myself in your care, phetala.”
His compliment was met with a snarl. “And just how did you come to be in my care, exactly?”
Offering his most winning smile, he said, “I would answer you, my lady, but first I must know where I’ve landed.”
“The faelands.”
Ah. Now that…that might be a problem. But it certainly would explain why the most beautiful fae woman in all creation was currently scowling at him. They were a secretive, insular sort of folk, the fae. Hardly ever seen outside their borders.
Speaking of—“How would I have gotten past the border? Everyone knows it cannot be passed through.”
“An excellent question,” she muttered.
Attalus smiled again, relieved that they were both unsure of something. Strangely, rather than be put at ease or even flattered by his charm, she seemed almost…appalled? Her eyes went wide and her frown somehow deepened.
“Whatever the reason, I’m pleased to be here now with you…?” He lifted his brows expectantly.
“You won’t be for long,” was her response.