His back stiffens, and his shoulders draw back. “You speak strangely for a wood goblin.”
“And I can’t make any sense of a word you say.”
His strange eyes narrow. “If you must know, my home is northward, at Talamh Cúig.”
That name rings a bell. “Wait… Talamh what?”
“You’ve never heard of the Land of Five? Indeed, my hound is one hundred times smarter than you.”
This guy is a jerk. But I’m not afraid of him anymore. Okay, so it’s a little crazy not to be terrified, but I don’t think he’ll hurt me. Annoy the crap out of me, yes, that’s a given. But I feel safe enough. At least for now.
As I squeeze water from my work uniform, tiny bells tinkle in my head then clang like a fire alarm. Hands stilling, I stare at his smug expression. “Hold up… you said the Land of Five, right?”
“Yes. Tis exactly what I said. You really aren’t the brightest goblin I’ve ever met.”
Nope. That’s just not possible. But then again… “The Land of Five?” I repeat, then force myself to scrutinize him properly.
From his gilded head to the tips of his muddy boots, my eyes inspect every inch. He wears finely stitched leather pants and chest armor. A heavy, dark cloak. Long sword and scabbard hang from narrow hips. That gold hair, glittering with celestial colors, can’t be real. Cliffed cheekbones, strong nose, a lushly curved mouth. And, finally, those irises of swirling metal.
I take in the surroundings.
Above us, purple clouds drift. A bird, unlike any I’ve seen before, darts through a dramatic slate-colored sky, its iridescent feathers trailing sparks behind it. Dragging my gaze from the skies, I consider the dog again, its hulking size, the eyes that glow fire-poker red, and reality boots me in the gut.
This guy may be a huntsman of sorts, but he’s not a cosplaying huntsman. He’s not even a human huntsman. As crazy as it sounds, I’m starting to think he’s a goddamn faery!
Oh, crap. I am in the deepest, darkest trouble. Right here and as solid as the wet ground I sit upon, is the dream that has plagued me my whole life.
It’s real.
He’s real.
I’m not in a hospital bed, doped up after a mugging attack, hallucinating a handsome boy dressed in fantasy costume. Nope. Instead, the improbable event my mother warned me about all those years ago has actually happened.
I’ve slipped and fallen.
And I am in Faery.
Gray trees, ghostly branches, and golden hair blur in my vision, my head spinning.
I cover my mouth, swallow bile, and the huntsman steps forward.
Closer. Then closer still.
Say hello to forever, the strange girls had said last night.
Say hello to forever, like an incantation. A curse.
And, now, here I am in Faery. Were those words a warning? Were they trying to tell me I’d be stuck here forever?
Blood rushes back to my brain, and I point at the hunter who stands there, statue-still. It’s unnatural. Horrible. Beautiful. “You’re fae!”
“Of course I am.”
I study him again—the princely bearing, each movement graceful and feline, his uncaring attitude—aloof as a Siamese cat. I thought he was just an enthusiastic role player, a good actor. But, no, he’s a living, breathing, sorrow-sucking, hard-hearted faery. A mythological creature and a definite threat to my existence.
“What else would I be?” he asks. Cloak blowing around his calves, he swaggers even closer. “And you are a goblin. That much is clear.”
“I’m not a goblin,” I say between gritted teeth.
“A gnome then,” he states with confidence.
“A gnome? Don’t be ridiculous! I’m a girl.”
“A fae? Of my own kind? No.” He plants a fist on his hip as he leans back dramatically. “It cannot be. From which court do you come?”
“I’m a human girl. Haven’t you seen one before?” I mimic his patronizing tone.
“What? A human?” The huntsman’s lips twist, and he bends forward to inspect me.
This close, I can see his pupils dilate. Cruel hands grip my clothes and raise me high. Heart pounding, my feet swing through the air, knocking against his legs. I’m held nose to nose by a wild creature who I pray isn’t feeling too hungry. Do fae eat people?
“Well, I confess I’m astonished,” he drawls. “The last time I saw one of you, I was a brawling boy. Are you quite sure you’re mortal and not a shaggy hobgoblin?”
“Oh, stop it,” I say, my anger boiling over again. “You know very well what I am.”
A gilded eyebrow rises, plush mouth quirking at me. His top lip is extra-pouty. It’s quite adorable, if you can forget what he is—a killing machine. Then his silver gaze intensifies as he studies me with reptilian focus. “Yes. Unfortunately for you—you are indeed human. I suppose that does account for the smell.”
With a dismissive grunt, his grip releases, and I crumple to the ground.
Brushing leaves off, I stumble to my feet. “What rubbish. I washed yesterday.”
I have no idea what I’m doing.
I should be asking sensible questions like—how the hell has this happened? And, how do I get out of here? But, no, here I am in Faery, captured by a cantankerous huntsman and his terrifying hound, both of whom probably want to gobble me up, and I’m shooting my mouth off like I’m itching for trouble. Fae-boy is right. I am an idiot.
“You may have washed at some point, but I would guess the event occurred many moons ago. Since you’ve fallen through a portal from the human realm, you’ve most likely been lying in the dirt an age. Hence your ripe aroma.”
Daftly, I sniff my armpit. “But that’s only a little sweat. And it’s completely normal to perspire after working hard all night long and—”
“Ah, so you’re a peasant just as I reckoned. A sweaty human-goblin peasant.”
“Stop saying goblin. And don’t you ever break into a sweat yourself, oh virile and mighty hunter? I hope you realize, dressed in that outfit, you look peasant-like yourself.”
That’s a lie. Covered in a sack made from sewn-together takeout bags, he’d still outshine any fashion model on a catwalk. His beauty is diamond-bright, razor-sharp, and yet somber and lonely as a grave.
“Virile…” he mutters to his boots. Brow creasing, he rubs his cloak’s embroidered edges between long fingers, lost in thoughts of who knows what.
“You’re filthy,” I say, pointing at his mud-splattered chest armor and the dark leather pants buttering his thighs.
With a sly smile, he flicks glowing eyes to my face. “In my land, huntsmen never raise a sweat.”
He says the word huntsmen like it’s hilarious and he’s holding back a snicker.
“I don’t understand what’s funny. Won’t you share the joke?”
“Joke?” He snorts. “Huntsmen, also, never jest.” Clouds shift overhead as he throws a glance over his shoulder. “Stand now and see if you can walk a little. We must leave here at once.”
The pony-sized dog curls its hairy lip at me. When did it creep so close? I shuffle away from its fangs.
“He won’t bite. Unless, of course, I suggest he does.”