A Ruin of Roses (Deliciously Dark Fairytales – B&tB Book 1)
A Ruin of Roses: Chapter 1

Glowing golden eyes tore me out of sleep. I sucked in a terrified breath and sat up in a rush. My hair was plastered to my face with sweat. My shirt clung to my back. A nightmare.

No, worse than a nightmare. A memory.

I still remembered busting through that tree line at fourteen and catching my foot on a rock. Falling and skidding on my face. When I’d stopped rolling, I lay sprawled out, facing the wood.

Those glowing golden eyes had glared at me through the darkness. The beast’s head had been impossibly high, among the tree branches. I’d never seen its body. The night had consumed it.

That image still played on a loop in my nightmares all these long years later. Nine years of replays.

A ragged, wet cough brought me out of my panic. I pulled in a deep breath to ground myself in the moment. The hack sounded again. Father. He was getting worse.

I sighed wearily, pushing back my hair and then the covers.

My sister, Sable, jerked awake in the narrow bed beside mine in our tiny room. We didn’t have much, but at least we had a roof over our heads. For now, anyway.

Muted moonlight filtered through the threadbare curtains, and I could just make out her face turning to me, her eyes large with fear. She knew what that cough meant.

“It’s okay,” I told her, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “It’s fine. I have more of the nulling elixir. We haven’t run out yet.”

She nodded, sitting up and bunching the sheets near her chest.

She was just fourteen, the age I’d been when I narrowly survived the beast only to lose Nana anyway.

It was different now, though. Since then, I’d worked diligently with the special everlass elixir I devised. It still didn’t cure the curse’s sickness, but it drastically slowed it down and nulled most of the effects. Because of it, and because I’d given the recipe to the village and helped them learn to make it, we’d only lost one person so far this year. If the winter would just let up already, spring would help us revitalize our gardens. The plants mostly went dormant in the winter, not growing many new leaves. The gardens in our small yards weren’t big enough to sustain us if we had someone on the brink. There were many on the brink.

My older brother, Hannon, pushed open the door and stuck his head in the room. His red hair swirled around his head like a tornado. A splash of freckles darkened his pale face. Unlike me, the guy didn’t tan for nothing. He came in two colors: white and red.

“Finley,” he said before realizing I was already up. He left the door open but stepped out, waiting for me.

“He’s deteriorating,” Hannon said softly when I was in the hall. “He doesn’t have long.”

“He’s lasted longer with the sickness than anyone else. And he’ll continue to last. I’ve made some recent improvements. It’ll be okay.”

I took a step toward Father’s room, just next to mine, but my brother stopped me with a hand to my arm. “He’s on borrowed time, Finley. How long can this go on? He’s suffering. The kids are watching him suffer.”

“That’s only because we’re down to the weak everlass leaves. As soon as the spring comes it’ll be better, Hannon, you’ll see. I’ll find a cure for him. He won’t join Nana and Mommy in the beyond. He won’t. I will find a cure. It must exist.”

“The only cure is breaking the curse, and no one knows how to do that.”

“Someone knows,” I said softly, opening Father’s door. “Someone in this goddess-ruined kingdom knows how to break that curse. I will find that person, and I will wring the truth out of them.”

A candle in a holder flickered on the table by the door. I picked it up and shielded the flame from the air as I hurried to Father’s side. Two chairs bracketed each side of the bed, always present. Sometimes we used them to gather around him when he was lucid. Lately, though, they were used for vigils, so we could watch with trepidation as he clung to life.

My father’s lined face was ashen within the candlelight. His eyelids trembled as though he were trapped in a nightmare.

He was, I supposed. We all were. The whole kingdom. Our mad king had used the demon king’s sly magic to settle a personal grudge, and we were all suffering the consequences. Actually, he wasn’t. He’d died and left us to rot. What a peach. They hadn’t said what he’d died from, but I hoped it was gangrene of the dick.

I set the candle on the bedside table before checking the fireplace at the other end of the room. The coals throbbed crimson then black, giving off enough heat to warm the kettle of water above it. We never knew when we’d need hot water. Given the curse had wiped out modern-day conveniences like electricity and running water, almost plunging us back into the Dark Ages, we needed to make do with what we had.

“Dash says we hardly have any usable leaves left, and the crop you planted isn’t ready yet,” Hannon said.

“I didn’t plant— Never mind.” I didn’t bother explaining that the everlass would spring up naturally every year if you coaxed it with good soil and rigorous maintenance. Hannon wasn’t much of a gardener. “Dash shouldn’t be telling stories.”

Dash was the youngest, a boy of eleven who moved more than he listened…except when he was listening to me mutter to myself, it seemed. I hadn’t realized he’d overheard me.

“I’m good with plants and gardening, but I’m not a stem witch, Hannon. It’s a hobby, not magic. It might not get ball-chillingly cold here, but it’s cold enough to stunt plant growth. I just need a little sun. I keep asking the goddess, but she clearly does not give a crap about us. Divine, my arse. Maybe we should go back to the old ways of our ancestors. They worshipped a bunch of gods sitting on a mountain or whatever. Maybe one of them would listen.”

“You read too much.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“You daydream too much, then.”

I shrugged. “That is probably true.”

My medicinal station waited in the corner, herbs and a mortar and pestle set on a wooden tray. The two measly leaves in the ceramic bowl had already been dried in the dying light of the evening sun.

Very poetic, this particular healing recipe. Bone-chillingly poetic. It had taken a lot of reading and trial and error to figure out what worked best, and I wasn’t finished. I was sure the demon king was laughing at me somewhere. At all of us. He was the bastard who’d taken the king’s gold and worked up the bullshit curse that currently plagued our land, after all. His minions had been stationed in the kingdom to watch us struggle. Too bad they weren’t rotting beneath the ground with the late king. They deserved to be, dickfaced rat fuckers.

“What was that?” Hannon asked, his temperament far sweeter than mine, though that wasn’t much of an accomplishment. I’d set the bar pretty low.

“Nothing,” I murmured. It wasn’t ladylike to swear, or so the people of our antiquated village always reminded me. It was equally unladylike to flip them off after they scowled at me. Very uptight, this village, and without two coppers to rub together, the lot of us.

My father convulsed, spasming with each wet cough.

Hands shaking, fighting to remain calm, I crushed the leaves with the pestle. A pungent aroma, like ripe cheese mixed with garlic, blasted my senses. They might be small leaves, but they were full of healing magic.

My father lunged toward the side of the bed.

Hannon was there in a moment, sitting beside him and bringing up the bucket from the floor. He helped Father lean over the lip and retch. There’d be blood in that throw-up, I well knew.

“Focus,” I told myself softly, shaking two drops of rainwater off my fingertip and onto the crushed leaves. I’d collected those in the dead of night. That seemed to work best.

That done, I sprinkled in the other herbs, which were much easier to come by—a sprig of rosemary, one leaf of dill, a splash of cinnamon. And, finally, the ingredient that was almost as important as the everlass—the full, healthy petal of one red rose.

It had to be red, too. The others didn’t work nearly so well. I had no idea what red roses had to do with this curse or the demons, but the effects of that ingredient increased the potency of the elixir tenfold. It made me think there were one or two more ingredients out there that I hadn’t tried yet that would act as a cure. A long-term cure where we didn’t need more and more draught just to see the same effects. Something that would null the sickness altogether. If it was out there, I’d find it. Hopefully in time to save Father.

Father’s groan spurred me on. A rattled breath struggled through his tightened throat. At least he had a strong heart. A heart attack had taken Mother a year ago. Her body had been under too much pressure, and her heart gave up the fight. I hadn’t been as good at the nulling elixir then. Father had more time.

He has to have more time.

“Honestly, Dash is right. We need more supplies,” I said, working the pestle. “Our plants aren’t enough.”

“I thought you said yesterday that no one else had any left either?”

“Not that they are willing to spare, no.”

Everyone had ailing parents and maybe one or two ailing grandparents, if they were lucky. Our resources were tapped.

“Well then, where are you…” He let the words drift away. “No.”

“I don’t have much choice, Hannon. Besides, I’ve been in and out of that field a bunch of times over the last few years with no problems. At night, even. The beast probably doesn’t patrol the Forbidden Wood anymore.”

My hands started to shake, and I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Lying to Hannon was one thing—he was a trusting soul and wanted to believe me—but I wasn’t foolish enough to believe my own lies. Just because I hadn’t seen the beast in any visits since the first, that did not mean he’d given up hunting trespassers. Our village was at the edge of the kingdom, and I was sneaky. I took great pains to ensure I wasn’t seen. I heard the roars, though. He was out there, waiting. Watching. The ultimate predator.

The beast wasn’t the only danger in the wood, either. Terrible creatures had been set loose by the curse, and unlike the beast, they didn’t seem to be hindered by the tree line. They used to burst out of the Forbidden Wood and eat any villagers out after dark. Occasionally they’d barge through a front door as well, and eat villagers out of their homes.

It hadn’t happened in a long time. None of us understood why they’d left us be, but they were still in the wood. I’d heard their roars, too. That place was a clusterfuck of danger.

“It’s fine,” I reaffirmed, even though he hadn’t rebuffed me vocally. “The everlass field is close. I’ll just nip in really quickly, grab what I need, and get out. I have a great sense of direction in that place. In and out.”

“Except it is two days until the full moon.”

“That’ll just help me see better.”

“It’ll also increase the beast’s power. He’ll smell better. Run faster. Chomp harder.”

“I don’t think a soft chomp would be any better than a hard one, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be quick. I know the way.”

“You shouldn’t know the way.”

But from the way he said it, I knew Hannon was giving up the fight. He didn’t have any more steam to talk me out of going. I kind of hoped he’d try harder.

I grimaced when I’d meant to smile, and my stomach started to churn. I did need to go. And I had gone a bunch these last few years and come back safely.

I’d hated it every time.

“When?” Hannon asked somberly.

“The leaves are the most potent when harvested at night,” I said, “and we are on borrowed time, like you said. No time like the present.”

“Are you absolutely sure you need to go?”

I let my shoulders sag for a moment. “Yes.”

An hour later, I stood in the front room with a tweed crossbody bag draped across my sternum. The plant seemed to respond best when carried in this type of bag. I’d gotten the tip from a book and proven the theory with trial and error.

My brothers and sister stood with me.

“Be careful.” Hannon squeezed my shoulders, looking down into my eyes.

Standing about three inches taller than my six feet, he was the tallest man in our village. One of the strongest, too, with large arms and a thick frame. Most would assume he would be the one risking his life in the beast’s haunt. Or the one hunting for our dinner in the safer forest to the east. But no, Hannon was the guy who wrung his hands and waited at home to patch me up when I came bleeding through the door. Good thing, too, because I’d limped in on more than one occasion. Those damned wild boars in the east forest made an art of mauling. Vicious fuckers.

The beast was another situation altogether.

Courage.

A night bird cried a warning in the distance. The cottages around us on the dirt lane squatted in silence, their inhabitants asleep at this time of night. Asleep, or sitting quietly in their darkened homes, not wanting to draw the notice of anything that might’ve slunk through the tree line. It might not have happened in years, but people around here had long memories.

“Don’t take any chances,” Hannon said. “If you see the beast, get out of there.”

“If I see the beast, I’ll probably piss myself.”

“Fine. But do it as you’re running.”

Sage advice.

“It’s fine, Hannon. I took the smell-masking elixir. That usually works when I’m hunting. It’ll help.”

He nodded, but the pep talk apparently wasn’t done. “There is only one beast,” he said. “That’s the main concern. You’ve confronted the other creatures in that wood and come out swinging.”

Not exactly, but as I said, Hannon was a trusting soul. He didn’t seem to know when I was lying. If he thought I was tougher than I was, he’d worry less. Who was that hurting?

I turned and gave Sable a fierce hug, kissing her on the head. Dash was next, and then I had to peel him away.

“Let me go, too,” Dash begged. “I know where it is. I can help collect more. I can fight off the monsters!”

“How…” I stopped myself. Now was not the time to shout at my younger brother. I pointed at Hannon instead. “While I’m gone, find out how he knows where the field is. Wait to punish him until I get back. I want to be in on it.”

I gave Hannon one last hug and quickly set off. I could do this. I had to do this.

My bow had been broken last week by one of those bastard boars, so I was going in with nothing but the dagger and the pocketknife tucked into my trousers. Neither weapon would do a whole helluva lot against the beast. Then again, if the beast really did have scaled armor, the ten arrows I owned wouldn’t do much to protect me, either.

I cut through the back gardens of two cottages, scaling the fences, and approached the edge of the Forbidden Wood. A patch of goat-trimmed land was all that separated me from it. Weeds crawled toward the perimeter…and then wilted and died. Ghostly trunks rose on the edge, twisted branches reaching for the village. Beyond lay shadowy depths, sliced through with moonlight under the star-flecked sky.

I cleared my mind of the stakes. Pushed away the image of Father’s sickbed. Tossed aside the worry in Hannon’s eyes and the feel of Sable and Dash clinging to me when I hugged them goodbye, hopefully not for the last time. Right now, it was just me and these woods. Me and the creatures that lurked within their deteriorating depths. Me and the beast, if it came to it.

I would not let my father down. I would not fail him.

The edge of my dagger slid against the hard leather of its sheath hanging from my hip. I stepped lightly and carefully, aiming for springing ground and avoiding anything that might snap or crinkle. It was easy now, still in the village. Once I passed that tree line, it would be a whole lot harder. A whole lot deadlier.

Not a sound vibrated through the air. No wind stirred the frostbitten branches or boughs. My breath puffed white. I noticed every little detail of my surroundings. I was the prey, and I did not want to tango with the hunter.

The air cooled as I crossed the threshold. I stilled and took a deep breath. Panic would get me dead. I needed to keep a level head.

Onward I went with watchful eyes. I needed to pay attention to any movement. Any change in scent or sound.

I remembered a time, before the curse, when the Forbidden Wood had been lovely. Green and lush. Now, though, the brittle grasses crackled under my worn boots. The bark felt flaky under my fingers. No leaves graced the branches, even of the evergreen trees, and no flowers adorned the winter budding plants.

Up ahead, around a large pine scantily clad with needles, I spotted it—a birch that didn’t seem to fit in with its peers. Just behind it was my destination.

The everlass field had been less than half its current size when I first found it. It had grown over the years, not that it really mattered. I could only use what I could steal, and I didn’t dare do that often.

Crack.

Adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream. I froze with my hands out like an idiot, as though ready for actual flight. I might have courage, but I clearly wasn’t cool when handling danger.

That had sounded like a twig snapping.

With bated breath, I waited for something to happen. Then waited some more—watching for movement, listening for sounds. Nothing.

Letting out a shaky breath, I continued on. The shapes of trees shifted around me, crawling across the star-speckled blackness above. A creature shrieked distantly on my left. The sound spread through the air before trailing away, like ripples in a pond. My heart sped up, but the sound was too far away to worry me at the moment. Hopefully the creature would keep screeching so I could track its travel route.

A horrible scream rent the air, also distant. It sounded like a human in peril, being eaten alive or gruesomely tortured, or a man with a paper cut on his finger. It was intense distress, in other words, needing help immediately, or death might ensue.

Nice try, fucker.

I’d heard that creature before. I’d actually even seen it as I was panic-sprinting home one time. Its goal was to lure do-gooders. People came to help, and it killed them.

Or that was how it clearly thought its ruse would go. Except all knew that in the Forbidden Wood, it was everyone for themselves. There were no do-gooders here. That thing could go on screaming for all I cared. That would at least prevent it from sneaking up on me.

The birch was close now, rising stoically.

Its branches shivered dramatically, as though it were cold.

I froze again, and suddenly wondered why I always shoved my arms out like some sort of confused dancer when I freaked out…

But seriously, why in the goddess’s secret cupboard was the tree shivering? That hadn’t happened before. I’d passed this tree every time I came to this field, and it had never moved because of anything but the wind.

This is a shit time for a tree to be doing the jig, folks, I thought to the invisible audience watching my adventure. It was something I’d been doing since I was little, and I hadn’t given up the habit at twenty-three. Back in the day I’d done it because I was pretending to be a jester or a queen, but now I did it out of comfort. And eccentricity, I supposed.

Let’s keep our heads here, everybody. Things are getting a bit strange.

I gave the shivering birch a wider berth, thankful when it stopped moving. The night fell quiet once again, the screaming imposter taking a break for a moment. The field lay before me, coated in moonlight.

I scanned the area beyond the clearing. Nothing moved. No other trees shivered.

A backward glance—with narrowed eyes at that birch—and all was equally clear. No bodily warnings of danger approaching, no feeling of eyes on me. It was now or never.

Dagger back in its holster and pocketknife at the ready, I scanned the plants as I carefully made my way through them. Most herbalists would call them weeds. But most herbalists were faeries, and they stuck their noses up at plants they couldn’t grow. Or so people said. No one in the village had seen one for sixteen years.

Of course, that didn’t stop the faeries from seeking them out. Everlass was the most potent healer in all the kingdoms. And guess what? It only grew in lands ruled or maintained by dragon shifters. Suck on that, faeries.

Even though this kingdom was basically in stewardship of the demon king because of the curse, it still had the magic of the dragons. Most of the nobility had been killed soon after the mad king perished, but the everlass remained unscathed. All we had to do was learn to work with it.

I’d always thought it was romantic. Without the presence of dragons, the everlass wouldn’t sprout from the soil. It was like the protective dragon magic infused the very fibers of the ground we walked on and gave the everlass courage to take the leap.

This plant was regal. Regal meaning incredibly fussy and hard to work with. If you were too rough or hasty in your ministrations, it would shrivel and reduce in potency. It demanded focused and careful attention, if not love.

And I did love it. Why wouldn’t I? It was saving my village.

I freed only the largest and healthiest of the leaves, being careful not to upset the seed pods that would ensure new life when the time came. As I went, I pruned any dead or dying leaves, of which there were very few.

I tucked the leaves into my sack, allowing them room. It wasn’t good to bunch them together so soon after harvesting. They worked better when they had a little space to breathe, like the plants themselves. If I didn’t have to worry about being chased, attacked, and eaten, I’d carry the leaves home in a big tray, none of them touching their neighbor.

When my bag was full, I straightened up and swept my gaze over the field. I wondered how many other people snuck into this place to use it. I’d never seen anyone else, but the plants were properly pruned and managed. That spoke of a group of caring, knowledgeable people, probably from the other villages. I’d seen what happened to the plants of my neighbors who didn’t do their due diligence. They grew wild and unruly.

I wasn’t the only one who showered these plants with love. Not surprising, but still, it warmed my heart. I hoped the other villages were at least faring as well as we were.

A whinnying owl call startled me out of my reverie. I pinched my face, listening. It was off to the side, decently close. That wasn’t startling in itself—it sounded pissed off, but it could just be mad at its mate or another bird. Maybe it had noticed a little critter making its way across the ground or something, I didn’t know. I wasn’t an owl behavioral expert. No, what was startling was that it was the first time I’d heard that sort of owl in the Forbidden Wood.

A shivering birch, and now an owl. What was going on tonight?

Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.

Be quiet now, everyone. If we’re sneaky-sneaky, no one will bother us.

I pivoted where I stood and put on a burst of speed, still picking my way through the plants with care but doing it as fast as I possibly could.

A soft chuff caught my attention and flooded me with a fearful chill. My flight reflex very nearly had me hiking up my pants and sprinting through the wood like some sort of hobgoblin.

Was it the beast? Something else? Maybe it didn’t matter. The sound had come from a larger animal, and anything that large in this wood was a predator of some kind.

I let my breath out very slowly. The animal was southwest of me, in the same direction as the owl’s outburst, but closer.

I looked down at the pocketknife clutched in my shaking hand. That weapon was not going to cut it.

Damn it, now I was thinking in dad jokes.

Straining my eyes, I watched for movement as I grabbed the blade to fold it away. Watched to see if anything interrupted the shards of soft moonlight piercing the shadows. The still night didn’t reveal its secrets.

Courage now, folks. Everyone remain calm.

I turned slowly toward home, carefully lowering my feet one at a time. I didn’t want my feet to slide on the crusty dirt. Breathing slowly helped, too. I needed air to fuel my brain and my muscles. I needed to think or run, or both simultaneously. Blind terror never helped anyone.

My pocketknife made a snick sound as I closed it and the blade lodged home. I paused, gritting my teeth. Silence reverberated around me…until a wail rang out, like an old woman grieving over the lost. Loud and low and full of bitter agony.

I jumped. My pocketknife tumbled from my fingers.

Fuck! I dropped the fucking knife. Hold on to your dicks, folks, this is about to get hairy.

Another cry, this time like an infant. It rattled my senses as the knife hit the ground in multiple thumps.

This new creature’s sounds came from the north. Directly north. Fifty yards, maybe, possibly a bit more.

Loud grunts followed. Hunka, hunka, hunka.

Same direction, similar distance. It was obviously the creature from a moment ago, some sort of mockingbird of terror. What the grunts were supposed to attract, I did not know or care.

I bent in a rush, trying to peer through the deep shadows to find my knife, and then ran my fingers against the ground, searching. Dried grasses brushed my palm.

Another owl blasted its warning— or maybe the same owl? I didn’t know. Were they tenacious fuckers who followed trespassers like grumpy old men? I needed to look that up. Regardless, its call was much closer this time. Thirty yards, maybe less. Southwest, in the direction of the large predator.

Fuck the pocketknife.

I straightened up swiftly, adjusted the sack of leaves, and put on a burst of speed around the birch. It shivered like it had on the way in. This time, though, the movement seemed more intense. The leaves clattered together like dancing skeletons. Branches creaked, waving in the absence of wind.

What in the double fuck was up with that tree? Had I cut down its cousin or something?

The mockingbird of terror abruptly stopped its grunting. It had heard me. It knew something was here.

That goddess-damned birch would join its cousin if I had any say. I’d dance naked around the flames.

Swallowing a swear, I hurried forward to put some distance between me and the freaking-out flora. A patch of brittle grass between two thick trunks awaited me ahead, and I slowed. My vision had narrowed to directly in front of me, and my heart pounded adrenaline through my body, signs of the flight reflex. I slowed further and sucked in a breath. I could not blindly run. I could not. I had to think this through. I had to be smart.

The falling knife hadn’t been that loud. The creatures in the area didn’t know I was here. They only knew that the birch was a diva dickface looking for attention. And even if they did know there was a trespasser in their midst, they wouldn’t be able to track me. My scent was hidden due to the hand-crafted herbal brew I’d drunk before leaving the house, and the ground was too hard for my feet to make distinct tracks in the darkness. Right now, I was still an unknown.

I eyed the grass ahead while listening. The birch finally settled down, leaving a gaping absence of sound in its wake. No movement caught my ear. No screeches.

My chest felt tight, strained with the pressure of staying calm. I focused on my breathing and started moving slowly forward again, easing the dagger from its sheath as I did so. The grass issued some light crackles before I met hard dirt again, only cut through with patches of dead grass. I barely stopped myself from heaving a loud sigh.

An owl screeched overhead.

I jerked and jumped at the same time. The blade of my dagger thudded uselessly off the tree trunk to my left. The owl called its warning again, and I wished I had my bow so I could shut that thing up right now. Get off my lawn, owl!

The old woman’s wail sounded again, slicing through me. Northeast, tracking me.

I moved faster now, careful with my footfalls. I had about a hundred yards to go to get out of this place. Maybe a bit more. Not very far in the scheme of things, but how fast could that creature run? I was fast, but it was almost certainly faster. And the village border only meant something to the beast. Crossing the boundary line wouldn’t be enough to escape this creature. I’d need to get inside my house and lock the door. That was plenty of distance for it to catch me.

Walking would be a lot slower and not much quieter. The alternative to walking was to stand my ground with a half-starved body from years of barely getting by and a medium-sized, somewhat dull dagger. Nice odds.

A strange feeling rolled through my chest, like a heavy weight turning over. Shortly afterward, a shock of fire coursed through me, and I couldn’t help sucking in a startled breath.

It felt…wonderful. Fucking amazing, actually. The heat, the power, and the…desire?

Oh shit. Incubus. I hadn’t taken the draught to stop a demon’s lust magic because I hadn’t thought there’d be any in the Forbidden Wood. But why wouldn’t there be? They got a free pass all over the kingdom. My not having seen them in here before meant very little.

Thankfully, they weren’t dangerous enough to give me pause.

Grip tight on the dagger handle, I pushed through the pounding in my core and kept moving. Ignored the sudden explosion of wetness between my thighs, sending shooting sparks of delight every time my upper legs gave even a glimmer of friction. And what was that smell? Balmy and spicy and delicious. Fuck, that smelled good.

The sound of a wailing baby tore through the night air, desperately close, twenty yards or so to my left. The mockingbird of terror had moved in my direction on a diagonal. Somehow it was tracking me without being able to smell or see me.

Or maybe my smell-blindness elixir didn’t work as well as I’d thought…

I looked upward, thinking about climbing. It would be a struggle to reach the nearest branches. I doubted I could do it quickly or quietly, and even if I managed it, what if the creature could fly? It would be on me in a heartbeat.

Running might be my only option.

Before I could, the strange weight in my chest lurched. Lava spilled out and dripped down to my sodden core. I couldn’t stop a moan as an intimate presence feathered across my skin, as though someone were physically touching me with silky fingers.

My breathing turned ragged as I desperately tried to shut the feeling out.

It was…incredible, though. The best fucking thing I’d ever felt. Primal, almost, reaching down into the very center of me and pulling out a raw hunger I didn’t want to shy away from. Desperate desires flitted through my head, of touching, of tangled bodies, of the taste of a hard cock sliding into my mouth.

Fuck me, this incubus was a strong motherfucker. I’d never felt something like this before.

I had to push past it. I had to ignore the sudden, brain-fogging desire to drop down right now and spread my legs, begging to be taken. To be dominated.

When the fuck did a girl like me want to be dominated?

Right fucking now, that was when.

This was not how I got out of this wood alive. This was not real.

It certainly felt fucking real, though. This wasn’t like the demons in the village, who had a sort of oily presence in their lustful magic. This felt like a piece of me…a secret piece of me…exposed.

Fuck. Not good. I had to shut it out!

Keep moving, I urged myself. Keep going. You’re stronger than this. Resist!

I pushed forward again, stumbling like a drunk. How was I going to fight the mockingbird of terror in this state? Was the incubus working with it? If not, it needed to show itself so I could kill it really quickly and move on.

The seam of my pants rubbing against my slick sex nearly undid me. My hard nipples rubbed against the coarse binding surrounding them, which was suddenly not nearly tight enough. My quickened breath was not because of my fast walk.

This was so fucked up. I could barely focus on my extreme panic.

A low growl sliced through every band of pleasure wrapping around my body, and the desire fell away like cut ribbons. In its place, cold terror once again reigned.

I jerked to a stop, dagger up, eyes as big as the moon. The baritone rumbling continued, freezing my blood.

I turned my head slowly toward the sound on my right.

Shadow lined the rough grooves of bark on the large tree. Moonlight carved through the darkness beside it. I didn’t hear or see a damn thing. For a few solid moments, nothing in the whole wood seemed to move.

A shape popped out from the left, the opposite direction from where I’d been looking. The leathery body was bent over on two stout legs, its head still cresting mine by about four feet. Small arms and little hands reached forward as its huge mouth gaped open. I’d half expected something like a bird. Not the case. Two rows of teeth dripped with saliva.

It lunged at me, intent on snapping my face between its jaws.