She's No Faerie Princess Page 2

  Thankfully, things were staying pretty quiet—quiet enough that twenty-four-hour patrols probably weren't strictly necessary, but you just never knew when that one problem you wanted to avoid would rear its ugly head.

  Or scream bloody murder.

  Before a sharp feminine cry had even faded from an "eek" to an echo, Walker had whipped around, pinpointed the source of the sound, and launched himself toward it, sprinting through the trees in a blur of speed and swear words.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 2

  Fiona stepped out of the other side of the gate and into an inky blackness, sighing in irritation. Darn it, one of these days she was going to have to get a handle on those stupid time changes. She stepped forward into the dark, muttering to herself, and promptly tripped over something immovable laid directly in her path. It might help her vacation relaxation plan if she didn't go stumbling around blindly and walking into things like an idiot. She paused for a moment to let her eyes adjust from the bright daylight of Faerie to the dimness of a Manhattan night, or at least one in the depths of the city's wildest park.

  It only took a few seconds before she could see almost as well as she could have in the middle of a sunny afternoon. Hitching her bag higher onto her shoulder, she scanned the area around her and stepped over the fat tree root in front of her bare feet. She headed toward the park entrance, confident she knew where she was going. This was the same gate she'd used on her other trips to the human world, so at least things looked familiar. And she knew exactly where she wanted to go—straight into the East Village to see if any of her favorite bands were playing. Some frenetic music in an overcrowded human club sounded like the perfect way to spend her evening. She couldn't think of much else that would be as drastically different from a night at the Fae courts.

  At this time of night, her path through the woods appeared deserted, but Fiona didn't plan to jeopardize her vacation by taking chances. She made a subtle gesture with her hand and stirred up a little of the magic inside her to cast a small glamour. She had planned ahead and brought a small reserve of magic with her from Faerie in case of emergency. She could have spared her reserves and tried to gather up some of the scarce fragments of Fae magic that managed to linger in the human world, but such scraps were few and far between here, and what magic did exist in this world was almost completely inaccessible to her. No one had ever really explained why that was—why the Fae couldn't tap into the magic inherent to the human world and why the rare mortal witch who had visited Faerie over the last couple of millennia had found it equally impossible to harness the magic of that world. Something in the molecular fabric of the two worlds made their forces incompatible. Like oil and water, Fiona and the magic of the mortal world didn't mix, but she didn't expect to use much magic during her trip. That had been one of the reasons she'd opted to come here. She could afford to tap into what she'd brought with her.

  The little shimmer that accompanied the spell barely registered in the darkness, but it made a significant impact on her appearance. The long fall of her jet-black hair turned into a close, shaggy crop of electric blue, moussed on its ends and tipped in shocks of bright fuchsia. Her pale, cream white skin took on a golden cast from a liberal sprinkling of freckles on every inch of visible skin, and her new outfit left a lot of skin visible. In place of the gown she had been wearing were a couple of casually layered and strategically torn tank tops in black and blue. Below them, she wore a pleated plaid skirt in a tartan Scotland had never intended and a length that was guaranteed to make any man she met take a much closer look. Her legs were covered in lacy black thigh-high stockings that ended just about where her hem began and disappeared at the other end into heavy black boots that laced halfway up her calves.

  Grinning, Fiona added a swagger to her stride. She was in Manhattan. Now she would fit right in.

  She let the twigs snap under her feet as she practically skipped down the path in anticipation of the amusement awaiting her. Once she got to the park's entrance, she could hop a subway to 9th Street and see what she could see. Maybe CBGB would have a good show. Or there were always Manitoba's as an alternative, or Mona's if she changed her mind and decided to go for Guinness and songs that reminded her more of home. Somehow she didn't think that would be happening.

  Ooh! And maybe she'd try that little noodle house she'd spotted near Washington Square last time, just to see if they still made that pad mi ga ti dish…

  Nearly tasting the coconut milk and hot chilies, Fiona sent a pebble skittering down the path. She watched as it bounced off the cloven hoof of a very large, very black, very fiery-eyed, and very not-nice-looking creature with curling horns and waves of heat rolling off its hulking frame.

  That was about when she screamed.

  Right after that was about when she ran.

  Her heart leaped into her throat and her stomach sank into her boots as shock and fear and confusion took over, sending her sprinting for safety.

  Sweet stars above, that's a demon!

  Her mind raced along with her feet across the forest floor. She veered off the path and darted around trees, cursing as she heard the muffled thunder of the creature's footfalls echoing close behind hers. Not only was that a demon, but it was now chasing her over the uneven terrain.

  She knew it was a demon even though she'd never seen one before. In fact, she couldn't think of a single soul who had. The creatures had been banished from the human world and then from Faerie ages ago at the end of the Fae-Demon Wars. They were supposed to be bound to their own world, the Below, not lurking in the middle of Manhattan to prey on any Fae who happened to travel by.

  Apparently, no one had bothered to mention that to this fellow.

  She could feel its hot, fetid breath at her back and poured on a fresh burst of speed. She had no idea what could be going on or where the beast could have come from, but she didn't intend to slow down long enough to ask. She didn't intend to slow down at all. She may not have met a demon before, but she knew enough to realize she didn't want to meet this one. Everything she knew came from the stories of her people, and her people weren't exactly the biggest fans of those who walked Below. A few centuries of violent conflict could do that to a relationship.

  Casting a frantic glance around, Fiona looked for an escape route or a hiding place or a weapon or a miracle. She wasn't picky, so long as it kept her alive past the next five minutes. If she could just get back to the gate, she might be able to dart back through and lose her pursuer. The meager store of magic she'd brought with her from home would never be enough to cast any sort of effective defensive spell and she obviously couldn't gather up any mortal magic, but in Faerie she'd be able to tap into the magic of the land if the demon managed to break through the wards and follow her there. Considering her current options seemed to boil down to that or getting her heart ripped out of her chest, it might be worth a try.

  Tucking her head down, she lengthened her stride to its limit and called up her last reserves of speed. Praying her luck and her ankles would hold, Fiona ran flat-out straight for the trunk of a huge old pine tree and darted suddenly to the side, digging in her heels, spinning on a dime, and heading on an angled path back the way she'd come. The demon snarled something that she was glad not to understand. Just the sounds struck her as foul and corrupted, and she shuddered even as she ran.

  She heard a horrible roar and a rending and glanced back over her shoulder just long enough to see the creature grab onto the same pine she'd spun around seconds before to stop its forward momentum. It worked, but the tree didn't survive. Its roots tore free with a painful snap, and the demon tossed it aside like a stick of kindling to crash to the forest floor.

  Fiona did not take this as a good sign.

  Hauling in a ragged breath, she decided the small reserve of magic she'd brought with her might just have to do. If the demon got much closer, she wouldn't have any choice but to throw whatever power she had into a spell and hope it would be enough. She just hoped it wouldn't
come to that, because a spell that strong might drain too much power from her and leave her completely and totally vulnerable.

  She gathered her legs beneath her to leap atop the first of several boulders gathered together in a wide outcropping at the edge of a small clearing in the trees. She needed to get to safer ground, and failing that, she needed to get to ground the demon wasn't on.

  Behind her, she heard it roar as it reached out with one grotesquely elongated arm, its claws catching around her ankle and stabbing through the heavy leather of her boots to scratch the delicate skin beneath. She cried out reflexively and grabbed onto the stone with both hands. The cruel grip on her leg made her teeth clench against the urge to whimper. She felt the first real welling of fear when the demon began to pull, reeling her in with the slow deliberation of a fisherman with a bite on his line. Her grip on the rock began to slip, and the tips of her fingers scraped raw as her body slid backward over the rough surface. Wriggling desperately, she twisted her hips to get a better angle with her free leg and sent her booted foot slamming into the beast's skull just between its malevolently glowing eyes.

  The demon roared again and stumbled back a handful of steps, but its grip never wavered. It dragged her with it, shaking its great horned head to clear it. Fiona found herself dangling upside down above a carpet of stone and pine needles, gazing directly at the monster's oddly misshapen legs. It took her a minute to realize that they weren't misshapen, just jointed backward like a goat's. She almost expected them to be covered in fur, but instead the skin looked like tightly woven plates of matte black scales. Instead of feet, it had cloven hooves and Fiona found herself idly wondering if it had a tattoo of a Baphomet pentacle on the back of its skull.

  Her arms waved in a search for purchase and balance, grabbing desperately. Her hands felt only air, and her heart nearly stopped when something slammed into the demon from behind. The great beast reeled, thrown off balance in a way her single forceful kick hadn't managed. The creature launched her hard toward the tree line, wobbling on its feet as Fiona felt her spine slam against the base of a stately elm.

  That's gonna leave a mark.

  Blinking, she pushed herself up on her elbows and peered through her momentary double vision to see where the demon had moved to. It wasn't like she could get up and run at the moment, but it never hurt to know which direction the death blow would be coming from. She hated to be caught unprepared. Instead of getting a clear view of the demon that had attacked her, Fiona found herself staring at the back of a very unfamiliar figure. This one might not have looked all that big in comparison to the demon, but even the half-dazed Fae could tell he was enormous. Standing close to seven and a half feet tall, he put himself directly between Fiona and the beast and set off a low warning growl that made something finally click in her mind. The newcomer was Lupine. A werewolf.

  He stood in his were form—half man, half wolf—huge and hulking with muscle but somehow still sleek compared to the demon. That monster had the thick, bulging musculature of a troll and the long, skeletal skull of a bull, topped off with two curling horns that grew backward from just above its sunken, banked-ember eyes. In contrast, the werewolf looked lithe and graceful. His muscular form rippled with power, but on him it looked right and natural under a thick, healthy pelt of silver-gray fur.

  She couldn't see the werewolf's face, but she finally got a clear look at the demon, and the clearing was small enough that she could smell the filth of it, like coal and decay and the choking stench of burnt flesh. It crouched facing her and the Lupine, its too-long arms brushing the ground, dark shining nails combing through the forest debris.

  The two powerful figures eyed each other for several tense minutes, neither making a move forward. Each subtle alteration in the position of one evoked a mirror image in the other. Then the demon shifted its soulless gaze from the Lupine back to Fiona, and the werewolf's warning growl turned into a vicious snarl.

  Just that quickly, the battle began. The first attack was a blur, a lightning-speed crash of black and gray, dull, scaly skin against thick fur. She almost expected the ground beneath her to shake with the violence of the impact. Both figures shook and twisted and grappled and roared in primitive fury. Hoof and claw dug into the mess of earth, stone, and organic litter that covered the ground, seeking purchase. Claws slashed across scales and fur. Fangs glinted, and muscles bulged and shifted. Fiona's eyes widened as the Lupine seemed to briefly hold his own against the impossibly powerful demon.

  Even as the thought crossed her mind, the demon lowered its massive bovine head and rammed its horns directly into the werewolf's stomach. Fiona heard a loud whoosh as the impact drove the air from his lungs. His clawed hands raked furrows in the creature's flesh even as he went airborne, landing at the opposite side of the clearing from Fiona at the base of another tree.

  She winced in sympathy at the dull thud of his landing, but she had no time to wonder how he was feeling. The minute the demon shook him off, it turned back toward her, perfectly clear in its focus on her as the preferred target. Which made no sense. Everything she knew about demons told her they were indiscriminately murderous. They didn't care about the identity of their victims unless someone told them to. Normally, they would just attack whatever stood more clearly in their paths. So why was this one so intent on ripping out her heart when she assumed the werewolf had a perfectly good heart of his own?

  Something here didn't add up.

  Fiona pressed her back against the tree trunk and kept the demon clearly in her sights. It looked like the cavalry that had ridden to her rescue might be having some problems of its own. She'd never been much for sitting around wringing her hands and waiting for help—yet another reason that she made such a lousy princess. Unlike her aunt the queen, who liked to send her knights into the fray to deal with any problems, Fiona preferred to handle everything on her own. That way there was no one around to tell her what she was doing wrong.

  The demon stepped slowly forward on its crouching, satyric hind legs, spewing puffs of yellowed, noxious-smelling smoke from its nostrils. Holding her breath against the stench and her own unease, Fiona levered herself into a sitting position and took a deep breath. She raised her hands before her as if to ward off the monster while she grabbed a thin thread of the magic left inside her and pulled hard.

  It yanked free of her in a flash of bright blue energy and swirled into a small, powerfully glowing tornado of magical energy. The demon uttered something in a guttural snarl of pain and rage and stumbled a few steps away. Squinting against the glare in her hands, Fiona watched it stumble backward, right into the force of the Lupine's renewed attack. Between the light and the noise and the violent clash, she felt like she'd gotten caught up in a lightning storm. She could only hope the demon did, too.

  At least it seemed to hate the disc of bright blue light she had conjured up. Its reflexes seemed slower this time, and it appeared to have trouble tracking the werewolf's movements. It didn't see its opponent duck beneath a clumsy blow and dive toward its hind legs, claws flashing. With two quick slashes, the Lupine sliced through the tendons at the backs of the monster's legs, sending it crashing to the ground and bellowing in rage.

  Quickly, instinctively, Fiona jumped up from her tree, light balanced between her fingertips, and raced forward. She stopped a few steps short of the felled demon, took aim, and sent the swirl of light flying toward the creature's gaping mouth as if the light were a Frisbee and the demon were an overeager border collie.

  She should have stopped a few steps shorter. As the magic missile made impact, the demon lashed out with one arm and caught her across the lower torso with the tip of one glistening claw. It sliced through her clothing as if she wore cobwebs, and she gasped at the fiery pain of her skin parting unnaturally, leaving a crimson line in her pale flesh.

  Dazed, she looked down at her injury with wide, confused eyes. The pain registered along with the ticklish trickle of blood across her stomach, but she stayed on her feet,
unmoving. She couldn't even raise a hand to cover the wound. Weakness crept over her, making her sway where she stood. Her little magic trick had taken more out of her than she had planned.

  In the background, she thought she heard a roar that sounded more like an angry werewolf than an attacking demon. She wanted to ask if he was all right, but she couldn't form the words. She just stood there and tried not to fall on her face even as the demon began to stir and struggle to right itself. The roar came again, louder this time, and then the Earth tilted on its axis as Fiona's legs collapsed beneath her and sent her sinking into darkness.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  Walker wanted to grab the woman and shake her for being so stupid as to rush up to the demon like that. Then he wanted to thank her for distracting the demon with that spell of hers. And finally, he wanted to get a better look at what he remembered as being a truly fine backside, this time without the distraction of a rampaging demon to dull his pleasure. But at the moment, he had other things to do. Like getting them both the hell out of Dodge before the demon learned how to run with severed Achilles tendons.

  Walker scooped her unconscious figure up in his arms and sprinted for home. The demon reacted about as positively to that as Walker had expected, but thankfully, the injuries slowed it to a point where the combination of werewolf speed and the thick tree cover foiled its pursuit. That didn't mean Walker slowed down any.

  He ran a good two miles before he felt safe in slowing to a brisk, ground-eating trot.

  Through it all, the woman in his arms remained limp and still. He wasn't sure if she was asleep or unconscious, but either way, she was so out of it that he contemplated setting her down for a minute so he could shift back to human form before they left the park. The general rule for Lupines stated they shouldn't walk in were form anywhere they might be seen by humans. Wolf form could be written off easily enough as the appearance of an especially large and long-legged dog, but there was nothing in the human world that could account for a seven- or eight-foot creature covered in fur with the posture of a man and the facial features of White Fang. The human mind was only so elastic.