Fairy Flavor (8 page)

“Inform her about our existence?”

“She’s not…she’ll get it, understand. I’m sure of it. I once married

another lawyer and though she was against it, she stood by me anyway.” Long

before that, they were a team, keeping the bullies of their run down school at

bay. That girl, woman, was her everything. She cried on the plane over

thinking of finally living on the same continent as Morrigan. “Please

Carrick…”

He made a mental note to find and kick her ex-husband until he was

unconscious. The cruel things the man said to his future queen were a travesty.

“All right, sweet.” When he said anything she desired, he meant it.

****

for this long. Brook couldn’t help the happiness that seemed to radiate from

every pore of her body. She kissed Carrick when they woke and then watched

him walk naked to the balcony doors. Her fairy man had an ass she could

nibble for hours. He always seemed to leave her alone when her hormones

were ready to bust free.

“My queen…” Wick’s tone was somber as he entered the chamber.

She didn’t bother to cover up this time, well, not her breasts. She pulled

her pants on, going commando for the day and smiled. “Has a nice ring to it…”

She laughed and walked barefoot to where he stood. “Are you…okay with

this?”

“Of course.” His hand landed on her shoulder, shifted to cup her chin.

“You will make a fine queen and a wonderful mother.”

She’d pretty much had it with baby talk. His meaning was not lost

however. “Thank you, Wick.” She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“Anytime, my Queen.”

She giggled at his words, it sounded beyond strange and hopefully time

would cure that bubbly feeling. “Are we going to my home today?”

“Indeed. Carrick is off with the trolls. They have decided to talk with us,

peace treaty of sorts.”

Her head perked up. “Is that safe? I mean, can we trust them?” She sure

as hell didn’t after that attack on the kingdom, and she hadn’t even met one yet.

“I would not trust them, but Carrick is well aware of their…character.

All the men have joined him. Mord and I will accompany you to your surface

home to gather your things.”

“…because I’m going to be queen.” She said the words with awe. Well

hell, queen was a big deal. Brook pulled her shirt on and turned to her escort.

She slipped past him to greet Mord and silently said the word once more.

Queen.

Butterflies were rampant in her stomach at the face she would be flying

with another fairy. Wick waited patiently as she literally shivered and faced

him. “I trust you…” She said with a smile that belied her words. Yes, she

trusted him, but enough to carry her into the sky without accidentally dropping

her, that would be a no.

“You’re sure you can hold me?” She wasn’t a salad eating, size four

girl. Brook had curves that men seemed fond of, and Wick would know. He

smirked at her as if he could hear her thoughts.

“Just hold tight…”

His arms wrapped around her, his muscle more pronounced than

Carrick’s, and she held tightly to the boulder with wings. Wick jet into the air.

No verbal warning and no spreading his wings so she could prepare for takeoff.

He simply grabbed her and flew. Talk about a nervous breakdown. She kept

her eyes closed, fought the queasy surge as Wick rushed them to the surface.

When her feet landed, she glanced at Mord. Was he the one laughing at her?

She distinctly heard male laughter. “No offense, but you suck at flying.”

Wick grinned and leaned close to whisper in her ear, “You like me

better inside you?”

Brook wanted to laugh as she hit him upside the head, but what he said

was true. “Absolutely.” The moment the word left her mouth, he clasped her

body to his and surged into the gorgeous sky. Her hands circled around his

neck and her legs wrapped around one of his. He slid narrowly between trees.

Branches slapped at her body and when he stopped fluttering his wings, she

screamed like a little girl. Damn straight, she did, the whole female heroine in

distress left her lips, and his wings finally brought them to a hover just above

the ground.

“We keep the girly screams to ourselves.” She had never screamed so

loud or high pitched in her life and was ashamed at her lack of courage. Then

gladly dropped the few inches to solid ground. Decorum was long gone after

that ride. Thankfully, Mord was not around to threaten. He landed a few

moments later, a big grin on his face. Brook snorted then turned to see her

lovely house. She hadn’t even unpacked boxes. The windows were still dusty,

the walkway cracked and the roses rampant over the old brick exterior. She

loved the classical beauty of the place and was a little sad she never had time

to call it home.

Woods surrounded the entire place and an old farmer named Fred lived

a few miles down the road. He had sheep and cows that constantly came to

visit during her short time here. The white picket fence she’d installed didn’t

squeak as she opened the gate, she almost wish it had. In the movies, the gates

made a rusty, hideous noise, and it always reminded her of a good home. There

were few memories here, nothing substantial that would stand the test of time.

Even the grass was long. She never did get a chance to cut it.

The fairy warriors were on her heels as she placed her hand on the

doorknob, took a deep breath, and entered the house for the last time.

Agreeing to meet with the trolls was a bad idea. Carrick knew the truth

even if everyone decided to re-inform him. It was obviously the worst plan that

they could agree to, but if there was even a small chance at peace, he would

attempt it. They wanted to convene on the shore, which bode unwell to their

meeting. It was a known fact fairies couldn’t swim. Why in Goddess’ name

would the trolls want to talk peace there? As Thame had said, it would be a

perfect spot for an ambush. His warriors accompanied Brook. Whisper was in

the shadows somewhere around here.

The others were assembled, Flance and Bray stayed behind to protect

the land. Carrick led Thame and Keyn into the sky. Treetops rushed by, a small

stream with a deer watched them pass, and they aimed for the shore.

Waves crashed on the sandy beach while birds flocked for food at the

surface. The sun glared harshly across the waters and two dark figures huddled

in the shadow of a hill. This was it, peace or war. Thame passed him, landed

before the trolls with his head lowered. He looked animalistic with his eyes

narrowed and his teeth bared. But they already had Whisper for that. Carrick

touched down the same time as Keyn. All were aware of their surroundings

and the tension that cut through the settings natural loveliness.

“King of the fairies,” one troll spoke and actually took a bow. “I am

Clar’nock of the trolls.”

Carrick kept his hand on his sword but nodded all the same. “It is a

pleasure to meet you.” There would be no human handshake or even a

customary fairy forehead touch. Hell no, he wasn’t getting that close to the

sneaky bastards. “Peace is a great reason to put aside our differences. Where is

you king?”

“He’ll be here soon.” The shorter of the two spoke.

This was already looking like a trap, why would their king not arrive on

time? His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He briefly saw a shadow to

the right. Whisper had arrived.

“The bigger question…” A voice startled them all. “Why were there

seven trolls waiting in a nearby cave with swords?” Whisper asked without

revealing his location.

The trolls seemed to turn a shade of red; the shorter one looked to the

other. “No waiting, you bring weapons not us.” They both threw their empty

hands into the air. Shorty, as Carrick dubbed him, searched the forest around

them with his eyes. Was he searching for a sign or his lost, probably dead

men? He took the time to listen for any disturbance in the proximity. There

was nothing, but his men would not lie.

The troll screeched and screamed attack. It was now that his fellow

cowardly kin were supposed to burst from the trees.

However, they did not count on Whisper. When he yelled for his

buddies, a decapitated head rolled toward them, blood seeped from a torn area

of neck flesh when the nose smashed into a rock. “There’s your

reinforcements.” Carrick returned his own knife. It buried into the taller ones

thigh as Whisper flew from his cover and slit Shorty’s throat. He was a deadly

blur of wings and blue hair, and then the taller one fell to the ground. It

grabbed his throat, tried to collect the stream of blood that would stain the dirt

until the next rainstorm. “So much for questioning,” Carrick murmured as

Whisper returned to the forest around them.

“They would have lied anyway.” Thame had little faith in these things.

“We were right. Trap.”

“Why?” He turned away. After all this time, did the trolls think the

fairies were stupid enough to fall for such a lame attempt? His lips parted as he

gasped and his eyes widened in revelation. There was only one important thing

happening today, only one reason the trolls would lure them out here.

“Brook…”

****

note to call the realtor; she was going to be happy with all the commission.

What did she need? Really, if she just stood here and thought about it,

what items couldn’t she part with? Brook stepped the lone torn box on the desk.

This was it. Photos, memories she would always carry with her. Her camera

lay atop, and she smiled. She couldn’t wait to add to her collection, to

document her new life, to really smile for the camera with Carrick in her arms.

She closed her eyes. This was the right choice.

She never really liked being a lawyer anyway. The clothes sucked.

Now she could be naked all day, which was always a bonus. “I think this is

it…” She threw her contact book in the box, gathered it in her arms and headed

toward her men. Her men, what a beautiful saying.

“Run!” Wick screamed the word, shoved her screen door open with

enough blood running down his face to cause her to freeze in panic. “Brook,

run! Trolls!” He turned, raised his sword, and she took off at a sprint.

She hadn’t even waited to finally catch a glimpse of a troll. It had to be

them. What else would be chasing her? Steps blurred as she hauled her butt

through the kitchen and jerked the back door open. She had to get to Carrick,

warn him and get help for the others. Her pulse raced as her feet sunk in the

soft grass. Brook headed straight for that horizon with her lungs beginning to

burn and her head aching. She would not stop. It was a silent vow. A

determination she would not falter.

The sun was setting, and she ran toward the failing light. She could

hear screeches, prayed it was her fairies doing the killing and kept going. She

would not last long, but hopefully, long enough to find that willow tree and

Carrick. Land stretched behind her, she shot through the field of long grass that

stretched her property. Keep going. She had to keep running. Although by now,

her run was more of a jog, but she wouldn’t slow anymore. There was no time

to catch her breath; she had to get more fairies. There was that noise again, a

screech.

“Fuck…” It was much closer. She angled her path, aimed for the line of

trees dense enough to hide her. The last thing she needed was to be captured.

Of course, the ache that started in her side seriously slowed her down.

The trees added to her lack of sight as daylight dwindled. Another high-

pitched screech, she finally reached the shade of the trees. Running further

inland and stopping behind a huge oak. She bent as her side ached fiercely. Her

gasping was so damn loud she couldn’t hear anything else, and her head

thumped along with her pulse.

“Carrick…” she whispered his name, looked around and took a few

steps. She was almost there. Another few minutes and she would see the tree,

another ten to get beneath it. It didn’t matter that she was ready to collapse

from exhaustion or fear. The adrenaline was still pumping; she would use that

to her advantage. Brook grabbed her painful side, squeezed as she picked up

her speed. She loathed jogging.

Brook skidded to a stop. Holding her breath as the sounds of feet

crunching debris came closer. She would make it. She would make it.

Grinding her teeth, she took off again. She kicked hard against the

ground and charged past trees. She would make it; she screamed the words in

her head. Created a mantra and burst from the woods. Over the hill, she just

had to get over a green hill. Her fingers dug into cool dirt, some nails broke

under the strain as her heels pressed firmly against anything for leverage.

When the tree roots thinned out, she used sheer determination. She dug deeper

with her fingers, her breath erratic while she pulled herself higher. This was

not a damn hill. It was a fucking mountain. Higher, further, she could do this.

A warm hand wrapped around her ankle. It tugged as she glanced