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The male steps forward, crouching down in front of me as if I’m a frightened child. I suck in a sharp breath. He sniffs the air and his frown deepens.
I keep my palms on the rock, studying him cautiously, ready to push off and run if I need to. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion that gives me pause, but I find myself listening to him.
“We were surprised to find you alive.” I can only stare at him, his molten-brown eyes filled with concern. “Twice now, you’ve defied death.”
Three times, actually, if I count avoiding certain death in Dovenak.
I clear my throat, trying to instill some strength into my voice.
“Where’s the other one that was with you?” Was there another one? Or did I imagine that too?
“Oh, Rai?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s gone back to court.”
“Court,” I whisper. “Are you fae?”
At this, he laughs, flashing a set of white teeth that contrast with his dark copper skin. It’s a loud, rumbling laugh that causes a small animal to skitter through the bushes.
He’s terrifyingly large, yet he looks human.
“I am.” He cranes his head and sniffs again. “I can smell the terror on ya, but I promise, it’s not me you should fear. It’s the forest. We need to leave before night falls.” It’s the second time he’s mentioned the woods, and my confusion must show on my face because he continues, “The trees are pretty, but they are cruel things. They play tricks, and when night comes… you shouldn’t be here. Figured you had enough by now, anyways.”
Char’s words hit me again: Do not linger in the forest, on either side, especially if it calls to you.
I might not trust this... fae, but his words match up with Char’s. I can’t stay here any longer. Squinting at him, I take him in from head to toe. His pants and tunic are cut from brown leather, adorned with black accents and various weapon holders. I’m not sure what they’re called, but I’ve seen a similar outfit once or twice back at the estate. They were escorts—guards—for the lord.
Though the outfit gives me pause, the joy and kindness radiating from his broad smile and relaxed posture put me at ease. As much at ease as I can possibly be in this situation, that is. I can only hope he is genuine, because I am far too exhausted to fight for my safety.
“Please be one of the good ones,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’d like to think I am,” he says with a grin. When he catches my horrified expression, he chuckles. “Shifter hearing. I’m Kenisius, by the way.” He steps closer, carefully, as if I’m a frightened animal. “It’s a mouthful, I know, but Ken is fine.”
My pulse picks up and blood rushes to my cheeks.
“Your heart is pumping furiously.” Ken slowly steps around the boulder, and reaches out to pat me on the head with a meaty hand. I flinch away from his touch, stepping around the rock to keep it between us. “Relax, little human.”
I’m not sure what exactly being a shifter entails, but his senses certainly are animalistic. I gape until a movement catches my attention. Past him, a dozen or so yards away, a large chestnut steed steps into sight and begins chomping on a berry bush.
He follows my gaze over his shoulder. “That’s Merry. She’s just a horse. Nothing to fear with her either.”
My mouth clamps shut. If he was going to hurt me, he could have already done it when I was unconscious. He seems…nicer than I expected. If I have any chance for survival, I need to understand my surroundings and adapt as quickly as possible. I don’t have to trust him to accept his help.
Taking a few steady inhales, I heed Ken’s advice to attempt to relax, focusing on the breathing techniques Char taught me to stay calm, to quell my mind. Right now, I’m stuck between fight or flight mode—biding my time until I determine my next move—and that doesn’t help things.
“You’re… what kind of thing do you shift into?”
“Thing,” Ken mimics, cocking his head at me. “Rude.”
“S-sorry,” I stutter. “Little human is equally as rude though.”
He simply laughs. “You are a little human. Look at you—you’re a third of my size. You need a decent meal or seventeen.”
I grimace. He isn’t wrong, I could use a good meal.
The fog hovering near the ground thickens. It tickles my ankles with a cool caress. The sense of being watched consumes me, and I swear the wind whispers my name from between the trees. I glance around nervously, but see nothing other than endless forest.
“Look, ones like you don’t normally cross the Gleam.” His humor subsides and he grows serious. “Nor do they survive the woods… especially not after nightfall.” He gives me a stern look and strides toward the horse. “You survived this far, so clearly you have a decent will to live. Don’t be stubborn now. Merry is waiting, and we need to move.”
Ones like me? Do others cross often?
