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Those of us that can live together do. The magical creatures that won’t, or can’t, play nice keep to the Woods.
By agreement of all, humans aren’t welcome past the neutral zones. Those that enter never return.
After time, it was like some of the beings of the cities almost forgot about the Woods. Some ventured in and out, mostly those with clan ties to the Woods, but for the rest, for those closer to the city, it is almost a compulsion to stay out, to stay away. As such, Loqueaur City is rife with stories and conspiracies about what lies in the Woods. And beyond the Woods.
The coastline to the deep south had been marked as a strict no-fly zone, after a dozen planes went mysteriously missing.
It was the dragons. We all knew it was the dragons, but who is going to argue with dragons? After testing the waters, nobody else cared to test those same waters again.
The other entrance is tucked further inland, and nowhere near as convenient.
Surrounded by farmland on one side and the mountainous Woods enclosing the rest, sits the only other entrance, Whisper Wells.
Notoriously anti-beings, the tiny little town does a bustling trade in tourists capping off a visit through the charming countryside, and adventure seekers brave enough to enter the neutral outskirts of the Woods.
It had actually been a relatively quick and easy flight to Colton, the closest town to Whisper Wells with an airport. Though “airport” is rather kind. The tiny rural airstrip is mainly used for flight training. But bucket loads of cash speak, especially when you are happy to splash them around. I have a destination and, more specifically, a person, in mind to rope in to find my brother. He does know the Woods, after all.
HotDogBunshadn’t been the most original name, but his profile picture was the very stuff dreams were made of. A thick, wide chest, wrapped in red flannel. I just knew he was hiding hard muscles covered in delicious softness. Wiry hair peeking out of the top buttons, unable to be contained, and I am a sucker for a hairy man. A capable man. One with big, powerful hands that could do all kinds of delicious and naughty things.
I had messaged him on a drunken whim, even though he was well outside of the city and out of reach of all the dirty fantasies that had haunted me through the winter. AndluckyI had messaged him. The man gave me butterflies.Butterflies. Like a schoolgirl with a crush instead of a twenty nine-year-old man with a sexual history that could make a pornstar blush. I havelived.
And now some farmer with pet chickens, who hunts with a bow and spends the winter baking in his cabin and making furniturewith his own handsfromwood he chopped himself,makes my stomach quiver and my cock hard like no one else.
And worse, I lament, as I pass the identical fields whizzing past. We have becomefriends.
Somehow, Caelan has gotten so deeply under my skin that after a handful of lukewarm and unsuccessful dates, I have resigned myself to a life of pitiful abstinence.
But now, I am on the road tohim. Because, I reason, he is going to help me find my brother.
Hopefully.
You see, shortly after finding Theo’s note, my phone had been destroyed in a rather ugly accident involving a trip on uneven sidewalk, a puddle and an ill-timed SUV. The phone was quickly replaced, but I lost a heap of contactsandaccess to myHook’daccount. So, for nearly threeverylong weeks, I’ve been unable to contact Caelan.
The man has been impossible to search for online. Apparently “off grid” means “off grid”. He doesn’t even have any social media. Which is justweird.
So here I am, driving my shitty rented hatchback into bumfuck nowhere hoping to randomly bump into the guy I have been more than low-key lusting after for a good three months now, hoping he is willing to go on an insane and possibly deadly adventure with me into one of the most dangerous, magical placeson the planet.
Sure thing. Couldn’tpossiblygo wrong.
The town itself looks like any other generic small town I have visited, only somehow cleaner and significantly less welcoming.
Despite being one of only two land crossings into the Woods, Caelan had warned me just how unwelcoming the town could be to magical beings. They never bordered on nefarious, they knew where their tourist dollars were buttered, but there is definitely a general aura of “not welcome here” that permeates the air as I pull up in front of the market.
It’s eleven am, but it seems the only place open and my stomach is growling rather unattractively and if I don’t stretch my legs and get some sugar in me, I am going to scream. I have been driving since six this morning and I am done.
My purple skin is kind of a dead giveaway for my “other” status, especially with my opalescent sheen acting like a flashing neon sign that I am not “one of them”. So I pull my thick, black woollen coat tighter around me and pop my collar up. Nothing can be done about my pointed ears or far-too-bright-to-be-human blue eyes. Two glowing signs of my fae nature, but I am not used to hiding, anyway. That’s not who I am.
The electric sliding doors whoosh open, greeting me with a flood of heat as I enter. I take a quick look around, noting the tall, bored-looking teen behind the register eyeballing me with exactly zero chill, and pick one of the trolleys linedneatly by the door, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. To distract myself from the curious, and blatantly rude, stares of the townspeople, I pull my phone out of my pocket and unlock it, meandering up and down the aisles trying to find the candy.
I swipe through various notifications and messages from friends and social media accounts. I have a small, but successful following on a few different apps. It’s mainly thirst traps that are ridiculous but fun to film. The other bonus is they boosted the profile of the nightclub, and my ego. Plus, my parents hate them. It’s like a win all round, really. I get to piss off my parents and work loves me. Usually.
I find the candy aisle and load my trolley up with various motivations to be nice and open my emails. And there it is.Finally, a response from the Hook’d customer service team.
My excitement forces a rather embarrassing squeal from me as I quickly scroll through the boring details about them resetting my account status—apparently they took my dismal attempts to remember my password as a hacking attempt—and I amback, baby. A few clicks, a new password I swear I am going to remember this time, and I amin.
“Fuck yeah!” I crow, doing a little shimmy, earning a rather distasteful glare from a mother I hadn’t noticed in the aisle with me. She covers her small child’s ears and tuts disapprovingly as she shoves past. At least the kid is cool. He sneaks me a small smile and finger-waves over her shoulder. On a high, I turn the corner, ready to head into the next aisle when my trolley smashes into someone else’s cart.
“Ah shit! I am so sorry!” I apologise quickly as the other person stumbles, both our phones clattering to the floor. As if synchronised, we both drop to retrieve our devices, muttering apologies.
