Rest for the Wicked - Chapter Fifteen

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN: NO GOOD DEED

Lifting a heavy hand to her temple, Pix woke up with a splitting headache. It felt like a horde of drunken trolls were stomping around her skull. What had happened? Though it hurt to do so, she opened her eyes. Blinking against the peeks of sunlight streaming in between the heavily canopied trees, it all started to come back to her. Getting lost in the woods. Getting caught by Den. Granny Redd’s house. Getting attacked by Scarlet’s new axe-wielding boyfriend. And the transportation spell she’d used as a last-ditch, desperate escape attempt. She gingerly touched the bruise she could feel bloom on her cheek and hissed.

Well, she wasn’t tied up or imprisoned, so it must have worked, right? She sat up and looked around. She still didn’t know where she was, but she was definitely still in the forest. Where was she? She wracked her mind; where had she wanted the spell to take them?

Them!

She looked around. Where was everyone? Lethe, Slyth, Den. The prince! If she lost him, she lost her one chance at revenge, at redemption. She shut her eyes and wanted to scream. Her aunt would never let her hear the end of it.

“Lethe and Slyth took the little princeling off to get water. I sent them away from my pack’s hunting grounds, so hopefully no one will spot them.”

Pix turned at the sound of Den’s gravelly voice. She saw the wounded wolf, cradling her arm as she rested against a gnarled tree. Pix scrambled to her feet and rushed to Den. “Boggy gob, you look awful,” Pix told her as she took in the dried blood matting Den’s fur at her side, on her arms, and all over her face.

“Aw, thanks,” Den purred sarcastically. “You always did have the most  wonderful way with words.” Den grunted as she tried to sit up more. “And, to make matters worse, you have the audacity to look fresh as a blooming daisy! Well, not all of us got to sleep for more than half a day, Miss Wings.” She sneered as Pix examined the worrying knife wound at her side. “Some of us have been running through this forest all night, trying to lose that huntsman’s tail.”

Pix scoffed as she studied the blood still oozing from the cut. “Yeah, I’m sure I look just gorgeous with this bruise I can feel throbbing on my face thanks to your ex’s new protector.”

Den hissed as Pix touched the still bleeding injury. “You’re always beautiful; even black and blue looks good on you.” Den held her hands out in peace as Pix gently smacked her uninjured shoulder. “I am sorry about that. I never meant for you to get hurt.” She huffed and scowled. “Of course Scarlet’s new beau would be a frogging tracker. Her grandmother must be so pleased.”

Pix shook her head. “We have to stop the bleeding.” An open wound was a bad idea if you were trying to move in a hurry. And leaving a trail of blood, while someone was following you, was a death sentence. “I just need my wand.” Pix swallowed hard, trying to still her shaking hands and calm her throbbing head as she shut her eyes and called for her magic.

Den looked at her worriedly and shook her head. “You left it in Scarlet’s room. I saw it roll under the bed.”

Pix grunted and forced her mind to focus. “It’s my wand.” She dug deep inside herself, hating how hard she had to try, when it should have been as easy as breathing. “It is always exactly where I want it.” It took more effort than she would have liked, but she eventually pulled the wand to her through time and space and into her hand. There. That wasn’t so hard. Wiping sweat from her brow, she whispered her will onto the wind, causing the wand to shrink in her palm to the size of a needle. Feeling the magic strengthen her, even as it drained the little energy she’d only just gained back, she breathed slowly and pierced Den’s side with the tiny, sharp point.

Den sucked in a harsh breath but didn’t move as the needle wove its way over her wound, holding the wound close with invisible thread. Under all that blood-matted fur, Pix couldn’t be sure, but she’d bet the wolf’s skin was pale and ashen, drawn tight with pain. Pix coughed and tried to work as quickly and carefully as she could. “So,” Pix asked Den, smirking to hide her horror as she stitched the two torn sides of flesh together, “that’s who you left me for?” Den let out a sputtered laugh, recognizing the echo of her same words last night, and Pix felt something tight inside herself relax. Sometimes a joke could be the only thing standing between sanity and panic, and Pix desperately needed something to as she stared at Den’s blood staining her hands red and the scent of it threatening to swallow her. She gave a dramatic tsk. “Sometimes I’d wonder who you ended up with; never thought you’d choose some snobby, little cottage-set with a taste for the wrong side of the path.”

“Yeah, well,” Den growled as she grunted against the pain, “I think I’m frogging well paying for it now, don’t you think?” Sighing, Den shook her head. “Besides, it’s not what you think. Scarlet isn’t like those pampered princesses. Isn’t some hoity-toity heiress, just twiddling her thumbs until she can sink her manicured claws into Granny’s company. She doesn’t even want to take over the business. She’s an explorer at heart. We used to run wild all over these woods. Her territory, mine, it didn’t matter as long as we were together.” Den frowned and looked off a little dreamily as Pix finished up her last stitch. “Last time we talked, we’d planned to run away together. Find our own land. She was going to go home and pack some things for the trip, but she never came back.” She shook her head. “This isn’t right. She would never just leave me like that. And for him!” Bristling, Den tried to stand up, only to be pushed back down by Pix. “I have to go back. I have to talk to her.”

Pix, so much smaller than Den and not quite back at her peak, struggled to keep the wolf seated. “You’re in no condition to deal with those woodsmen.” They had barely escaped last night; this morning, Den wouldn’t stand a chance. “They’ll kill you the moment you enter Granny’s territory.”

Den turned to her. “But you could just use that spell from last night to transport us into Scarlet’s room.”

Pix shook her head. “I barely had enough magic to stitch you up. Even if I could somehow get us into her room—which I can’t do until I get more of my strength back—there’s absolutely no way I could get us back out.” They’d be sitting ducks.

Den nodded, acknowledging. “Okay, okay, so we wait. What? Like, a couple of hours. We head back tonight. We’ll be gone before anyone can notice.”

Pix squeezed her eyes shut. Den wasn’t listening to her. Though Pix could hardly be surprised. Once she got an idea in her head, Den couldn’t let it go, couldn’t be reasoned with. “Den, I—”

Den reached out and grabbed one of Pix’s hands. “Please, Pixy,” she begged with wide, sad eyes. “I need you.”

“For what?”

They both turned to see Fallon, holding a bucket, his expression irritated.

***

Fallon couldn’t possibly have heard them correctly. He must have misheard. There was no way they were foolish enough to want to head back toward the people that wanted them both dead. The wolf? Maybe. It seemed reckless enough to charge in half-cocked and bleeding. But Pix? She might be many things—conniving, meddling, ruthless—but she was no one’s fool. Which was why Fallon could not understand why she let this wolf talk her into such trouble. He looked at the darkened bruise on her cheek and felt his jaw tense.

“For what?” he repeated, bringing the bucket of water closer. He thrust it toward her. “You should drink.” She’d been unconscious for hours—just this tiny, unmoving, helpless bundle in his arms as they raced deeper and deeper in the forest—she needed food and water and possibly more rest. The last thing she needed was that wolf whispering foolhardy plots and schemes in her ear.

Pix took the bucket he handed her and stared at him in confusion. “You came back.”

He felt his face flush a bit. Yeah, part of him could barely believe it either. Her binding spell had dropped. She’d been unconscious, powerless to stop him. Not even her wolf, injured and running, could have kept him, if he chose to go. So why didn’t he? He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well,” he said as he nodded at Lethe, “this one promised to poke out my eyes, if I ran.” He jutted his chin out at the snake slithering around his feet. “And this one threatened to bite me.” He shrugged, as if that was that. As if it had nothing to do with hating the idea of not knowing if Pix would ever wake up from the seemingly deathly sleep she’d been in all night. As if, if it not for his tiny woodland keepers, he could have walked away from her, taking advantage of her moment of weakness to return to the castle, and never spared her another thought. He coughed. “How are you feeling?”

“You look awful,” Lethe said fluttering closer to look at Pix’s face.

Waving the bird away, Pix took a sip from the bucket, almost choking on the sour well’s water. She swallowed hard. “I’m,” she said, trying not to cough, “fine.” She passed the bucket to the wolf, who drank thirstily. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Fallon scoffed. Sure, she was fine. Nevermind that they’d been running for their lives all night. Who wouldn’t be fine after that? He shook his head. “Then I would suggest we get out of these woods as quickly as possible, before those men catch up with us.”

The wolf nodded. “He’s right.” Pix did a double-take at that. Fallon had to admit that he was surprised too; he hadn’t thought the wolf was capable of reason. “You should get out while you can.” Taking one more gulp of water, the wolf pushed upright. “I’ll lead you two out of the forest.”

“That’s…” the snake said, slithering closer to Pix, “unexpectedly kind of you.”

The wolf stretched gingerly. “A promise is a promise.”

Pix frowned. “And then what?”

Twisting one way then the other, the wolf shook its head. “Then you’ll go on your way.”

Pix stood. “What about you?”

With a wince, the wolf frowned. “I can’t leave without her.”

Pix’s wings fluttered with frustration. “They’ll kill you, if you go back.”

The wolf shrugged, leaning against the tree as it clutched its side. “I can’t leave without her.”

This was ridiculous. Fallon glared at Pix. “We can’t go back.” Definitely not in the state they were in. He pointed at the wolf. “You’re bleeding and can barely stand.” He turned toward Pix. “And you look like a stiff breeze would blow you over.”

Pix’s wings twitched as her shoulders tensed. “I’m,” she said slowly through gritted teeth, “fine.”

No, she wasn’t! She was tiny and fragile and no match for those massive men. The thought of her at their mercy… He shook his head. “You need to rest.”

She flicked her wrist and he felt his jaw stiffen like stone, silencing him. “I’m not one of your precious, little princesses. I don’t need anyone telling me what I need.” Fallon saw her face pale and her hand shake, even as she stared him down. He shouldn’t worry about her. She was tiny and fragile, but she was also right; she wasn’t helpless. She had power. Looking at her now, there was no denying that, no matter what, she would defend herself to her last breath. But, in this moment, as sweat glistened on her brow, she looked like she was about to pass out. Determined, she swallowed hard and planted her feet. “Understand?”

He nodded, because he did understand. He’d spent his entire life trying to be brave enough, strong enough, always sure that he wasn’t. Haunted by his own failure all those years ago, he knew what it was like to feel as if you had to constantly push past your limits to prove yourself. The last thing she needed was him pushing her too. So he nodded and stayed quiet, when she released him and sank back onto the grassy ground. She huffed with a satisfied nod. “We can’t do anything until nightfall,” she said as she leaned against the tree and shut her eyes. “We’ll have a better chance of losing them in the dark.” And, with that, she fell asleep again, clearly drained.

“You’re right.”

Fallon looked up at the wolf, who was studying him. “About what?”

“She needs to rest.” The wolf’s eyes softened when it looked at her. “She’s so strong—makes everything look so easy—that sometimes I forget that she can’t do everything.”

Fallon was struck by the genuine caring in the wolf’s tender gaze. He coughed. “So,” he said as casually as possible, “you two were together?”

The wolf gave a groaning laugh as it held its injured side. “A long time ago.”

“She left you less than a year ago,” Slyth hissed.

“Though, to be fair,” Lethe added, “I’m pretty sure you’d left her long before that.”

“But there’s still no one I’d rather have at my side in a tight spot.” The wolf sighed. “Truth is, I knew she was too good for me.” Frowning, she sighed. “I’m a wild ride. A crazy adventure, at best.” Tucking a stray strand of hair behind Pix’s ear, the wolf smiled at her. “She has this grand destiny. I couldn’t stay knowing that I was never going to do anything but be in her way.”

Fallon couldn’t help but feel bad for the wolf. Sitting down, he reached out his hand. “We never officially met. I’m Fallon.”

The wolf raised her eyebrow at him. “I know who you are, princeling.”

“You know my title, wolf,” he pointed out, still holding out his hand, knowing she knew exactly what it felt like to be seen only as what you are and not who you are.

The wolf nodded, acknowledgingly. “Fair enough.” She took his hand in hers. “Hello, Fallon. I’m Den. Nice to meet you.”

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Rest for the Wicked - Chapter Fourteen

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DEEP IN THE BEAST’S DEN

Pix rushed through the door, her wand at the ready in her hand, only to have her jaw drop when she saw the pretty, frilly bedroom. And the couple embracing in the middle of it. Still standing in a battle-ready position, she stared at the petite girl in the long, thin red nightgown standing in the arms of a brawny, bearded man in flannel, both their eyes filled with shock. Pix turned to look at Den, who stared in pain on her knees at the couple, her betrayed yips piercing the night.

The woodsman stepped in front of the girl protectively, shielding her from the others. “What is going on?”

That was what Pix wanted to know.

The girl—who Pix assumed was Scarlet—peeked out from behind her protector, her perfect, blond ringlets flouncing as she clung to the woodsman’s arm. “Den? What are you doing here?”

Pix shot a glare at the whimpering wolf. Den? How did the Redd Company heiress know Den’s name? What in the frogging bog was going on?

“I came here for you,” Den whined as she got to her feet. “I came to take you away from here. Away from your family. Away from my pack.” She stepped closer, reaching out an imploring hand to Scarlet. “So we could be together.”

The man backed up, forcing Scarlet along with him. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Den growled as she sized up the woodsman. “And who in the gob are you?”

Flexing to make himself appear larger, more intimidating, the man kept backing up. “The man who’s going to wear your pelt as a cloak.”

Den flashed her teeth, making Scarlet gasp. Scarlet gripped the man’s thick bicep. “Chase, please. Surely, there’s no need for that.”

Chase grunted. “No need? These two stole into your bed in the middle of the night!”

“Den,” Pix hissed, getting a better picture of the situation and not liking it, “let’s get out of here.” She grabbed Den’s arm only to be shaken off.

Without looking away from Chase, Den advanced slowly. “And what exactly are you doing here?” Den’s fists clenched.

Chase raised his chin arrogantly. “I was bidding my betrothed good night.”

“Betrothed!”

Pix winced as another howl cut through the room. This was not good. She gripped her wand. “Den, we need to go before the rest of the guards come back.”

Chase grinned in challenge. “Yeah, run to the woods with your tail between your legs, little pup. I’ll just track you down later.”

Den turned to look at Scarlet accusingly. “So this is who you left me for?” She balked. “Some lumbering woodsman with sawdust for brains?”

Scarlet looked ready to cry, her big, blue eyes tearing up so prettily even Pix felt it tug at her sympathies, as she gazed apologetically at Den, while still holding tight to Chase. “Den, I—” She shook her head, her curls tossing dramatically. “I just—”

Pix’s heart lurched when she saw Chase suddenly reach into the dark. “Den, watch out!”

But it was too late. Chase, grabbing a sharp knife from the bedside table, lunged at Den, taking her down onto the hardwood floor. “Wrong, wolf,” he said as he struck her across the face with the hilt of the large, curved knife. “She didn’t leave you for a woodsman.” He leaned in and let out a defiant chuckle. “She left you for a hunter.”

Pix thrust out her wand, ready to forcibly break the two up, when Lethe burst in through the window. “Pix! Those axemen are chopping down the tree and I’m pretty sure it’ll take the prince down with it.”

Great! Just what she needed. The would-be rescue woodsmen were going to end up killing their dignitary in distress and absolutely ruining her plans for revenge. She shook her head as she watched Den and their own weapon-wielding brute tussle on the floor. Pix wanted to scream. This was supposed to be easy. A simple smash-and-grab rescue job, not some bungled, love-triangle kidnapping attempt. Why did nothing in her life turn out how it should? She should never have trusted Den! Her aunt was right; when should she learn? Trusting anyone only led to disaster.

Frustrated, she shook her head. First things first, she pointed her wand upward, gritting her teeth as she sent a strong stream of power that burst out, illuminating the room in blinding white light. She felt her breath catch and her body wilt as her power—her essence—shot out of her to fill the night. Trying to stay upright, her body wobbled and crumbled beneath her, leaving her gasping on the floor. Her fingers fumbled to keep hold of her wand, but it tumbled out of her hand and under the frilled bed. She grunted in frustration. She didn’t have time to chase after it. The draining spell had a bit of a delay before it kicked in, but not enough. And she still needed to get to Den before it did.

“What did you just do?”

Pix weakly looked up to see Chase, Den, Scarlet, Slyth, and Lethe all looking at her in horror. She shook her head, feeling like she was about to pass out. It probably wasn’t the wisest course to do that spell, seeing as it left her all but defenseless afterward, but she’d had little choice.

“What did she just do?” Chase repeated his question, punctuating it with his fist. Pix tried to push herself up to her feet when she heard Den groan in pain before Chase tossed the wolf across the floor. Pix tried to scramble back at the sound of heavy footsteps heading her way. “What did you just do, witch?”

Hating that she already felt unacceptably weak, Pix refused to show fear in front of this overgrown, muscle-bound woodcutter. She lifted her chin. “Just a little light show to lighten the moo—” But before she could even finish, Chase backhanded her, knocking her face-down on the floor.

“Do not lie to me, wicked one. I know you did something and you will tell me what.” He kicked her, sending her sliding toward Den.

Even though it caused a sharp pain to shoot through her middle, Pix wanted to thank him. That was exactly what she wanted. Just as her body collided with the prone wolf, Pix gripped Den’s shoulder. She reached out her hand. “Lethe, Slyth!” Thankfully recognizing the transportation spell, her familiars quickly clung to her, before all of them vanished from the cottage a split moment before Chase could descend on them again.

* * *

Fallon tried to scream at the woodsmen, who did not seem like the sharpest axes in the shed, that their attempts to rescue him from the tree by chopping down the tree were more likely to trap him under the troll-forsaken, toppled tree than actually free him. Which was not helping! But, when she’d hung him up here like some dangling decoration, that pesky, punitive fairy had gagged him again. At least, she’d done it this time with the same invisible bonds that were on his hands and feet, rather than the humiliating bow. But it would have been really helpful, if he could actually speak to the haplessly heroic horde before they accidentally killed him. He gasped when he heard the split trunk crack loudly and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the tree begin to fall.

But, as images of sharp branches impaling his helplessly bound body filled his mind, Fallon felt his struggling body suddenly break free. Relying on his training and years of adventuring, he instinctively tucked in his body and rolled out of the way of the worst of the branches, covering his head and chest as he hit the ground. Quickly, he sprung to his feet and moved out of the way of the teetering tree. What had happened? How had he gotten free? Surely, it wasn’t due to those orc-ing, chop-happy flunkies. But then what?

He looked down, when his foot tripped on something groaning on the ground. He blinked down at the mangled mess of fur, blood, and wings. Was that Den and— “Pix?” He bent down and rolled the tinier figure over, careful of her wings as he freed her from the wolf’s larger body. “Pix, are you okay?” He brushed her hair off her face, seeing the start of a bruise swell her cheek. “Pix, what happened?” He bent low to her face and held a tense breath. Letting out a relieved sigh, he felt her breathe, soft and shallow, against his cheek.

He turned when he heard another low groan. The wolf stood up with a pained wince, favoring its left side. Not turning toward him, it growled, “We need to leave.”

The crow fluttered around Pix’s still unconscious head. “You’ll need to carry her.”

The wolf huffed and shook its head, still holding its side. “I can’t.”

From Pix’s wrist, the snake looked the wolf up and down. “We know that.” It turned to Fallon. “You’ll need to. If they find her…”

They’d hurt her. Or worse. Fallon touched her bruised cheek. Yeah, he knew that. As Granny Redd’s guards, that was their duty. Fallon grunted. Pix felt so small, so fragile, in his arms. Unconscious, she just looked like an ordinary girl. Who’d been struck and brought down by, if those lumbering axe-wielders were anything to go by, someone more than twice her size. Fallon’s jaw squared as he glared toward the cottage, wondering who had dared. Who had taken this fearless, powerful fairy and stolen her strength? Maybe he shouldn’t—she was bad, she’d hurt people—but Fallon hated that Pix had been laid low. It didn’t seem right. Didn’t seem fair. She was a big, bad, terrifying witch; she should never look like a broken doll. Like some damsel in distress.

“Fallon!” Lethe chirped at the sound of the guards searching for them. “We must go.”

With a nod, he scooped Pix’s frail form close and lifted her up. “Where are we going?”

“This way, princeling,” the wolf said as it moved into the shadows.

Fallon frowned, not liking that word on the wolf’s tongue. But they had more important things to deal with at the moment. Biting back a cutting response, Fallon cradled Pix gently but firmly and followed the wolf deeper into the woods.

READ CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

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Rest for the Wicked - Chapter Thirteen

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TROUBLE'S SHADOW

Pix should have known she’d regret striking a trade with Den. But, by the time Den had finished detailing the deal, she’d already led Pix so deep into the forest that they’d never find their way out without Den. Tripping toadstool! Why did Pix never learn that there was no trusting this trickster wolf?

Pix stared at the sprawling, multi-storied cottage that would have looked lovely and sweet, with its white detailed trimmings and scalloped eaves, if it wasn’t for the large, axe-wielding woodsmen patrolling the floral grounds.

Of course, one of Den’s dim-witted brothers would try to date the heiress of the Redd Riding Hood Cape and Clothier Company and get caught. Granny Redd was notoriously protective of her granddaughter, Scarlet, and was equally infamous for her hatred of wolves. Foolish, feckless Fang. Pix took a deep breath. “So we just have to break in, grab your brother, and get out?”

“Is that all,” Slyth said sardonically. “Why not just ask us to waltz in and steal Granny Redd’s girdle, while we’re at it?”

“And me without my dance shoes,” Fallon drawled, from the ground behind Pix and Den.

“You’re staying here.” Pix pointed to him, Slyth, and Lethe.

Den raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t exactly a two-person job, Pixy. We’ll need a scout.” She looked at Lethe, who practically preened. “A man on the inside.” She nodded toward Slyth, who nodded his head smugly. Then she smirked at Fallon, whose eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And, of course, no scheme is complete without bait.”

Even in the shadowy brush, she could see Fallon’s face flush with temper. She cut him off before he could start a fight with Den that he clearly couldn’t win. “Out of the question.”

“C’mon, Pixy.” Den rolled her eyes and held a paw over her heart. “I promise, nothing is going to happen to your trussed-up trophy catch.”

Pix could hear Fallon grumble behind them. “We’re about to break into one of the most fortified homes in the land; how exactly are you going to keep that promise?”

Den shook her head, looking wounded. “This is why we didn’t last; you never trusted me.”

Pix snorted. “And had nothing to do with the fact that you were—and remain—thoroughly and arrogantly untrustworthy.”

Den chuckled and tugged a stray strand of Pix’s hair. “But I always know how to show a girl a good time.”

Pix rolled her eyes only to stop when she heard the prince snort. She shot him a glaring look. She got to judge Den; he didn’t. She knew Den, knew what she was like and shared a history with her. He was just judging her for being a wolf. Pix bristled before lifting her chin indignantly. “Let’s do it.”

“What!” the princeling huffed.

“Excellent!” Den grinned, making Pix regret her decision immediately. But it looked like they were in it now. So she listened while Den told her the plan. If one could call it that.

After leaving Fallon to dangle in a tree not far off with Lethe, Pix, Den, and Slyth hid in the bushes by the front gate of the Redd property. Once in place, Pix let out a bird call, signaling Lethe.

“Help!” Pix heard Lethe scream out. “Help me! Is there anyone there? Help!”

She watched several guards leave to check out the commotion. From their hiding spot, they waited a moment longer before one of the guards yelled for more of the woodsmen to join them, presumably to help get the bound and gagged Fallon out of the tree.

Den leaned in and whispered in Pix’s ear, her warm breath sending an irrational quiver through Pix. “You’re sure they won’t be able to get your royal yo-yo out of the tree?”

Pix swallowed and forced herself to concentrate. Even though she could feel Den’s soft fur brush her arm in the bushes. She shook her head and said in a voice that sounded breathy even to her. “Well, seeing as he’s simply hanging in the branches, not even tied to the tree, they couldn’t free him, even if they chopped down the whole tree.”

She warmed at Den’s low chuckle. “You always were the best witch in the magical business.”

Pix felt her face flush at the gruff admiration in Den’s voice. She never could resist the way Den could make her feel like the most amazing creature in the world. After spending her entire life feeling like a mistake or a failure, Pix had fallen completely for the pretty praise that tripped easily off Den’s tongue. It’d made her feel special and appreciated for the first time. Until she’d realized that Den did that with everyone. Like any magic trick, it’d become harder to feel special once she’d seen Den work her charms on so many others. Pix had known it was over when Den’s brand of magic stopped working on her. Or maybe Den had just stopped casting her enchanting flattery Pix’s way, finding new and more enticing targets for her talents. So Pix had left, more than familiar with the feeling of not being wanted anymore.

But it’d been a long time since then and Pix still craved those words—craved the feeling those words inspired—and, finally having them again, after all this time, felt like having them for the first time. She breathed out, trying to calm the needy fluttering inside that hungered for more.

They watched the last of the guards rush off to help the helpless prince before Pix, Den, and Slyth made their way to Granny Redd’s house. They crouched beneath a window that was cracked open a bit. Pix lifted her hand up to the pane, letting Slyth slither in through the tiny opening.

As they waited for Slyth to unlock the thick, sturdy door, Pix swallowed hard as she felt Den’s strong, sleek body crouched close to hers. She swore she could feel their hearts beat and their breaths puff in time together. Despite the sneaky circumstances, it felt right being beside her again. Partners in crime. Them against the world. They both turned when they heard the door’s lock rattle. Pix’s breath caught as Den gripped her shoulder to stand. “You ready for this, Pixy?”

Pix peeked up at Den. Her toothy, gamin grin was both comfortingly familiar yet sent a delicious shiver through her as she reached her hand out to her, letting Den pull her up to her feet. “I’m ready.”

Den lifted her chin gently and winked. “Yeah, you are.”

“Let’s go, ladies,” Slyth hissed from the other side of the door. “Who knows when those guards will be coming back.”

Startled, Pix took a nervous step back. She shook her head. Now was not the time to let her emotions get the better of her. They had a mission. Get Fang. Get out. So she could get Fallon back to her aunt and finally have her revenge. She could do this; she just needed to get her head—and heart—in the game.

Then Den grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house, making her head feel dizzy and light. She looked at their entwined hands and bit back a wistful sigh.

Well, fig. They were in trouble.

“You do know where they’re keeping your brother, right?” Slyth asked as he slithered up Pix’s ankle and up her body.

Den’s jaw tensed as she surveyed the empty house. “Granny keeps her prisoners in the attic.”

Seeing worry on Den’s face, Pix gripped her hand tighter. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

Den looked down at their hands and Pix would bet that she was blushing beneath her fur. “Thanks for coming, Pixy.” Den looked down at her with such tenderness. “I always could count on you.”

Pix felt her own cheeks warm as her wings fluttered nervously. She smiled. “Always.” They might not be romantically together anymore—not after hearing what her family thought about Den dating a non-wolf—but they’d cared about each other deeply once. And, for those like them, whom the world hated and hunted, bonds like those lasted. They may change, even fade, but when loyalty was scarce, you couldn’t afford to lose them completely.

They made their way, hand-in-hand, through the hallways and up the stairs. The house was so huge, more of a mansion than a cottage, that Pix felt turned around. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“We’re almost there,” Den assured her.

“Notice, that wasn’t actually an answer,” Slyth hissed in Pix’s ear before Den hushed them both.

“That’s the attic door,” Den said, pointing to a large door with similar, delicate white trimming as the outside of the house. A soft light shone through the cracks and the smell of sweet baked goods and spices lingered.

Pix frowned. She might not know Granny Redd personally, but Pix knew prisons. And this was not what a prison door looked like. Prisoners did not get baked goods and cozy settings. There was absolutely no way Granny was keeping Fang in a place like this. Den must have gotten the wrong information. She reached out to warn her when Den’s hand slipped out of hers so Den could stalk closer to the door. “Wait.”

But Den didn’t. Instead, she snuck into the room and, as the door shut behind her, she howled.

Yep, they were in trouble.

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CHAPTER TWELVE: THE PAST IS A KIND OF PRESENT

Fallon stared at the back of Pix’s head as they marched through the woods. Well, as the others slogged through the thick forest and he floated behind them.

They were lost.

Even upside-down, he knew they were.

She knew they were.

Rat’s tail, even the snake and bird knew.

But he wouldn’t be the one to say it. Nope. He’d just gotten that blasted pink ribbon removed; he wasn’t in any hurry to have it re-wrapped.

“You could at least try not to look so smug,” hissed the snake. “It makes you look stuffed-up and ridiculous, all topsy-turvy like that.”

“This is your kingdom, isn’t it?” the crow cawed at him as it fluttered around his head. “Don’t you know where we are?”

“I knew where we were,” he mumbled, huffing the bird out of his face. “When we were down by the river, I knew exactly where I was. But it’s a little hard to gauge distance, direction, or speed while blood is rushing from your feet to your head and your face is covered with satin.”

“If you can’t help,” Pix snapped, without turning around, “you can frogging well shut it.” Her wings twitched. “All of you.”

“Well, as I huff and puff, if it isn’t Shadow Peaks’s mini mistress.”

Fallon’s spine stiffened as he heard a low, gravelly voice chuckle. Even hanging upside down, his body braced for battle when he saw Pix wince before stilling into a cultivated indifference.

Pix turned to face a shadowy figure hidden in the brush. “What are you doing here?”

A tall, grey wolf stepped out of the shadows, a sly grin stretching its jaws. Unlike the river bull or dragons that he usually fought, the wolf was much more human-like. It walked on two legs and talked. And, when he looked into its eyes, he saw devious intelligence and a disturbing awareness. “Seeing as this is pack territory,” it said in a mocking scold, “I should be asking you that.”

Pix looked around and cringed. “I thought it looked familiar.”

Stalking closer, the wolf licked its sharp teeth and looked Pix up and down. “Oh, I’ll bet.” It came close to sniff Pix’s neck. “There are things we’ve done in these woods that I’ll never forget.” Fallon’s gaze narrowed at the insinuating tone in the beast’s voice. Confused, he frowned as the creature leaned worryingly—intimately—near and nipped at her ear. “Isn’t that right, Pixy?”

Pixy?

Pix’s wing twitched irritatedly. “That was a long time ago, Den.”

Den?

Fallon studied the upright wolf again, this time more closely. The wolf’s—Den’s—hand gripped Pix’s waist, its claws teasingly tapping against her side. Its head almost nuzzled Pix’s neck, traversing the length like it knew the path well. Fallon felt a sneaking suspicion tickle his senses.

He shook his head. No. That couldn’t be. How could this monster know Pix?

Yet she was a monster—of a kind—as well. So maybe…

Yet they way it looked at her. It was like it knew something about her—a side of her—that few others did. It looked at her like a lover.

Fallon recoiled at the thought of this creature in love with Pix. Never.

Den laughed but let go of its possessive grip. “Well, if it’s not to reminisce or rekindle, why did you come here?”

Pix shook her head. “I’m just trying to get home.”

“With a royal prize in tow, I see,” Den said without even so much as a glance at Fallon.

Pix shot the wolf a daring glance. “I’m not looking for trouble.” But Fallon saw her pull her wand from the air. She might not be looking for trouble, but she was ready for it. His head nodded in approval.

The wolf held out its hands in mock innocence. “Trouble? Me?” It frowned, even as its eyes grinned. “I would never.”

Pix scoffed. “I remember trouble being your shadow, following you everywhere you went.”

The wolf gave a growling chuckle. “I remember that being the reason you liked me.” Den shrugged. “But I recognize the Starling whelp. I know what he is to you; I won’t stop you.”

Fallon bristled, even as Pix relaxed.

The wolf’s grin widened. “See, I can be helpful.” It sidled close to Pix again, placing its hands on her shoulders. “As long as you’re willing to help me too.”

***

Here it was.

Pix remembered what it was like to be with Den. Everything with her was a transaction. A deal. A figging bargain. And Den always found a way to be on the better side of it. Begrudgingly, Pix set her jaw. “What do you want?”

Den padded and paced about her with that same easy, loping swagger she always did when she knew she was about to get everything she wanted. “I’ll help you and prince-y boy here get out of the forest, if you help me get my brother out of a little mess.”

“If I remember right,” Lethe whispered in Pix’s ear, “Den and her family were always in the middle of some mess or feud or grudge and little rarely described it.”

Didn’t Pix know it. “But, lost as we are —in pack territory, no less—” Pix whispered back, “what other choice do we have?” After all, it was sheer luck that it’d been Den who found them and not one of her family members. Like her father. Pix shuddered.

Besides, she could handle Den. Pix had done it before; she’d do it again. Standing straighter, she looked Den in the eye. “What do you need?”

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CHAPTER ELEVEN: NO ONE'S DAMSEL

Pix sat up to glare at the bound prince. “Game? You think this is a game?” She scoffed. “This is our lives.” She glared at his self-righteously smug face. “When Cinderella rode off into the sunset with her happily ever after magically secured—through no real action on her part, mind you—you think she gave one thought to her family? You think she provided for them after she left?”

Pix shook her head. “Tish had to move into town and open shop just so she and her mother and sister could survive. That goop—that game—puts food on her family’s table and keeps a roof over their heads—not to mention, currently, our own. If some gullible royal’s desire to reclaim her glory days or catch the eye of some stuck-up, silver-spooned noble can keep Tish’s family from starving, isn’t that worth the price of the lie?”

“I thought it wasn’t lying,” the arrogant royal jeered, rolling his eyes. “It must be so easy, making up your own morals as you go.”

“Easy?” she barked back. “You think my life is easy? I’ve had to fight for everything I have.” Through the corner of her eye, she saw the flames in the lanterns flicker and flare with her anger. “Everything I have, I have because I took it from someone else who wanted it just as badly as I did but didn’t have the sense, smarts, or strength to keep it.”

“You steal,” he corrected. “And you think that because you do it in the name of survival that makes it right.” He snorted with an inflated sense of dignity. “Cheating is cheating, it doesn’t matter what you do it for.”

She shook her head, jutting out her jaw. “You think you and your precious little princess are any different?” She laughed. “You forget that I was there for her birth too, throne-boy. You think I’m playing unfair by giving Tish a little magical coverup? What about when the oh-so-good fairy Ava wished her goddaughter a happy birthday with the enchanted gift of beauty? How fair was that?”

“That’s different,” the prince insisted, even as he frowned and his bound body squirmed a bit. “It’s not like she asked for it. It was a gift.”

Pix rolled her eyes. “Please,” she said as her wings twitched. “You royals think that just because you all struck life’s lottery at birth that the deck isn’t stacked.” She shook her head and pinned him with a condescending glare. “We all play the cards that we’re dealt, however we have to—even cheating—you just can’t tell because you were born already holding a winning hand.”

The princeling pouted, his face scrunched into a royal snit. “What do you know?” he grumbled.

“More than you.” She snorted as she lay down, settling back on the crate. “You think just because your parents or some flittering, little fairy promised, or even gave, you something that you deserve it. You think, just because you were born with a silver spoon jammed down your privileged, entitled throat, that life owes you a happy ending, like that’s the only inevitable conclusion.”

She laughed bitterly. “Truth is, happy is just a fleeting moment—gone, then here, and gone again, all before you know it—and you’d better be ready and willing to fight—to lie, cheat, steal, whatever—for every moment. At least when I take something, I earned it. At least then, I’ve proven that I deserve what’s mine.” She growled as she turned her back on him. “All your little princess ever did right was being born into the right family.” She sneered. “And as you said, that wasn’t her fault. It was a gift.”

“That’s not true,” the love-struck prince argued. “She’s perfect, princess or not. She’s everything anyone could ever want in a wife.”

“And what exactly is that? Why do you even want her?” Pix asked him, genuinely if a little exasperatedly curious. “You’d be bored stiff with her in a week.”

The shadowed room was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said after a pause. “You’ve never seen her singing in the woods. She has this beautiful voice.”

Pix snickered bitterly and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure it was her singing that caught your attention.

“Meaning what?” he asked, but Pix just waved off his question as she curled tighter, trying to feign sleep even as her wings fluttered in reflexive irritation. “Pix?” She could hear him shuffling over the storage room’s well-swept floor before he struck her crate with a thump. She stiffened as her box shook slightly, but still wouldn’t look at him. “Meaning what?” he insisted as he shook her makeshift bed again.

She turned to him and pinned him with a piercing glance. “Meaning, if her beautiful voice wasn’t coming out of such a beautiful mouth, you’d never have stopped long enough for a second verse.”

“I would too,” he argued. She rolled her eyes and turned away again. “I would have.”

Sure, sure. She scoffed and closed her eyes tiredly, wondering if she had enough power to knock him out again.

“What do you know?” He huffed and sat back against the stacks again. “You don’t even know her.”

“I’ve met enough princesses.” Pix scoffed into the shadowed wall. “Prissy, chipper little things that go around singing and dancing through life as if the world were all weddings and sunshine; and they wonder why dragons and wolves and ogres constantly want to eat them. They do it just to shut them up.” She turned again, pushing herself up, when she heard Fallon laugh. But, by the time she rolled over, he was trying to cover it up with a cough. “They’re completely useless,” she continued on, “every last one of them.” She sat up, her legs dangling off the edge of her wooden bed. “You say I’ve done some pretty awful things in my life—and, yeah, okay, I have—but at least I’ve done something.” She shook her head. “Those girls, all they do is wait around in their towers or cottages, twiddling their thumbs and singing until some princeling with more bravery than brains shows up to marry them.”

* * *

Fallon winced as he remembered all the times he’d stopped to listen to Helena sing. While he’d rarely paid attention to the lyrics, thinking more about how beautiful she was or how perfect their lives together would be, he did remember true love, happy endings, and oddly chickadees featuring an awful lot.

“They don’t even make good wives or mothers—much less queens,” Pix continued, building steam to her rant. “They don’t know how to take care of themselves—protect or save themselves—who would trust an entire kingdom to these girls? They’re just career brides! How could they be anything else when they’ve never been out in the world—never had to deal with it? They’ve never lived, not really. All they know is their small, little woodland prisons.”

“And whose fault is that?” Fallon countered as he sidled up against the boxes to face her. “It’s people like you who put them in there, locking them away for some,” he shook his head as he spat out, “nefarious reason.” He ignored her impertinent snort. “If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same.”

With a sharp, irritated sound, Pix bounded off her box so fast Fallon recoiled instinctively. Looking at her, he wished he could back up a bit more into the boxes, could sink and hide in the storage room’s shadowed space. The tension coming off of the tiny pixie towering over his bound, pretty helpless form crackled around her, causing her hair to literally swirl like some menacing storm cloud in the lamplight. He swallowed hard as he stared into her hardened, glittering black eyes that glowed like lightning ready to strike.

When finally she spoke, her voice was disturbingly soft and calm, such a contrast from her form, like the deadly quiet before a tempest. “No one,” she all but whispered as she bent at the waist to lean over him, “could ever put me in a cage. I’d kill them first.”

He stared into her electric eyes and shivered at the truth he saw there, remembering the way her wand sank sickly into the hulking water beast. Fallon recalled the exhilarated, intimidating look on her face when the river bull had bled water onto the thirsty ground. Involuntarily, his gaze faltered at the memory as a chill swept over him.

Catching himself, he steeled himself, forcing his eyes to bravely meet hers again.

But it was too late.

She’d seen. She’d grinningly caught that flicker of fear and Fallon knew she wasn’t the type of girl who ever gave things back. She would keep it—clutch and claw into that small bit of him—feeding off of it. Making herself strong on his brief moment of weakness.

She stood tall again, her wings waving in smug victory. “That’s the real difference between those twittering girls and me,” she told him, her tone dark and low. “I don’t need anyone to be my savior.”

Forcing his voice not to waver—unwilling to give up any more of himself to her—he asked, “So you’re punishing them for being weak?”

“No,” she said with a dismissive shake of her head as she hopped back up on her box, her back turned to him even as her voice echoed through the quiet space, “I’m just not going to reward them for not being strong either.”

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CHAPTER TEN: WHERE THE WICKED REST

Fallon grunted and wriggled against the invisible bonds holding him as he glared around the room that pixie witch left him in. He couldn’t even tell where in Starling Forest they were exactly as that ridiculous ribbon she’d gagged him with had trailed and dangled in front of his eyes as they’d walked, blinding him behind the satiny pink.

Then she’d dragged him into some kind of shop—flowers or perfume or some such things, by the smell of it—before unceremoniously dumping him in some corner in the basement of the store. He looked around at the stacks of boxes revealed in the small circle of light from the lamp hanging from the ceiling above him. Storage. He was in storage. Left on the floor like so much unpacked stock. The place reeked of a million different flowers and herbs, the scent annoyingly—overwhelmingly and nauseatingly—sweet. It was making his already throbbing, blood-rushed head ache even more.

When she got back here—and when he got loose—that little fairy was going to figging get it!

Fallon growled as he thrashed.

“Do you mind keeping it down?” the snake yawned as it curled into a tighter coil on top of one of the boxes above his head. “Some of us didn’t bob like a boat all the way here and would like to get some well-deserved sleep.”

Fallon just grumbled as he thumped the boxes next to him with his shoulder, throwing his weight into it so the crates shook.

The snake stuck its long, forked tongue out at him and hissed as it scrambled back. “You’re a royal creep, you know that?” it snapped indignantly as it turned its head away.

“Stop it, the both of you,” the crow chirped as it flew down the stairs and back into the room. “You're both acting like a pair of hatchlings. You just wait until Pix gets back down here; she’ll gag you both.”

“He started it,” the snake sniffed before settling back down again.

The bird flew down and fluttered in front of Fallon. “Pix is still making arrangements upstairs. She said that she’ll let me take off the gag, if you promise—her words, not mine—‘to be a good, little princeling.’ ” The bird gave a feathery shrug. “Not for nothing, but I’d take the deal. Pix isn’t exactly known for random acts of kindness so, when she makes them, they’re worth taking advantage of.”

He huffed and stared at the bird before giving a curt nod.

The bird pulled at one of the bow’s obnoxiously brilliant tails with its sharp but careful beak, unraveling the whole thing. Fallon shook his head and swiveled his jaw, spitting the cloth from his mouth. “Thank you,” he said as he nodded to the crow. “What about the rest?” He tugged at the invisible bonds still holding his limbs tight.

“I can’t help you there.” The bird shrugged helplessly. “The deal was for the gag and I already had to give up crickets for a month.” Her head turned almost poutingly. “And there's this one proselytizing busybody who hangs out with some wooden-looking boy that I’ve had my eye on for a while too.” It sighed and shook its head. “Take it and be grateful, kid.”

He nodded as he used one of the box’s edges to scratch the back of his head. Fair enough. “Where are we?”

“Fairy in a Bottle Beauty Boutique,” the snake answered with a shake of its head. “Where, for a bag full of gold, you too can become the belle of the ball.”

“Letitia,” the crow said as she settled down on one of the crates, “one of Cinderella’s...unconventionally attractive sisters, owns the place. Pix and she are old friends and do a bunch of business together.”

“She’s letting us crash here for the night,” Pix said as she came down the stairs, “in exchange for some magic.” He watched her duck and weave her way through the stacks as she carried a small lantern to light her way.

“Fairy in a Bottle,” Fallon repeated as she came close, setting her lamp on the box with her serpent so it could curl closer to the lantern’s warmth. “You give her a bunch of enchanted goop that she can sell to the poor, hopeless women who come here just trying to catch their dreams, never knowing where their salvation came from.” Or at what cost.

Pix scoffed as she sat down on a crate and stretched. “Don’t be such a gob.” She yawned. “I wouldn’t waste my magic on trollish, vain royals trying to buy a new face.” She laid down and rolled over on her side. “Besides, Tish doesn’t need me to. She can sell the same supply as all the other shops and charge twice as much. All she needs to hock her so-called goop is one magical beauty transformation. Her own.” She shut her eyes and shrugged. “Then spread the tale of how she changed her life. Presto!” She waved her arm dismissively. “Instant sales. You royals just eat it up.”

“That’s,” Fallon started with a cringe. Sick. Cruel. Kind of ingenious. “Cheating,” he settled on. “Preying on people’s insecurities like that. Promising them wonders and handing over fakes.”

“Hey,” Pix scoffed, “all Tish did was say that magic changed her life—which is true—and gave her shop a compelling name, like any other businesswoman would. What other people infer from there isn’t her fault.” She smiled while she curled her arms around herself. “It’s not lying, if you just don’t tell them what they don’t want to hear.”

Fallon scoffed as he tried to roll over as well, trying to find some kind of comfort among the hard, wooden walls. “That’s the difference with your type,” he said disdainfully. “You’re all the same. Liars. Tricksters. Cheats.” He shook his head, the only part of his body he could really move. “You think that you can win the game by breaking all the rules. It’s not winning; you’re just messing it all up for the rest of us.”

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CHAPTER NINE: NEVER TEMPT THE ILL-TEMPERED

Fallon woke up again with his head pounding and a queasy feeling in his stomach. He opened his eyes, disoriented, at the world turned upside down.

Where was he?

He tried to pull at the bonds that held him, but they held tight. He peeked up at his ankles, feeling the ties holding him up. But he saw nothing. No rope. No chains. Just air. He hung a few feet above the ground, far from any tree, with nothing to hold him up that he could see.

Fallon instinctively seized. Flinching still, he stopped struggling, afraid that the slightest movement could cause him to crash. He had no idea how he was remaining aloft, much less what would cause him to fall.

How had he gotten here?

He blinked several times, trying to piece the flashes of memory swimming in his blood-rushed mind. He remembered the river bull. The fight in the stream. Then on the shore of the cove. He remembered Pix, that fairy he’d only met once before—years before—but never forgot. Never let himself forget.

Suddenly, a large, black bird flew up next to him, its beady eyes peering at him as it flapped its feathered wings in front of his face.

“Shoo,” he scolded before puffing air at it and trying to swing his head—to whip his hair—at it. “Shoo."

“Shoo?” the crow said, its voice shrill and disbelieving. “How rude?”

Fallon's jaw dropped. A talking bird? How—

“Lethe, he’s royalty;” insisted another voice, “they’re never rude.” Fallon followed the voice to the brilliant green snake crawling toward him on the forest ground. “They’re,” the snake hissed with snide humor, “discerning.”

Fallon shook his head. What was going on?

That fairy!

Whatever this was—however he’d gotten here—he knew that she was behind it. Gnomes’ toes, if he ever got his hands on her again, she was going to regret it.

He turned his head, first one way and then the other. He saw her, a little ways off, kneeling by the river to drink. She raised her cupped hand to her lips and took a sip. Without looking at him, she said, “You’re awake.” She sipped again before splashing the rest over her face. “Sorry about the headache;” she sighed, “don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“What did you do to me?” He thrashed, trying to fight—to wrest, to will—himself free.

“Less than I’d like to.” She stood up to walk toward him. “So be grateful." She tilted her head haughtily. "And silent, if you please”

“Let me go,” Prince Fallon demanded with as much dignity as he could muster, considering.

Pix stepped forward and faced him—well, as best she could with someone hanging upside down. “Listen up, princeling,” she said, gesturing around herself. “This is what is generally referred to as a kidnapping. That would be why you’re tied up and hanging by your toes, in case you were wondering.” She tsked as she tapped his cheek and tweaked his nose. “Now—not always, but in most situations—that would mean your demands don’t mean a whole lot, so you should stop making them because they’re really annoying.” She shrugged as she brushed her hair back off her sharp featured face. “And the more you annoy me, the more likely it is that I’m going to gag you. So be a good little royal and shut it.”

“You wouldn’t—”

But that was as far as he got before a bright pink ribbon wrapped itself around his face, tying itself into a big, floppy bow shoved between his lips, effectively silencing him.

Fallon growled from behind the satin, making her laugh, the sound tinkling as it shot silvered and sharp through him.

She touched the looping bow fondly. “Now, I’m not the biggest fan of pink,” she mused with a smile, “but I must say, it suits you very nicely.” And, with that, she turned and began to walk, leaving him to bob upside down behind her, her magic or whatever holding him up and holding him to her like a tethered boat buoyant on the waves.

“She’s always had a filthy temper,” the raven told him with an apologetic sigh as it flew next to him almost as if it wanted to comfort him.

He muttered something unflattering against his bonds.

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” the snake who slithered below him hissed, obviously amused as it quirked its head up at him. “If you think she’s ill-tempered now, you should see her really mad.”

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CHAPTER EIGHT: POINTED FINGER

Halting, he balked. “What?” How did that make sense?

“You killed it,” she said again with a shake of her head, “from the minute you left your precious castle and came to its river. Came to its home.” She walked right up to him, glaring up at him as she jutted her chin out and poked him in the chest with her wand. Fallon sucked in an uneasy breath as the wand’s lethal tip rested just over his heart. “To kill it.”

Wait. No. What? Bristling, he started, “I never meant to—”

“ 'I wanted to defeat it,' ” she said, repeating his earlier words. “That’s what you said,” she accused, her wings fluttering with fury now, lifting her off the ground, “isn’t it?” She paced in the air, flitting this way and that. “How exactly did you expect to defeat it?”

“I,” Fallon stuttered. “I,” he paused a moment, “I just would.”

“Like you defeated that dragon last month that was in the caves on the edge of Shadow Peaks's territory?” Pix asked. “She died, you know? You landed a blow to her stomach while she was protecting her eggs and you and your noble army of knights left her there to bleed out. Left her eggs undefended so, by the time I found them, they were nothing but broken shells, lifeless before the ever took breath.” She shook her head at him, her twitchy nose wrinkled in disgust. “Just because you don’t have the stomach to stick around long enough to see them actually die, doesn’t mean you didn’t kill them.”

“You killed the river bull!” he insisted. She was no better than he was. She was worse. She, like the dragon and the beast—and even those eggs—was evil. Deserved...

What was coming to them.

“At least I gave this creature a decent death,” she snapped back, coming close to hover in the air above him. She shoved her face close to his, glaring down into his eyes. “It was going to kill you.” She flit back and heaved a heavy breath. “You were going to kill it.” She shook her head, her short, black strands flying about her head. “You both would have likely died—painfully and slowly. This way, at least, one of you lives and the other died with dignity. Neither of you suffered.” She scoffed. “Which is more than you deserve.”

Fallon blinked at her blankly. “It was a monster.”

“You invaded its home,” she growled, diamond tears glittering in her hard eyes. “You snuck up and attacked it while it slept.” She shook her head in disbelief and scoffed. “And it’s the monster? You're the hero? Who taught you that?”

She was crying. Panic filled him as his gaze narrowed on the tears that filled her eyes but didn’t dare fall. Frog it all, give him a dragon, a troll, or an army of goblins. But not a crying woman.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

“I,” he sputtered, his face paling, not sure at all what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes darkened as she shook her head. “No, you’re not,” she said, with such surety. With doubtless conviction. Cold dread shivered up his spine as a sharp smile spread across her face. “But you will be.”

With a flick of her wrist, she raised her wand. Then there was a shot of sparkling, glittering light.

And then nothing, just an empty, endless dark.

* * *

She figging hated royals!

Pix’s fists clenched as she glared at the unconscious prince at her feet.

“What do we do with him now?” Slyth asked as he slithered over the rocks.

She ought to just kill him too. Let him bleed out on the shore where the river bull had died. Where he had snuck in here, invaded its home, and tried to destroy everything.

In her mind, she could still smell the smoke she’d felt choking her since her first breath. She thought of every moment she should have had with her mother, but hadn’t. Because some hero thought the world would be better without them in it.

She should kill him. Defeat him.

It would serve him right. It would be justice. Her wand lengthened as she gripped it tight, the tip of it sharpening to a deadly point. It would be so easy.

“You’re not going to kill him,” Lethe said as she flew over her shoulder, “are you? I mean.” She twittered hesitatingly. “He did kind of save you.”

Pix turned to glare at her. He did not save her. She could’ve handled it. She didn’t need him to save her.

“And you did save him,” Lethe quickly pointed out. “It seems counterintuitive to kill him now, after having gone through the trouble of saving him and all. And you know how you hate to do pointless things.”

Pix rolled her eyes.

Fine.

She flicked her wand, raising his prone body up. With a smug smirk, she twirled her wrist, causing his body to tip and turn until he floated in front of her upside down, nose to nose with her.

Perfect.

“Pix,” Lethe scolded.

“He’s alive,” she snapped. And, like she’d said, it’s better than his kind deserved. “And we have a three-days’ travel and, unless you have a better way to carry him...” she trailed off as she stared down the small bird—large for a crow, but still too frail for the task.

The crow fluttered indignantly, but said nothing.

Pix sniffed. That’s what she thought.

She started to walk, smiling as she thought of the unconscious princeling bobbing up and down by his ankles behind her.

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CHAPTER SEVEN: DEFEAT THE BEAST

Another courageous victory for the hero! Fallon howled and ran through the river water toward the fairy, still sitting high up on her rocky perch, just staring. The shocked look on her slack-jawed face was better than any grateful peasant or rewarding prize. That would show that pixie pest. “Thanks for the help,” he sneered up at her.

“You seemed to have done well on your own,” she called down over the crashing fall’s stream.

He had, hadn’t he? Fallon puffed out his chest. That was right! He wasn’t some naïve little kid anymore, trailing the knights around with a dulled dagger for a sword. He didn’t get tricked by lying, little fairies set out to ruin everything.

He glared up at the fairy, remembering that day in Morning Valley castle, feeling all the humiliation and sense of failure all over again. He straightened as she stood, ready to finally face her after all these years. After all these years of planning and practicing for this precise moment, he knew exactly what to say and do.

“Look out!” she shouted, pointing behind him, her face paled and her eyes wide.

Instinctively, he turned, feeling almost instantly foolish, sure this was just another of her tricks. Sure that the minute he turned back around, she would be gone.

Until he saw the river beast, once again awake and angry, charging toward him at full speed.

Well, fig.

Fallon froze, too late for him to swim or splash out of the way. He shut his eyes, lifting useless arms up in a fragile defense. He sucked in a breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Air wheezed from his lips as he felt someone grab him from behind and heave him up. His body tensed as he opened his eyes and blinked up at the gritting, grunting fairy. She cursed foully under her breath as her translucent, delicate-looking wings flapped madly under the strain of carrying both their weight. “Elves’ ears, princeling, if I’d known how heavy royals were, I’d have sat back and watched the bull trample you.”

He grimaced. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Please,” she insisted as she lumberingly fluttered further toward shore, “don’t mention it.” Dropping them both onto the rocky sand, she heaved.

They both turned as the raging bull snorted, turning around and around in the river, splashing wildly as it searched for the absent prince.

“I know river bulls aren’t known for their gentle natures,” the fairy huffed, trying to catch her breath, “but what the frogging pond did you do to this thing to make it so mad?”

Fallon flushed a bit as he pushed himself to his feet. “I woke it up.”

Pix turned to gawk at him. “It was asleep when you found it?” she asked, slapping at his hands as he tried to help her to her feet. “Why in the tipping toadstool would you wake it up?”

He flinched away from her stinging hits. “I wanted to defeat it.”

She screeched. “You wanted to defeat the sleeping beast?” She shook her head, her wings twitching irritatedly. “You royals,” she muttered to herself, “have a twisted sense of fun.”

“Look,” he growled as the bull’s head popped up at her raised voice, “can we talk about this later? Maybe after we escape the rampaging monster?”

“The rampaging monster that would still be asleep, if you’d left it the elf alone?” she shouted.

“You can either help me defeat the beast or you can,” he paused, spitting wet strands of hair out of his mouth, “buzz off; I really don’t need the lecture right now.”

“Buzz off?” she scoffed. “Buzz off?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she said with a hitch of her hips before she rose up in the air. She gave him a mock salute. “Best of luck, princeling,” she said. “You’re going to need it.” And then she turned, putting her fingers to her lips, and whistling loudly before zipping up and away.

Great! She’d left him. Not that he expected anything more from a treacherous, little pest like her. Her true colors showing.

He grumbled as he gripped his sword in his fist and turned back to see the bull stomping in the river. Its head lowered as it aimed its lethal-looking horns.

Fallon gulped and turned to run.

But on the shoreline of the rocky cove, there weren’t exactly many places to run. The long, stacked wall of stones lining the shore was tall and, while climbable, still looked intimidating. But it looked like his only option. So he jumped to reach a handhold high up, wedging his hand between two huge, sharp stones. With a groaning strain, he pulled himself up onto the wall, cutting his hands as his feet scrambled for a foothold—any foothold.

The bull charged the wall, slamming furiously into the stone, causing the unsteady stones to shake and slip beneath his grasp. Troll’s teeth! He clung to the stones as tightly as he could, jamming his hands and feet between the unforgiving rocks. But the harder he grasped, the more his blood seeped slippery onto the stone.

Just as he was about to fall, his grip on the wall faltering, he heard the bull cry, a screeching, yelping squeal of pain.

Fallon looked down, seeing agony burn in the bull’s dark fathomless eyes. He saw it crumple and stumble backward. Mewling, it sent him one more sad, sorrowful—almost regretful—look before its legs gave way and it fell away from the wall and onto the sandy shore.

That was when he saw her. Pix’s face was so set—the lines and angles of her face held so rigid and fierce—that he hardly recognized her. Her black eyes glittered, alight with emotions too tumultuous to name. Like hunger and desire with a violent edge. Like pain and regret seeping into resentful anger.

He watched in unspeakable awe as she pulled her arm back, her wand—that long, hard shaft of silver—sliding out from the bull’s underbelly. The bull tensed, its back bowing with the pixie’s movement, a screeching howl slipping from its throat.

She’d pierced its heart. Clean and precise. Water bled out the wound as she pulled her wand free. The beast collapsed on the shore in the dark, muddy mess that seeped from its body into the ground.

For a second, she stared at it, her face a blank mask, hard and emotionless. Fallon couldn’t see her downturned eyes from where he was. A part of him was grateful for that, afraid of what he would see there as she met the pleading, pain-filled eyes of the dying creature at her feet.

She nodded as if in response to something the beast had said. Then she cooed and touched its bowing head that cuddled her palm like an overgrown kitten. It moaned one last time, shuddering as it shut its already cloudy eyes, before the fairy girl swung her arm, slashing her wand down, fast and hard.

Fallon winced as the silver sliced through the bull’s neck, magic—he was sure—making it easier. The armor of its watery hide shattered beneath her tiny, fragile form’s strength. The creature’s head—its entire form—sunk in on itself before melting away into a ripppling wave. It soaked her, crashing over her still, stoic form before washing away into the river.

She stood there, still as a statue—not so much as a flutter of her thin, glass-like wings. The only movement at all, was the water that dripped sad and sorrowful down her face and form.

He slid down the cliff’s wall, ignoring the pain in his palms and soles. He swallowed hard as he walked up to her. “Pix,” he said, the sound choked in his throat.

She didn’t look up at him. Didn’t so much as move to acknowledge him.

He wanted to thank her. Felt like he needed to apologize. Though for what exactly he wasn’t quite sure. “I,” he started. He swallowed again. “You saved my life.”

He didn’t understand why—could hardly believe how—but she had. He opened his mouth to thank her.

She glared up at him. “I didn’t save you,” she growled, her voice low and menacing.

He stepped back, shocked and instantly wary. “What?”

She followed him, stalking forward as he moved back, step after step. Fiery glitter sparked off her, drying away the water bull’s remains, before falling to ash behind her. “I,” she repeated, “didn’t save you. I didn’t kill that bull.”

He looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I may have stabbed it,” she said slowly with an eerie, frightening calm, “may have slit its throat.” She turned her face with a vicious scowl. “Bled it out and let the sand soak up its life. But I didn’t kill it.” She stared pointedly—accusingly—at him. “You did.”

READ CHAPTER EIGHT

 

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