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Growing weary of this, I decided we should teach him a lesson. I had no reason to kill him, but maybe a light thrashing would take care of matters. I shook off some of the Moon Mother’s energy, shifting what was left into a pale ball between my fingers. Antler-Boy watched, suspiciously, as I gazed up into his eyes, slowly smiled, then sent the spell spinning at him.
I didn’t aim it to kill, but merely to glance off one shoulder.
He watched it approach, without trying to duck. When it lashed into his arm, striking with a force strong enough to knock him down but—I hoped—not leave lasting damage, he let out a scream and scrambled to his feet.
I motioned away, like I was shooing a cat. “Go—get out of here. Leave us alone!”
But at that moment, a loud rumble echoed through the woods. I jumped back, ignoring the odd Fae.
Through the forest, from deep in the dark wilds, the sound of thunder echoed with each footstep. Something huge was coming our way. Something ancient, older than time, was striding through the woods like we might walk through a garden. The scent of musk washed through the air—of primal male energy, strong and erect and dark.
We began to back away, but there was nowhere to run.
I glanced at Antler-Boy. A smug look crossed his face and he stuck his tongue out at me. I did not return the taunt but instead focused on keeping my wits about me. Whatever was coming our way was nothing to mess with.
And then, in a crash of lightning and the scent of heavy forest rain, out stepped a being who towered over the trees. Tall he was, with skin the color of moss. Spiraling horns rose into the sky, black as night, and his chest was matted with thick hair. His legs were shaggy and goatlike. A satyr, with hooves sparking fire every step they took. His arms were muscled and his face lined, and his cock and balls hung so heavy that they might be boulders in their own right.
“Herne.” I whispered his name as I fell to my knees, unable to wrest my gaze away.
Herne . . . Lord of the Woodland. Herne. Lord of the Rut. Lord of the Vine. King Stag of the World. Lord of the Wild.
His eyes burned red, piercing my soul. Here was the consort of the Huntress—to the Moon Mother. Here was the god that roamed the night, reminding people why they could never conquer nature.
Catching my breath, I pressed my hands to my eyes. “Lord of the Night . . . ,” I whispered, bending over to touch my forehead to the ground.
Delilah let out a strangled cry and joined me. “He is . . . he is . . .”
“I am Herne, Lord of this land. And this is one of my sons, Tra. What have you been doing to him, Aeval? I thought I told you never to torment my children again, you devil.”
I slowly glanced up at the god, a terror so deep in my heart I could scarcely form words. “Your Eminence . . . I am not . . . if it please . . . I’m not . . .”
But he stopped me, with a sudden laugh. “You are not Aeval! Who are you? And why are you so familiar?” And then, another pause, and he leaned down, looking at me like I might bend down to look at a bug. “You carry the mark and horn of the Black Beast. Who are you? And what are you doing in my realm? And why should I let you live?”
And I realized right then just how much trouble we were in.
Chapter 7
Crap. And I didn’t usually use that term.
“We’re in trouble,” I whispered to Delilah. “We are in so much trouble . . .”
“Again, I ask you, girl: Why should I let you live?”
I forced myself to my feet even though I just wanted to cower at his.
“I am Camille, from Otherworld. I’m a priestess of the Moon Mother. I am the Chosen of the Black Beast. I am a slayer of demons.” The gods tended to respect people who weren’t shy about their exploits, so I decided to proceed on that premise and hope I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.
“Chosen of the . . .” Herne paused, and I felt him rifling around in my mind. The gods were good at that—getting inside your brain and worming around till they found what they wanted to find.
I hated the feeling—it reminded me of when Vanzir had been sucking at my energy, sliding into my thoughts just as he slid into my body. My mind, my magic, and my thoughts were my own. My body might be the temple, but my inner self, my core was the sacred flame.
But surprisingly, he didn’t stay long, nor did he tarry over things not his business. After a moment, Herne withdrew from my thoughts and stared at me with a puzzled look.
“You may wander in my realm, but I will not protect you. You carry magic far too powerful for your own good, and because of it, you are in danger. Indeed, danger rides you like a steed, it clings to your back. You reek of Aeval’s energy and yet . . . there is something beneath the stench of the Unseelie. And where you are going, young Fae, the Dark Queen will not be able to protect you.”
After a moment, he let out a dismissive bark. “Half-breeds are irksome. I don’t like puzzles.” He motioned to Tra. “Run ahead. This is not Aeval. Leave these two alone and neither help nor hinder them.”
“Wait—”
