Winter's Tale (10 page)

“Here’s the thing,” she said, wondering if
she remembered the graveyard’s paths well enough to beat the queen
and her dogs back inside Rackham’s walls. “I’d really rather not
die tonight. I know I’m just a human, and I’m certainly not
perfect, but I
think
Hans was fond enough of me that he
wouldn’t want me to give in without a fight.”

“
Fond
enough,” the queen repeated.
This of all things shocked her to a halt. “You think the fondness
of a dead man is reason enough to live?”

December guessed faeries didn’t take
rejection well . . . and that she was composed of sterner stuff. It
helped that she didn’t believe Hans actually was dead. Okay, maybe
he was, but she wasn’t going there a second before she had to.

“Hell, lady,” she said, “I’d live another day
to drink a cup of hot cocoa.”

She turned and ran while Araun was
spluttering.

Her head start lasted the length of three
grave mounds. Then the dogs were on her. One took a single bound to
knock her headlong. Another pounced on her back and squished the
breath out of her. The third nudged her around until she flopped
face up, which she hadn’t known canines were clever enough to do.
The fourth—the alpha, she thought—crouched above her and growled.
Heard from so close, the sound rolled through her like the very
essence of nightmares.

“Crap,” she gasped, her hands shooting to its
ribcage to hold it off.

The warmth of its fur shocked her, the steady
thrum of its heart, the undeniable reality of what wasn’t a natural
beast. She reminded herself that if this dog were like her father’s
rotties, it wouldn’t tear out her throat unless it was given an
order. Aside from having her breath knocked out, the pack hadn’t
put a scratch on her.

The brown eyes gazing down at her were crazy
intelligent.

“Okay,” she said, wondering if the creature
was smart enough to be reasoned with. “I know you don’t really want
to hurt me. You’re just doing what she tells you. If you had your
choice, you’d probably be chasing squirrels or peeing on supersize
hydrants.”

The dog shut its mouth with a snapping
sound.

“Heel,” the queen ordered, calling the pack
to her.

She’d taken her time catching up. Though she
hadn’t put her sword away, her manner was unruffled.

“It’s a pity I have to kill you. You really
do have spirit.”

December’s hand closed around a jagged rock.
Throwing it at the queen was madness, but she did it anyway. She’d
played softball here and there, and her arm was strong. Plus, the
queen didn’t dodge. The stone struck her temple and broke skin.
Araun touched her fingertips to the spot, seeming stunned to find
blood on them. December didn’t know if the queen was normally
harder to injure, or if she was just amazed that a lowly human
dared attack her.

“Well,” Araun said, shaking off her shock.
“At least you’re making this easy.”

ARAUN
placed the tip of her sword at
the base of of December’s throat. The edges were razor sharp, and a
bead of blood welled immediately.
I’m going to die
, she
thought, all out of bright ideas. The queen filled her lungs in
preparation for pushing down.

Before she could, a whistling sound split the
air, followed by a meaty
thwap
. Araun staggered to the left,
the sword’s tip luckily knocked away without doing more damage.

“What—?” exclaimed the queen, ironically
echoing Mrs. Blake’s tone of disbelief. She gawked down her sparkly
dress’s front, where a couple inches of arrowhead and shaft were
poking out her sternum. A normal person would have crumpled, but
evidently not a fae queen. The stagger and the shock were the
extent of her reactions.

“I have more where that came from,” Hans
said. He strode up in his huntsman’s outfit, with the critical
addition of a longbow and quiver. He looked better than anyone or
anything December had ever seen: strong and tall and radiating
confidence.

Araun was less delighted to see him.

“No,” she said. “Your statue form
disintegrated. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I was. Temporarily.” He looked down at
December and gave her a big wink. In a more practical gesture of
reassurance, he tossed her the thick wool socks she’d thrown off
earlier. Wherever he’d found them, they were welcome. “Sorry I took
so long to re-form.”

December didn’t have breath to answer.
Despite the arrow shaft spearing her, Araun was able to speak
first. “You
can’t
have resurrected. You don’t love her.”

“Apparently, I do.” Grinning brilliantly,
Hans nocked another arrow and aimed it at the queen. Realizing the
danger must not be over, December scrambled to her feet. The socks
felt awesome. She promised herself she’d totally crow about him
loving her later.

“We’re getting out of here?” she asked.

“Yes, we are.” He circled the queen with his
bow pointed. “Once we leave Dire Woods, she can’t use magic.”

“Like you’ll get that far,” sneered Araun.
She was panting, one hand wrapped around the arrow’s shaft.
December guessed she was made of flesh after all. The thin trail of
red on her spangly gown inched longer.

“You should have checked on me before now,”
Hans said. “And not simply through third parties. You’ve forgotten
fae and mortal realities overlap in this area. Already your magic
is weaker than normal.”

“It’s . . . stronger than yours, huntsman.”
Throwing up her hand, she spat a string of words in a strange
language. The air in front of her palm shimmered like heat fumes,
which suddenly shot snakelike toward both of them. Dizzied by
whatever was in her magic, December’s knees went out from under
her.

Hans resisted the spell better. Bracing his
feet, he muttered a foreign phrase in return. Araun didn’t turn to
stone, but she stopped moving. Mercifully, her weakening charm fell
away. Hans had frozen her in place with her arm still up, like stop
motion on a film. One of the black dogs whined and paced around his
mistress. Feeling like she’d dodged a bullet she didn’t understand,
December got to her feet once more.

“Wow,” she said, giving Hans wide-eyed look.
“I guess elf-faerie hybrids still have mojo.”

Hans was less impressed with himself. “Come
on.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled. “I caught her unprepared to
counter that. My spell won’t hold her long.”

“Not that I’m bloodthirsty,” December said,
running along with him, “but can’t you just kill her? Maybe cut her
head off with a buzz saw?”

Hans hurdled a grave marker and shot her a
startled look. “She’s my sworn liege. There would be magical
repercussions.”

“Really? She killed your mother and cursed
you to be a statue for, like, forever, but she’s still your sworn
liege?”

Hans laughed, which kind of surprised her.
Then again, maybe after all those years imprisoned in marble he was
giddy to be moving. “You think that doesn’t make sense? You threw a
rock at a powerful fae queen. With your mere human arm. You’re a
little insane, my love.”

December discovered she didn’t mind being
called either of those things.

“This way,” he said, pointing toward a
staggered line of trees at the graveyard’s edge.

“You know where we’re going?”

“Trying to hide from her Sight is a waste of
time. We’re taking the straightest shot out of the Overlap.”

The straightest shot didn’t involve the
convenience of a path. Since December wasn’t Hiker Girl, she
appreciated Hans’s help to avoid tripping. He was as surefooted as
a deer on the uneven ground, leaping nimbly over roots and rocks
like they were nothing.

“Woodcraft,” he said, noting her raised
eyebrows. “My elf half excels at it.”

The idea of her studly lover being an elf
amused her. “Why don’t you have pointy ears?”

“Only purebloods have those.”

Fortunately, he didn’t view this as a rude
question. She came up short in front of a large fallen tree. Hans
reached back and grabbed her beneath the arms, swinging her over
the obstacle. When he set her down, they were chest to chest—him in
his huntsman’s clothes and her in her rather breezy pajama top. He
was so warm, so alive she started breathing faster for a different
reason than running for her life.

Hans didn’t let go of her right away. His
eyes were the same burning blue ice she remembered from her dream.
“Thank you for saving me,” he said huskily.

“Thank you for saving me,” she responded. Her
nipples contracted at his closeness like hot pebbles.

Hans’s fingers tightened on her elbows. “I
want to chain you to a bed for a year.”

“Only a year? I was thinking more along the
lines of ten.”

Her lover’s beautiful face darkened. He wet
his lips, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Twenty. And when I’m
finished with you, you can chain me for the next decade.”

The sound of dogs baying in the distance
jerked them around before she could tell him he had a deal.

Hans swore in frustration. “The queen has
thrown off my spell. We need to get going before her pack catches
us.”

He pulled her along behind him, their
progress made harder by the sudden steepening of the slope. No
wonder the girls at Rackham hadn’t wanted to sneak out here. They’d
have ruined their pedicures. December’s wool socks were better than
bare feet but not as good as shoes. Her naked thighs were soon
covered in branch scratches.

“Next time I flee an evil fae,” she panted,
“I’m wearing combat boots.”

Hans squeezed her fingers. “Save your breath,
sweetheart. The Dire Woods border is close now.”

Maybe elf-faeries could naturally sense such
things. December just saw more bare-branched, trippy-rooted trees.
Then she heard it: the distant
whoosh
of car tires on
asphalt. The road to Kingaken village must be at the bottom of this
last incline.

She tried to get her trembling legs to move
faster, but they weren’t having it. In the end, it wouldn’t have
mattered.

“Damn,” Hans said. “I don’t hear the
dogs.”

Her body realized the truth before her brain
did. She dug in her heels but instead of stopping the way she
wanted, she fell onto her ass and began to slide. For once, no
roots or rocks curtailed her momentum. Nor could Hans pull her up.
He had her hand and skidded down the hill with her.

They fetched up in a dry gully, no more than
ten feet from a wall of red-eyed black fur. The pack had circled
ahead of them. The two-lane road stretched behind the snarling
line, teasing them with its—at the moment—futile promise of
freedom.

“Got any more magic tricks up your sleeve?”
she asked from the side of her mouth.

“Black dogs are hard to spell,” he answered
in the same fashion. “They’re naturally resistant.”

The lead dog lifted its head and barked, in
all likelihood signaling its mistress that her prey was cornered.
December’s heart thumped unpleasantly, but she told herself not to
panic. If Araun took her time catching up like she had before, they
might have a chance to try one more thing.

Being resistant to magic didn’t mean these
dogs were resistant to their training.

“
Dip
,” she said, using the command
voice her father had tried to teach her six-year-old self so long
ago.

The third dog in the line looked at her. This
was better than nothing, though she’d hoped to hook the alpha with
the names Miss Westin had jotted in the margin of her
fairytale.

“
Down
,” she said, adding the hand
gesture. The dog wriggled and whined unsurely, his eyes sneaking
leftward to his leader. Whatever the lead dog conveyed in his gaze
kept Dip from obeying her.

“What are you doing?” Hans asked in an
undertone.

“Hoping the only other name I have is the one
that matters.” She drew breath for the human version of magic
power. “
You,
” she said, catching the alpha’s eyes.
“
Woden
.” She gave his name the German pronunciation, with a
V
and a good strong
O
. “
Sit
.”

His great jaw fell open, but his butt plopped
onto the ground. His reaction was so funny she almost smiled.

“Stay,” she said even more firmly. “Woden,
Dip, all of you, sit.”

The pack dropped their furry asses like
dominoes.

“Wow,” Hans murmured, taking her elbow so
they could edge around the pack. “If I didn’t love you already, I
surely would after that.”

Naturally, escaping couldn’t be that
easy.

“Stop,” said the thready voice of the queen
on the hill above. She was crashing through the undergrowth, her
footing not so even—perhaps because of her injury. Disturbingly,
she hadn’t bothered to tug out the arrow.

“Run!” Hans urged, grabbing December’s hand
again.

They ran past the dogs and onto the county
road’s gravel verge.

“
Hans William Winter
,” intoned the
queen, “I order you to fall.”

She must have put every drop of power she had
left into the compulsion. If she’d had four names, like she’d
wanted, December didn’t know what would have happened. As it was,
Hans tripped and caught himself on his hands. December stopped and
looked back. The queen was among the trees, her dress blazing like
sunshine.

“You should have loved my daughter,” she
cried.

Hans struggled to get up, but his palms were
magically superglued to the road.

“
You
should have loved her better,” he
panted. “When she was alive, you two were at each other like cats
and dogs.”

“Liar,” screamed the queen. “I loved her with
all my heart.”

The instant the words were out, she clutched
her brow with one hand, as if a killer headache were splitting it.
She screamed again, apparently unwilling to face her dishonesty.
December knew something bad was coming then. Guilt and fury weren’t
a good cocktail. Araun’s arm lifted, descended, and a long shape
flashed between the trunks, seeming to turn in slow motion. The
flash came from the metal of queen’s sword. She’d thrown it like a
circus performer’s dagger straight toward December’s trapped
lover.