The Outlander Fae and the Tattered Wolf Prince

Lyons

The band of people and animals that finally reaches us consists of about thirty. Some are atop horses; others are on foot. A few, if I’m not mistaken, are taking the forms of various animals. I don’t see any wolves in the group.

“Jesse,” greets a tall, older man from atop the largest horse in the group. He’s probably about forty, with much cleaner, more coiffed hair than my savior’s, though just as long. It’s speckled with gray. His eyes are a piercing blue, too, though they lack the misty-gray, winter-storm appeal that makes me really melt on the spot. “You’ve made a friend.”

I guess my savior’s name is Jesse, then. I sneak a careful glance at him and note that he looks disgusted by the man in front of us. Based on what he told me about a man named Lyons enslaving me if he thinks I’m Fae, I decide this man is probably Lyons.

“Yes, my lord,” Jesse says, bowing his head a few degrees. “This is Mistress Echo. I think she speaks Old Vitalian, but I was able to get a few words of Signa out of her.”

Lyons’ eyes flash at that. “Old Vitalian? An outlander, then?”

You could say that, I think as I hold back a manic laugh.

“I don’t believe so,” says Jesse. “She mentioned Bridgeport. There are still a few Normalia families left there who speak Old Vitalian. I think she’s from one of them.”

Lyons scans me thoughtfully. When his eyes sweep up and down my body, it feels much more insidious than it did with Jesse. “You couldn’t get her surname out of her?”

“Lockheed, I think—or perhaps just Locke?” There’s a fiery look to Jesse’s gaze as he asks the gaggle of people facing us, “Perhaps one of you speak Old Vitalian?”

They exchange reluctant glances with each other. I try not to smile too obviously; clearly Jesse already knew the answer before he asked the question.

Lyons dismounts his horse at that, then strides over toward me with the confidence of a man who is clearly in charge of this whole operation. He reaches out to touch my face without asking permission; I flinch, glancing at Jesse as the panic takes hold of me. Jesse touching my hand was one thing, but this?

Just go with it, Jesse’s eyes seem to say when they meet mine. Trust me.

I still can’t say I trust him, but I also still really don’t want to become “enslaved,” so I go with it.

“Beautiful,” murmurs Lyons as his thumb strokes my cheek. It’s not nearly as calloused and rough as Jesse’s, and it reminds me a little too much of Hunter. “Skin as soft as silk. Bruised, though. Did she say anything about an altercation?”

Shit. I forgot about my bruises. I probably could have hidden them with this weird Fae magic, had I remembered. Why didn’t Jesse say anything about them?

“She and her husband were robbed, I think, on their journey home to Bridgeport,” he explains swiftly. Right, I think grimly; he probably saw the bruises as an opportunity to strengthen the story. Smart, if annoying. “Can’t quite make sense of what happened to her husband, though.”

Lyons clearly looks disappointed at the mention of my husband; he releases my face as if it’s suddenly made of acid, and his blue eyes drop to my ring finger. “Shame,” he murmurs. “Such a pretty, little thing.”

I really want to hit him. Maybe I could do that neck break thing again?

“We don’t have time for this,” says someone in the back—a girl, I note with surprise. A warrior girl. “There’s a squadron of Queen’s Men a day’s ride east of here. If we leave now—”

“Silence!” bellows Lyons at the girl, clearly disgusted. “How many times must I tell you, Symone? Women shall hold their tongues until spoken to!”

I sneak another glance at Jesse. Is this Lyons guy for real? How does Jesse know him? If they’re allies, what does that say about Jesse?

“If I may, my lord,” he says carefully, “I’d be happy to take a few good soldiers to escort the lady to the HQ. We can ready them for your return—have a feast awaiting you upon your arrival, once you take out the Queen’s Men.”

Lyons frowns as his gaze returns to me. He eyes me up and down again as if deciding whether he’s ready to give up the fresh meat. “Very well,” he finally says. “Take the usual suspects—Briggs, Ollie, and Symone. We’ll catch up with you in a day or two.”

Jesse nods, bowing his head again. “Thank you, my lord.”

Lyons nods shortly, gaze never leaving mine. “Keep an eye on her, Jesse. Until we can verify her story, she’s not going anywhere outside of Beatton.”

- - - - - 

For the first ten minutes or so, we ride in silence. I scan my new allies—if I can even call them that—with interest. Briggs is a gruff-looking man—close to sixty, if I had to guess—with a thick beard and a thicker belly. Ollie is just the opposite—a scrawny, teenage boy who can’t be much older than fifteen—with wide, baby blue eyes and a pleasant expression.

Apparently everyone here has blue eyes, and no one has green ones except magical beings. What’s up with that?

The girl—Symone—is beautiful. She has rich, dark skin that’s about the same color I charmed my eyes to, but the same blue eyes as the others—creating a striking contrast. She keeps her thick, curly black hair in a short afro, and while her body is flatter in certain feminine areas than mine, she seems just as fit and strong as I am—something I take a lot of pride in, considering how hard I work at it.

In case you were wondering, it has nothing to do with appearances. I started going to the gym the second time Hunter hit me, and I never stopped. Granted, I never actually gathered up the nerve to fight back, but at least I could tell myself I was strong enough to try.

“They’re safely out of hearing range,” says Briggs to Jesse after our ten minutes of riding in silence and sizing each other up have run out. “Can you tell us the real story now?”

I stiffen at that question. If this man knows we made up the story about where I come from, who else does? Does Lyons?

To my surprise, Jesse just looks amused. “I’d be lying if I told you I knew the real story,” he tells the man as he reins his horse to a stop. “Only got bits and pieces before you all showed up. Really, couldn’t you have given me a few more minutes?”

“Last we saw you, you were being chased by a bear,” Symone reminds him coldly. “Next time, shall we just hope for the best?”

Jesse laughs. “Fair enough. Thank you for trying, my friends. But as I think you saw, the bear was… handled.”

It was probably easy for the group to assume that Jesse took care of the bear on his own. Hearing him phrase it this way, though, I feel their eyes flicker over toward me.

“Why don’t we make camp here?” suggests Ollie. “I’m tired, anyway, and I’m guessing we’re not in a rush to get back to the HQ.”

“We have to beat the horde back,” Symone says. “But… yes. I’m okay with stopping here.”

When Jesse glances at me, it takes me a second to realize he’s waiting for me to voice my opinion. “Oh,” I manage with a blush. “Uh… sure.”

I’m not sure I can trust these new three any more than I was sure I could trust Jesse. But when you’re stuck in an alternate dimension, timeline, world, or some combination of the three… well, you gotta do what you gotta do.

So I do.