The Ravaged Fairy Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2011 Anna Keraleigh

  ISBN: 978-1-926950-52-5

  Cover Artist: LF Designs

  Editor: Stephanie Taylor

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  I want to thank everyone at Evernight Publishing from the bottom of my heart, especially Stacey and my outstanding editor Stephanie Taylor. You’re both so wonderfully patience and I’m very lucky to be part of this group.

  To my Facebook friends that helped me with the Irish translations, Hope and Valerie. You ladies rock!

  I would also like to invite every one of my readers to check out Aran Islands Tourism (visitaranislands.com). Ireland is a magical place and I hope you all get to experience its wonders.

  THE RAVAGED FAIRY

  Anna Keraleigh

  Copyright © 2011

  Chapter One

  Ravaged, that’s how Thame felt.

  There were no clear thoughts, no memories, only an immense amount of pain and the drive to survive. He stumbled through the thick brush on the ground and pushed against trees to catapult him further. There was no time to rest or to gain his strength, especially with the sun waning.

  His foot slipped in a collection of mud and his knee slammed against the ground. The pain vibrated up his leg and straight to his back. Even grabbing hold of the nearest tree base would not stop his downward plunge. He landed face first in a thicket of grass and his bare toes sunk into the cold mud.

  Thame was a warrior in the fairy kingdom, a place that held the last of their kind. He should be flying proudly through the sky instead of lying on the ground with his body screaming in pain. He was stronger than this, stronger than those who hunted him.

  His consciousness flickered and images assaulted his open eyes. He saw his new queen with her bright smile, the King that was a childhood friend and the dreadful night when this all began.

  They surprised him, a rare occurrence. The trolls hit him until the blackness was eating at his mind and then they cut off his wings. Thame pushed to his knees. They ripped off his wings! Ripped them right from his body and with the Goddess as his witness he swore to slaughter every troll that stumbled in his path. They had just rescued the Queen after the trolls kidnapped her and now they decided to take on a warrior. The damned bastards had succeeded in their quest. Here he was crawling on all fours like wild animal; he had no idea where he was or how he would get home.

  The trees finally thinned out as he once again climbed to his feet. They were leaden and unstable as he burst through the tree line. His balance was shaky and the house that lay before him might have well been a figment of his imagination.

  He landed beside a rock fence, holding his breath to keep from shouting as the pain made his back spasm. Grey rocks piled high and used in lieu of traditional fences. That was not a common practice in Ireland any longer.

  The big question was, would the lad see him? Few humans could see a fairy and in nearly two hundred years, he only met one, their current queen. The little thatched cottage rose beside a dirt road. All the lights were off but he stumbled over the rock wall and toward the wooden door painted red.

  “Help.” It was a whisper, he could not yell despite trying. “Help…” The whisper was another soft echo in the fading light. He pulled himself up the single step and slammed his fist against the door. A thud sounded, to his relief the knob twisted, and the door opened.

  An elderly man stood there adjusting his glasses. Thame’s hope fell, the man didn’t see him. He squinted through big glasses and frowned. “Help me!” It was a cracked plea on his lips before the man shut the door. This was no time to give up. He’d push himself to his feet and continue on. Someone had to see, someone had to help. He prayed to the Goddess as he shifted to his feet. Pain destroyed his balance; he grimaced, each step caused brutal stabbing pains throughout his body. He ground his teeth together and pushed forward, there was no way he would give up now. Not after surviving that horror and escaping the trolls clutch.

  Footsteps brought him back to the present. His head lifted and then he laid eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She stopped in the middle of the road. The long white dress she wore fluttered around her legs. Black hair tangled in the wind and then he fell. He struggled with all his might to shift so he could watch her. She was still there and her gray eyes shifted to him. Could she see him? Was she an angel of mercy to take him to the Goddess? His lips opened but no words would sound. Thame fought the darkness but it was greedy and his consciousness finally gave in.

  Breena stood motionless as the tall blond man lay on the bed. She’d found him naked in the middle of her road.

  Okay, so it wasn’t her road, just the path she took every day to her house, and he wasn’t exactly naked. He wore this tattering of cloth over his good bits, as Gran would say. She also had no clue what to do. It would be wrong to leave him there, so she hurried to the house and grabbed her horse. It was the only option to bring the big guy home. It took the better part of an hour to maneuver their way there.

  At the front door of the thatched cottage, she decided on using the wheel barrel, rolled him in and pushed him to the guest bedroom. It was the spare room, the one with a bed, a window and creaky old wooden floors.

  “Hello?” her voice echoed in the quiet house. “Dia dhuit?” she tried in Irish, should it be someone from another town. The man remained motionless as she inched her way closer. Lord but he was tall. Had to be near six foot five inches of sculpted muscle, and long hair that resembled flakes of gold fluttered around his body. He was a virile man, his thighs thick, and his shoulders broad.

  He lay awkwardly on his back, his chest hunched upward and one hips twisted away from the bed. From here, she could see his flat nipples on a hairless chest. More muscles ripped under his tan flesh. He looked like one of those mighty warriors from the Irish romance novels she loved so much. Of course, that was a wonderful fantasy and this was hard reality. He was probably some pervert on vacation here.

  She dragged him to his stomach and her eyes went wide at his back. It was torn to bloody bits. “Oh shite, what happened to you?” Never had she seen such bad wounds, long ragged tearing of the skin.

  This poor man had been stuck out there with these and he would have certainly died. Not many people traveled her road as this was not the most populated place.

  Inis Mór was not as populated as it used to be, and she would know having been here all twenty-two years of her life. She shook her head, grabbed the tie on her wrist and gathered the mass of her black hair into a ponytail. She rolled her beige sweater sleeves to her elbows and collected a few items from the small kitchen that looked out at the calm waters of the Mar De Irlanda. Then she was back at the handsome stranger’s side. The patches of skin without crusted blood were bronzed and she frowned at her own pale flesh. Well, he wasn’t a native. Everyone on this island was as colorless as those vampires the Americans were so infatuated with.

  She took a handful of his gold silky hair and pushed it over his shoulder. They were beautiful, soft and shimmering in the dim light of the room. Never had she seen something so delicate on a man. What would it be like to have the strands dragged over her bare flesh?

  Breena jerked to her feet at the t
hought. What was wrong with her? This man was dying, a stranger who could be a horrible addition to the human race or a hero. Either way, she was wondering what hung under his loincloth and that was inappropriate. Gran raised her to be a lady, not some infatuated girl. She took a breath and settled back onto the edge of the bed. His body tilted slightly toward her, his hip met hers and she bit her lip.

  “Focus on his back, Breena!” she mumbled and took the wet rag from the wooden bowl. Each swipe took off some dried blood and revealed puffy flesh. She could scarcely tell muscle from bone or even skin. Her fingertips grazed an unmarred section on his back, smooth and hairless. She dragged the rag across his wounds, first on the left side then the right. She knew the gaping slashes would need mending and grabbed the needle already threaded with yellow twine. He didn’t make a flinch as the sharp point pierced his flesh. Her hand flattened, and she felt the warmth from his skin against her palm.

  She took a glance at his face. His lids remained closed. What color eyes hid behind them? Did he have one of those stares that made a woman shiver with heat? A few of the books described that some men had such an intense gaze; a woman could warm from the inside out. Would this stranger have eyes like that?

  She finished the line of crooked stitches. Her fingers grazed along his lower back. This was the best possible reward for saving this stranger. She was able to touch a handsome body for the first time in her life. She had never been so intimate with anyone before and the taunt flesh under her hands was her gift for helping him.

  At least that’s what she would tell herself. Besides he was sleeping. She could play with his bits and he wouldn’t know a thing. Not that she’d do such a thing, Breena grinned widely and then frowned, maybe she read too much. Her mind was first in the gutter and now in the clouds. She began seaming together the other wound. The area beneath the torn skin felt different from the rest of his back. It was hard, almost as if there was something bone like underneath. With all the swelling, it was hard to tell anything but where the flesh was shredded.

  A door squeaked open and a chilled draft swept through the house. “Iníon?” A soft voice filtered through the open door. Since she could remember, Gran never called her by Breena but always daughter in Irish.

  “In here, Gran…” she spoke and continued to hem the flesh.

  “…and who is this?” her grandmother was the shortest woman in all of Ireland, or she could be. She barely reached four feet tall and was always referred to as a lephrechan álainn, the beautiful leprechaun. From the short black hair to the wise green eyes, she lived up to her name. Her brow rose and her eyes traveled to the stranger on the bed. “…and why is all but his good bits showing?”

  Why did Gran sound as disappointed as she felt? “I found him on the road, he’s injured.” Breena finished sowing the second wound and used the wet cloth to wipe away the fresh blood. “I have no idea who he is…”

  The scolding began, but she tuned it out while her eyes roamed. It didn’t matter what Gran said, this strange compulsion urged her to bring him home. Besides, she couldn’t do anything about it now; he was already there.

  “…and your stitches need work…” she added with a downward tilt of her lips. “Iníon, you have a heart of gold…”

  “…like the song…” Breena finished the words that Gran always muttered.

  “Well, it looks like we’re taking on a guest. As much as I enjoy the sight of him in a little cloth, your eyes keep wandering, girl. Go find some clothes for him.”

  That was the last thing she wanted Gran to notice. Friends were constantly remarking on her lack of male company. They were always muttering that her legs were locked closed. Breena left the room in search of attire, her mind still wondering.

  Her legs were not locked. It was just hard to find someone that really interested her. No man she’d ever met was like the men in novels. Real life was just such a disappointment where men were concerned and she was determined to stay away from any romance that wasn’t perfect. She stopped mid step.

  How did she go from embarrassed about staring at a man’s fine butt to a declaration on men? She pulled the thin wooden door opened with more force than necessary. The closet was stacked with Pop’s old clothes. Nothing of his was ever thrown out and it should fit…him. She didn’t even know his name. Either way, he’d have clothes over those muscles so Gran wouldn’t worry about her wandering eyes. She returned to the room to find Gran placing a thick cotton quilt over his body, well most of his body. He was so tall.

  “We’ll let him rest for now…” she stood, clasped her hands and closed the curtains to the night that pressed against the glass pane.

  Breena nodded, piled the black pants and white t-shirt on a wooden chair just beside the door. She heard Gran’s light footsteps travel up the stairs. Despite the recent discussion, her eyes wandered. Even with the quilt, his arms were visible. A light sheen of gold hair was on them. His big bare feet stuck free of the quilt.

  “Iníon…”

  She rolled her eyes and shifted her stance to see the little woman at the top of the steps. “I know…wandering eyes. Sweet dreams, Gran.” Her bedroom was next to his. The door was open just a scant few inches. She entered and clicked it closed.

  This was her perfect place, where dreams were abundant and men were flawless. She glanced at the four-poster bed. She saved up for a year to purchase the beauty. It was big enough for three people but only housed herself and the neighbors black cat that occasionally decided to visit. Right now said cat, was snuggled on the sunflower quilt.

  Bookshelves lined all four walls. Not an inch was visible and that’s the way she liked it. She was a bibliophile, a lover of books. The majority were Irish romances that decorated her shelves. A fact that did not escape Gran’s attention and every so often she would find an American romance novel on her bed. She would read them, of course, but cowboys and vampires did little for her desire. There was something about Irish fairy tales.. The possibilities of magic, the beautiful scenery, and the utterly romantic men that were usually strapping warriors. They swept a girl right from a cold reality and into a world of magic. Oh, and sex. Damn those scenes made her blush.

  Breena slipped off her flat shoes and walked barefoot along the soft, pale carpet. There was a door to a massive closet, the bathroom being the room next to hers, and then there was her favorite spot in the whole world. She pulled open the wide doors that lead to her own personal patio. The sunset basked the sea in an orange glow, and every night she was lucky enough to watch. There was a loveseat swing beside the door, and she plopped herself onto the fluffy cushions. Beneath the sun and closer than the sea was a deserted, rocky beach. It was her own paradise and many a time she fell asleep under the bright stars. She tucked her legs beneath her and inhaled the fresh air with a smile.

  Could life get any better than this?

  ****

  Carrick, king of the fairies awoke to another silent morning. The sun slowly rose in the sky over his quiet kingdom, not that there was ever much noise. His fairies species were going extinct and one of them had just been kidnapped.

  He grabbed the railing with both hands, squeezed to ease the anger and helpless feeling. Nothing helped. The trolls just wouldn’t give up. First, they kidnap his queen and now his prized warrior and friend was in their clutches.

  They’d spent all morning sunrise raiding a troll lair with no news on his lost fairy. It was another moment to feel the pressure, the failure of being the king of a dying race. Just when he thought life would get better. He had a new queen, a woman that stole his heart. She made his life rich with happiness. Every morning he woke next to Brook and thanked the Goddess for her. Every single night he held her close and tried to ease the fears of the future. The danger was great for them, but for his queen, it was astronomical and yet she stayed. She accepted him as he was, and made him all the stronger for it.

  “You’re blaming yourself again, aren’t you?”

  Brook’s sweet voice filtered th
rough the open doors behind him. “Just thinking...”

  “Blaming...”

  Her small arms wrapped around his waist, hands sinking into his loincloth. Her hard nipples pressed against his bare back. His cock rose despite the worry consuming his mind.

  “How about I take care of this problem...” Her fingers gently stroked the hard length of his erection. “...then you go find another troll hide out and find our fairy.”

  “As my Queen wishes.” He grinned as he spoke. His smile faded as she cupped his balls and teased the excited tip of his penis.

  He took one hesitant look over his kingdom then joined Brook. Her plan sounded better than his did. Soon, with the Goddess’s blessing, she’d be ripe with child and then the future might just brighten.

  ****

  Breena snuggled deeper into the blanket, swimming in a sea of pillows and fading dreams. It had been one hell of a dream, too. With the sexy stranger in the next room as the star, he was gentle and sweet. A grin grew on her face.

  “Stop that!” Gran’s voice came from the other side of her closed door. “No wandering!”

  “What?” How did she always know? “I just woke up, most normal people say good morning.” She sat and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Good morning.” They were grunted words and then the soft sound of feet shuffling from her door.

  Breena frowned, Gran always had that sixth sense with things, and now apparently it could tell when she was thinking about the sexy, gold man. A yawn erupted, followed by a much-needed stretch of her arms. The man hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, he could be cruel or dumb or worse.

  She stood and wrapped the yellow robe around herself quickly. There was no need to let anyone in on her little secret. The robe was long enough to hide the nighty that gently cupped her curves. She had a thing for sexy lingerie. It was a walk on the wild side to order them and grab the delivery before Gran. Then wearing them was as close to sexual heaven as she could get. Soft silk or lace, she loved both. It glided over her body and sent shivers along her spine straight to the hidden spot between her legs. She stretched once more, her palms toward the ceiling before wrapping the robe closed and opening her bedroom door.