Now?
I still get the rush, but it seems hollow somehow and has for years. I just hadn’t realized until I was fighting to protect her. The fae say every hunter knows when his time is up and when he should return home with his prize. Is she mine?
Will she want to come to faery with me? Or will she fight me every step, the way she has so far?
“Where are your friends?” I ask the dog.
It sits up and looks at me, tail thumping the ground. What had she done? Whistled. I stand and whistle and call out, “here boy.” The way other people do when they walk their dogs on the trails.
The dog gets up and stands at my side, its tail hits my leg with every full body wag. It looks up at me as if expecting me to do something.
“Go get your friends.” I point at the woods.
I can spin a lie about her chasing the dogs because they got off their leash, or that she tripped and fell. Maybe then she won’t look at me with such fear.
When did I start to care what a human thought of me?
If I didn’t care, I’d have walked away and left her to be found by other humans. The lie that I was worried about what she’d remember was just that. I know the rules. And breaking them and leaving her to ramble about monsters will only cause more drama.
Behind me, she groans as though waking. I close my eyes and hope for a sign. Anything to guide me in what I should do. In all my years of hunting, nothing has prepared me for the day when it is over.
I shouldn’t have given her the sight. I could’ve done things differently. And she would’ve died. And where would that leave me? Doing the same thing I’ve done for over a hundred human years. In my heart I know my hunt is over.
I open my eyes. There is no answer written in the clouds, no whispered hint on the breeze. Only the rules that must be obeyed.
She can’t remain in this world now; she can see all things fae. The male fae like me who were born in faery, the female fae who were born in the human world, and the monsters that slip through. And if the monsters realize they can be seen, they tend to gravitate toward that person. Most feed on fae, needing the magic in our blood, but others feed on human emotions like anger and fear. Both kinds are dangerous. And either kind could kill her if I leave her.
By taking her, I’m saving her. I almost believe it.
I draw my sword enough to slice one fingertip on the side of the blade.
I kneel on one side of her and clasp her hand with my unbloodied one, and my necklace with the other. Blood smears over the metal and stone and wood.
The air leaves my lungs as we crash through realms and land in faery. I drop to my knees as we land, and she jolts awake.
I draw in a breath and hope I can find the words to explain what is going on. “Are you okay? You hit your head.”
