Morgan Kendrick stands on the path that leads into the forest behind her grandmother's house, clenching the silver pentagram necklace that hangs from her neck in her fist, biting down on her lower lip as she stares into that darkened wood. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. How many times had her grandmother warned her about those woods? Told Morgan about how the paths that may lead one place by the light of day lead somewhere else entirely beneath the light of the moon. About how there are things more dangerous than wild animals that dwell in the darkness and shadows of the forest...
The woods behind her grandmother's house were full of strange things -- twinkling lights that danced between the trees at dusk, so much bigger and brighter than any firefly had ever been... The sounds of laughter and merriment, horns and drums and stringed instruments... Music that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once... She had been warned so many times never to go into those woods at night...
But she also knows she has to do this tonight and she has to do it here. There is no other place on earth where Morgan feels so connected to the strange strings of energy that weave their way through the world, no other place on earth where she can feel the magic moving through her very veins. And she needs all the magic she can possibly muster to rid herself of this bastard.
The forest that stretches out to the horizon before her is darker than pitch, the canopy of leaves blocking even the faintest traces of starlight from filtering down to the forest floor and overhead, the black disk of a new moon hangs high in the sky, offering no light whatsoever. It's the beginning of a new cycle -- the exact moment Morgan needs to work the spell that will sever her from her dick-bag boyfriend forever. She touches the bruises that ring her throat, still stinging when she applies pressure to them...The sharp needles of pain digging into the flesh.
He had used her, he had manipulated her, he had been fucking draining her of blood on a nightly basis. It was no wonder she had felt so weak lately -- dizzy, tired and fuzzy-headed. It was only pure dumb luck that had allowed her to escape before things go any worse, before he...She doesn't know what he would have done but she does not intend to find out.
Taking a deep breath, Morgan crosses over the border between well-kept yard and wild forest -- praying that the path which lead to the clearing she needed would lead where it was supposed to and wouldn't meander off to some place beyond the Mists. The forest feels strange in the intense darkness, lit only by her phone flashlight. None of the fairy lights or will-o-the-wisps that are so common after dark flit around her, no strange music from deeper within the woods... Just a heavy silence and a darkness that makes her feel painfully, frightfully human and vulnerable. An emptiness that makes her incredibly aware of the fact that humans are not at the top of the food chain by any stretch of the imagination. Faint starlight begins to filter in from just ahead as the trees start to thin, opening suddenly into a wide, circular clearing.
The starlight is bright enough and Morgan's eyes adjusted enough to the dark that she can see every detail clearly; the circle where she had built her first ritual fire years ago, surrounded by large stones and old logs. Tiny green lights -- fireflies, she things -- dance around the clearing, creating an almost breathtaking scene. She stands there for a moment, taking in the beauty of it before she steps into the clearing and sets her mind to preparing her tools, gathering wood for the fire and lighting it before she draws the protective circle around her workspace.
She pulls the photo of herself and her ex from her bag -- looking at it with a scowl on her face, her stormy gray eyes narrowed. She hates what she sees in the photo, her vacant eyes and vapid smile. The way she looks almost drugged, standing with her arm wrapped around that monster. His eyes glitter with what she had thought then was mischief but knows now is malice.
Morgan tears the photo in half, placing the half with herself into her pocket and then draws a silver-bladed knife from her bag. The knife is old, passed down to her by her grandmother, the blade engraved with delicate Celtic knot-work and intricately detailed flowers. It was a pain in the ass to keep sharp but it was one of Morgan's most prized possessions. The blade bites into the heel of her palm, making her wince from the pain. The blood wells up in little ruby beads, catching the dancing firelight. Morgan smears her blood across the photo, taking a deep breath. She holds it above the flickering flames, the first words of her spell on the tip of her tongue when a branch cracks loudly behind her, causing her heart to jump into her throat.
She whirls about on her heel, the surprise causing her to drop the knife into the soot and ash and sand at her feet. On the edge of the wood, there stands a young man. Just over six feet tall with skin the color of freshly fallen snow. Dark ringlets fall over his shoulder, turning a deep red-violet where the firelight hits off them. His eyes are dark -- darker than the shadows of the forest around them, glittering with reflected flames. Like his hair and eyes, his clothing is dark. He wears lack leather pants that cling to his lower body, emphasizing every last detail of his lithe frame... And a loose black shirt with flowing sleeves falls from his shoulders, unlaced and open to display a startlingly pale chest.
Morgan narrows her eyes. There's something strange about the young man -- beyond the fact that he's shown up in these woods, behind her grandmother's house, miles from anywhere important, in the middle of nowhere Illinois. The set of his jaw and the way he holds himself is tight and ready to spring -- predatory. It isn't fear that sets her heart pounding now, though. Oh no, the look in his eyes may make her think of the man she hates most in the world but it makes her body grow warm all over, heat flaring at the juncture of her thighs.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, dear." His voice is clear like a bell, deep with a lyrical lilt to it that reminds her vaguely of her grandmother's accent. But where her voice had been warm and soft... The young man's voice is sharp and despite the friendliness of his tone, feels cold. "You're about to make quite the mistake -- fate doesn't much like to be played with, you know."
Morgan clenches her fists. The heat of arousal quickly becomes the heat of anger. How dare this stranger tell her what to do. Especially some strange, predatory pretty boy. "Oh really?" She asks, sneering at the beautiful man. "And what would you know about it?"
He laughs softly, causing every hair on her body to suddenly stand on end and a violent shudder go racing down her spine.
"Mmm... Because, if you do I can guarantee you will only cause more problems with whomever it is you aim to be rid of!" He says, laughter still ringing in his voice as he walks towards her...
No, he doesn't walk. He stalks. He moves towards her like a cat following its prey through the trees before it strikes. Another chill goes racing down her spine as the air around her suddenly becomes chill. She stares at him -- color rising in her cheeks as the cold all around her makes the heat between her thighs feel even stronger.
What the fuck? Is it because he reminds her of her ex? Why the hell is her body reacting like this? She shouldn't feel turned on by the fact that it looks like this man may very well eat her alive. She wants to turn, she wants to run... And she wants him to give chase when she does.
Morgan rolls her eyes at the stranger, trying to put on a haughty, self-assured expression and ignore the growing moisture between her legs. "Right. And I'm sure you're an expert on banishing spells?"
"Who, me? No -- certainly not. But I know a thing or two about making sure someone never bothers me again... And smearing my blood over their image? Seems like a certain way to bind them to you." He speaks slowly, getting closer to her with every passing second.
As he draws nearer, the details of his appearance grow clearer; his features are sharp with high cheekbones and large, almond shaped eyes -- his irises are an unnaturally bright violet and his eyes ringed with thick dark lashes and heavy black kohl. He's tall -- probably over six feet -- with an unnaturally aura of beauty all around him. His lips are painted (she thinks, she hopes painted) a dark blue-black, formed into a perfect pout... And Morgan nearly stumbles into the fire when she finally spots the thing that confirms her suspicion: the tips of long pointed ears that peek out from beneath his deep, violet curls. Those sharp features, the unearthly beauty -- tall and willowy with long fingers and graceful limbs to match.
He's fae. He's obviously fucking fae. Thank God she had drawn that circle -- he shouldn't be able to get to her as long as she stayed within it. As long as she doesn't make any mistakes, anyway. Clearly, he's trying to trick her into taking his advice -- to get her indebted to him. She's smart enough to figure that much out at least.
"I'll take that into consideration, but I think that I know what I'm doing." She says, her voice grown harsh and cold, trying to drive him away. Her burning cunt, however, begs for him to get closer.
God damn her stupid, traitorous body -- show her a beautiful man who looked like a stupid mistake and she'd become an oil slick almost immediately.
"Do you now?" He's a foot from the edge of the circle now -- the firelight dancing in his hair and glittering in his eyes. The smile that parts his dark lips is full of sharp, pointed teeth and his sclera are the deepest ebony. He's beautiful, but everything about that beauty is unsettling. "Are you quite sure of that?"
"Absolutely!" Morgan chirps dismissively. "Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I have a spell to finish." She turns away from him abruptly, casting the photo into the fire. Before she can even begin the words of the incantation, however, she feels an arm slip around her waist, dragging her back from the fire.
"I have the feeling, oh sweet little morsel, that is very far from the truth and I do so hate to be lied to. " His voice is sharp.
Morgan's entire body goes stiff -- a smell comes from him like spruce and juniper and the bitter, metallic scent of a moonless night in the dead of winter... And something else as well -- something primal and familiar. Something that calls out to some deep, buried part of her and draws her in like a moth to a flame.
"H-How did you--!?" She sputters, trying to look over her shoulder at the faerie.
The circle! How could he have gotten past it? She was sure she had drawn it correctly! But... but if she had, he wouldn't have his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing his body close to hers. Oh god, every place he's touched her feels like it's burning. Fear and arousal mix in a heady cocktail so potent that it makes her feel short of breath and makes the world start spinning all around her.
