Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld, #1)

by Emma Hamm

A woman selling dried herbs caught her arm and pressed a small jar of honey into Sorcha’s palm. “For Danu.” “I will leave it in the forest,” Sorcha tucked it into her bag. “For anything in particular?” “Good health.” Nodding, she continued to push through the crowds of people. It wasn’t the first time someone asked for a blessing. They weren’t willing to follow the old ways themselves—too risky—so they’d ask Sorcha to leave them for her. If she was caught, she’d be burned at the stake by the same people who handed her gifts to take to the Fae. A few others passed her bits and pieces to leave as offerings. A small packet of sugar, a dried bunch of lavender, a tiny jar of fresh cream. Little things that the faeries appreciated and might leave blessings for in return.

“My daughter won’t stop crying. She’s screaming the nights away, and my husband plans to leave her on the hill tomorrow night saying she’s a changeling. Is there another way?” Her swollen eyes brimmed with tears, cheeks scrubbed raw and nose stuffed. Sorcha patted her hand. “Bring her to the river and hold her in the water. No need to put her underneath it, just her legs will do. If they look the same, then she’s no changeling. If they look like birch branches, then you know you’re housing a faerie under your roof.” “The river?” “Faerie magic doesn’t work under flowing water and the glamour will break. If she’s no Fae, then bring her to the brothel. I’ll have a good look at her and see if I can give you something to help her. And you, get some sleep.” “Bless you, lady. We have nothing to pay you.” “I don’t ask for payment. Leave an offering for Danu when you can and apologize for blaming her children for your child's illness.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sorcha asked one last time. “I, too, have been at the mercy of men, more times than I wish to recount. My mother would tell you the best way to answer them is to remain steadfast, quiet, and continue doing the right thing.” Macha’s eyes flashed brilliant green. “I am not a woman, but sword and shield. I will carve my own path, or I will force others to create it for me.” “What does that have to do with me?” Their gazes met and Macha smiled. “You are the same, little human. They tell you time and time again you are a pool of still water. Yet, we both know underneath the surface a tempest rages. I will enjoy seeing your claws grow.” Unsettled, Sorcha plunged into the forest. Branches pulled at her clothing and tugged at her hair. She did not let them hold her. This was no longer a safe place, no longer a haven.

Some of the ichor within the strawberry overflowed her lips, dripping syrup down her chin. Sorcha didn’t see him move, but she felt the touch of his hand as though he branded her. His calloused thumb traced the line of liquid from chin to mouth. It rasped over her sensitive lip, catching every last drop of sticky juice. One of the crystals on his palm scraped her jaw. Cold to the touch, it was a lightning bolt of sensation against the sudden, flaming heat of her cheeks. She parted her lips in a silent gasp. The smooth texture of his nail touched her top lip, dipping into the warm breath she expelled before withdrawing. She was undone, unmade, reborn as something else entirely. Her hands clenched in her lap as she stared in shock at the Fae who dared to touch her without asking, to slice through her stalwart resolve, and stitch the beginnings of attraction into the fiber of her being.

🥵

He paused, one foot on the dock to her hut and the other on his cursed isle. “Pardon?” “You said some call you Cloch Rí. I shall call you Stone until you give me your true name.” “You think I’ll ever give you that kind of power over me?” His voice wavered with humor. “I would bet my life on it, Stone.” “I look forward to your attempts, Sunshine.”

A warm hand wrapped around her arm. Her eyes snapped open. It was too dark to know whether the shadowy figure was a merrow-man, but she didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to breathe. Heat spread from the gentle touch as it slid down her forearm and found where she still clutched her hair. An odd scrape of scale abraded her skin, slicing through the lock of hair easily. No, not scale, she realized. Crystal. She clutched onto his shoulders with clawed hands and desperately kicked. If she could just get to the surface. If she could just inhale. His hand wrapped around her jaw, forcing her head down. She didn’t want to look down into that darkness. Why wasn’t he moving? Didn’t he understand that she was moments away from inhaling water and— Warm lips wrapped around hers. He squeezed her jaw and her mouth opened for a moment. He exhaled. She breathed in his air desperately. The pain in her lungs eased.