Bayou Shadow Protector. Debbie Herbert

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      April skittered ahead of Chulah, riding the stiff breeze that blew toward his cabin. Excitement electrified her so much that she worried her Fae form would light up like a luminary beacon. And that wouldn’t do at all. She’d promised the fairy queen to warn the shadow hunters of danger and enlist them to fight the dark shadow spirit, Hoklonote. The hitch? She was to accomplish this mission while at the same time providing as little information as possible about their hidden existence. Revealing too many secrets would be a last-ditch effort. A necessary evil to safeguard their world as well as the humans’ world.

      Plus, she had her own reasons for not revealing too much too soon. And it had everything to do with Chulah Rivers. For eleven years she had silently watched him, invisibly aided him as he fought the bayou’s dark shadow spirits. All in an attempt to atone for her Great Mistake. Not that she could ever win absolution, but it helped ease her guilty conscience.

      After eleven years, it had grown to more than an attempt to pay for her youthful mistake. At first, his handsome form and bravery garnered her admiration, but his stoic kindness—which often went unnoticed and unappreciated by others—was what most enchanted April.

      And today, finally, she’d been given the opportunity to meet him again as a real, flesh-and-blood woman. She’d changed her appearance, yet still worried he’d see through the ruse. She must be very, very careful not to slip up. Chulah could never know what she’d done. He’d hate her, and she couldn’t bear that.

      April darted behind a huge oak tree in case any human eyes might be around. She bundled her Fae essence until the staurolite crystal, the fairies’ cross stone, was positioned at the center of her being.

      “Out of the mist I arise,” she whispered. “In human form alive. Skin and bone and heart and brain, I now transform to a different plane.”

      For the second time today, that strange sensation passed through her ethereal body. Transformations that she hadn’t experienced since the disaster over a decade ago. Not painful, but a stretching and a heaviness and a gravitational pull to the earth. Wind rustled her hair and teased the skin of her arms, and the texture of cotton brushed against her legs.

      It was done.

      April ran her fingers through her hair and glanced down at the long flowered skirt, and then to the white sandals housing human feet. She wiggled her toes experimentally and giggled. This was going to be fun. Unlike last time. This time she would do everything right and enjoy every tiny human sensation.

      An engine revved across the street and she peeked from behind the wide tree.

      Chulah gunned the motor and strapped on a helmet. April startled at the loud beating of her human heart encaged by ribs. It seemed too volatile an organ to pump blood so furiously for an entire human life span, not if it kept up this constant beat.

      Clouds of dust streaked behind the motorcycle as he exited the dirt driveway. He had to pass by her to get to the county road.

      This was it. With a deep breath, April stepped from behind the tree and stood by the side of the road, waving her arms.

      He didn’t slow, but sped right by her, and she choked on the fumes and dust. Not how she’d imagined this momentous occasion. She’d been so positive he wouldn’t pass by a damsel in distress.

      And then she heard the sound of brakes squealing, loud as a dozen screeching owls. The motorcycle stopped a few yards ahead. Chulah lifted off his helmet and swung one leg over the bike until he stood in the street, facing her.

      Hot cinnamon eyes raked her from head to toe. April gulped, her throat suddenly dry. Did she look weird? Was something off in her manifestation? The Fae court had explained that her appearance and clothing would reflect her individual nature, yet be acceptable and appropriate for the human world. And nothing like her last earthly appearance.

      So why was he staring at her so intently? The Council had assured her that this current manifestation was unrecognizable from her unapproved earthly sojourn at age sixteen. If he remembered their first meeting, her mission was over before it started.

      Shaking off the apprehension, she walked forward and extended her hand. “Hi. My name’s April. Thanks for stopping.”

      His gaze shifted to her outreached hand, but he made no move to extend a return greeting. April dropped her hand by her side and cleared her throat. “Would you mind giving me a lift to town?”

      “What the hell is a woman doing alone out here?” he asked incredulously.

      “I, um, went for a walk in the woods and got lost.”

      “Got lost,” he repeated, brows drawn together. “Where do you live?”

      “I have an apartment above my shop on Main Street. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Pixie Land.”

      He shook his head, as if in a daze.

      “I’m not surprised. We just opened last week.” The Fae had been hard at work setting up that shop and all her living arrangements. She stuck out a hand again. “My name’s April Meadows.”

      “April, huh?” he asked, eyes narrowed and assessing.

      A surge of warmth flowed through her body when he said her name. The name she’d made up by taking the time of year she loved best and combining it with her favorite place. Perhaps he needed proof that she was who she said she was. She remembered the forged paperwork and patted the slender purse across her shoulder. Good. Everything should be in order. She opened the purse and riffled through it. “Here,” she said triumphantly. “Want to look at my driver’s license? Well, it’s not really a driver’s license. I don’t drive. Occasional migraines prevent that. They just come out of nowhere and incapacitate me.”

      His expression of pained incredulity hadn’t changed.

      “Anyway, it’s a picture identification card if you want to see it.”

      “I don’t want to see your ID.”

      “Oh, okay, then.” April dropped it back in her purse. “About that ride?”

      “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to walk alone in the woods—especially in the late afternoon? It’ll be dark in an hour or so. What if I hadn’t come along?”

      “But you did.” As she knew he would.

      Chulah crossed his arms. “I could be a psychopath, for all you know. A serial killer who preys on young, lost women.”

      April laughed. “You could never be like that.”

      “And how would you know?”

      She tapped her sandals on the red clay dirt. Thinking. “I can just tell. You’re a nice man.”

      “Uh-huh,” he grunted. “I bet Ted Bundy’s victims thought he was nice when they first met.”

      She blinked. “Ted Bundy?”

      “Seriously? He’s probably the most notorious serial killer ever.” Chulah shook his head. “You must have been living in a dark hole all your life.”

      A fairy mound instead of a dark hole, but СКАЧАТЬ