The Time of Despair: Real World, #4

By Eden Elsworth

Dragged from their home, Natalie, her husband Alex and her mate Scott seek sanctuary at the new faera court.

Chloe and Martin Reavey battle to survive against those they love most as the humans turn on everyone around them.

The Lady of Elf, Vanessa, and the King's Warrior, Brock, uproot their family and travel across a country turned savagely vicious.

As the time of prophesy dawns, all the creatures of the Real World join forces to face an enemy more dangerous than any of them have faced before.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eden Elsworth
• Release date: Aug 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781497355385

Book preview

The Time of Despair

Eden Elsworth

The Time of Despair

Copyright 2014 Eden Elsworth

Cover Design:

Copyright 2015 Eden Elsworth

Acknowledgements

With heartfelt  thanks to Ava for all her encouragement, Melissa for helping me get started in the first place, Sue and for all her help with editing, and especially to my wonderful partner, Jack Silince, for all his patience and help.

Dylan was drunk.

In fact, he was paralytic.

This was quite a staggering achievement for a naiad. It had taken several days of very determined consumption for him to reach his current state. Being made up of only water and the energy that gave him form and life, to drink enough alcohol to counteract his composition was something few of his kind would even contemplate.

He was far too inebriated to maintain a solid appearance; so he looked like water in the form of a human, tinted amber by the whiskey and dark rum he had mixed with vodka.

Bugger, he said, or at least that was the word he intended to utter. Whether anyone else would have understood was highly debatable.

There was no reason for his curse, but he had drunk so much it was currently the only word he could remember.

Being the naiad of a Victorian fishing lake, he wasn’t particularly old, not in terms of his species as a whole. His vocabulary wasn’t all that well developed compared to that of a river naiad. They had the advantage of moving along the entire length of their waterway, exposing them to a great deal of human language.

Deirdre, Dylan’s sister, had done her best to rectify this deficiency, but Dylan had only grasped ‘bugger’. Because he had grasped it so well, it was all but etched onto the spinning ball of pure energy that served him as both heart and brain.

Dylan slipped off the muddy bank and sank under the surface of the lake, leaving a not quite finished bottle of vodka behind, its remaining contents spilling out onto the short, rabbit-trimmed grass.

Bugger, he said again, this time rather more in context.

It took Dylan several minutes to coordinate enough to know which way was up, then several more to make his limbs work in a way that would propel his body back to the surface.

Getting up onto the bank was going to be something of a challenge; it was definitely far too complicated a set of actions for Dylan to achieve unaided.

Suddenly, he shot ten feet up in the air, much too quickly for his pickling thought processes to comprehend. To Dylan, it seemed as if he had magically gone from battling with the slippery bank to lying flat on his front, his face full of grass, earth and rabbit turds.

Hmukka! It was the same word he had already said twice before, but the mouthful of soil, grass and bunny shit did very little for his verbal clarity.

What the fuck! Deirdre demanded angrily of the back of Dylan’s head. Dylan, what the fuck?

Unlike the prone naiad, she had the look of a fully clad human female; her watery composition coloured to look like perfectly fitting blue jeans and white vest top over a softly tanned body. The one thing no naiad could do was replicate hair, so she looked completely bald. With the statuesque figure she currently formed, it was a striking look.

Dylan didn’t respond. At that precise moment, he was trying to work out how he could throw up when he had none of the necessary inside parts to accomplish it. He convulsed on the ground several times, and then turned himself inside out.

Dickhead, Deirdre said, though her tone wasn’t as cutting as it could have been. The sight of her brother lying in a sloshy mess with his energy ball spinning erratically on top was a hard one not to laugh at.

Maybe, Dylan thought, his ability to do so dramatically improved now his mind wasn’t swimming in the cocktail of vodka, whiskey and rum, maybe getting drunk hadn’t actually been such a good idea.

Determined to pull himself back together, Dylan yanked his feet up through his liquid body and out of his mouth. It didn’t do much to help; pickling once more, now his vocabulary had shrunk back to only one word.

Deirdre sighed out a deep breath that was supposed to help her remain calm. It wasn’t really Dylan’s fault he got caught up doing so many stupid things. He only had a relatively small area of water to move in, which left him with far too much time on his hands, so he got bored easily. He was barely more than a baby to his sister naiad, meaning he didn’t have an awful lot of common sense. It was a lethal combination: boredom and stupidity.

There really hadn’t been any point in creating a spirit to monitor the lake, not when Deirdre could have kept an eye on it. But the flesh creatures had thought they knew best, so now Deirdre had a river, a lake and a brother to watch over, and it was the brother who took the most time.

It was only a few months since Dylan had used his control over his fluid body to create a truly prodigious penis. Taking on a more solid form, he had delighted in jumping out on those humans who took walks around the lake to wave his upward thrusting, over-proportioned phallus proudly at them. This had gone on nearly every day two weeks, until Deirdre had been finally been able to explain to her brother that he was the cause of all the police combing the area for a flasher.

He did it!

Deirdre turned slowly, seething inside. It was Alfreda – Freddy - the current imp for this stretch of the river. As Freddy was espoused with Dylan, her lifespan would match his, meaning Deirdre would by stuck with the imp for far longer than she wanted to be. It was usually Freddy who put Dylan up to his stupid stunts. Freddy had been behind the flasher incident. What Deirdre couldn’t understand was why the imp continued to encourage Dylan to act in such a moronic way. Deirdre had really hoped that the pair espousing would put an end to all that, particularly when the first of their three children had come along. But nothing had changed. Now Dylan and Freddy had three children, but he still let Freddy lead him into acting like a child himself.

You got it for him, didn’t you? Deirdre accused, pointing at the collection of empty spirit bottles pushed under a nearby tangle of brambles.

When she also spotted the three children heading in their direction, Deirdre kicked both the bottles and her brother into the lake. She might not know much about the raising of flesh creatures, but even she understood drunk parents were not a good thing, especially when it was only ten in the morning according to the bells ringing out on the local church.

Of course I got it for him, Freddy replied, utterly shameless. He can’t exactly go and buy it himself, can he? I mean, where would he put the money? she grinned, pleased with her joke. Naiads might be able to assume the appearance of clothes, but that was all it was. Pockets weren’t part of the illusion.

Freddy, this can’t go on. Just because Dylan says he wants to try something, that doesn’t mean you have to make it possible for him. And where did he get the idea to drink himself stupid from in the first place? Even more stupid, Deidre amended.

I might have mentioned something to him, the imp mumbled. Dy wants to be more like a flesh creature.

Flashing a massive prick and getting pissed will not make him flesh. Nothing will. If that’s the way he wants to feel, bring the children over to spend more time with him.

Whatever. Freddy gathered her brood and started helping them to undress so they could dive into the lake. All of them, even the youngest, though barely able to walk very well yet, could swim like fish. Half imp and half naiad, they were much more comfortable in the water than on the land.

Keep them away until I get him sorted out, Deirdre sighed tiredly and dived into the lake without a ripple disturbing the surface to retrieve her brother from where he nestled in the silt bed.

Taking Dylan to the point where her river entered the lake, Deirdre held her brother stationary with his mouth open to flush him out.

She told me it felt really good, Dylan explained in his usual shamefaced way when he was once again capable of forming a coherent sentence. He always regretted doing stupid things when Deirdre caught him. Just never quite enough to stop him doing them.

Dy, you can’t keep doing this dumb crap. Just because Freddy tells you to do something, that doesn’t mean you have to.

Winding his finger into the soft soil he sat on, Dylan couldn’t meet his sister’s eye. I know.

A splash far across the lake, followed by a shout of triumph, immediately caught their attention. It didn’t sound like the usual crowing that resulted from a successful catch. Anyway, the lake was almost fished out; there wasn’t a single fish left in it big enough to warrant the noise the human was making.

A body? Deirdre wondered aloud, more familiar with the sound of a human hitting the water’s surface. Dy, go and find Freddy. Make her take the children home.

She shot through the water and found a limp human settling into the silt in exactly the way Dylan had a little earlier. The human’s eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly from blank orbs; no air exited either his mouth or nose, and around his neck, red-raw finger marks indicated the cause of his demise. Bubbles trickled up from his clothes, but not his lungs.

As Dylan joined his sister, he and Deirdre looked up through the murky water. On the bank above them was a second human, one that looked to both naiads to be completely out of his mind. His eyes bugged wide and a manic grin split his face.

The brother and sister rose cautiously, then burst out of the water.

The human stared at them with his eyes maniacal. He stared for a full two seconds, then said, "Argh!" and ran into the woods in a panic, leaving all the fishing equipment behind.

Fucking weird, Deirdre commented, frowning, meaning both the abandoned body and the live human’s behaviour.

Can we get it out? Dylan asked, nodding back to the lake to show he meant the corpse currently making itself a peaceful bed at the bottom of the water. I don’t want those ‘please’ things in there as well.

Dy, how many times do I have to tell you they’re called police, not please? she reminded yet again, despairing at her brother’s inability to understand the simplest human concepts. He had been around nearly as long as police had, but he still couldn’t get the name right. Okay, but we’ll have to leave it here with its stuff, which means the police will probably have a look in the water. Just stay out of their sight, Dy. I mean it, she finished sternly.

They slipped back into the water and swam down to find the dead human. As they pulled the body back up it gave a glassy stare over Deirdre’s shoulder. Dumping the body back on the bank, the two naiads retired to the far side of the lake again to watch what happened.

There’s something fucking odd about this, Deirdre muttered as the police loaded the body into a van a little later. I’ve seen those two here before, and they always seemed really friendly.

Dylan coughed a bit awkwardly. Yes, they were friends, in the coupling sense of two men being friends.

Maybe it was a lovers tiff then, his sister said, but she remained thoughtful. "But it doesn’t feel right. In fact it feels really, really fucking wrong."

Dylan decided he didn’t care. He was just relieved something had happened to distract Deirdre from his own stupidity. It looked as if he might have got away with the drinking without her making his life hell for the next few days.

Chapter one

06:00  1st June  Whiteharp

Nine days after the ‘Lake Murder’

Perching on the edge of an armchair, Scott Carling stared in disbelief at the large television screen. It was only just after six in the morning and there had already been two murderous rampages.

Since the inexplicable incident just over a week ago - when a man had apparently killed his best friend whilst the two men were out for a day’s fishing - there had been a rash of similar deaths. The crime had since been written off as a crime of passion when details of the two married men’s long standing affair had come to light. It had been coined the ‘Lake Murder’ as if that gave it some sort of romanticism.

The official line hadn’t felt right to Scott for some reason, yet he hadn’t been able to put his finger on why at the time, but he knew this was one of those times when he had to trust his instincts.

The several deaths since the ‘Lake Murder’ hadn’t been so easily explained away.

Something was making perfectly ordinary, usually rational people turn on their nearest and dearest.

Take both of the current ones for example: one was a woman in her late fifties, married with three grown children and two young grandchildren. The woman volunteered in a local charity shop, gave up time to help her elderly neighbours every day; she was claimed by everyone who knew her to be the kindest, most giving soul on the planet, a true salt of the earth type. Now she was being held by the police on suspicion of five murders, those of her husband, three of the elderly neighbours, and the fifth just a random jogger passing by in the street. The last one – done with a knitting needle in the eye of all things – had been witnessed by at least half a dozen people who had been roused from their beds by the victim’s screams.

The second suspect was described as a young man of eighteen. It seemed he had woken up early this morning with the idea he was going to kill his parents and younger brother and sister. The only reason he hadn’t got anyone else was because the neighbours in the block of flats had heard what was happening and broke into the family’s home to restrain the youth. Not soon enough to save any of his family. His youngest victim was only eleven years old.

What made anyone do that?

Scott was starting to think it wouldn’t be long before the news reporters were just going to be reading out lists of names, a roll call of all those who had been murdered that day.

Flicking the television off, Scott made up his mind about what had to be done and stood, heading down the hall of the bungalow to his mate’s bedroom.

Nats, you need to wake up, honey, Scott said softly as he shook the shoulder of the small, honey-blond woman, knowing she was going to be a cow to deal with this early in the morning. Usually Scott kept out of her way until she was properly awake, giving her a chance to have coffee before attempting any conversation.

Then Scott went round the bed and gently shook the arm of Natalie’s husband. Alex, he said in a whisper, not wanting to wake the other man too abruptly.

Scott had known Natalie was his mate since she had been only seven years old - over fifty years ago - but she had left him, winding up married to Alex Wilcox years later. Scott had tracked her down, and spent weeks trying to split them up. It hadn’t worked. It wasn’t for another quarter of a century that they had been able to really get things sorted out. They had been living together ever since.

What time is it? Natalie complained, realising it was much too early to be awake. She definitely wasn’t a morning person, or a people person, or anything but a bitchy person ninety nine percent of the time. The only thing that ever softened her was sex.

Early, Scott replied, going to find Alex’s clothes while the other man levered himself up off the mattress groggily. We’ve got to get ready to go.

Go where? Alex asked, using the heel of his hand to rub the sleep from his striking dark sapphire eyes.

Scott took a deep breath for patience before answering, knowing Natalie was probably going to throw a fit. Sussex.

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Scott, that bloody faera doesn’t know what the hell he’s going on about. Honestly, all this prophecy stuff is just steaming great heap of horse shit. Natalie crossed her arms under her breasts and glared across the room at Scott. For a few seconds, all his attention was fixed on the cleavage shown off so well in her silky, short nightdress.

Is it? Scott asked her when his brain, rather than his penis, was back in charge of his thoughts. Switch the telly on then. Tell me there’s nothing going on after you’ve watched this morning’s news, Nats. Because I know there’s something fucking weird about all these deaths, and so do you, even if you won’t admit it.

Alex stood slowly, revealing the fact he easily stood head and shoulders over the other two people in the room. Though past retirement age, he was still attractive, his classical features taking on a distinguished air with the passing years. His dark brown hair had turned grey, but his handsome face and long body still caught the attention of women. So what’s the plan, old man?

Though Scott looked less than half Alex’s age, he was older by nearly twenty years, a fact Alex liked to remind him of with the nick-name that had developed in the few years they had all lived together.

Smiling at him for a moment, Scott replied, Breakfast first, then we start getting packed up.

Ignoring Natalie’s grumbling, Scott waited outside the bathroom door while Alex showered, alert in case his heart decided to have one of its periodic funny turns and he needed any help. That was Scott’s job during the day: to watch over Alex and keep him company. At night, it was Scott’s job to make sure Natalie was well and truly satisfied in bed, sending her back to sleep with the rest of the night with her husband sated and languid.

What exactly do you suggest we do? Natalie groused when they had reassembled in the kitchen. As she stomped around in four inch heels to begin getting breakfast, she slammed cereal packets and bowls on the table, making sure Scott knew she was pissed off. It was quite unnecessary when he was Natalie’s mate and he could feel all her emotions as if they were his own. Because that connection was only one way, Natalie tended to forget.

Just what we’ve arranged, Scott replied, his hand resting on Alex’s shoulder. We get the Reaveys’ friends on the road then get to where it’s safe for Alex.

We’re upping sticks completely, just because one bloody faera married a sodding elf? Do you even get just how nuts that is? Natalie demanded, her dark blond hair bobbing around the determined face it framed.

Oh, fine! Scott shouted at her. "In that case, we’re taking an impromptu holiday to the South Coast. Does that make it any easier for you to swallow? Whether you like it or not, Natalie, I am getting Alex out of here before something happens to him. Scott took a settling breath, reminding himself yet again it wasn’t Natalie’s fault she was a twenty four carat bitch. Look, we’re going because there’s been another nine deaths just this morning. Something is seriously fucked up out there."

As he spoke, Scott’s fingers wandered from Alex’s shoulder to comb in his hair. It was a response Scott just couldn’t help when he felt his mate’s emotions for her husband. Combined with the fact he had once drawn all those feelings inside himself, when he and Natalie were battling for Alex’s life, it had become impossible for Scott not to touch the other man.

Scott really hoped that was the reason he often behaved in slightly inappropriate ways towards Alex anyway. Because if it wasn’t, that would mean it was Scott himself who was frequently lusting after his mate’s husband, and apart for the fact that shouldn’t even be possible for a mated halfbreed, Scott had never been attracted to another man before, no matter how desperate for sex he had been.

Most of the time, Scott could disguise his touches as those of one friend to another, but not right now. Not when he was worried about Alex himself, and he could feel Natalie’s concern as well, though it was stifled by her almost constant anger at everyone and everything.

All Alex did with the hand sliding softly round his neck in a way he was ready to admit he really liked was put his own over it, giving Scott’s fingers a slight squeeze.

Sitting at the table in silence as Scott and Natalie continued to bicker, Alex knew he would have to say something about the strange pull he could feel in his head, as if something was scratching at the outside of his skull, trying to get in and take over. A couple of times, the sensation had created alarming thoughts of what he should do to Scott and Natalie, particularly when Natalie had sneaked away to Scott’s bed last night. Alex had gripped handfuls of the sheet, clinging on to it to stop himself giving in to the urge to punish them both.

As the tone of Natalie’s voice grew even more shrill, her temper nearing breaking point, Alex said quietly, We have to go, Cactus.

Despite the quietness of his voice, he suddenly had the undivided attention of both the halfbreeds he lived with.

Something’s trying to get into my head. I’ve felt it for a couple of days, Alex went on, noticing that Scott’s fingers were now laced with his, giving reassurance and support, and making Alex wish he was still capable in the bedroom. In the years since he had married Natalie, there was very little they hadn’t done together, but Alex had always kept one fantasy to himself: he wanted to know what it was like to be with another man. That Scott lived with them and made love to Natalie every night, added to the fact Alex really cared about his wife’s mate, meant those fantasies had centred on the halfbreed male.

As Natalie looked horrified at Alex’s statement, Scott frowned worriedly and moved closer to his mate’s husband, his spare hand resting on Alex’s shoulder.

It comes and goes, Alex explained, then added firmly, But it’s not getting in.

Chapter two

17:06  Cadenbourne

Stirring a large pan of Bolognese sauce with one hand as she snatched up her phone with the other, Chloe Reavey perched it on her shoulder and said, Hi, sexy.

Martin sighed. Clo, how many times do I have to ask you not to call me things like that?

She giggled. How’s super-hunk?

A low growl came down the phone at her. No better, Martin complained.

Um. . . Okay, how about stud? You’ve got to admit, that one really works for you, Martin. Chloe knew her husband’s face was probably bright red by now. So, what can I do for the fount of all my pleasure?

Good God, Clo! Stop!

She composed her face to stop herself getting a fit of the giggles. Okay. Being all serious now. What is it that can’t wait until you get home?

I’ve got Carl in the office with me.

Oh? Should I be worried he’s trying to tempt you to the other side? One of Martin’s employees, Carl was one of Chloe’s best friends, and also happily settled with his husband Ross.

Martin didn’t rise to her baiting this time. Clo, he’s heard from Ross that the faeras are coming down. Tonight.

You mean moving? Chloe gasped, all teasing wiped from her voice and expression in an instant.

Yes. It’s all these deaths, Clo. They’re the start of whatever it is that’s going to happen. Ring Gaynor and tell her to get ready to leave.

Chloe felt the ring of command from her pack alpha in the tone of Martin’s voice and, just for once, she didn’t argue. Okay.

I’m sending everyone home a bit early. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Shut the gates and don’t leave. I’ve got my keys with me, so you can lock up properly. Keep the girls inside.

Hanging up, Chloe listened to the sound of her daughters squealing with laughter at whatever game the man they considered to be their grandfather was entertaining them with. Jack Wesley was Martin’s uncle, but Chloe had originally got to know him thinking he might be her biological father. He wasn’t, but Chloe hadn’t made any effort to contact the second man her mother had named on her deathbed. Jack had raised Martin as his own son after Martin’s parents had been killed and eaten by a werewolf, when Martin was only six years old. Martin had survived the attack, but from that day on, he was a werewolf, a lukos, himself. He had mastered his transformations in the last few years, so didn’t have to be locked away during the full moon anymore.

Turning off the heat under their dinner to stop it spoiling while she locked up, Chloe kept the phone in her hand as she headed outside to secure the seven feet high gates Martin and Jack had constructed as soon as they were warned of an apocalyptic event coming. The warning had been taken seriously, because the family had once received a similar warning, and that one had turned out to be accurate.

Locking the gates secured the solid barrier around the property. The viciously barb-topped fence was hidden inside a tall hedge that had been force-grown by the same faera the warning had originally come from: Ross’ brother-in-law.

That had been a pretty weird day for Chloe, which was saying something when she was married to a werewolf. The faera had moved all the way round the garden, forcing prickly pyracanthus bushes from a few inches of growth up to six feet high. It had taken a few hours, and the faera had demanded a constant supply of beer and food as payment.

Chloe scrolled through the numbers in her phone and brought up that of her oldest friend, then waited impatiently for someone to answer.

Hi, Chloe, Gaynor answered cheerfully.

Gay, I need you to listen to me and do exactly what I tell you without any argument. Pack some clothes for yourselves and the boys and be ready to leave the minute some friends of ours come round. You’re going to find these people a bit scary, but it’s vitally important you leave with them.

Chloe, we can’t just pack up and leave because you say so. Kurt’s got work tomorrow. What’s going on?

"Please, Gaynor, I really need you to trust me on this. It’s got something to do with these deaths over the last week. Something really bad is about to happen and you’ll all be a lot safer here. When you get here, I can explain it all to you. Some of it is going to do your head in, but I promise you it’s all true. Now, please, get ready."

Gaynor swallowed audibly. Chloe, you’re not making the blindest bit of sense. What don’t I know about?

Gaynor! There isn’t any time for this. The people coming for you are called Alex, Scott and Natalie. I’m really sorry you’ll have to put up with Natalie, but it’s only until you get here. Some of us have been getting ready for this for years, and getting you here is part of the plan.

A scream from inside the house stopped Chloe in her tracks.

Letting the still connected phone drop, she ran in the open front door.

Jack had the younger of the two girls, Jackie, pinned to the floor by her throat; his was face devoid of any emotion Chloe could recognise.

Dad! Chloe charged forward, knocking him off her daughter and whipping round to face him. Transform! she shouted at the girls as Jack lunged for her, grabbing Chloe’s arm and yanking her towards him. Saliva tracked down from the corner of his mouth.

Hearing the two girls growling uncertainly, now in the wolf form they had inherited from both their parents - Chloe also had lukos in her family, though God alone knew how many generations back - Chloe steeled herself to break out one of the self-defence moves she had learned.

She bunched her fist and threw it as hard as she could into Jack’s throat.

Cellar, she ordered as Jack staggered back into the wall, gasping impotently for breath.

The two young wolves, clothes still hanging from their bodies, followed their mother to the locked cellar door. Chloe fumbled with the key as she glanced back nervously at Jack trying to get control of his breaths. The lock clicked open and the wolf cubs raced down the stairs, Chloe on their heels.

Into Dada’s special room, Chloe yelled as she yanked open the bottom door.

Once inside the pitch black ‘special’ room, Chloe shoved the solid metal door shut and inserted her fingers into the hole where the catch was hidden to lock it securely, listening to the bolts sliding home.

She sank to the floor and gathered the two shaking wolf pups onto her lap, knowing they were all trapped in the darkness until Martin got back.

Chapter three

17:45  Within the grounds of the Ungesaelig Hof. Kent.

Her opponent held the handle of his sword in both hands, his strange eyes - gold shot through with silver lights - watching her every move, assessing both of their next few moves. His short black hair seemed darker than pitch against his pale skin.

Vanessa Honeybee Ellwood-Fortescue shuffled back to regroup, her skin covered with a sheen of perspiration from the oppressive heat of the cloudy summer’s day.

She crept forward on her knees, her own weapon raised to meet another attack. She knew she was going to lose the fight, but had to keep going.

The male she did battle with, Hræfn, lunged forward and fell on her, forcing Vanessa onto her back as she tried to defend herself from his vigorous attack.

Hræfn giggled.

I yield, Vanessa chuckled and hugged her older son as he bopped her on the head with his foam toy sword, crowing his victory.

Just over two years old, Hræfn already had a younger brother; six weeks old, Nǣddre was laying on a soft quilt on the floor a short distance from where his mother and brother played, a large black and tan Rottweiler on the floor beside him. Nǣddre was oblivious to the noise as he slept peacefully through the play-battle. His canine guardian watched everything minutely, ready to jump to the defence of her half elf, half faera charge.

That’s enough for one day, Vanessa told the older boy, collecting up the toy swords to stash away in a large storage box in the corner of the big, open-plan living room of the converted barn that was the family’s home.

A tall, wide-shouldered figure crossed the open doorway, and the father of the two boys strode in, his long, dark brown hair pulled back and tied with a leather thong at the nape of his neck. Dressed in work boots, a sweat-damp black and white checked shirt and tatty green camouflage combat trousers, he didn’t much resemble the oldest son of a royal house.

Daddy! Hræfn squealed in delight and threw himself at the man’s long legs.

Brock leaned to pick him up, perching the little boy on his arm to give and receive kisses affectionately. A natural family man, as all faeras were, he adored both of his children and eagerly anticipated expanding the size of his and Vanessa’s brood. Have you been beating up Mummy again? he asked with a laugh.

I win, the boy announced triumphantly.

What a mighty warrior you are, Brock told him proudly, putting out his spare arm to draw Vanessa close so he could nuzzle her neck for a moment, breathing in her summer garden scent.

Then Brock noticed the collection of packed suitcases outside their bedroom door.

It’s time to go, Vanessa replied in answer to Brock’s wary question of what was going on.

A momentary panic sparked silver in his darkly reflective eyes. "You mean that time?"

Yes. I can feel something changing, Vanessa replied quietly. It’s like there’s too much pressure in the air, but not like weather pressure. It’s been getting stronger for the last few days, but it’s a lot worse today.

Since the death of her mother, at her own and Brock’s hands, Vanessa had felt as if something had been unlocked inside her, giving her skills and instincts she had previously been unaware she possessed, one of them a sensitivity to upcoming events. All these skills had been inherited from Vanessa’s elf mother, and then suppressed by her. In the last three years, Vanessa had developed a range of gifts beyond many full elves and unheard of in someone half human, as Vanessa was. She hadn’t been able to find out why this was, because she was dead to all elves. Not a single one of the entire species would acknowledge her existence. Her having married a faera was seen as the ultimate betrayal, and the fact Vanessa had always supported her gay brother only made it worse.

Vanessa’s mother had conspired to have Vanessa drugged and raped by a twisted, violent male elf. For three days, she had been subjected to repeated beatings, abuse and violations, until Brock stormed in to save her. Though it took Vanessa months, she eventually learned how to live again. Every time she looked at her two children, she felt a deep relief that she had been able to crawl out of the abyss of misery and humiliation to resume a proper life with Brock.

Lowering Hræfn back to the floor and watching him walk away to sit and throw an arm around the neck of the huge dog watching his baby brother, Brock pulled Vanessa into his arms, allowing himself a few minutes to fear for his family before he forced his mind into the coldly logical way of thinking he had to try and maintain for Herne knew how long. It wasn’t something that came naturally Brock; hot-headed and easily angered, except with his children, he knew whatever was coming was going to push his control to the limit. He knew he would cope if there was plenty of fighting to be done; it was what he did best.

Vanessa placed her hand on the centre of Brock’s chest to feel the pulse of heat she had caused the night they had met, knowing feeling it would help to keep her husband calm.

The couple had spent nearly all of the last three years preparing for this day, increasing their network of Real World contacts, overseeing the conversion of a former hotel on the South Coast into a safe haven for them to go to - something that had crippled them financially - stockpiling supplies of food and water, removing the treasures from the Hof, that Brock would one day be responsible for, and getting them safely hidden, training Vanessa’s brother and brother-in-law intensively to be sure they could hold their own in any battle; training Vanessa too. Brock had poured all his energy into preparation because Vanessa had told him, and convinced him, that the disastrous event foretold in the prophecy, that named them both, was close to taking place.

But none of that preparation had been enough to make Brock truly accept the prophesied events were imminent. It was one thing to believe what Vanessa told him she felt was true, yet another to properly accept it in his own mind.

How long have we got? Brock asked his wife.

Vanessa pressed her face into his chest for a moment, then said with a grin, Long enough for you to have a shower. We’re not going till tonight. I called Ross earlier so he had time to start getting things ready.

Ross, Vanessa’s older brother, had moved into the converted hotel with his husband Carl before the faera court’s treasures had been relocated a couple of months earlier. Ross and Carl had sold the small house they had been buying in order to put their money into the last bit of work needed on what was going to become the court’s official residence as soon as Brock’s extended family moved there. Once the queen arrived, its status as the Hof would be formalised.

He said he’d let the Reaveys know what’s going on. He should have done it by now, Vanessa added after she finished repeating the conversation she’d had with her brother.

Have you called the halfbreeds yet?

No. I’ve been too busy getting ready. I was going to do it when you got in.

I’ll ring them, Brock told her and pulled out his phone to bring up Scott Carling’s number. It’s time, he said darkly as the call was answered.

Vanessa watched him as he listened to the halfbreed, focusing on every change in her husband’s expression. As the devoted family man receded behind Brock’s hardening features, the sometimes ruthless warrior emerged.

We’re going tonight, Brock told the halfbreed on the other end of the line. Ness has got everything packed. You have too? Good. I guess we’ll be seeing you at some point later then.

He threw his phone on the long leather sofa, knowing Hræfn would pounce on it in seconds, then exhaled loudly as he looked at his family in concern.

Ness, did you say anything to Dad?

"I went over to the Hof earlier. Leigh said he would get the word out to everyone and track down where Audrey is."

Brock’s Aunt