The Falling

By Terra Harmony

The prequel to eco-fantasy best selling Painted Maidens Trilogy.

Before Serena's rise, before the betrayed fought back, and before the Undine and werewolves took their own path, Darcy—a local college student—found herself in the middle of a war between two species that she thought existed only in fairy tales.
Darcy has no family and very few friends, and is used to looking out for herself. When she meets Colin, a werewolf of clan Werich, she finds herself falling for him, no matter what the cost to her.

But when Darcy descends into enemy caves in order to save Colin's life, she discovers secrets from her own past that link her to these creatures closer than she could have ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terra Harmony
• Release date: Oct 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311819109

Terra Harmony

Terra is author of the eco-fantasy novels in the Akasha Series, 'Water', 'Air', 'Fire' and 'Earth', as well as the Painted Maidens Trilogy. Terra was born and raised in Colorado but has since lived in California, Texas, Utah, North Carolina, and Virginia. Terra served a 51⁄2 year enlistment in the Marine Corp, has earned her bachelor's and master's degree and presently runs the language services division of a small business.Terra currently lives in a suburb of Washington, DC with her husband of sixteen years and three children.

Book preview

Chapter One

How about this one? I point to a generic, dilapidated sign that reads 'Bowling Alley and Bar'. There is no shortage of bars in the western coastline cities of Canada, but this one looks especially ominous, sitting in the middle of nowhere in a darkened lot. Who would drive all this way just to go there?

I don't care which one. Just pull over—I have to pee.

I roll my eyes at Sara. In our dorm room she isn't nearly so high maintenance. But then again our dorm has an attached bathroom.

I pull my dad's old Jeep Wrangler into a gravel parking lot of a bowling alley and cut the engine. There aren't very many vehicles in the parking lot, so hopefully the place is dead and we can be in and out before attracting much attention. Sara hops out while I struggle with my seatbelt. Sara—wait! The latch is stuck again and I have to bang on it with my fist before I am free of its grasp.

Not waiting, Darcy. Gotta pee. She takes short but quick steps toward the black doors of the building, blond locks bouncing and gravel skittering out from her thin-soled shoes.

Always painfully aware of my chocolate-brown hair compared to her shining blonde, I race to catch up with her and yank on her arm. This is just a quick stop, right? We should've already made it to the campsite and be well into lantern learning by now.

Right, she says, pulling me along. But if adventure happens to present itself along the way, I'm not turning in the other direction.

I knew it, I hiss, yanking my arm from her grasp. You just needed a car to get you off campus. Is lantern learning even a real thing?

She looks at me with a crooked smile. I have no idea.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I pull my purse string so it crosses my body, making sure the money pouch is zipped. Deep in the outside pocket, the mace my dad gave me sits unused since I first left for college. I am graduating in a few months, and my dad was buried three years ago. Most of the time, the mace is more of a memento, reminding me of the Chief of Police he was. Right now, the mace serves double duty, giving me the confidence to follow Sara.

She pushes through the black doors, rusty hinges squeaking as they open.

The smell of smoke, alcohol, and greasy food envelops us. Stopping in our tracks, we let our eyes adjust to the light. I scan the customers and the employees—there isn't a single female in sight. And it seems like every single man is twice the size of the boys we're used to on campus, wearing flannel shirts and ready to tear down trees, no axes needed.

The rumble of heavy bowling balls thundering down the lanes, followed by a sharp crash of wood slamming into metal, puts me on edge.

Um…? I point to a display case near the entrance. It is filled with splintered, white pins like some kind of warning.

Beside me, Sara looks but is shifting from foot to foot by now. I'm not even sure she is going to make it to the restroom.

Just don't accept any drinks from anyone, she says. She spots the restroom and bolts shouting over her shoulder, I'll be right back!

After the door slams shut behind her, I realize maybe I should just go with her. I catch the corner of my top lip with my bottom teeth, a nervous habit ever since someone made fun of my full upper lip.

The restrooms are for customers only.

My head swings in the direction of the ill-tempered voice. A lean and sinewy bartender, tall but not as imposing as the rest of the guys, is wiping down the counter with a dirty rag.

I try to act casual, glancing in the direction of the bathroom before taking a seat at the bar. We are customers.

He throws the rag in a sink behind him. I set my forearms on the bar top then immediately pull them back up—sticky.

The bartender narrows his eyes.

You missed a spot, I say. I can’t help it.

It takes him a moment to smile, but when he does the ridges running down the side of his nose to the corners of his mouth deepen. I know. Keeps the riffraff away. He hands me a wet paper towel.

Thanks. I focus my attention on cleaning my skin then suddenly look up. "Are we the riffraff?"

He shrugs and pulls an empty glass from underneath the counter. Depends.

Depends on what?

On what brings you here, he says, pulling on a tap. His deep-set blue eyes are a stark contrast to dark lashes and thick eyebrows.

Lantern learning, I say.

What is lantern learnin’? He glances up, furrowing his eyebrows. The smallest of wrinkles form around the corners of his eyes. Between the gruff, stubbly beard and strong jawline, I'm having trouble taking my eyes off of him.

It's really just a camping trip where we spend time studying, you know, free from distractions of campus life.

Ah, well. Whatever works, I guess. He sets down a beer, foam dripping over the top and running down the side. On the house, honey. He smiles. On account of the stickiness.

I laugh. Even though I am no longer glancing at the bathroom door, Sara's words of caution about accepting drinks ring in my head. Surely a bartender is trustworthy, right? Especially one as hot as this? There is no way he needs to drug his women. Thank you. I take the glass, dipping my pinky fingertip into a bit of the foam at the top. My eyes drift to the shelf of hard liquor behind him.

Oh, you want the good stuff. He winks at me then continues watching my face as he runs his hand down the row of bottles. As he passes over the bourbon, the corner of my mouth twitches, giving away my weakness.

Whiskey sour? he asks.

Both my eyebrows lift in surprise. You know my heart.

Now he laughs. I like makin' drinks for the ladies. Doesn't happen too often. Inspired, he starts pulling out ingredients. A lemon, simple syrup, and the bourbon. This is going to be the best drink you've ever had, sweetheart.

I smile. A whiskey sour is one of the simplest cocktails you can make. While he makes a show of washing a glass and all the utensils for my sake, I try to study my fingernails. But my gaze keeps wandering back to him. Coming from a liberal academic environment, where sexism is so frowned upon, I can't remember the last time a guy held the door open for me, let alone dared to call me something like sweetheart. I find myself liking his use of endearments.

What did you say your name was? I ask.

I didn't. He squeezes half a lemon over a shaker. Defined lines along the side of his arms make an appearance when he screws the lid shut and shakes it.

He pours. I drink. It is a damn good whiskey sour. Are you going to make me guess? I'm not good at guessing games.

The name is Colin. He sticks out a hand.

We shake over an empty shot glass. Nice to meet you, Colin. I'm Darcy.

You want somethin’ to eat, Darcy? He slaps a stained menu in front of me, and I look at my options. Grease, fried grease, or more grease.

No thanks, I say. I'm partial to...healthy food.

He laughs again and small ridges just above his eyebrows appear. When his face smooths out, he puts his elbows on the counter, leaning toward me. Enlighten me, he says. His fingers hover just outside of mine, almost touching.

Well, I say, thinking, I like Meyer's Organic Bread for starters.

What is that? he asks, our eyes meeting. They are a darker blue than I thought and growing darker the longer I stare. Small flecks of silver swirl around the iris, drawing me in.

It's a type of Ezekial bread with no added sugar... A soft breath escapes my lips. And sprouted whole grains.

He slides his elbows forward until the palms of his hands are almost touching my knuckles.

Legumes.

His hands inch closer, and I can feel their heat.

There is only one store in downtown Vancouver where you can get it. Trust me, I've looked all over western Canada. It's shipped from Seattle.

Yeah?

Yeah, I say. I grew up there.

Is he even paying attention to what I'm saying? I know I'm not.

The pad of his thumb touches my first knuckle. Heat blooms through my hand, and I lean into it.

A door slams, and our hands fly apart. Still looking at Colin, I blink. Only when he turns to look toward the bathroom can I tear my eyes from him. Sara stands just outside the women's restroom door, her face pale, her body eerily still.

What's this? Another voice booms from the entrance to the bowling alley. The man that stands there is no lumberjack. Long black hair and icy blue eyes bore into me then Sara. Someone has turned down the loud rock music, and no more bowling balls go barreling down the lanes. The entire place falls silent.

Behind the bar, Colin's back stiffens, watching warily as the man comes closer. Alaric, Colin greets him with a nod.

Alaric grumbles in return—it almost sounds like a growl.

How rude.

As Alaric passes behind me, chills run down my spine. I bite my upper lip again and glance at Colin, who shoots me a flash of sympathy. But Alaric moves on, headed for Sara.

When he stops directly in front of her, I jump up from my seat. Colin's hand shoots across the bar and grabs my wrist—gentle but firm. He gives me a warning look and shakes his head.

I turn back to Sara. Alaric is looking her up and down, as if he is judge, jury, and executioner.

She hasn't done anything wrong! I whisper to Colin, partly in panic but mostly confused.

I'll take care of it. He releases my wrist and comes around from behind the bar. They stopped to use the restroom. They were just leavin’, Alaric.

Alaric continues to stare at Sara, who manages to swallow hard and nod her head.

Well. Alaric crosses his arms. I hope you found the facilities…clean enough.

Slowly, Colin pulls at Sara's arm, ushering her around Alaric and toward me. Alaric doesn't look back. He walks into the women's restroom, slamming the door behind him.

You guys go, just go. Colin gives us both one last nudge, then turns and follows Alaric into the bathroom.

What happened? I ask Sara, escorting her from the building. Neither of us look back.

I don't know. She shakes her head. I thought I saw something, but…

But what?

It was probably nothing.

That was really weird, I say, my thoughts dwelling on Colin and his defined forearms.

You didn't have any drinks did you? Sara asks.

Wait! Colin shouts after us. He runs to catch up.

Let's go. Come on. Sara pulls at my arm, but I find myself leaning in Colin's direction.

Sorry about all that, he says, coming to a stop in front of me. But you probably shouldn't come back here. A look of regret flashes across his face.

Suddenly, I want nothing more than to see him again. Come find me. I'm at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver.

Oh. He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks flushing. It ain’t easy for me to leave.

I cock my head in confusion.

Work, that is. It gets busy.

My stomach drops like I've been dumped before we've even been on a date.

His eyes go wide. No, no, no. Don't take that the wrong way. I mean, I want to see you again. He runs a hand through thick light-brown hair, long enough to obscure the tops of his ears. It seems to melt into sideburns cropped close to his tawny skin.

You do? I’m a little confused.

Give me your number, he says. I'll take you somewhere close by.

I give him a wary look. As far as I know, there is nothing close by except places to dump a cold body. But curiosity gets the best of me. Swinging my purse around in front of me, I pull out a pen. The best thing I can find to write on is the crumpled napkin from the bar I stuck in my pocket for some reason. Here. I scribble a few numbers on the napkin and hand it to him.

When he takes the napkin from me, our fingers brush. His are warm compared to the cool night air. Funny, he says. This is the first phone number scribbled across a bar napkin I've ever gotten.

Says the bartender.

Yeah. He scrapes the toe of his boot across loose gravel.

A loud honk from my Jeep startles us both. I turn to look. Sara is buckled and ready to go, and giving me an exasperated look.

I have to go, I tell Colin. You'll call?

He holds up the napkin. I will.

I give him one last smile and slip behind the wheel. Ready? I ask Sara.

Drive like our lives depend on it, she says.

Chapter Two

What did you see? I ask Sara again.

Color is returning to her face but her hands shake and her lips tremble. Just, promise me you won't go back there.

I can't, I say as I rest my hand on her shoulder, trying to be reassuring. Unless you tell me what you saw. Did someone hurt you?

No, no, she says, shaking her head. Nothing like that. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising then falling again under her orange jacket. I was in the bathroom—alone. The stall door didn't lock so I had to hold it. She pauses, looking at me with wide eyes. Do you have any cigarettes?

I don't smoke, and neither do you. Keep talking. I do my best to look at her with my light-brown eyes, which I've been told exude reassurance and trust, but I have to keep my attention on the dark road.

Okay, she says. So I hear the door open, and someone walks in.

I frown. I didn't notice any other women there.

This was no woman. She lets out a nervous laugh. Way too big to be a woman. Had huge feet and boots caked in mud. He entered the stall next to mine. Sara shrugs. I figured the men's restroom was full, no big deal as long as I can get out of there quick. But just as I'm finishing up, I start to hear these weird noises.

What kind of noises?

Like—bone-crunching noises. And gushy noises.

Gross. I stick out my tongue.

Her hands squeeze her own knees. Then I saw blood dripping down to the floor.

What? My mouth drops open. Are you sure there was just one person? We should report this. You should've said something back there!

I was scared stiff with my back up against the other side of the stall. I watched as the pool of blood crept closer and closer to my feet. Finally, just when it was about to reach me, I ran out. Sara takes a few deep breaths. I was going to say something, but that—that guy—that monster that came into the bar. Did you see the way he looked at me? I had a feeling I was going to be next if I said anything at all.

Looming redwood trees fly past the window. I pick up speed as she tells her story. Campus is still at least half an hour away. My hands move together on the steering wheel. Absent-minded, I touch the same spot on my knuckle where Colin touched me. I swear I can still feel his heat.

Promise me you won't go back there, Darcy, Sara says, her voice ringing soft like she is at the other end of a distant phone call. Promise me you won't have anything to do with them at all.

* * *

A full week has passed since we visited the bowling alley, and Sara wakes up in a cold sweat twice a night—she usually ends up in bed with me. Enduring her restless sleep combined with finishing senior-year midterms puts me on edge. By Friday, I need a release.

When Colin sends me a text with an address and time to meet him Saturday morning, I don't hesitate with my response.

U going to tell me what we're doing? I'm not good at guessing games, remember?

His short reply. No baggy clothing.

I pack a bag, and I'm out of our room before Sara wakes up. A note on the dresser tells her I am at the library all day.

Following Colin’s directions back onto Vancouver Island, I sip coffee during the drive and try to forget about the grades on my midterms, which I won't get back until next week anyway. Instead, I practice my interrogation, determined to find some sense in what Sara saw. Hopefully I can get an explanation—one good enough to stop her nightmares.

I pass the deserted bowling alley. The only other sign of civilization this far north on the island is the pull-off for a sketchy-looking trailer park. Thankfully, his directions lead me past that, too. Finally, I pull down a narrow gravel path, navigating the unkempt road until it ends in a small clearing that can pass as a three-car parking lot. No other cars are there.

Putting the Jeep in park, I get out and turn a full circle twice looking for Colin. Hello? I call.

No answer. I slam the door shut and lean against the Jeep, scrolling through my phone to make sure I didn't miss a text from Colin or a phone message that he cancelled.

I sigh loudly, putting the phone back in my pocket.

After a few more minutes of listening to the crickets chirp, I finally ask myself. What