Prince of Wolves - Tasha Black Page 0,1
sound, but the footsteps of a man.
A bounty hunter.
She had known they might send someone after her, but she never expected it would happen so quickly.
Her feet were moving before she had time to think.
There was no way she would surrender herself back to the fae realm. She would be free, or die running.
The foliage around her thinned out considerably. She had just enough time to realize what that meant before she was tumbling down the steep granite cliffside.
She hit the dirt and undergrowth again, scrambling down into a softly lit clearing.
Ashe landed hard on her hands and knees on a smooth rock surface.
No, it was a paved lot, and the light above came from another electric light.
She could hear the movement of her pursuer in the woods behind her. He had slowed to manage the steep terrain.
“Are you okay?” a very familiar voice asked from in front of her.
Ashe looked up into her own face.
She blinked, thinking maybe she had been shaken up by her fall.
But it was real. The woman had the same dark hair and eyes, the same tiny freckle on her cheek.
And she wore the same shocked expression.
Her exact double. In the mortal realm.
The truth hit Ashe like a punch in the gut.
But there was no time to take it in. A shivering of the trees on the hillside reminded her of why she was fleeing.
“He’s right behind me,” she whispered to her doppelgänger. “Run.”
Ashe took off for the light of the building whose parking lot she had fallen into. There would be witnesses there. It would be more difficult for her pursuer to snatch her.
The world blurred around her as she ran, her whole life unfolding and retelling itself in her head.
Ashe was not a fae princess.
That was why she had no magic. She wasn’t an anomaly. She wasn’t a dud.
She was a changeling.
And the true surviving princess of the Winter Court was right behind her, about to be swept back to Faerie by the man who had been pursuing Ashe.
The rightness of it all landed on her just as she pushed open the door to the little restaurant the other woman had been leaving.
A press of mortals surged against her.
“There’s a bear out there,” one man yelled. “Did you see it?”
She shook her head, afraid to speak for fear of giving herself away.
“Willow, are you okay?” a young man asked, running up to her. “Sit down. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“What happened to her, Ramón?” a female servant asked the man.
“I don’t know,” he replied on his way to the counter.
“There are leaves in her hair, she looks dazed,” the servant said insistently.
Ashe touched her hair and pulled away a stray leaf.
“Did she change into that outfit for the Renaissance Faire?” the woman whispered.
She looked down at her torn gown, which was clearly quite out of place in this realm. Even the women being served wore breeches and simple blouses.
“Here, Willow,” the man called Ramón said kindly, handing her a glass of water.
She took it gratefully. If she was drinking, she wouldn’t have to talk. He clearly knew her other self. Perhaps she could get him to help without giving away her secret.
“You left your purse again,” he said with a warm smile, holding up a strange leather satchel dyed the same blue as the birds of the Summer Court.
“That’s kind of you” she said politely, taking it.
The leather was soft to the touch and shiny in places, as if her other self had carried this same bag for years. It was also mysteriously heavy.
It took everything Ashe had not to open it and search the contents for coin and keys, and anything else that might unlock the changeling’s existence.
“Willow,” the young man said again, placing a hand on her knee. “Do you want to talk about what happened? Was there actually a bear out there?”
She shook her head, trying not to show her horror. Commoners did not touch royalty. But she reminded herself that she was not royalty. And traditions would be different here.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly.
He observed her with concern in his dark eyes. “Would you like a ride home?”
“Yes,” she said, relieved and hopeful that the bag she held might contain keys to the gates of her changeling’s home.
He nodded to her and headed back toward the glass doors she’d entered from.
She followed in his wake, clutching the enormous purse.
He held the door open for her, impressing her with his chivalry. She had heard that mortals were wildly