Otherworld Challenger Read online

  Stella’s surprise was almost comical but she recovered quickly. “I told Cal there was something between you two, but he wouldn’t listen. Can we go back now and make an announcement?”

  Vashti made a move to accompany her but Jethro kept hold of her hand, pulling her back to his side. “We have a few things to do here first. Can you give us half an hour?” He glanced down at Vashti, his wicked smile glinting. “Or maybe forty minutes?”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from BAYOU SHADOW PROTECTOR by Debbie Herbert

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  Bayou Shadow Protector

  by Debbie Herbert

  Chapter 1

  He came in second place to a dead lover. If that wasn’t just so typical of his life.

  Tallulah placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Really.”

  Anger pounded his temples. He didn’t want her pity. Chulah shrugged her hand away and took a step back. “Forget about it,” he answered curtly, knowing his resentment was ridiculous, but unable to control the emotion.

  “I had no idea you felt that way about me,” she continued.

  Tallulah actually looked surprised. Like he and every other warrior should know that she still thought about Bo, lived for Bo, even when he’d been dead for over a year. Crazy women. He’d never understand them.

  “No problem,” he lied. He didn’t want to hear any more of the words that killed his dreams. Chulah took a deep breath and started for the woods, aware of Tallulah’s eyes following him as he made for the tree line. His heightened senses from hunting evil bayou spirits allowed him to feel her focused energy on his rigid back.

  I love you as a brother, she’d said. As much as I do any of my fellow shadow hunters.

  Right.

  He should have known better than to reveal his feelings, should have stuck to his code of displaying no vulnerability. Chulah kept his back straight. Eyes ahead. No need for her to realize that the blow had hurt his pride as much as his heart. He was a warrior, damn it. Well, mainly he stuck to the code—with the mistaken exception of this afternoon. But the way she’d stood in the sea breeze—black hair teased by the wind, shirt pressed against her strong, lean form, the leather fringed necklace disappearing into the cleavage of her breasts—he’d lost all reason. She was the epitome of a warrior hunter, the only female hunter in their tight clan. A perfect match. Or so he’d imagined. He’d dared to hope that she must know and return some of his desire.

  Wrong.

  He’d let his protective barriers down, told her of his secret feelings. Stupid. He deserved the I-Just-Wanna-Be-Friends brush-off.

  Marching away, he was so latched on to the eyes-straight-ahead approach and shoulders-back posture that his left foot tangled on something and he stumbled.

  His pride took a dive along with his feet and he dared not look back. The old Tallulah would have laughed and teased him; now she must see him as a bumbling idiot or, worse, as a man to be pitied.

  Chulah regained his balance and plunged into the woods’ underbrush, heedless of the nettles and brambles that tore at his jeans, not caring to follow the easy path. Instead, he strode forward, straight at the black trunks of massive trees, solid, unmoving and forbidding. As unyielding as Tallulah’s words. Words that pierced like poisoned darts. He struck savagely at the parasitic kudzu vines that hung between the trees and underbrush, making his way deeper into the shadows.

  Tallulah, even with her heightened hunter senses, couldn’t see him now.

  He wished he could turn all his senses off. His heart, too. Just off.

  His breath grew ragged; his long legs shook with exhaustion. Chulah abruptly stopped and inhaled deeply. The green lushness of pine and moss soothed his battered spirit, even more than the peace his job of repairing motorcycles provided. Fixing motors, his mind and hands were in sync and focused on correcting problems.

  In the bayou forest, his trekking abilities kicked in, providing a welcome diversion.

  The scent of salt drifted from the Gulf on early autumn breezes and mixed with invigorating pine. His supernatural hearing picked up the lap of the tide, the rustle of leaves, a scampering squirrel and a cawing of crows. Chulah opened his mind to it all, relaxing the barrier he put in place to avoid sensory overload. The forest bathed his battered heart as he drew in the ancient wisdom and energy of the trees, calming his mind.

  Chulah worked his way to the path and sat on a large tree stump, resting his tired legs. So he’d finally taken a chance and she’d turned him down, with a swift directness that typified all her actions.

  And while he was being honest...he was more relieved than disappointed, now that the initial embarrassment had passed. Tallulah had been, perhaps, a little too convenient. They’d grown up together, had shared similar gifts and had fought alongside each other. Their families were close. She’d been his secret crush in high school, and with Bo gone, it was only natural he’d drifted to her familiar, comfortable presence.

  Now that he’d spilled his guts and she’d rejected him, he could move on.

  That was the plan, anyway.

  For the past few weeks, he’d grown increasingly restless...bored, even. The last great battle was over, and with it Chulah seemed to have lost his purpose. He spent his days repairing motorcycles, and at night took his Harley out for long, solitary rides. He’d grown lonely.

  The future stretched before him...the same old, same old.

  A sizzle of energy traveled up his spine. Chulah glanced at the empty woods, wondering where the presence hid. He’d experienced it many times before and yet it had always eluded him. He tried to puzzle it out. It was nothing evil like he would sense with the Ishkitini, birds of the night, or with the few stray will-o’-the-wisps that still eluded the hunters.

  This energy was...soothing. And familiar. He often picked up on it alone in the woods and a few times when he had hunted down a wisp and was in danger.

  “Who are you?” he asked, searching the shadows. More to the point, “What are you?”

  No answer.

  Whatever that presence was, its silence was getting damned annoying. He stood abruptly and strode for home. “Fine. Don’t answer,” he said with a shrug, feeling more than a little foolish. Today was a day for acting like a bumbling idi
ot.

  “What I need is a long bike ride,” he muttered. Nothing but the roar of his Harley and the land rushing to meet him as he sped down the bayou back roads.

  To hell with Tallulah and to hell with trying to communicate with some mysterious spirit that wished to remain unknown.

  * * *

  Now was her chance.

  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 he was close. April nodded at once, eager to correct her mistake. “Oh, yes, now I remember. Ted. Of course.”

  Chulah gave her a hard, calculating kind of stare, as if debating the wisdom of letting her hop on his bike.

  An idea struck. “Are you afraid I might be a killer?”

  She should have thought of that before. Quickly, she raised her arms, familiar with police procedures after the fairy council’s crash course on human behavior and customs. They’d spent an entire day on what to do should one become embroiled in the legal system or a person suspected of a crime. “You can pat me down if you want to check for weapons.”

  Chulah snorted or laughed; April wasn’t exactly sure which. The sound was r
usty, as if infrequently employed, and his lips twitched.

  She walked closer, arms still raised, until their bodies were in arm’s length of each other. “Really. It’s okay to search. I’m completely unarmed.”

  Not entirely true. She had an inner, secret weapon of casting fairy enchantments, but she’d resolved to employ it only in emergencies. April winced, recalling her disastrous attempt at enchanting Chulah all those years ago. Quickly, she thrust aside thoughts of the past. It was a new day, and she had to focus on the matter at hand.

  Enchantments. Chulah had no way of detecting such magic from a pat-down. She frowned, remembering the fairy’s cross crystal in the purse. Would he count a stone as a primitive weapon?

  He gave an exaggerated sigh and strode back to his bike.

  April’s mouth dropped open. She’d been so sure he’d give her a ride. “Are you leaving me?”

  He unbuckled a side bag from the bike and pulled out a spare helmet. “For crying out loud, just wear this and hop on. I don’t know how you’re going to manage in that skirt, though.”

  Not the most gracious invitation, but it would have to do. April eyed the helmet with distaste. How could anyone stand to have their head wrapped in such a tight bubble? “Do I have to wear it?”

  “Nobody rides this bike without a helmet. It’s the law. Besides, only an idiot would ride without one.”

  There went her fantasy of the wind blowing his long black hair in her face, covering her like a blanketing caress. And actually, she’d seen him riding around his yard without a helmet, but it might not be prudent to mention that fact. A female member of the Council had taken her aside and explained about the male ego thing. Which was much the same in the fairy realm, so point taken.

  She didn’t want Chulah to think she was an idiot, so she stuffed the torture device on her head.

  It was stifling. Her hot breath steamed the windshield thingy. Chulah lifted the helmet’s flap and she sucked air.