Authors: Anna Keraleigh
Fairy Unbroken
Evernight Publishing
Copyright© 2013 Anna Keraleigh
ISBN:
978-1-77130-252-4
Cover
Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor:
Cheryl Harper
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.
No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For the
broken.
FAIRY
UNBROKEN
A Fairy Novel, 3
Anna
Keraleigh
Copyright
© 2013
Chapter One
It was night. The stars lit up the
dark sky like fireballs hovering in space. The air was scented with a fresh
ocean breeze that Keyn knew all too well. It was a dream, the images before him
memories. Ones he did not want to relive. He was a child then. Nearly fourteen
years old, he was also a fairy, born to Leetha and Perrimen of the fairy
kingdom. He was too friendly for their species, happy despite the aging of his
parents. They weren’t long for this world and it was evident on their faces.
Still, he woke every day with a hopeful heart, took in everything he could,
learning all his parents wished him to know.
That all changed on that one
beautiful night Keyn fell from the sky.
His red and black wings were not yet
ready to support him so long and he had spent most of the day playing with a
human child by the name of Abigail. As the sun began to set, he lifted off the
ground and headed for home. Keyn flew over the green hills of
small cluster of treetops. That hint of the nearby ocean filled his lungs. He
rushed, maybe too fast. He didn’t want his parents to catch him playing with
the forbidden humans again. Perhaps it was the sudden gust of wind that knocked
him off course or simple fatigue but an ache began in his back. It was a cramp
of muscle that spread like wildfire in a drought. Keyn’s eyes widened, and his
fists clenched then opened as he struggled to fly. It was useless. He was not
yet strong enough.
Keyn fell from the sky.
His lungs gasped that salty air and
he held the scream as the treetops rushed at him. Branches scratched his bare
skin, the loincloth doing nothing to protect his delicate skin from their rough
edges. He did have the sense to tuck his wings together to keep them from being
torn asunder. Without them to slow his descent, he landed with a sharp thud.
Air rushed from his lungs and aches began all over his small body. He could
hardly breathe his chest hurt so and the darkness made his heart race in fear.
He stared at the stars he admired with a fading consciousness.
It wasn’t long before he heard them.
Those voices that would forever haunt him. Male humans, their steps heavy and
their accent distinctly not Irish. They came from the darkness like angels,
wishful thinking in his state of pain. Those men came from hell, demons, the
devil’s minions, but he hadn’t known that then. If he could relive that day,
he’d pull himself together and drag his battered body under a nearby bush. He
didn’t know to stay quiet.
Keyn called out for help.
His lips opened and, with his not
yet matured voice, he begged for help. Three men surrounded him, speaking kind
words and reassurances until they saw his wings. At first, they were scared
then it didn’t matter what species he was. The men discovered that after the
fact. As a boy, he couldn’t understand why these human men were bringing him to
a bright part of their camp beside a roaring fire. Why did they use their
weapons to cut away his loincloth? The cold blade on his skin made him shiver
and they seemed to like that. It made no sense. He didn’t understand until they
used that shiny blade to tear into hi
m. With one downward
plunge, the blade sliced through his delicate wings and pinned him to the
ground. They did the same to the other side and he cried out. He remembered
screaming for help, asking them why.
It was only minutes later that they
began to touch him and Keyn the boy ceased to exist.
He floated away, too scared to
remain, and in his wake was a vacant shell. Those men fouled his body and made
him hurt in ways he never knew possible. They pulled the blades free and
proceeded to hack off his beautiful wings. Maybe they thought it would kill
him.
He almost wished it had.
Keyn
was there again. Though he knew it was a dream, he could smell the ocean, feel
those dirty human hands lowering to his cock. He bolted upright in bed. Sweat
dripped down his back and his forehead. His lungs were burning and it took a
full minute for him to remember how to breathe. Gasps echoed in the silent chamber
he called home. Keyn’s hands gripped the material beneath him as he came from
the nightmare world.
The
dreams were back.
For almost a year, he had not woken to those
horrible, shameful memories. Keyn spread his wings and clenched his teeth. A
single tear slipped down his clammy flesh, and where there was one, more
appeared. They fell silently as he rushed from the bed. He hurried from the
house. His door swung wide as he took to the sky and shot straight toward those
burning stars. The tears dried in the wind. He didn’t want to admit where he
was going, but whenever the memories plagued him, he’d rush toward her, the
stranger whose eyes seemed to see through his hard shell and into his broken
soul.
The
sun began to rise. Small rays lit the horizon as he landed beside her house. It
was a small home with a view out to the water and a yard crammed with
decorative flowers. A white fence separated her from the hills and surrounding
cluster of trees. He hid behind the nearest tree, took a deep breath, and
glanced around. His heart skipped a beat. It did every time he looked upon her.
She was pure enchantment. Her hair was the color of gold nuggets beneath a
rushing river, not blond like the sun but not brown like the land. Her body
made his shameful manhood rise and his soul yearned to see what color her eyes
were.
She
was standing in the yard, her clothes splattered with various colors of paint
and a canvas before her. She was focused on each stroke of the brush. Unaware
of the man, the fairy, that observed her. He couldn’t stop watching. The way
her hips swayed when she stepped back to survey the painting. She had these
plastic things over her ears, and from this distance he heard the rumble of
music. Her body swerved with the soft beat of drums, and after a small smile
crept onto her lips, she returned to the painting.
This
was his mate.
There
was no doubt. She always calmed the beast within him and he didn’t even know
the color of her eyes. Then again, he didn’t want to know. She was still a
human. Keyn landed on his knees. A shiver dashed down his body. How could the
Goddess be so cruel? He both hated and loved her. It was tearing apart his
soul. He fumbled with his loincloth, shoved it aside so his straining cock
could breathe. It pulsed, blood rushed from every part of his body to surge
through the thing. Shame ate at his mood but lust conquered all. He reached
down and grabbed his massive erection. His breath came in gulps as his fingers
worked the appendage. Up and down he pumped. Memories surfaced. They broke down
his lust and Keyn fought desperately to hold on to the licentious feeling.
It
was no use.
His
hand fell away. Through tear-blurred eyes, his mate smiled while memories of
his violations battered his senses. He had not been able to find pleasure since
those men. Keyn sat beside the tree. His fingers sank into soft dirt as he
listened to the sweet sounds of his mate. He sat there for a while, listening,
remembering, and then her soft footsteps led away. She had finished for the
day. He picked himself up, squared his shoulders, and took off into the sky.
It
was time to return home and play warrior.
****
Keyn
flew away from his mate, heading toward home in the distance. The fairy kingdom
was hidden from human eyes. Very few even knew of its existence. Currently
three humans called his home theirs. King Carrick’s mate, Queen Brook, Thame’s
woman, Breena, and her grandmother, Abigail. The same woman that was once his
childhood friend. A few days ago, he left his corner of the palace and moved to
a remote house on the edge of the kingdom. He swooped down through the clear
dome and headed for that little house. It was right beside the waterfall, and
he often went to sleep with the rumbling sounds playing through his open
window.
The
house had three stories and a red dome top with balconies at every window. He
flew to the bedroom, one with the doors open wide, and landed, mentally
exhausted. The sun was up and soon he’d have to join the others and keep watch.
The trolls, the enemies that plagued them were determined to steal their land.
They’d come close when they snatched the queen. Thank the Goddess she was
found. Now, they attacked in greater numbers and the fairies were forced to
forget mercy and defend their homes.