The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

Sensations returned as sleep loosened its hold. She winced, agony digging claws into her hips and raking down her legs.

“Right,” she muttered. “They burned me at the stake.”

“They tried to burn you.”

She stiffened.

The voice was not one she recognized, although she knew the tones. It was too smooth, too pretty, too lovely to slip off the tongue of a human.

“Faerie,” she grumbled.

“I see my reputation precedes me.”

Aisling glanced around the wooded area but couldn’t find any markers that were familiar. She was seated on the ground amid fallen red leaves in nothing more than her white linen shift. A black cloak covered her legs, the sensitive, burned flesh turning white hot when she shifted the abrasive fabric.

A fire crackled nearby, small enough to shed light and warmth but not large enough to give her flashbacks. Still, she glared at it before reaching for the cloak.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the disembodied voice called out. “You’re still healing.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she mocked.

Hissing through her teeth, she pulled the cloak off her legs and stared down at the mangled mess. Blisters covered the long length of her legs, raw and filled with pus. She’d have to be careful moving, let alone trying to get back to her hut.

But she needed her spell books. There was a spell to heal burned flesh since enough witches had gone through the same thing. All she needed to do was find it....

“As you can tell, you aren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s what you think.” She flattened her hands to the ground and then searched through the dark for a stick. She’d need something to help her stand, but once she had a crutch, she could hobble back to her home and—

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“I think it’s quite obvious you aren’t in any state to be getting up.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, faerie.” She’d stand up if she wanted to, and he couldn't stop her.

“You called me by another name before,” he said. She heard a hint of desperation in the words. A distraction, perhaps? “You may call me that if you wish.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I prefer ‘faerie.’” It had a flavor of insult she appreciated. “I have my doubts you are Fiach Dubh Ri.”

“Why?”

Leaves rustled in the thicket behind her. Was he there? Or was it some creature sneaking up on her?

Aisling tried to find the outline of a faerie body in the forest, but all she could see were trees. She couldn’t understand why he was hiding. She couldn’t even remember much other than a shadowy figure and a kind touch on her cheek. Faeries liked people to see them. They were the most beautiful creatures to ever exist. Or perhaps the Unseelie were not.

She didn’t know much about their kind. The Seelie were open with their laws, the way they lived, how they looked. The Unseelie stayed away from humans other than to trick them, and in those situations, they always hid themselves with glamours. She’d never met an Unseelie before.

She heaved a sigh. “I don’t think the true Fiach Dubh Ri would ever have waited so long to pull a dying woman from a bonfire.”

“Witch fire.”

“Excuse me?”

He cleared his throat. “I believe it’s called a witch fire if they’re trying to kill a witch.”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” She shifted her legs and winced. How the hell was she going to stand up? If Lorcan were here… Her fists clenched. “Where is my familiar?”

“Your what?”

“My familiar.”

A chuckle drifted through the air like rain falling from the sky. “Are you still pretending you’re a witch?”

“I am a witch. Now where is—”

“Yes,” he interrupted sarcastically, “your familiar. How should I know where the cat sidhe disappeared? They are notoriously unfaithful companions.”

The leaves rustled again, this time mingling with a faint hissing sound. She tensed until a warm, soft body rubbed against her back.

Aisling sighed. “There you are, Lorcan.”

He purred and bumped his head on her elbow. “Unfaithful? I think I could say the same about you, Fae.”

“Me?” The unnamed man snorted. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“Do I not?” Lorcan butted Aisling’s elbow with his head, a suggestion to stand up so they could leave. “When did Unseelie learn how to read minds?”

She frowned down at her cat. “Unseelie?”

“No Seelie Fae would lurk in the shadows while a lady needed help.” Lorcan sneered at the darkness. “Not unless they had something to hide.”

A sizzle of pain traveled from the bottom of her feet all the way up to the top of her head. She arched her back with a hiss. “That’s it,” she growled, “I don’t have time to watch this pissing contest. You two can stay here, but I’m going home.”

She rolled onto her knees, sucked in a lungful of air, and shoved herself to her feet. Her mind blanked as agonizing pain streaked through her body and stole her sight. She hadn’t realized there were blisters on her feet that would pop as soon as she put weight on them.

She cried out and would have fallen to the ground, but she was caught against a strong chest. He held his arm around her waist and lifted her up onto her toes.

The deep voice was in her ear now, husky and deep. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to walk just yet.”

“I’m not staying here.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I don’t even know where here is.” She anchored her hands on his forearm, pressing down to take any lingering weight off her mangled feet. “I need to heal, and I can only do that with my spell books.”

“Have a little faith in me, witch.”

“Lorcan?”

The cat sidhe sat down next to the fire, rolled onto his side, and bared his belly to the warmth. “Here’s as good as anywhere else.”

“I need to heal myself.”

The faerie behind her snorted. “You need to trust someone else to take care of you.”

“Oh, and who would that be? You? The man I have yet to see.”

“You saw me at the edge of the forest.”

She shook