Tree Singer by Jacci Turner (best novels for beginners TXT) 📕

years ago. He . . . or she . . . was out here somewhere.

Again, the face appeared before her. She tried to explain that too much time had passed. The man could no longer be alive.

Insistent, the face swam in her mind, taunting her with a vague sense of familiarity. The man had been handsome with black curls, tall and thin. His eyes were haughty in the manner of one who thinks others beneath him. His skin was unlike the skin of anyone on the island . . .

Except one person.

Count Monroe.

The count’s skin was white—beneath all the freckles and liver spots . . .

The puzzle pieces slipped into place, painting a different picture of the man who’d seemed so kind. That was why he knew so much about singing, why he’d defended the idea of taking energy from a tree. It also explained why he understood how energy could be exchanged. But how was he still alive?

Her stomach heaved as she remembered the way he’d looked at Anatolian playing in the water. The years had fallen off him and she could see it now in her mind’s eye. He could be that man the trees had been showing her.

Was it possible the count had used the energy he drained from living things to keep himself alive for two hundred years?

She didn’t want to believe it. He’d seemed such a kind old man, holding her hand when she’d been hurt—

“So you’ve found me out.”

Mayten’s eyes flew open, terror racing through her like a lightning bolt. She glanced up and recoiled against the tree, rough bark pressing painfully into her back. The count towered over her.

“I can listen to the trees too.” He gave her a smile but his eyes stayed cold.

He looks like a cat who’s cornered a mouse.

The tall, lean man the tree had shown her was now shrunken and puffy with age. His black curls, what was left of them, had gone gray. But his eyes held that same haughty look.

“You’ve forgotten your cane.” The words sounded silly even to her but she had to say something, somehow get him talking. Her legs had fallen asleep and she needed time to wake them up. Right now, he held the advantage, especially since she couldn’t even run.

Mayten slowly unfolded her legs, pain slicing through them as the feeling returned. “You’ve been draining trees for two hundred years?”

The count clapped slowly, the staccato sound echoing off the trees. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

Her legs went from being totally numb to the ‘being stabbed with needles’ stage.

“Where did you go back then when the king sent you away?” She rolled onto her knees.

“I traveled the world.” He looked as though they were discussing his health over tea. “Unfortunately, I wore out my welcome in many different countries.” His grin told her he wasn’t sorry, wasn’t sorry at all.

She startled when he took her hand and helped her to her feet.

“Why did you come back here?” Her voice quavered and her knees almost gave out. How far was she from the lake? Would anyone hear her scream?

“Ah.” The count’s grin widened.

Like a cat playing with a mouse before he eats it.

“I tired of the taste of orange trees.” He laughed.

Bile burned her throat as Mayten realized the citrus she’d always smelled when he was around was not cologne.

“You know,” he said wistfully, “there is nothing quite like the taste of pine, except the old-growth redwoods, of course.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She had to get away, had to get help. She kicked, her foot connecting with his shin. He yelped as she turned to run. Before she could take more than a step, his hand grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip.

Mayten shrieked.

“Are you okay?” Nan ran towards her, notebook in hand. She must have been taking notes nearby. A sprig of pine needles stuck out of her messy hair. How much had she heard?

“She’s hurt,” the count said.

“Run!” Mayten screamed at the same time. “He’s the singer, Nan. The one draining the trees of their life!”

But it was too late. Nan had come too close. The count snatched hold of the princess’s wrist and yanked her close.

Mayten struggled to pull away, but could not move. He’d connected to her somehow. Put a hook in her soul and was tugging on that hook, trying to wrench her soul clear out of her body.

Judging by the look on Nan’s face, the princess was having the same experience.

How could a two-hundred-year-old man be so strong?

“There’s really only one thing better than a pine tree.” The count continued. “It wasn’t just the prince’s dog who died. I took one of the maids as well. The head housekeeper thought she’d just run off. The taste of the human spirit is quite something. It’s very . . .” the count paused and drew in a breath as if savoring the smell of a roast pig, “intoxicating. You’ve had a taste of it yourself, haven’t you, Mayten?”

Mayten spat at him in disgust. “I’m not like you!”

Guilt soured her for a long moment. It was true. When she’d healed Rafe, she’d tasted his energy. And had wanted more.

But she hadn’t taken it. Not then. Not ever.

“Once you start, you really can’t stop,” the count continued. “The taste will haunt your dreams. And each person has their own flavor. You, Mayten, are particularly sweet. I must admit I indulged a bit the other night.”

The night after she’d been overwhelmed by the memories of the old-growth redwood, Mayten realized. This . . . man . . . had held her hand while she slept. No wonder she’d been so drained.

“The princess here tastes more like a fine scotch.” The count had the temerity to kiss the back of Nan’s hand.

Nan’s face grew so pale Mayten was afraid she’d topple over.

“Stop,” she demanded, focusing her attention on the count. She could feel him, then. Feel his life energy—

“You are not strong enough . . . or wise enough . . . to beat me!”

Pain dragged at Mayten, as though something tore at her insides. She lost the