Bright Wicked: A Fae Fantasy Romance

  Bright Wicked 1

  Everly Frost

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Stay in Touch

  Radiant Fierce (Bright Wicked 2)

  Storm Princess Saga : The Complete Collection

  Assassin’s Magic Series

  Also by Everly Frost

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Everly Frost

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Frost, Everly

  Bright Wicked

  Cover design by fantasybookdesign.com

  For information on reproducing sections of this book or sales of this book, go to

  www.EverlyFrost.com

  everlyfrost@gmail.com

  For everyone who brings starlight to someone in their darkest night.

  Chapter 1

  Lightning cracks around me as my thunderbird sweeps his wings and carries us high into the night sky. I lean low over the bird’s neck, accepting the tug of wind and the sizzle of electricity across my face as we soar toward Bright’s border.

  My indigo armor absorbs the moonlight, turning me into a shadow on my thunderbird’s back. Not that I’m trying to hide. The bird’s wings are blue-gray, perfect for camouflage, but his heart is powered by lightning that casts an eerie glow through his wing bones, making us visible for half a mile in every direction. He can dim his power so that we become a mere outline in the dark, but tonight I want to be seen.

  Far above us, hidden in the clouds, a squadron of thunderbirds and their riders keeps watch against the Fell creatures that live in the swamps and marshes beyond the Bright Queendom. The Fell’s attacks have grown less frequent over the last year, but that only makes me more wary.

  Fifteen years ago, the Fell killed my family in an attack on our border that was so vicious, the trauma left me with no memories of my life before it happened. I shiver as I fly over the spot where they attacked. A large patch of scorched earth surrounds the burned remains of the outpost where my family lived. The Fell struck my home to kill my mother, who was the commander of the border guard at that time. They must have thought that with her dead, the alarm wouldn’t be raised. But my people—the fae—drove the Fell creatures back to the darkness where they belong.

  Leaving the burn site behind, my thunderbird—whom I named Treble when I chose him—banks toward the foggy marsh on the Fell side of the border. My skin prickles as we cross outside of Bright. Even the air on this side of the border is sour, pressing down on my chest as I try to shake off the wary prickle at the back of my neck.

  What I’ve learned about the Fell is that they only attack if they believe the odds are in their favor. The best way to draw them out is for one of us to become the prey. So, each night, one Bright rider flies across the open sky below the clouds to draw the Fell out of their hiding places.

  Most nights, nothing happens. Some nights, it’s a blood bath.

  Tonight, I’m the prey.

  It’s a role I chose despite a barrage of objections from the Captain of the Border Guards, Evander of the Frost. As the Queen’s champion, I rank more highly than any other fae in Bright. That means I can command the other captains to do what I want, which is important if I need to control their squadrons in an emergency. In this case, it means I can command Evander to allow me to do what I want.

  Tonight could be my final night as the Queen’s champion. Tomorrow is the end of the Winter Ascending, which is the only time of the year when higher positions may be challenged—including mine. Tomorrow, I’ll fight to keep my place, but there are no guarantees. The Queen has spent the last week overseeing other challenges along with managing the process of elimination to determine who will fight me.

  I’m determined not to squander what could be my last night spent protecting her and my people.

  Turning my face skyward, I sense Evander’s worry. He rides his thunderbird high above me, an enormous bird as large as Treble with deep wine-colored wings that fade into the night. Her name is Cadence and she has been with Evander longer than Treble has been with me.

  I can’t see Evander through the clouds, but I know his focus on me will be unwavering.

  Despite every battle he’s seen me fight in—despite the number of Fell I’ve killed—he’s old enough to remember the scared seven-year-old orphan I was when the Queen saved me from slaughter. She sent me to live with Evander and his father and ever since then, he’s watched over me like an older brother.

  He really didn’t want me to be the prey tonight.

  I turn back to my task, my expression hardening as I scan the edge of the three-mile-wide glitter field that stretches all the way from the north to the south of Bright. Sailing along it, Treble’s lightning casts flickers of light that reflect off the glitter field, creating rainbows of color in the otherwise dark sky around us.

  Far behind me, a mountain range forms a second line of defense for the enormous city that shelters behind it. But here, the glitter field is our first line of defense on the ground. Every blade of glitter grass is made of a tall crystal stem with a tiny glass bulb of a different color at its top. The bulbs are no bigger than my pinky finger. In the moonlight, the grass is deceptively pretty. When gently disturbed, the grass hums. Even a humblebee landing on a glitter bulb will make the bulb sing. But when bumped… the explosion of sharp fragments cuts down anything in its path.

  A faint swirl in the fog on the Fell side of the border draws my attention to a copse of trees on my right.

  “Treble,” I whisper, leaning close to his neck. “Take me down.”

  He understands my instructions, even if he can’t speak back to me.

  Shifting my weight in the direction I want him to fly, I grip with my thighs and lean low, prepared for the sudden drop as he soars safely clear of the glitter field and dives toward the muddy ground at the edge of the trees.

  I take my last breath of fresh air and brace for the cold mist that envelops me as we descend. The trees are sparse, their silhouettes like misshapen bones jutting from the ground. There’s plenty of room for Treble to land and fold up his wings.

  Evander won’t like that I’ve disappeared from sight, but Treble can make a cracking sound with his wings if I need help. After all, the thunderous sound his wings make is the reason for his name.

  Sliding from Treble’s back, I drop softly to the dirty ground, sensing the mud squelch up around my boots. My heart hurts every time I see these trees, victims of the darkness around them. If they grew in Bright, they would be nurtured and lush with emerald leaves.

  I remain at Treble’s side, one hand resting on his neck, pressing a little—the signal that I want him to dim his lightning. I want to make my presence known, but I don’t want every as
pect of my armor or my concealed weapons to be visible. My armor covers my body from my head to my toes, while my feet are protected by boots made from the same light-absorbing material as my armor. My face is also completely covered with a mask that allows me to breathe as well as to see out, while others can’t see in.

  I take a moment to survey the area, waiting for the movement I saw before to repeat itself.

  The fog shifts again. This time near an oak tree whose branches are pulled to one side as if it had battled a gale force wind and lost.

  I twist sharply in the direction of the movement, pretending to stumble a little as I turn.

  “Who’s there?” I call, injecting a tremble into my voice to make myself sound more vulnerable.

  I wait as the silence stretches.

  Hmm. This Fell wants me to come to it.

  The Fell creatures are not ‘him’ or ‘her’ to me. In fact, I’m not sure if they have genders. They present as fae-like in shape: standing upright with two legs, two arms, a head, and most importantly a neck, which is their most vulnerable spot. But they always conceal their faces and bodies in the fur of slaughtered animals—the face of a fox, the skin of a wolf, the claws of a bear.

  I touch them as little as possible, never try to see their faces, and never use my power on them in case I become tainted by the contact. It’s an unbreakable rule of combat: We never use our power around the Fell. Darkness lives inside them, so much darkness that even standing in their presence is like teetering at the edge of a bottomless pit without a single spark of light in it.

  Taking a careful step away from Treble, I deliberately place my foot on a brittle-looking twig, exaggerating a twitch when it cracks in the silence.

  I pause, but the sharp sound doesn’t draw the Fell out.

  I want the creature to come to me. The fact that it hasn’t tells me it’s smarter than most. What I don’t know for sure is how many there are. Sensing one Fell’s darkness is the same as sensing many. I can handle ten on my own. Any more than that could be a problem.

  Step by step, I make my way toward the tree’s outstretched branches, my hand brushing my hip and the liquid dagger that is melded to the side of my armor. A sword, also liquid, rests across my left shoulder. The Fell won’t know I carry weapons until I pull the sword and dagger off my armor and they solidify in my hands.

  With every move I make, I expect the creature to leap out at me.

  “Show yourself!” I call.

  Still nothing.

  I stop three paces from the tree’s trunk and sigh into the dark fog. I’ve stepped beyond the circle of Treble’s light now and the mist is thicker here. I can see for only two paces in front of myself and after that, my surroundings are murky. The creature could be four paces away and I wouldn’t know it.

  Five seconds pass as I remain in position. I count out each moment while the silence remains so complete that I wonder if I imagined the movement before. Maybe the darkness is only that. The shifting fog could have been a moth beating its wings. While Bright has butterflies of every color, giant moths live in Fell country with wings as wide as a crow’s.

  I press my hand against the tree’s coarse bark.

  A shiver runs through me on contact.

  Despite the eternal fog in which it grows, the tree is alive. I don’t have an affinity with nature like the Springtime fae do, but I sense the life I’m touching. It isn’t flourishing like it would in Bright, but the air around it is…

  I frown, confused by what I sense in the fog. A presence that’s stronger than it should be.

  Bravery. Resilience. Unwavering determination.

  Oh… damn. What I sense has nothing to do with the tree.

  My gaze shoots left just in time.

  I duck, barely avoiding the sharp blade that slices through the mist and lodges in the tree with a thud.

  My eyes widen as I recognize the gleaming weapon. It’s a halberd. Two sharp blades sit on opposite sides of a pole that’s the height of a fae. The blade embedded in the tree appears curved while the blade on this side of the pole is a wicked spike that can be used like a dagger.

  It’s gleaming and sturdy, a warrior’s weapon. The Fell creatures I’ve encountered before have never carried a weapon like this.

  Jumping back, I pluck at my shoulder, drawing my sword. It peels off my body and solidifies just as the Fell creature rips its weapon from the tree, the dagger slicing through the air toward me even though the Fell’s body remains concealed in the fog.

  I duck again. The blade follows my path as if its holder anticipated my move, sweeping downward.

  My sword clangs against it in a defensive move before the blade can impale the top of my head. I prepare for more blows, but the creature pulls the weapon back and finally steps from the fog, gripping the halberd in two big hands.

  I’ve been trained to assess my enemy within a fraction of a second, to make decisions in the space of a heartbeat, and to swing my sword even faster, but when the mist parts to reveal my attacker, I freeze.

  The Fell creature stands taller than the average fae, his broad shoulders held back, bare arms corded with muscles that glisten with dew. He moves with stealth, light despite his bulk, powerful thighs and legs covered in black leather pants while a charcoal-gray fur pelt rests across his shoulders and falls down his back, drawn together at his chest by a golden chain. Strands of walnut brown hair fall past his ears, accentuating his strong jaw, which is shadowed with growth across his jawline. His full lips are drawn down in unforgiving determination and his brown eyes carry no hint of mercy.

  He.

  It is definitely a he.

  But he isn’t covered up like the Fell usually are, and his face is more striking than most fae.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he reaches across his chest and unclasps the pelt, balancing the heavy halberd in one hand and allowing the pelt to drop to the ground before he rapidly closes the gap between us.

  He can’t be a Fell. Surely.

  He must be a fae who… got lost? Except for the fact that his swinging weapon is about to cleave my chest.

  My senses return to me in a rush.

  I block the blow with my sword as my training kicks in.

  I fight back hard, my weapon clashing with his in a quick succession of blows. When he attempts to drive his halberd at my neck, I lunge forward, blocking with my sword while snatching my dagger from my hip. As I push against his halberd, I drive the dagger toward his stomach, a savage move that will disembowel him.

  He shocks me by pulling my dagger arm farther forward, harmlessly past his side, while at the same time pushing my sword arm back so far that my shoulder nearly dislocates. A scream rises to my mouth as I end up plastered against his alarmingly bare chest.

  I’ve never come this close to touching a Fell, not skin on skin.

  Shockwaves scatter through me as he continues to push against my sword arm and at the same time yanks my dagger arm forward, forcing me so close to him that my head spins.

  I need to escape but it’s more than needing to survive.

  He smells like burned caramel, a startling scent that dulls my senses and confuses my fighting instincts.

  Curse the stars. He smells like comfort food. With a strong dash of bravery smothered in determination.

  Desperate to get away from him, I kick his knee. I can’t get my leg up enough to do any damage, but it propels me away from him and his scent clouding my senses. It also forces me to abandon my dagger, which drops to the ground with a soft crackle on the dead leaves.

  That’s okay. I still have my sword.

  He doesn’t attempt to pick up my dagger, instead driving forward, the dagger side of his halberd arching toward one side of my face and then the other as I dart left and right to avoid the blows, my mind working fast to plan my next move.

  I sense Treble’s growing agitation, his twitching talons squelching in the mud. His glowing form is a dim blob of light ten paces to my right, growing brighter as he shi
fts closer. I won’t call for him unless I really need him and I’m certainly not defeated yet.

  I retaliate with a quick succession of deft stabs that would gut, dismember, and behead any other Fell, but this one skillfully blocks each blow, matching my speed and strength to swiftly push me farther away from the oak tree.

  Another set of misshapen branches enters my field of view as the Fell backs me toward the next tree.

  With a final swing and shove of his halberd, he locks it against my sword, turning his weapon into a prong. Forcing me hard up against the tree, he pins my sword against its trunk while the length of the pole allows him to stay outside the reach of my fists.

  My chest heaving, I struggle to free my weapon, but he was clever. He caught my sword across the grip and beneath the cross-guard so I can’t slide my weapon downward to free it.

  My only option is to reach across with my left hand, grab it by the blade, and risk slicing open my hand when I pull it upward. It’s a choice between wounding myself on my own blade or abandoning my weapon altogether.

  My breathing increases, but my facemask is designed to handle my rapid inhales. If I lose the use of my hand, I’ll be in a worse position, so I let go of my sword and launch myself forward, counting on the moment it will take him to wrench his weapon from the tree. He dodges the fist I aim at his face, the kick at his stomach, and the next fist at his chest, all while hanging on to his weapon.

  Damn. He’s agile.

  I try another kick, but before I can get my leg up, his free arm whips around my stomach and forces me up against the tree again. The breath whooshes from my chest so fast that my vision blurs.