Free Baehrly Alive by Elizabeth A. Reeves Page A

hope to be had that I would be able to save him.
    I shuddered as I realized how close that thinking was to the mindset that had led to Aria’s murder and the subsequent attempts to raise her from the dead again.
    But, no—there were lines I would not cross. I might have a pet zombie chicken, but he had been zombified before I had ever come across him-- I would never inflict that existence on any creature or being—it was too cruel, too wrong.
    The further up the mountain slope we climbed, the stiller the air around us became. It almost felt heavy with awareness. The mountain knew we were there. I wondered what it thought of us—if it was waiting to see if we were friend or foe.
    If we would live long enough to know, if it considered us an enemy.
    Donovan shot another glance over his shoulder, his ‘cop face’ in place, which meant he was worried about something.
    “It’s not just you,” I reassured him. “I feel it, too. This place is awake, as the whole world was, once. I suppose every place in Faerie is aware like this, still.”
    Donovan shuddered convulsively. “We should not be here,” he said uneasily. “We don’t belong here.”
    I put a reassuring hand on his arm. “No, we don’t belong here, but we don’t mean any harm to this place. We’re just searching for a way to save my brother—and Gwyn.”
    As I announced that intention out loud, the air seemed to lighten up and weigh less heavily on us. I, for one, could breathe more easily—though Donovan still jumped at every shadow that danced through the leaves and dappled the ground around us.
    He shivered. “It’s like a graveyard.”
    I reached out to squeeze his hand—it was icy cold to the touch.
    “Not a graveyard,” I murmured, lifting his fingers to my lips. “More like a place still aware and alive.”
    His fingers closed around mine. “No,” he whispered starkly. “It’s haunted.”
    The paleness of his face frightened me. I had never seen him like this—even when facing certain death.
    “Death is here,” he whispered tonelessly, making the hair rise at the nape of my neck.
    I didn’t know what to say to him. I just put my arms around him and held him, feeling the tremors that danced through his entire body.
    My brave soldier was terrified. He was so frightened by what he could feel here in this place that he could not move—he gasped for breath.
    I wondered if this were a warning.
    A reminder that we were trespassers here.
    After a long moment, Donovan was able to draw breath again. He relaxed in my arms and turned his head to press his lips against my hair.
    “Thank you,” he whispered.
    I just squeezed his hand, not really understand what had just happened. I felt like I was missing something important—some great vital clue.
    This place was going to drive us both mad if we lingered too long. The air was thick with Magic.
    Magic—and something else.
    Maybe Donovan was right. Maybe Death did live here.
    I ignored the goosebumps leaping into existence across my arms. I put a hand on either side of Donovan’s face and drew his mouth down to mine.
    His kiss was urgent, pain-filled—hungry, desperate—the kiss of a man drowning in a world of uncertainty and loneliness. I could feel my own fears and insecurities rise, blending with his, binding us together until the thorns blossomed into something more—something greater than either of us.
    The Magic of two people whose souls recognized their kin in the other.
    Lust, passion—those were just sparks, flickers in the night of life.
    This was something more—a conflagration.
    But it did not burn us up—it heated through our bodies, our souls, comforted us, and lifted us up.
    This kiss burned out all the unworthy weaknesses, all the petty differences of man, woman—of Ordinary and the Magical—binding us together as surely as any forge.
    Love was too small a word.
    The world was too small to contain us.
    I thought, perhaps, our souls lifted out of our bodies, dancing