Page 7 of Tempting the Fae Lord (The Gatekeeper’s Weakness)

Chapter Six

Gale

If he won’t take me through the gate willingly, I’ll find a way without him.

First, I need to know how he does it, and as I’ve recently learned, spying on him without his knowledge is near to impossible.

But I do have an advantage. He won’t depart until nightfall, which leaves me plenty of time to scout the best perch.

It takes a solid hour to trek through the crackly layers of melting snow and ice.

I have to go the long way, a circuitous route, to avoid leaving footprints where he might see them.

In doing so, I slip and fall several times, enough to scrape my palms on sharp ice crystals and end up bleeding in three places.

So that’s great.

One detour to the ice-cold creek to wash off the blood, and I’m back to hoisting myself uphill for the best vantage point.

I get to the crest of a rocky ridge and seek out a spot with hours to spare before sundown. Time for snacks. With Eulayla busy with the baby, it was a simple task to raid the kitchen for goodies. I have leftover plum crisps, dried apple leather, and cinnamon bread for my vigil.

My hands sting with every movement, but I don’t care. The scrapes are superficial and should heal in a few days.

From here, I have a decent, though distant, view of the towering gate. Gooseflesh arcs over my nape as I look at the eerie sight.

It’s an odd thing—black and gleaming with ice on the northern side—standing lonesome in the valley that dips toward the eastern sea.

There’s no attached fencing in either direction.

No nothing, actually, just a bare gate of swirling iron, daunting, and always firmly closed.

Each slender rod is topped with a spearpoint, like jagged teeth.

Even vines dare not climb the structure, as though they know better than to try.

And on the other side, because you can see straight through the menacing maw, is a more boring, snowy landscape. If I were to climb down, I could walk its perimeter and leave a circle of footprints. I know because I’ve done that very thing several times over the years.

But I’ve never seen it open. Never watched as the Gatekeeper crossed its magical threshold.

The gooseflesh has spread down my spine and sprawled the length of both arms.

I shake it off and focus on my snacks. A handful of crisps helps to shed the unnerving feeling this place conjures in me.

As daylight fades and night slithers her way down the valley, I tuck my cloak tighter around my shoulders and dig my hands into my pockets.

I don’t have to wait long.

The Gatekeeper, in his head-to-toe black clothes and with his massive black wings, is an inky spot in an ever-darkening sky.

I duck behind a jutting rock, only rising enough to peek over the top and watch as he lands with an elegant swoop.

He strides toward the gate, stops within arm’s reach, and rolls his neck. The baby is an oval lump fixed to his chest within a complicated knot of blankets, leaving both his hands free.

He draws a slow breath as his gaze lingers on the bars. He looks somber, maybe resigned. An eerie quiet stretches taut. Then he reaches inside his cloak and brings out a dagger.

Breath caught in my throat, I bite my lip and stare.

I can hardly watch what happens next. He drags the blade over the length of his palm, and blood wells to the surface. Red droplets stain the snowy ground as he makes a fist, knuckles white.

He freezes.

Sniffs the air.

And whips his head to face me.

“Gale?” His lips part. “What are you doing here?”

Oh shit.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

How does he do that? I rise and wave as blood continues to pool beneath his clenched hand.

“Get down here.”

“Coming.” I duck out of his sight line, huff out a sigh, and scuffle my way back down the way I came. All my efforts to avoid detection, only for him to, what? Scent me like a prey animal?

Unbelievable.

I trudge over to where he stands, one hand on the lump of baby, the other held to the side so as not to bleed all over himself.

“Yeesh.” I gesture toward the red rivulets. “That looks like it hurts.”

He rolls his eyes. “Answer my question.”

“I’m here to watch. I didn’t realize it would be a horror show.”

“It’s only a bit of blood, and I don’t require nor do I want an audience.”

“Well, I’m already here.” I shift from foot to foot. “So…”

“Go home.”

“Ah, come on. If you won’t take me with you, at least let me see you do it.”

“You vex me.”

“There is a mutual vexing at play, I assure you.” I sound like him when I say it, not mocking, at least not intentionally, but his cadence rubs off on me at times.

He shakes his head, amusement twinkling in his black eyes despite his obvious effort at staying annoyed with me. “If I allow you to stay, you must promise to return home after. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I don’t wish to come home to your nearly frozen form. Again.”

“But—”

“Gale!”

Desperate times call for desperate measures…

Everyone calls him the Gatekeeper as if he has no proper name, but he does. I’ve heard Eulayla use it on occasion.

The first time, I was very little. Maybe five or six. I’d been helping Chester with the chickens, and by “helping” I mostly mean getting underfoot and making a nuisance of myself.

“Out with ye, rascal.” He shood me from the coup after I’d broken one too many eggs. He wasn’t mean about it, and I took his order as tacit permission to not only leave the poultry yard but also the bailey, and the fortress’s perimeter wall too. Naughty thing, me.

But I loved adventuring beyond the walls and never had the privilege of doing so alone, so I took full advantage.

As might be predicted, I tumbled my way into trouble within a few hours. Down a craggy hillside to investigate whether the creek at the bottom would be flowing or frozen, only to find it was a dangerous combination of both.

Frozen enough for a youngster to use for sliding along iced-over slopes like a baby seal.

Shallow enough to break through the surface and fall in, soaking my heavy winter clothes through and through in the process.

Looking back, I was lucky I didn’t drown.

Though I made it out of the stream on my own, I couldn’t slog my way up the rocky hillside while weighted down and shivering.

It wasn’t long before I heard them calling for me. Chester and Eulayla, along with Osric and Thora, who’ve since passed on.

“Gale?”

“Gale, where are you?”

“Come out this instant!”

I tried to answer, but my little voice couldn’t carry over the wind, and as cold as I was, I couldn’t move from the huddled ball I’d made of myself against a fallen tree blocking the worst of the gusts.

Darkness crept over me like a cluster of ants, their tiny feet prickling every inch of my frostbitten skin, but with it came my savior.

I’d have died there if it weren’t for the Gatekeeper coming to my rescue, yet again. Such was to be a theme of our relationship.

“Gale.” My name from his lips felt important. Like I was important. Not a nuisance to be herded away but something precious to be cared for.

He swept me up into his big, strong arms and tucked me tight to his chest. His hair fell soft across my face.

I breathed him in, loved the scent of him, snow and pine and crispy clean and earthly, like the first deep breath of fresh air upon stepping outside in the morning.

I inhaled it greedily, still trembling with cold but knowing I was safe in his embrace.

I think I fell asleep after that.

Or passed out.

All I know is that there’s a gap in my memory.

When I came to, I was still in his arms, clinging like a vine around its tree trunk, and we were inside, him trying to set me down to be checked over, me refusing to be let go.

There was a great deal of fuss. Hands peeling away the frozen fabric of my clothes. Warm water in my hair. A stoked fire blazing in the hearth. Voices around me, everyone I knew except for him.

My god, child, you could have died.

What were you thinking?

Why would you leave the safety of the keep?

Lucky to be alive.

What would we do without you?

I searched past them all for him. He who stood in the corner, one hand to his mouth, chewing on a nail.

Worried dark eyes, face scrunched, lines on his forehead that I’d never noticed, hair a mess, dressed only in his house clothes, no cloak, no surcoat, as if he’d come straight from bed, racing after me the instant he was able.

I suppose that’s exactly what he did.

Eulayla’s cry was the only thing that could tear my attention away from him. I’d never seen her cry before, and I’ve never seen her do it since. But she cried that night, then opened her arms to him and stammered.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Ezra.”

A captivating name for an even more captivating man.

Ezra.

“Ezra!” I throw his name at him the way he hurled mine at me, then again gently. “Ezra, please?”

He scowls. “Using that relic of the past won’t help your cause.”

He’s never made that face at me. I feel it like an open wound, aching with need of care. “But you let Eulayla use it.”

“I don’t let Eulayla do anything, you know that as well as I. She does as she pleases.”

I guess I haven’t earned the same privilege in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

After an uncomfortable silence, he sighs. “You’re forgiven. If I let you stay, you must promise you’ll return to the keep after I’ve crossed.”

“Promise.”

“Let me clarify,” he says. “Somewhere indoors.”

“Yes, indoors.”

“Then watch if you must. But don’t interfere, and stand back.”

I back up a step.

“More than that.”

I back up five more steps.

He huffs and turns his attention to the gate. He murmurs words too quiet for me to pick up, let alone memorize in order to repeat someday. Then he grasps the bar with his bloody fist and winces.

Hinges squeal as the gate shudders open wide enough for him to slip through after he utters a few parting words. “Be safe, Mooncalf.”

“You too.”

The sliver I glimpse before he disappears to the other side glows golden, as if lit by numerous oil sconces. I sniff, but no discernible smell comes through. No sound either. Before I can creep forward for a better look, the gate closes with a booming clang that makes me jump. And he’s gone.

Staring at the black iron bars, I wilt.

Until a spicy metallic scent flares in my nostrils. A wallop of fresh energy zings through my veins.

That smell! It’s familiar somehow, though I don’t know why.

It’s his blood. On the bars. On the ground. In the snow. A crimson stain melting through winter’s white veil.

The aroma is alluring, like the promise of whispered secrets, like the moment before a kiss. My mouth waters, and a terribly frightening urge erupts within me.

I couldn’t.

I have to.

Before I’ve even made the decision, I’m bending toward the shiny red stain, mouth open, tongue out.

Licking his blood from the gate should repulse me, but the opposite is true. It’s divine. Like the crisp snap of a bite of apple on a warm afternoon.

Only better.

I savor the taste. Is this what it’s like to be a vampire? Because I love it.

When there’s none left on the iron, I scrabble to my knees and bend to lap up the red snow until nothing but pure white remains. My whole body tingles with excitement and pleasure coursing through every muscle, every joint, every nerve ending.

I flop over to my back and stare, wide-eyed, at the night sky. Each twirling star seems to wink at me, as though they’re in on the high his blood stirs in my mind.

I wink back for good measure, laughing at myself, at how crazy this is, at the face he’d make if he could see me now.

Mooncalf, I imagine him saying, What have you done now? I leave you alone for but a moment, and foolishness overtakes you. He’d be haughty about it, but underneath any scolding, the amusement would shine through in his eyes, as it always does.

I giggle.

Breath by breath, I come down from…whatever that was.

Is that what Ezra feels like when he drinks blood? I hope not. The thought of him buzzing like that over Chester irks me.

And why doesn’t he like to use his proper name? It’s a lovely name. Ezra. Suits him. I need to ask Eulayla about it when I get the chance.

Cold and wet begins to sink into my clothes. I roll over and climb to my feet.

Ah, well, this opportunity at the gate has come and gone, but the canyon of my curiosity only grows wider.

True to my word, I return to the fortress to wait for his return. Inside, lest he make that scowly face at me once more.