The Faceless Woman Emma Hamm (ebook reader screen TXT) 📖

“No,” he muttered.

He was still curious. He stepped out of the brush and held himself still at the edge of the clearing. She was looking at him, he was certain of that. She reached out a hand in his direction, and a few heads turned.

Humans couldn’t see him. Bran’s glamour was a powerful thing, and he’d learned the spell at an early age. But she could see him.

What was she? A changeling? He would have known if she was. Faeries knew faeries, and she didn’t smell like magic.

Although, so much smoke filled the air he might not have been able to smell her magic at all. And it would explain the beauty of her body, the grace of her fingers, even stiff with pain.

He didn’t know of any changelings in these parts. He kept track of the poor creatures and tried to give them advice whenever he could. Their luck was horrible. The least he could do was tell them how to prank the humans so they could free themselves from their adopted family’s grasp. Changelings were notoriously mistreated by humans, but did remarkably well if they took their life in their own hands.

His skull prickled, sharp feather nubs standing on end just before the most powerful curse he’d ever felt struck him hard in the chest.

Bran stumbled back, lifting a hand and pressing it against the bruised, singed skin of his chest. It had gone clear through his shirt, leaving a starburst scorched over his heart. “What—?”

Pain, raw and agonizing, seared his flesh. His feet were on fire, his legs, his arms, everything in so much pain he clenched his teeth. Bran locked his knees and breathed through the initial shock.

The witch had cursed him.

No.

Bound him.

He growled and shoved through the crowd. Humans scattered, shouting that the invisible devil had arrived, come to take their souls. Footsteps thundered through the forest, back to their safe village and warm beds. They couldn’t see him, but if they had, they would have had even more reason to scream.

The witch hunter swung his cross back and forth in front of the flames. “Begone demon! I will not allow you to take back your whore.”

Bran palmed the man’s face and shoved him to the ground.

He stepped through the fire, pushed aside the brambles in his way until he could stand in front of her. The ravens rose behind him and beat back the flames with rushing wings and squawking cries.

“Who are you?” he growled.

She spat at him. Sticky and overheated, her saliva slid down his cheek in a wet, sluggish crawl.

Angered, he grasped her chin and turned her head. Nothing. No face, not even a hint of a face, nothing but faint fog the color of her ivory skin.

“You cursed me,” he accused. “Remove it, witch.”

“If you want it gone so bad, remove it yourself.”

“I won’t ask again.”

“You won’t have to.” Her chin slid from his grasp as she fainted.

He’d touched her face, felt her delicately pointed chin pressing into his palm. He just couldn’t see it, and what a strange curse to put on a person.

Almost as bad as binding a strange faerie’s life with her own.

A raven cried out and landed on his shoulder. Talons dug through his shirt and pricked his skin.

“What do you think she is?” Bran asked.

The croaking reply was simple. Could she be a changeling? There was no other human creature who could perform a binding spell like that, yet they would know about her. They should know about her.

Footsteps, soft and animalistic, quietly sounded in the forest beyond. A Fae beast didn’t want Bran to know it was there. He narrowed his gaze at the shadows then looked back at the woman slumped against the smoking, charred tree.

He didn’t want to take her with him. It was a useless endeavor, only satisfying his curiosity and likely to cause more trouble than it was worth.

He tucked his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to the moonlight. “Strange,” he muttered. “Who wanted to hide your face? And why?”

Questions he intended to answer as soon as possible. Bran was already behind on his plans, but what were a few more nights? Besides, he needed to remove the binding spell this ridiculous curiosity had placed on him.

Didn’t she know binding spells were dangerous? She was lucky he knew magic. Most Unseelie had no idea how to cast complicated curses, and they were more likely to kill her rather than attempt to break the curse.

“Did you cast it because you thought you would die?” he asked her as he circled the tree. “It’s a strange punishment for a person you’ve never met.”

He reached forward and hooked a claw on the rope that gave way beneath his fingers and dropped to the ground. He winced as an echo of pain rocked through his chest, stealing his breath and reminding him they were bound. Her pain was his, her life was his, and he’d have to take care.

“Can’t have you dying prematurely, now can we?” He stooped and hefted her over his shoulder. “Now, why don’t we find a quiet little place to chat. Hm?”

The Woman Without A Face

Dreams plagued Aisling, memories from her childhood that she had desperately tried to repress.

“Aisling.” The voice shook with age but remained direct and firm. “It's for the best.”

She twisted her hands in her lap, staring at the offending fingers as if it were their fault she was in trouble. “I did nothing wrong. All I wanted was to say hello, and they—they—”

Hands covered her own. They were beautiful hands, long-fingered with smooth skin. The spotted flesh was uneven and strange but more familiar than her own in ways.

Badb always said she was two people trapped in the same body. One light-skinned, one dark, and both battled across her body in hopes they would dominate the other. She was beautiful and made all the more otherworldly by her speckled skin.

She was one of the