“Thank you.”
“What now?” Teer asked once they were on the street. Mounting Star, he marveled at just how much more flexible the clothes Chull had sold him were. The ones his mother had made were good, but these were incredible.
“Up to you,” Doka said. “Doka want check your wound. Hotel?”
Teer looked around for one of the clocktowers—Carlon had four to Alvid’s one, a necessity of the size of the town. It was still a candlemark or two short of dark, but better to get themselves and the horses settled.
“They’ll have stabling for the horses and food for us all,” he agreed. “Let’s get going.”
“Doka have better plan than food,” she said, edging Grump close to Star so she could reach and run her hand down his arm. “Anristo’s has baths. Good for wound, if careful. Doka suggest check wound, bath together, bed together. If Teer willing?”
Teer half-laughed, half-choked.
“I remember you saying you like civilization’s soft beds,” he admitted. “You’re the one treating my wound. Am I up for that kind of fun?”
“Doka like soft beds, yes,” she confirmed. “Doka like company in soft beds and Doka leave tomorrow. Will check wound first,” she insisted.
This time, Teer was just laughing. His ears were burning too, but he found he didn’t mind nearly as much. Doka took some getting used to, after all.
“Might not see each other again,” he conceded, “and I’m not going to turn you down. But!” He held up a hand and grinned at her. “We’ll check the cut first.
“And then I’ll wash your back for you.”
Thank you so much for reading Wardtown. Read on for a preview of Changeling’s Fealty, book 1 in the urban fantasy Changeling Blood series, or click to check it out in the Amazon store.
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Preview: Changeling’s Fealty by Glynn Stewart
Enjoyed Wardtown? You may also enjoy Changeling’s Fealty, available now!
A ragged newcomer…
With a secret even he doesn’t know
A backwater city…
With a countdown to an explosion no one is expecting
A secret Covenant…
And a conspiracy to break it to pieces
Jason Kilkenny is a new arrival in the Canadian city of Calgary. Unlike most newcomers, Jason isn’t looking for a job in oil and gas: he’s a half-fae changeling that wants to get away from the politics of the inhuman races.
He soon learns that despite being a supernatural backwater, the city is run by a near-godlike Wizard—and the shadows are full of unseen dangers. Jason’s here to hide, but he finds himself called to service by Calgary’s understaffed Fae Court.
As supernatural politics collide in his new home, Jason’s plan to keep his head down is shattered and he finds himself testing the limits of his meager gifts. He cannot run, he cannot hide…and if he loses, he loses everything.
1
My introduction to the wonderful people of Canada was literally running into a large, leather clad, blond man who stopped unexpectedly as I crossed the parking lot of the bus station.
The man turned to face me, sniffing exaggeratedly, and bared a canine smile. “Well, lookie here; I think I smell something...faerie.”
I raised my hands placatingly, wanting anything but a fight within an hour of my arriving in the city of Calgary. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to run into you,” I drawled quickly, only to see his grin expand. Somehow, the man knew what I was.
“I would think your kind would be more careful, little faerie,” the man told me, and with a sinking feeling I realized the canine impression was more than just a passing fancy. A wolf shifter had decided to pick a fight with me, in a parking lot.
“I just got into town,” I said as quickly as I could. “I didn’t know this was your pack’s territory.”
That, apparently, was the exact wrong thing to say.
“Pack?” the man snarled. “I am Clan Fontaine, you punk. Not some animal to run in a pack!”
I didn’t have time to apologize before the man swung. Normally, there are other tricks I can pull, but there were mortals in the parking lot. Unable to do more than stand there helpless, I took the massive fist in the stomach and folded.
A rough hand grabbed the back of my head, through the stolen hat, and kept me moving downward. I slipped on the ice and was introduced to the cold, frozen concrete.
The shifter’s knee drove into the blade of my shoulder, pinning me to the icy ground as he shoved my face into the grit.
“You’re new in town,” he growled in my ear. “So, I’ll let it go. Once. Your kind has a Manor north of here.” He yanked my bruised face up and pointed at a blue-and-white bus just pulling into the lot. “You want that bus.”
With that, my “welcoming committee” let go of my face, letting me drop back to the icy pavement.
I left the south because I was sick of it. Down there, “my kind” has been set up for centuries, if not long enough to stop some of the elders’ bitching about the “Old Country” and the “Old Ways.”
Maybe it would have been better if they had actually been my kind. The old fae run the Deep South of the United States, so far as the supernatural goes, but I’m not true fae.
My name is Jason Kilkenny, and I am a changeling. My mother, whatever Powers are listening preserve her soul, was a mortal woman with the misfortune to have a one-night stand with a frisky fairy—my father. I was the result, and she never saw my father again.
It’s not an uncommon story.
