THE FAE KING'S HUMAN MATE

Hazel’s POV The dark fae before me is the manifestation of every single nightmare I’ve ever had– towering, pulsing with hard, toned muscle that is more of a warning than an article of beauty, bottomless obsidian orbs swirling with pure gold veining. He is wearing a countenance that makes it difficult to tell if what he wants is to make me bleed or moan… and I am about to doublecross him. Everyone knows you cannot truly repay a veyr– the cost is always too great– so it is out of the question…. yet humans still make deals with them every so often when the partition that separates our world from theirs thins and for a few minutes we can pull one into our dimension… if they permit it, that is. But what are they? Supernatural entities with immense abilities that people have mistaken for other paranormal creatures in times past… Demons, for instance. But they are more. Worse. Certain ancient texts will even tell you that they were the ones who decided that humans should be allowed to continue existing… even though given their strength they could have easily wiped us off the face of the earth. So why leave us to roam free? Well the c*****e would have been ‘inelegant.’ In other words, staining their hands with our blood is insulting to them. I really have no words at this point. But there is more. Aside from powers too insane to even begin to contemplate, they are said to have hierarchy that is written into bloodlines like genetic code. Not yielding to authority causes physical discomfort because the body of a dark fae is wired to reject insubordination, refuse resisting one higher in command than him. But after all is said and done are they monsters? Forces of good… or evil? I'm not particularly sure. All my research couldn't pin the extent of what their species can or cannot do. All I can say for now is that they are humanoid in physique yet divine in composition, living in a plane of existence interwoven into ours like a secret, an alternate reality, a utopia not tainted by excess or pollution. Ivory castles, bonewhite towers, architecture that responds to status and mood in nothing less than devotion. Perfection. They are the very embodiment of evolution that didn't pause for a moment. Everything a dark fae can conjure– especially an Apex– hasn't been fully documented to this day. Undiluted power thrums around them like magic that doesn't need an announcement… e.g the ability to bring anyone's greatest desire to fruition… It's why I am out at midnight, atop a hill, in the biting rain, chasing legends that used to exist only in old books instead of seeking shelter in a comfy blanket. The drop-dead gorgeous myth in question is looking me straight in the eye like he sees more than the drenched historian in the black blazer and slacks. He definitely wants to know more about me, like where I got the effrontery to summon him from his realm. “What do you answer to?" He asks and for a moment I can't tell the difference between his words and the cracking thunder in the sky. The stammering that follows in my speech is instant, inevitable. "Haze– Hazel. That's my name. W-what is yours?” "Vhalcyr, The Hand That Never Empties. Why have you summoned me, mortal?” Still unable to believe what is currently happening, I take a moment to just stare. Because the fact that he is here is nothing short of incredible. That I recognize him from my dreams is another level of upsetting I don't even want to think about because I don't usually remember my dreams... So why do I feel like I've seen him before? It could just be the veil– that film-like divide between the human world and that of the Fae, I remind myself. Mystical phenomena that undermine its integrity happen every few decades which results in the portal being accessible on some stormy nights, heavy chills, a sense of being watched when no one is there, lots of deja vu… These are all signs of humans interacting with the veil without really accessing it when they go on with their daily activities. My supposed visions of this dark fae might be as a result. So I push my questions to the backseat and tune my mind to the task at hand. “I need the elixir of life,” I announce. If I had told a human this they would have looked at me long and hard then asked if I was high on crack. But right now I am talking with a veyr. They probably take it as a beverage in their world. That would explain how they manage to stay relatively immortal. “You seem to be in good health so I know you don't want it for yourself,” Vhalcyr states, voice crisp like ice, gaze dancing very dangerously on the edge of fascination. "Who do you need it for?” Not considering the answer any of his business, I ask instead: “Do you have it or not?" But he doesn't look affronted at my curt response. If anything his features are deathly calm, like he is talking to an animal that just got hands and has no idea how to use them. “I am asking, human, because whoever you want it for has to be worth the trouble. It comes at a great price, you see. Are you willing to pay it?” “I am," I answer a little too quickly– too desperately– and he notices, dark brows furrowing slightly. "Do you want it for a lover?” "Why do you care?” "Because the price of getting the elixir is becoming my slave," he returns. “You would belong to me mind, body and soul. A life… for a life. Your life given in exchange so that the person in question can live theirs. That is the cost.” What are we in, the Middle Ages? In what universe do people willingly agree to become slaves to mystical supernatural entities that are not only so powerful it's scary but also come from other dimensions with very little known information? As I arrive at this thought process, he is still awaiting my reply, gaze searching mine like he doesn't even know what he's looking for but is very comfortable just staring. “Do you accept?” He finally asks. “I do."