Delamar.
A chill went up Emmaline’s spine at the name.
The shop’s front door blew open, smacking into the wall with a loud clatter, and she jerked around in time to see a tall, male figure in a black hat, boots and a long, black duster outside the window. The figure was absorbed by night’s shadows in an instant, whooshing down the road in that same starry whirlwind she’d witnessed over the bookshelf.
Cilla meowed loudly.
Stealing herself, Emmaline looked down at the tabby and nodded.
“If I’m not back by morning…” Ugh! If only she’d been able to work a decent animal enchantment at the very least. Without another thought, she pushed her spectacles up on her nose and raced out the door after the shadowy grimoire thief.
Halfway to the woods, she was already panting. Sweat trickled down her spine under her thick muslin dress. Fancying herself a city girl, she never left their little Wyn, mining town.
If she’d been adept at nulling, she could have frozen the intruder in his tracks right there in the shop. It would also help if the foliage hadn’t suddenly grown so thick, she thought, yanking her poor skirt out of the grip of a scrub hodge for the umpteenth time.
“Measly little mites. Unhand me!”
With a jerk, she pulled free of the pest’s miniscule paws and stumbled into a clearing. Only… it wasn’t clear.
No, in fact, it was quite occupied. A whole gathering of Delamar magicians sat outside a half circle of covered wagons around a fire with an enormous black cauldron sitting over it. Every pair of eyes turned toward her. Magic thrummed through the air, palpable.
“Moon and stars, on this night of nights, you sent us this sign.”
An older man with a scarlet headscarf and a pointed little beard swept a hand toward Emmaline as he looked up at the sky.
“Uhh, a sign? Wh-what kind of sign?” The wizard crept closer. “Me? I’m not a sign!”
Before he closed in, the wind whirled. The eerie black shadow from her shop whipped through the clearing. All the bodies gathered around the cauldron flinched, distracted by flying embers and debris as if she weren’t even there.
Still frozen, Emmaline gaped as the sinister mini-twister came right for her. In the next instant, everything stopped and she couldn’t see the clearing, couldn’t see anything but the breast of a black homespun shirt right in front of her. She moved her stare up over a very nice male chest, a strong chin, and a sinfully attractive pair of smirking lips. Finally, she met the eyes that went with that tantalizing ensemble under the brim of a black rustler’s hat. Dark brown and gold. Tiger’s Eye, was all she could think, recalling her studies from yesterday morning. A protection stone.
“Were you thinking of going in their pot tonight, shopkeeper?”
His voice fell over her in a hot whisper. Her eyelashes fluttered under the glass of her spectacles. All kinds of pesky attraction spell ingredients bombarded her brain as she drank in the heady scent he gave off. Musk, bergamot, leather and some exotic spice she didn’t know.
“Uhhh, wh-whu…?”
Before she could say a real word, the swirl of shadow magic he possessed rose up, enclosing them both. Emmaline teetered forward. The mage caught her against him as the wind devil lifted her off her feet. In the blink of an eye, she found herself whisked from the clearing and deposited back in the book den at her uncle’s store.
She jerked her head side to side, finding herself suddenly alone and ashamed to say, regretting that the strong arms of the Delamar mage were no longer wrapped around her. She turned a tight circle on her toes, bewildered. When she came back around, there he was—or his chest anyway, just as before. Stepping back, he stretched his arm out toward her and lifted his forefinger up into the air. Emmaline flinched.
“Please, don’t hex me!” She cried.
She wasn’t any good at resister spells. She wasn’t, in fact, a very talented witch at all. Hence, all the studying and book reading. Element-made witches didn’t need to read so much. Their magic was in-born. Emmaline had the family heritage for witchery, but not the calling.
The mage’s long finger moved up toward her nose. Oh, no! Not a wart. In-born or not, there was nothing worse than a warty witch! She started to duck, but his hand moved too quickly, reaching for her closer and closer. Charcoal, cinder and magic crackled in the air between them and around his hand until he closed in on the space between her eyes. Was he memory thief? Oh, dear, what had she done to offend the old spirits so? She scrunched her eyes closed and held her breath as he touched the spot in the middle of her nose, then ever so slowly slid her spectacles back into place.
Emmaline blinked her eyes open, watching his lips turn up in a wry grin. Mage or outright devil, that was the question. Her mouth popped open in a surprised little ‘O’ as he leaned down and kissed her. Shock, surprise and something else—something delicious—raced through her as he pressed his lips solidly to hers. She gave a little moan at the warmth of them.
Just like that, he pulled away. Emmaline remained leaning forward on her toes, lips pursed, unable to move for the space of a delirious second. When she regained enough sense to look up, he smiled, full on rogue, and rubbed his jaw-line.
“Plum Leaf Tea,” he licked his lips, “with honey.” One midnight brow arched over his eye.
Emmaline couldn’t say a word.
“And now,” he lifted her hand up in his, “the spell’s complete. Thank you, mistress.”
With a cavalier bow, he kissed the back of her hand, then stirred up another magic tornado and disappeared. Emmaline pressed three fingers to her lips, staring at the space where he’d stood until the rustling of pages made her turn. She looked down at her dainty tea table to find the stolen spell book.
 
Copyright © 2021 Amanda V. Shane, First published as Merk’s Hollow or Plum Leaf Tea… With Honey in the Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction Writing Circle. All rights reserved.

Thanks so much for reading my September 2021 Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction piece. My imagination went a little crazy with the whole idea of this story. I love the idea of a western gaslamp town of magicals. There's actually quite a bit more to what I wrote on this one and what was published for the challenge is only about half, so I thought I would give readers a chance to the rest.

Emmaline slipped a book back onto the shelf at the back of the general store.
“Uncle Osbert won’t be able to find it the next time he decides to research liverwort’s medicinal uses,” she squinted from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles at the spine of the book, “liverwort and its medicinal uses if I don’t.”
“Meow,” agreed Cilla, the store’s resident ring-tailed tabby.
After a thorough dusting of the shelves, Emmaline locked up, brewed herself a cup of Plum Leaf tea with a healthy spoonful of honey—her favorite this time a year—then settled down in the tiny kitchen at the back of the store. She scooted the charms etiquette book she’d been studying in the effort to pass the Young Practicer’s of Merk’s Hollow exam across the table. Yes, she was a late bloomer, and yes, this would be her third time taking the test, but there was nothing wrong with being a late bloomer. Or so her dearly departed Aunt Corrette used to say.
She’d just opened to the formal dinner charms section when a loud thump made her shoot to her feet. Cilla jumped off the windowsill with a screechy meow.
“Gracious!” Emmaline settled her teacup on the table and rushed to the front of the store. Uncle had left earlier for a town council of magickals meeting and so she was all by herself in the store tonight. When she made it into the one-room store, she saw that there, where she’d stood dusting not minutes before, swirled an eerie, black, sparkling funnel cloud, right inside the building! It whipped around in a tight circle as if it saw her before disappearing out the window and into the dusty street.
Emma scampered across the wood plank floor to the shelves beside the window, noticing right away the empty spot up high among the books there. Those tomes all sat highest up because they were from a much rarer collection than the mere informational digests on herbals and potions that the store’s patrons normally came looking for.
“Oh, no,” she breathed. No one she or Uncle Osbert knew was the type of magickal who’d need to steal something from that shelf. Only a dark mage or warlock could be responsible, and there had been no one of that ilk in Merk’s Hollow in some time. Something chimed in her memory bank just then. Emmaline remembered overhearing Mrs. Flybright and her hawk-nosed daughter, Millicent, gossiping earlier that week. The clothier tinkerer’s womenfolk were renowned town gossips in these parts, so much so that Emmaline usually never paid them any mind. What they’d said last time they were in the store came rushing back to her. Something about a caravan of travelers setting up camp in the woods on the outskirts of town right before the week of the autumnal equinox, which happened to be tonight, in fact. What was it the Flybrights had called them?
Delamar.
A chill went up Emma’s spine the moment the name came to her. The shop’s front door blew open, smacking into the wall with a loud clatter, and she jerked around in time to see a tall, male figure in a black hat, black boots and a long, black duster outside the window. There one moment, gone the next, the figure was absorbed by night’s shadows in an instant. She watched as the shadow whooshed down the road in that same starry black whirlwind she’d witnessed over the bookshelf, heading out of town toward the forgotten woods.
Cilla meowed loudly.
Stealing herself, Emma looked down at the cat and gave a nod.
“If I’m not back by morning…” Ugh! If only she’d been able to work a decent animal enchantment at the very least. Then Cilla could start earning her keep as a worthwhile familiar.
Without another thought, Emma pushed her spectacles up on her nose and grabbed her cloak, racing out the door after the shadowy grimoire thief.
Halfway to the woods, she was already panting. Sweat trickled down her spine under her thick muslin dress. Fancying herself a city girl at heart, she never left their little Wynn, mining. Tromping down dusty roads and backwater trails had never been her cup of tea. But if some gypsy mage, shadow personage thought they could just come sifting into her uncle’s store and magically waft out a centuries old spell book… Well, not on her watch. Sweat on her brow and temples were making it near impossible to keep her spectacles in place.
It would have been a great thing if she’d been adept at nulling. She would have frozen the intruder in their tracks right there in the shop. Then she wouldn’t be hoofing her way down ill trodden paths through briar and bramble in the middle of the night. At least there was a full moon shining to light the way. It would have been even more helpful if the foliage hadn’t suddenly grown so thick, she thought as she tore her poor skirt away from the grip of a scrub hodge for the umpteenth time.
“Gah! Let go you measly little mites. Unhand me!”
With a heaving jerk, she pulled free of the pest’s miniscule paws and stumbled into a clearing. Only… it wasn’t clear.
No, in fact, it was quite occupied. A whole gathering of Delamar magicians sat outside a half circle of covered wagons around a fire with an enormous black cauldron sitting over it. Every pair of eyes turned toward her. Magic thrummed through the air, palpable. Emmaline fumbled on the ground where she’d fallen, her skirt pinned under her feet. She clambered up to her feet, suddenly very much afraid.
“Uh, mm, hello?” She tried.
“Moon and stars, on this night of nights, you sent us this sign.”
An older man with a scarlet headscarf, matching waist sash, and a pointed little beard swept a hand toward Emmaline as he looked up at the sky.
“Uh, uhh, a sign? Wh-what kind of sign?” The head Delamar mage crept closer. “Me? I’m not a sign!”
Before he closed in, the wind picked up in a whirl. The eerie black shadow from her shop whipped through the clearing. All the bodies gathered around the cauldron flinched, distracted by flying embers and debris as if she weren’t even there.
Still frozen, Emmaline gaped, a silent scream on her lips as the shadowy mini-twister came right for her. In the next instant, everything stopped and she couldn’t see the clearing, couldn’t see anything but the breast of the black homespun shirt in front of her. Straightening her glasses that had ended up nearly sideways on her face, she moved her startled gaze up over a very nice male chest, a golden triangle of bare skin leading into a man’s throat, strong chin, a sinfully attractive pair of smirking lips. Finally, she met the eyes that went with that tantalizing ensemble under the low brim of a black rustler’s hat. Dark brown and gold. Tiger’s Eye, was all she could think, recalling her studies from yesterday morning. A protection stone.
“Were you thinking of going in their pot tonight, shopkeeper?”
His voice fell over her in a hot whisper. Her eyelashes fluttered under the glass of her spectacles. All kinds of pesky attraction spell ingredients bombarded her brain as she drank in the heady scent he gave off. Musk, bergamot, leather and some exotic spice she didn’t know.
“Uhhh, wh-whu…?”
Before she could say a real word, the swirl of shadow magic he possessed rose up, enclosing them both. Emmaline teetered forward. The mage caught her against him as the wind devil lifted her off her feet. In the blink of an eye, she found herself whisked from the clearing and deposited back in the book den at her uncle’s store.
She jerked her head side to side, finding herself suddenly alone and ashamed to say, regretting that the strong arms of the Delamar mage were no longer wrapped around her. She turned in a tight circle on her toes, completely bewildered. When she made it back around, there he was—or his chest anyway, just as before. Stepping back, he stretched his arm out toward her and lifted his forefinger up into the air. Emmaline flinched.
“Please, don’t hex me!” She cried.
She wasn’t any good at resister spells or nulls. She wasn’t, in fact, a very talented witch at all. Hence, all the studying and book reading. Element-made witches didn’t need to read so much. Their magic was in-born. Emmaline had the family heritage for witchery, but not the calling.
The mage’s long finger moved up toward her nose. Oh, no! Not a wart. In-born or not, there was nothing worse than a warty witch! She started to duck, but his hand moved to quickly, reaching for her closer and closer. Charcoal, cinder and magic crackled in the air between them and around his hand until he closed in on the space between her eyes. Was he memory thief? Oh, dear, what had she done to offend the old spirits so? She scrunched her eyes closed and held her breath as he touched the spot in the middle of her nose, then ever so slowly slid her spectacles back into place.
Emmaline blinked her eyes open, watching his lips turn up in a wry grin. Mage or outright devil, that was the question. Her mouth popped open in a surprised little ‘O’ as he leaned down and kissed her. Shock, surprise and something else—something delicious—raced through her as he pressed his lips solidly to hers. She gave a little moan at the warmth of them.
Just like that, he pulled away. Emmaline remained leaning forward on her toes, lips pursed, unable to move for the space of a delirious second. When she regained enough sense to look up, he smiled, full on rogue, and rubbed his jaw-line.
“Fall Plum Leaf Tea,” he licked his lips, “with honey.” One midnight brow arched over his eye.
Emmaline couldn’t say a word.
“And now,” he lifted her hand up in his, “the spell’s complete. Thank you, mistress.”
With a cocky, cavalier bow, he kissed the back of her hand before he stirred up another magic swirl of tornado and disappeared. Emmaline pressed three fingers to her lips, staring at the space where he’d stood until the rustling of pages made her turn. She looked down behind her at her dainty tea table to find the stolen black magic spell book.
 Copyright © 2021 Amanda V. Shane. All rights reserved.

“C’mon, look alive, old man,” Pan slapped his thigh, laughing at Eros, “we’re going down to the Earth Realm later.”
“What? Why?”
“For fun, of course.”
“We have fun here.”
“Quit whining. We haven’t frolicked with humans in centuries. Besides, we’ve been invited by some of my fae friends. We’re going.”
“So you’re dragging me off to the British Isles then, I assume. Which one—don’t tell me, Scotland?”
Pan made a face.
“Dion and I were there last year. You should have seen him in a kilt.”
Ero snorted.
“What did you wear? Assless fur chaps, goat boy?”
Pan laughed even harder, telling Eros everything he needed to know about that. Finally, the satyr sobered enough to speak. “I want to visit ‘ye old England.’”
 “Ugh, Stonehenge gives me indigestion.” Pan gave him a funny look. “Too much pull on the leys. Haven’t been there in ages.”
“Lightweight. Never mind though, we aren’t going there. The smaller fairs are where all the entertainment is anyway. That’s where the younger set goes. There’s music and booze… you’ll love it. Here, I brought this.”
“Where did you get that?” Eros reached for the gold glass ball Pan pulled out of his bag. The satyr shifted it out of his reach before he could lay a finger on it. “Is that what I think it is?”
Starglass was extremely rare and hard to get your hands on. Pan waved his hand over the orb. A soft gold glow immediately flickered in the middle of the glass ball then radiated outward, illuminating the satyr’s doltish grin. Eros sat up and moved closer, focused on the ball. As Pan swirled his fingers above the top of the glass, a shining swirl of dust started to move inside, spinning into a tiny cyclone within the confines of the glass.
“Show us anything to do with the festivals in England on the Earth Realm.” He demanded.
The gold dust liquid inside the ball swirled once more, faster and faster until the glass finally cleared. A silvery, opaque fog hazed it for a few moments, then wept down the inside of the orb, settling at the bottom until a moving view of figures inside a shop somewhere appeared. Three people—two females, one male, all human.
“Ah, that’s not right,” Pan circled his fingers at the top of the glass to clear it.
“Wait.” Eros stopped him.
In the scene within the orb, stood one of the most beautiful females he’d ever seen. Creamy, fair skin, corn silk hair falling in soft, shiny waves and wide green eyes captured his attention. She spoke to the other two humans in the scene in some kind of earthly bookstore.
“What are they saying?”
Pan snapped his fingers and, instantly, their voices came through.
“I can’t go anywhere this weekend. I have to read this and work on my paper.”
The lovely blonde creature held something up, but all Eros saw was her beautiful face.
 “What is that in her hand?” Pan pointed at the glass.
“Goddess,” Eros murmured, tracing the vision of her in the air outside of the starglass.
 Pan snorted beside him, breaking the trance the sight of the woman had put him in. Eros blinked, straightening.
Eros looked at the blonde woman’s slender bare arm as she lowered it. He imagined pressing his lips to every inch of her alabaster skin. Following the graceful line of her appendage down to her fine-boned hand, his mouth watered thinking of how he would suck each digit into his mouth one by one, swirling his tongue around until he had her panting with desire. She would taste as sweet as cream. Finally, he caught sight of what she held in her hand. Cocking his head at the lower round of the starglass ball, a smile pulled the corners of his lips up. He let out an amused chuff.
“What?” Asked Pan. “What is it?”
“Some book on the ancient Celts. Cernnunos is pictured on the front. That must be what she’s studying, poor girl.  I could give her much better things to study, and that’s a fact—Anatomy 101, for example.”
“The stag?” Pan interrupted his line of thinking. “That old sot? Mister ‘god of the wild hunt’. Is he around still?”
“Absolute boor.” Eros laughed at his own joke.
“Haha, right? Freakin Celts-- ‘I got your maypole right here, baby’.” His impression sounded ridiculously Elvis-like.
“You're unwaveringly crude, my friend.”
Pan bowed.
 “Always. If that’s who she’s interested in, I could pass for a fertility god tonight.”
“No!” The word slipped out before Eros could stop it.
He didn’t want Pan’s hands anywhere near his fair-haired beauty. “Help me find her, then leave her to me. You can play with her friends or your nymphs or whoever.”
“Maybe the friends and the nymphs,” Pan stroked his scraggly beard. “Yes, glad to see you’re coming around to my way of thinking. Fine, I’ll leave blondie to you.” He stopped the scene in the orb, then hid it away in his bag only to dig another couple of items out of it. “Might I suggest you wear these?” He made another obnoxious flourish with his hands, producing a crown made of antlers and another of ram’s horns. We’ll attend the festival as Keltoi. Maybe your pretty human will like you as the stag, god of the wild hunt.
 Eros rolled his eyes, but took the crown.
“All right, we’ll go to the Earth Realm.”
 Pan wagged his eyebrows suggestively then left, cackling the whole way. He probably saw visions of some recreated orgy of pagans around a bonfire in his depraved head. In days of old, writhing naked bodies had danced in the flickering glow of such fires and humans had flirted with the spirit world whether they knew it or not. Some had known. That beautiful vixen in the starglass with her book of Celtic gods—did she?
 
 He would go to the Earth Realm festival tonight, but only to observe.
 
Copyright © 2021 Amanda V. Shane, First published as The Wild Hunt in the Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction Writing Circle. All rights reserved.

Thank you for reading my story from May’s 2021's Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction challenge. The theme this month was "Fertility God/ Goddess (or Maypole)" with a 1,000 word max. This little snippet will take shape in a full novella next month that will be offered as a free download in my newsletter.  Subscribe now to get you your copy of Midsummer Lover in June!

Click on the links below to read all of the other fabulous stories submitted:

Prickly Pregnancy by Miri Stone
https://www.facebook.com/notes/144227464414318

Forgotten Love by Cassie Laelyn
https://www.facebook.com/notes/1186808571761946

“I knew this cruise was a bad idea,” Libby mumbled on her way out of the bathroom as the ship rocked from the storm.
It had been evening when she and Neil had returned from the ship’s last stop at a beach fair. A roll of thunder sounded from above. Storms always made her uneasy. This was supposed to be a calm time of year in the gulf—the only reason she’d, finally, let Aunt Mave bully her into coming on this ‘singles’ cruise. Now a freak thunderstorm had come up.
As she brushed her teeth at the sink in her cabin, her eyes glanced behind her in the mirror, squinting at something on the bed by the pillows.
“What in the world?”
Wiping toothpaste off of her chin, she walked to the bed, stopping cold at its edge. Her eyes rounded.
“Neil,” she grinned, reaching for the note on top of the old book from the market. “What a prankster.”
 
You needed to have this.
                                            - Neil
 
It read, short and sweet.
She laughed, wondering if he’d really make a move on the ship’s captain. At least one of them would get some action tonight.
“Okay, hot pirate dude,” she picked up the book then climbed into bed, “let’s get another look at you.”
Painted on the very first page was the best looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. Black hair, green eyes and a physique that could make a nun weep shone on the yellowed paper. She paged through. The whole book showed images of hot-ass-pirate-guy in amorous positions with different women. Her nipples hardened just looking. Jeez! She really needed to get laid. Here she was drooling over a picture in a book from the… what was the copyright on this thing, anyway?
Flipping back, she found an inscription inside the front cover.
“Weird.” She ran her fingers over the writing.
 
“Slave of hearts, I call on thee
to slake my lust, your purpose shall be.
Time’s prisoner for time to use
till the true of heart his heart doth choose.”
 
She wrinkled her nose at the dark poetry.
“A little heavy for old timey porn, but okayyy.”
Just as she moved to set the book down, the gentle sway of the ship grew more aggressive. The lights in the cabin flickered, going out momentarily.
“Oh, no! What’s going on? Help!!” She jumped out of the bed before everything calmed.
 “Great. Way to act like a hysterical moron, Libs. I hope no one heard me.”
“Oh, I heard you, lass. And I’m definitely here to help.”
Her head snapped around at the sound of a man’s voice.
“Uhhh,” she blinked over and over, her jaw falling open.
Him! It was him. Mister Lick-Me-Like-Your-Favorite-Flavor-Popsicle guy from the book! She shook her head.
“It’s not possible.”
He blinked, his eyes darkening as his mouth lifted in a wholly sensual smile. He wore a soft poet’s style shirt from the eighteenth century or whenever men went prancing around in those things, open all the way to the waistline of his black sailor’s pants. Yeah, and the way those things fit… Her eyes dropped to the bulge between his widespread thighs as he lounged in her chair like he hadn’t just popped in from out of nowhere. She should look away… she really should. An amused chuckle rolled out of him and she jumped, finally bringing her eyes up to his.
“Y-y-you’re not real.”
One dark brow lifted at that. Libby swallowed hard, an electric thrill zipping straight through her belly down to her core. The memory of him in all those lurid pictures raced through her mind. Holy hell—Frank had finally won! The stress from the divorce had broken her. She’d been driven to insanity, and now she was seeing painfully hot men in her manic state.
“Huh, could be worse.”
Hot guy made a face.
“Worse?” He scowled.
Great, imaginary men were giving her attitude now. What the hell kind of slipshod psychosis did her brain plan on running here, anyway?
He dipped his chin to glare at her like she was in so much trouble. Gawd, was that sexy! Moisture pooled between her thighs. Without another word, he stood and stalked toward her, smooth as butter, until he stood in front of her. She froze.
“Sheezus, you move like a cat,” she muttered. “A sexy cat, uh…” his eyes narrowed. “Can a cat be sexy?” She kept babbling. “Hip cat, maybe. Yeah, that’s what I meant… or a cool cat. Oh, god, please shut me up now.”
He grinned wide, leaned closer, then pressed her back onto the bed. Libby sucked in a breath as he followed her down, molding himself against her like he knew every inch of her sex-starved body would naturally yield to him—which it did.
“Granted.” He said.
“Wait, whu…?” she didn’t get another sound out before his mouth crashed down onto hers.   
All her erogenous zones sizzled at the feel of his lips. His tongue swept inside while his hands smoothed over her waist, hips and breasts, lighting little fires on her skin everywhere they touched. That bulge at his center she’d admired a moment ago pressed against her core, driving her further into her madness. At this point, she found sanity undeniably overrated. Crazy felt good.
He deepened the kiss, then did something sinful with his hips that had her arching up off the bed. She groaned.
But his mouth lifted away from hers, and he stopped moving. Her eyes flew open.
“And now?” He asked.
“Now?”
That hard part of him between her legs pulsed, and she nearly had a heart attack. He pushed back from her.
“You called me here, mistress,” his rich voice vibrated through the room, “now what do you plan to do with me?”
Libby stared at him. She found her breath, then huffed out a short, little laugh. His muscled chest heaved, and she smiled at the sight.
Oh, yeah, crazy felt perfect.

Copyright © 2021 Amanda V. Shane, First published as High Seas Enchanted in the Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction Writing Circle. All rights reserved.

Thank you for reading my story from April 2021's Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction challenge. The theme this month was "Accidental Magic" with a 1,000 word max. 

Leah ran, tearing recklessly around the globe shaped bush before they saw her. As she rounded the hedge outside Faerie Castle, the garden path sloped. Her ridiculously high heel caught in the gravel and busted off. Damn that Louboutin! As her ankle buckled, she went down in a flounce of silk skirts and a shrill aria of obscenities the boys back at Old Tam’s pub would’ve been proud of.
Eyes shut tight, she waited for impact. Instead, a strong pair of hands wrapped around her, supporting her back and neck so that the imminent crack of her skull on packed dirt never came.
Blinking, she looked up. Blinding mid-day sun speared into her eyeballs from over the top of the hedge wall. Her hand shot up to shield her eyes, bringing a shadowy figure into view.
Deep, blue, starry eyes stared down at her. The one who held her tilted his head, blocking out the sun, and Leah’s breath stuck in her throat at the vision that came into focus. High cheekbones, a broad jaw and soft, pale lips all worked together to form the most striking male face she’d ever seen. In addition, the unmistakable simmer of magic stirred the air. It hovered above his shoulders like a cloak. Dread filled Leah—he was one of them, a fae.
 Her eyes lowered, getting stuck on the smooth, tan bit of exposed skin above his black bow tie and crisp white shirt. Tiny brown freckles speckled his skin, spaced out enough to where all she could think about was using them to play connect the dots… with her tongue.
 “Were you dashing through the maze in a fit of terror from some bridge troll then, little lark?”
The name being a nod to her ear-jarring stream of curses a moment ago, no doubt. Giving her head a shake, Leah looked up to find a faint smile on his full lips.
 “Maybe,” she barked out defensively, fully aware of the vulnerable position she was in. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a handsome prince I’m dashing to meet instead… lucky me.”
His cobalt eyes flashed, going dark, silver, then fathomless in the space of an instant. He dipped his head, scanning her from head to toe, those sea-deep eyes seeming to peel away the layers of her silly stolen gown as they went.
 “Lucky prince.” He said.
Leah’s mouth popped open, but no words came out.
He ignored her, taking in a deep and audible breath.
 “You didn’t drink the wine did you?” His voice rolled through her.
“No,” she answered, a bit too loudly for how close they were. He probably smelled the snifter of whiskey she’d gulped down for courage inside the castle before going through with this harebrained plan of Gill’s, “I’m not stupid enough to do a thing like that here.” She looked up at the arched bows of the garden maze overhead, then back at him. “Not with your kind ambling around.”
“My kind?”
His expression managed to look surprised and admonishing all in one. Leah didn’t give in. She drew her brows together in the Irish death glare she was famed for under the masquerade mask she wore—another stolen item she’d taken for her disguise, along with the shoes and the dress.
Finally, the stranger pulled her upright in one easy, grace-filled movement. Leah stumbled back on her broken heel. He crossed his arms, leaning back against a little stone doorway in the center of the hedge, making a study of her as he placed one ankle over the other. He did make a delectable sight in his black tuxedo, crisp white shirt and dark red-brown hair that hung just long enough to brush the top of his shoulders. Formal attire was required for this debauched, fae romp of a treasure hunt—the only reason Leah would be caught dead in the confection of a dress she wore.
On him, though, black tie proved nothing short of devastating. She sucked in a breath. One of his dark copper brows lifted upward, somehow drawing Leah’s attention to his lips at the same time.  
“Well, what are you?” Leah asked. Looking down, she brushed at her skirt, self-conscious as all get out. “Leprechaun or something? You’re clearly fae.”
That came out haughtier than she’d meant for it to, even accusing. Old resentments died hard. Fae had always been dangerous, but now that they were here, among humans, they were even more so.
He chuckled.
“Leprechaun? Not me. If you’d met Kell then, aye. You happen to be right though, perceptive, little lark. I am fae.”
Leah’s brow crinkled as she frowned beneath the mask. Her open book facial expressions had always been her downfall.
Just then, pounding footfalls thundered down the rounded path toward them at a breakneck pace. Leah jerked, her spine going straight.
The two fae guards who’d been hot on her trail earlier skidded to a halt, dust flying as they did. Their eyes went straight to her companion.
“Sire!” they both said, in obvious shock.
The stranger nodded—barely—in their direction. His perceptive eyes glanced over at Leah, then back to the guards.
Uh, oh. Leah’s mind raced. Sire? Who exactly was this gorgeous fae male? In an instant he was right by her side, though she hadn’t seen him move. His palm gripped her elbow.
“Gentleman,” he said, his deep timber skittering through her body once again, “thank you for finding my special guest for me. We were separated in the maze.”
The guards cast wary eyes her way, muttered apologies, then ducked their heads and left.
As soon as they were gone, the male turned her to face him.
“Am I right to assume you don’t have a formal invitation to this gathering, miss?”
Leah pressed her lips together. His midnight eyes sparkled. He stared right through her even as those delicious lips of his picked up in a sexy, grim smile.
Damn. Looked like her luck had just run out.
 
 
Copyright © 2021 Amanda V. Shane, First published as Treasure in the Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction Writing Circle. All rights reserved.
 
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Annnd I’m posting access to the rest of flash fiction pieces from March's Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction authors. Click on the links below to read all the great stories written for our "Lucky" challenge theme. Enjoy!

LUCKY LITTLE RABBIT by Bee Murray

https://www.facebook.com/groups/beemurraysbookclub

UNLUCKY by Mariah Thayer Garell

https://www.facebook.com/groups/amreadingmariahg

LUCKY CHARMER by Cassie Laelyn

https://www.facebook.com/groups/CassieLaelynsLogCabin

COLOR ME CURIOUS by Miri Stone

https://www.facebook.com/groups/206877663578982


GETTING LUCKY by Shelly Ferguson

https://shellyfergusonauthor.com/getting-lucky/

TREASURE by Amanda V Shane

http://www.amandavshane.com/blog/treasure-wild-at-heart-pnr-flash-fiction

WISH UPON A STAR by Kat Newman Orwig - coming soon!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/KOsPNRLair