This one has been in the works or a long time, but it’s finally coming together: fae!Killian! Inspired by a prompt list—“I was just taking a walk through the woods and I didn’t think Fae really existed, and I really don’t think I’ll accept any food from you” au—and Colin’s adorable elf ears.
Summary:
Emma’s visit to her friends in Ireland becomes more than just a vacation
when she meets a handsome man in the woods. A handsome man who turns
out to me an immortal fae—and helps reveal some truths about herself. (Title from a poem by W. B. Yeats)
Emma had needed a vacation—it was long overdue. Somewhere warm, with white sand, hot men, and drinks fruity enough to cover the taste of cheap rum.
Yeah, that would be perfect right now, she thought as she stared out at the grey clouds hanging low over the lush green hillside below her. Hell, even water would be nice.
Because instead of St. Somewhere, Emma’s sentimental side had been swayed into coming to Ireland to visit Granny, the woman who pretty much raised her, and Ruby Lucas, her best friend. The two ladies had moved to a little town on the Irish Sea a year ago—citing the need for a change of scenery and a long-lost relative leaving them a property—and hadn’t seen Emma since, so it was probably only fair that she use her first vacation in a long time to go see them.
And she was so happy to be with them; she really was. But the tiny seaside town had little to offer in the way of sand (more like rocks), and while Granny never skimped on the rum, the only hot guy in town had already (unsurprisingly) been claimed by Ruby.
From where she was at the top of one of the hills nearby, she could just pick out the green roof of Granny’s diner-slash-inn in the little hamlet, though it looked like a dollhouse from here. Because, on the advice of Ruby’s boyfriend-slash-town sheriff Graham, she’d gone on a hike.
“Oh, it’s a beautiful day,” he’d said. “Perfect for hiking. Not too hot, not too cool. All the trails are marked!”
Ha. Yeah. Marked. Which was exactly why she was standing up here, on some narrow footpath that probably hadn’t been used since Saint Patrick drove the snakes out (which was bull, actually, because she totally saw one—or at least something that looked like one), unable to discern a way back to the village. And what little she could see of the sun was making its way down toward the horizon. To top it all off, she was not only parched, having ran out of water a few hours ago, but damn, was she hungry.
I really should have listened to Granny this morning.
The fierce old woman hadn’t just told her to bring food and water—no, she told her to stay out of the hills altogether.
“There’s gancanagh out there,” she warned. “Just waiting for a hot little thing like you.”
One of her fondest memories growing up was Granny’s stories of mythology, but especially the fae folk. Emma and Ruby had spent hours searching the woods near their home in Maine for the wee creatures—or the big creatures; Granny had said some could blend right in with the rest of us, and the only way to tell was their pointed ears (which led to two little girls squealing when they saw Mr. Spock on TV). For years, she had fallen asleep to the grand, magical tales Granny wove, even when she got big enough to realize they were literally fairy tales.
So when Granny warned her of the gancanagh, the fae known for seducing human women, she just rolled her eyes and reverted back to her rebellious teenage ways, deciding that a hike was exactly what she’d do. Besides, she’d be 28 in a few days; she was more than a full-grown adult.
Which meant she could totally figure a way out of this. And she’d totally ignore those long-buried feelings of abandonment; that was all behind her, even if she was pretty sure she was so lost that even if someone came looking, they’d have a hard time finding her.
Not knowing what else to do, she attempted to backtrack down the way she’d came, until there was a fork and she couldn’t remember which way to go. Then she hit another one, and another, until I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that tree three times.
Of course, Granny’s warning was ringing in her ears now; every rustle was some demon Cù-Sìth coming to eat her, or maybe that bear from Brave (her Celtic mythologies had kind of melted together over the years).
It was when she was convinced she was permanently lost and nearly seeing stars from thirst that the rustling picked up; it was definitely something. And it was getting closer. She said a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening as the footfalls of whatever beast drew nearer, until it finally broke through the tree line…and her heart stopped.
It All Starts With a Dance 