Disclaimer: Yes, yes, I know. Not mine. It pains me physically. Mhmm. Oh right, you're here for a story.
Prologue: The Boney King of Nowhere
Sarah scrabbled up off the soft, loamy earth and ran. There was something in these black woods, and it was chasing her.
Her lungs burned, and she was developing a stitch in her side. Thin branches lashed out at her leaving welts in their wake. The crashing, crunching of something heavy barreling through the underbrush was just behind her now. Snarling breath puffed against the shell of her ear. Suddenly, the thing fell back in its pursuit.
She ran all the faster.
It had been broad daylight at her apartment, but here it was night. How she longed for that cramped place, even with its leaky sink, rowdy neighbors, and evil door knob.
The undeniable pulse of magic from the vicinity of Sarah's left hand brought her to focus.
She wasn't sure what she was running from- or where she was running to- but Sarah was certain that stopping to moon over the presently unattainable could very well mean her death.
After an eternity and no time at all, she broke free of the tree line, stumbling over the detritus and prickly bramble in the wastes beyond forest. As if she had passed through some unseen barrier, the intense compulsion to get away faded. But if she was where she thought she was, she really could not take it for granted that the predator had not pursued her. Her frantic flight brought her to a rocky outcropping where she hoped to pause to catch her breath. Just when Sarah thought she was free of the perils of the forest, she was snared by an ancient broken branch.
Unable to stop her forward momentum, Sarah flung her arms up and braced for an impact that was infinitely softer than she anticipated.
Strong hands steadied her even as her own pressed against a leanly muscled chest. She stilled as she recognized the sigil there, hanging on its braided leather thong. She swallowed thickly, dreading to glance up but inexorably drawn to all the same.
He looked down at her, though not as far down as he once had, his head tilted, one brow cocked imperiously.
He spoke then, and she could feel the seductive rumble of it through the fingers still lingering on his shirt. The tone was light, if not outright smugly mocking.
"Well, well, if it isn't Saoirse Wilkins."
A/N: If you're interested, I've already done fan art for this story and it is linked on my profile. Also, the chapters will get longer, but these first few are a tad infuriatingly short. Sorry.
Chapter Reference: In pitch dark, I go walking in your landscape/ Broken branches trip me as I speak/ Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there/ Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there. –Radiohead, "There, There"
