Meet Grim, Orielle's only ally ~ the #fantasy *Spells of Air*

 Publishing this week! Spells of Air, 

a fantasy trilogy of novellas in the Fae Mark'd World.

  Hunter. Hunted. Who is who?

 On a mission for the Wizard Enclave, Orielle ventures into the Wilding, a strange frontier filled with magical creatures. There she discovers sprites and wraiths, gobbers and wyre, and the mysterious Dark Fae called the Kyrgy.

All view her as prey.

In the following excerpt, Orielle meets Grim -- just in time!

from Chapter 1

Ghost chose to rear. Orielle lost her seat and slid back. She landed on her feet, sheer luck. The drop jarred her, scared her. She stumbled sideways.

And into something. Something that loomed higher than her.

A tree? A wyre!  No. Hands had caught her. They shoved her backward. Panic flashed over her then winked out when she realized the man wasn’t a shifted wyre. He wasn’t a wyre at all. And he stood between her and the wyre.

Ghost tore the reins free of clawed hands. He bounded away. His white tail flashed as he thundered through the trees.

The wyre didn’t look at the lost horse. He ignored Orielle. His narrowed eyes rimmed gold as he scanned the man, brown hair, brown leathers, brown boots, shining sword. Then the wyre grinned. “Rho.”

“Wyre,” the man retorted. With the steely blade between them, he lifted one hand.

The wyre flew back. He thudded into a tree trunk. Red leaves scattered over him. Claws scratched the ground, then he scrambled up. Those gold-rimmed eyes flickered to Orielle. He grinned, sick anticipation stretching his lips. “Don’t leave, pretty wizard.”

The Rhoghieri’s hand came up again.

The wyre laughed then dove behind a tree.

And disappeared.

While she gawked, the Rhoghieri grabbed her hand. “This way.”  He headed back, towing her along.

“But—my horse—.”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t acknowledge her protest. They passed the sunny spot where Ghost had stopped before.

On the switchback to the lower trail, Orielle lost her footing and began sliding. The Rho’s strong grip kept her upright. Her free hand scraped over rock and sedgy grass. The stiff riding boots kept her ankles from rolling off roots and rocks that skittered under her. When she stumbled again, he kept her from tumbling downslope, but he used her momentum to leave the well-worn trail. They rushed downward several feet, then he tugged her along as he climbed higher and higher.

When he stopped, she fetched into him. “Oof.”  She grabbed his arm to steady herself.

Sun dazzled her eyes, so she looked down and away.

They stood on a thready trail, ribbony compared to the path she had followed. The trail coursed the mountain’s flank. Behind him, grass gave way to boulders. Below them, far below them—the wyre stood on the wider path. Clawed hands rested on his hips. The sun gleamed on his sweat-slick skin.

He grinned. “Come out and play,” he shouted her words.

Wind whooshed down the slope. It blasted over the wyre. He tumbled backward, down the slope.

She nearly came off her feet when the Rhoghieri jerked her forward. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t, so she couldn’t.

Fetch it here!