Gossamyr. Michele Hauf

      

      Praise for Seraphim by Michele Hauf

      “A rich medieval tapestry woven of fantastic tales of revenge, women warriors, faeries and demon fire. Michele Hauf captures your attention with vivid, powerful, sexy characters. What I wouldn’t do for a man like Dominique San Juste!”

      —Award-winning author Lyda Morehouse

      “From her first word to her last, Hauf weaves a magic spell. You’ll root for Seraphim and sigh over Dominique as they risk heaven and hell in this heart-stopping adventure.”

      —Emma Holly, author of Hunting Midnight

      “This book kicks butt—in a lush and lyrical way.”

      —Susan Sizemore, author of the “Laws of the Blood” series

      “Michele Hauf has taken the ‘Fallen Angels’ myth and embellished it with many a dark and inventive twist, and created Seraphim, a riveting story of a young woman’s quest for revenge and a destiny chosen for her long before her birth. Seraphim is also brimming with intriguing and very strong characters, along with a rich and satisfying blend of medieval history and fantasy. Fine writing only adds more elegance to the story and I look forward to book two of Michele Hauf’s ‘Changeling’ series, due out in 2005.”

      —Bookloons

      “Seraphim is stunning, an utterly gripping, compelling read that plunged me into fantasies of long ago and far away. Michele Hauf is a consummate pro at the top of her game. If this is any indication, LUNA Books is off to an industry-rocking start!”

      —Maggie Shayne, author of Edge of Twilight

      Gossamyr

      Michele Hauf

      For all who Believe

      Enchantment is Faery’s raison d’être.

      Many moons ago—during a blue moon’s reign—a rift was

       cleaved between Faery and the Otherside.

      No one-man, beast, or fée—can say how or why,

       Only, the act decimated a great source of Enchantment.

      The curtain between Faery and the Otherside has become transparent;

       fée travel back and forth with ease;

       mortals, once banned from Faery after one visit, find return less difficult.

      It is a challenge to keep that which should not be in Faery out. And vice versa.

       Time wends forward, widdershins, and thus.

      Such conditions shall remain until a champion

       can restore the Enchantment complete.

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

      CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

      CHAPTER THIRTY

      PROLOGUE

      Faery—betwixt and between

      The revenant swooped down from out of nowhere. Wide gaping maws, fanged and stretched to maul, loosed a shrill cry, shaking Gossamyr de Wintershinn from her petrified stance. She stumbled backward and landed atop the blue marble floor of the circular castle tower. Eyes fixed to the danger, Gossamyr groped blindly at her side, slapping the stone, in seek of her fighting staff.

      The very flesh had been stripped from her attacker’s bones. Swathes of tattered muscle clung to the skeleton. Red glowed within the skull’s eyes, molten and dripping, as if blood. The pellicle wings, void of lustrous color, were but a ghostly mesh of flight flapping madly between the shoulder bones. It looked like a winged one—a fée—but it could not possibly be. Never before had she seen the like.

      Be this one of the relentless creatures that had been tormenting Faery for a summer of moons?

      Tattered wings siphoned the air in foul hisses. The wraithlike thing lunged. A skeletal arm slashed out. Claws cut the air—and flesh.

      Gossamyr stroked a finger across her cheek; slippery blood flowed from the cut.

      Whence came this creature? ’Twas full sun. She had been tending her own pleasures, looking over the muster of peacocks trampling the wild rose garden below that hugged the inner curtain wall. Why did it attack her?

      Shuffling backward, her hand slapped upon something—her fighting staff.

      With a hue and cry to strip the senses, the creature again struck. Gossamyr dived to the right. Gripping the applewood staff and, facing down, she kicked back and up. Her bare toes connected with bone. The creature shrieked as it spun into the crystal-white sky.

      Pushing up and landing a ready stance, Gossamyr swung the longstaff to mark her periphery—the applewood sang a battle cry—then prepared for a return attack. Keenly, she marked her surroundings for additional threat.

      Skeletal arms slashed the air. Bone fingers curled into claws as the creature rushed her. She swung hard, using the force of the staff and counterweighting her body into the defense. The end of her weapon cracked skull. Bits of the creature’s head scattered like a harvest gourd cleaved by elf-shot.

      Landing the swing, she steadied her bearing. No time to think, only react. Deft twists of her fingers spun the weapon in a hissing figure of eight as she turned to challenge the opponent. Now headless, the creature hung before her, arms spread—yet the wings flapped. Still alive. If bones could harbor life.

      “Remarkable.” Gossamyr stepped back. How to defeat the thing? “Can I kill it?”

      “Either that or be killed!” came the unbidden answer.

      The stiff barbs of a feathered cape stroked her cheek. The shing of an obsidian blade drawn from a hip sheath sliced the air. One slash of the fire-forged sabre sectioned the creature at the waist, dropping the leg bones to the tower floor in a clatter.

      “Shinn—”

      “Stand back!” Shinn swung and hacked through the rib cage of the creature. “These things don’t know how to die!”

      Frayed wings—severed from the skeletal body—furiously beat the air above Shinn, her father. The dauntless fée lifted his blade up under the left wing, cleaving it asunder, and brought the blade down through the right wing. He spun toward Gossamyr and shouted, “There!”