The man was young, possibly in his late teens or early twenties. His shoulder-length hair was too bloody to tell if it was dark blonde or light brunette. It was pulled half back with a pair of braids coming from each temple. His jaw was completely smooth, as if facial hair had never grown there, and his ears swooped into rounded points. The points weren't as pronounced as an elf from most fantasy movies would have been, but they were very noticeable. The cartilage of his left ear was pierced with a silver-colored stud, and a chain connected to a feather-shaped charm of the same metal in his lobe. The other was bare. I was positive they weren't prosthetics.

"Just say something." I piled more gauze onto the gashes. They weren't soaking through as fast, but I didn't know if that meant I was doing it right or if he had lost too much blood.

I wish he’d do something besides lie there.

"Please open your eyes. You can't die on me." My was desperate in my own ears. "I don't even know what's safe to give you."

In stories, elves rarely suffered severe wounds that resulted in their friends or travel companions having to tend them. When they did, they usually had magic to heal themselves.

We aren’t in a fantasy story, and there’s no magic to fix his injuries. This is real life. The thought did not calm me.

A strange smell teased my senses, as relief eased my panic. I had missed it outside, but when I tossed the bloody gauze aside and pressed a clean one to the top-most slash I got a strong whiff.

The light tinge of a typical, sweaty, human male was overpowered by an oddly pleasant mix of clove, sandalwood, and freshly chopped oak. It might have been a cologne, but it only seemed to come from his wounds. I lifted the bloody gauze to my nose, and it was saturated in the smell. I grabbed a clean one, sniffed it to confirm it smelled like a bandage, then touched it to his chest. When I raised it to smell again, the blood brought the scent with it.

The gauze fell from my hands. 

Giant wolves? Pointed ears? Scented blood? I snorted. It has to be a prank. This is a prank.

Except, it couldn't be a prank. Nobody knew I'd be there that late. 

"I have an elf bleeding to death in my parents' kitchen," I croaked to the empty room, my eyes frozen on my bloody gloves.

"Half… elf.” The soft, strained words were loud in the silence, and I jumped. They could have only come from one person.

He grimaced, eyes squeezed shut, as he sucked in a ragged breath and tried to lift his right hand.

"Pouch... red st-stone," he said. His throat sounded dry and swollen, and his words came out stuttered and raspy. 

"Pouch? What? Oh!" I remembered the one on his belt and untied it swiftly. The strings opened easily, and I dumped the contents into the first aid kit.

Some looked like precious gems. Others were ragged, cloudy crystals, and some were polished to a mirror sheen. Only three of them were red: one that looked like a perfectly cut rectangle ruby the size of my thumb, an ominous looking maroon crystal that had gray veins throughout, and a simple polished orb that reminded me of a red marble. 

"The orb?" I asked, heart racing. He nodded and turned his right hand over. I pressed it into his palm, and his fingers closed over it.

The man gave a groan of unmistakable pain and effort, and I watched in absolute astonishment as his open wounds began to knit themselves shut.

Like watching a time-lapse reel, first his lip rippled together. Then his gashes began to meld together like they were sutured. It was nauseating and awesome all at once.

 "Water... please," he whisper was louder that time, but the effort it took to get it out was visible in the bulged veins of his neck.

I scrambled to my feed and filled a cup from the water dispenser on the fridge. I knelt back down and reached under his head to help him take three long, slow sips before he closed his lips.

"You saved my life." His eyelids fluttered wildly but remained close. "Thank you." 

"I couldn't let you get turned into wolf chow," I whispered.

It felt a bit awkward and uncomfortable kneeling with one arm behind his heavy shoulders. I wasn't sure whether to lay him down or try to cradle his head in my lap. I chose to ease him down. I was glad I did because he went limp, and his head lolled to the left when I rested it on the floor.

His fingers fell open, and the red orb bounced to the linoleum. The sheen on its surface was gone, turning it a matte burgundy.

I caught it before it could roll under the fridge and held it up. Other than the color being darker, there was no noticeable difference. I dropped it back into the pouch, sank to my butt, and rested my head against the fridge.

"There's a half-elf on the kitchen floor and two giant wolves dead in the backyard," I choked out,

Tremors shook my body from my teeth to my heels, and I had to wrap my arms around myself when my breaths came in short, frantic pants. I hadn’t had a panic attack since my divorce, but the symptoms were unmistakable.

"Oh God, elves are real. Elves are freaking real." I cringed when my voice hit an octave I'd never thought possible without copious amounts of tequila. 

The sight of all the bloody trash on the floor made everything worse, but I forced myself to not scream. I clenched my eyes and jaw shut and squeezed my arms around my knees until my breaths slowed and my heart no longer felt like it was about to burst from my chest. When I could finally keep myself steady, I opened my eyes and gathered up the bloody gauzes. After tossing them in the trash, I staggered to my old room. With the adrenaline gone, there was no way I could lift the man- elf- person. So, I grabbed a pillow and a blanket off the bed, returned to make him a bit more comfortable, and then filled a bowl with warm, soapy water.

Using a dish rag from the drawer by the stove, I cleaned his skin of the coagulated blood. I honestly had no idea what else to do at that point. I couldn't exactly call an ambulance, not just because his injuries were gone, but because he was an elf! I contemplated calling Owen or Rob, but I didn't want them involved if more monsters were waiting outside. I was in this alone.

"Guess it's just you and me," I huffed at the man. His skin was clean, but his clothes were still a mess. He needed clean ones. He was about my dad's height, although my dad was huskier, but the clothes would fit. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a plain blue shirt from the lowest layers of my dad's drawers and set them aside on the dining table. The half-elf was still unconscious, and I still wasn't sure what to do. So, I did the only thing I could think of; I got out the mop and bucket, tossed the bloody rug from the back door and rags I washed him off with into the machine, and proceeded to mop up the blood.

As I cleaned, I contemplated what to do about the wolves. They were way too big for me to lift or roll, and the graves needed to bury them would be too deep for me to dig alone. That left me with few options. I could go get a ton of gasoline and burn them, or I could, cut them up, and then scatter them in the swampy area using my dad's ATV. I could always bury the bigger parts, like the skulls, separate. I've seen enough true crime TV to know why that is crucial. But any of the options would have to wait until morning because there was no way in hell I was going out alone in the dark again.

It had been over an hour, I realized, when the man began to stir. I tucked the mop and bucket out on the porch and hurried back to his side. I brushed his silken hair back from his face, where it had come loose between the braids. This time, his eyes opened. Even glassy and unfocused, the urgent, gray-blue color was piercing, accentuated by the long, thick, dark lashes that framed them. I wasn't attracted to him, because he looked too young for my taste. Granted, all the books I’d read said that elves could look nineteen and be five hundred, but that wasn't the point. He was too perfect, too pretty for me to do more than appreciate. 

“Hello?" I asked and touched his cheek. "You back with me?" His eyes flickered around before they focused on my face. They blew wide in surprise, and he was scrambling to sit up in a flash.

"Bella!" He cried, tumbling to the side. I caught him, but he shoved me roughly away. My elbows flashed in pain when I fell back onto them. "Bella!" He tossed the blanket aside but froze as he took in his shredded shirt and bloody pants. Those urgent gray eyes met mine again. "I need to find my sister!"

"You need to rest! You almost died!" I yelped in protest as he staggered to his feet. I followed suit. He made it three steps before he collapsed into a counter. "Half elf or not, you were almost disemboweled! Sit down! You'll be no good to your sister dead!" After all that, I was not about to have him die from over-exertion. I grabbed his arm and guided him to a chair at the table. It was oddly disconcerting to see him looking so weak. He wouldn't make it to the woods. "You've lost a ton of blood," I said. "I'm surprised you're even awake." The man didn't answer as he looked around the dining room and kitchen. His eyes were wide in his pale face as he took in the appliances around him.

"Where am I?" He asked. His voice, still hoarse, was serious and grim.

"My parents' house-" I started to say, but he cut me off.

"No, where in Aranthem am I?" The expression on his face told me he knew he wasn't in Aranthem, wherever that was. He was just making a last-ditch attempt at hope.

"I'm not sure where Aranthem is, but, buddy, you're in Thonotosassa, Florida, in the United States of America." I shrugged lightly, not quite sure what else to do or say about it. I had no idea where he was talking about, but apparently, he knew where we were.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

"I am in the human realm," he said with just a hint of uncertainty. He looked out the window, jaw tight, and fisted his hands on the table. His blank expression morphed into dismayed, resignation. "Thank you, for the assistance with the shadewolves. That was you, was it not?"

"It was," I said. I retrieved his glass of water and set it down by his hand. "You're welcome, but honestly anyone would have helped. You seriously need to rest more. Want something to eat?" It was my go-to question, born from years of training under my mom and grandmothers.

One should always offer guests food and drink, even if they are inclined to refuse. I was more than a bit out of my element, and just standing there gaping at him seemed rude.

"Yes, please! I must replenish the energy I expended. Preferably fowl or fish, and green vegetables," he murmured. The man's face was still worried, but his posture loosened. He had probably been expecting some sort of trap. Some small part of my brain wondered how the hell I was remaining so completely calm.

"Tell me, kind lady, what are you called?" he asked before he picked up the glass and took a long drink. I dug a bag of frozen bass from the freezer, turned the faucet on warm, and dropped the bag under the stream.

"Grace. I'm Grace Kemp," I replied hesitantly, "And you?"

"I am Belenus," he said. I waited for him to follow up with a title, but that was all he offered. "How long have I been unconscious?" His voice was clearer, but still weak.

I wondered if all the stories had been wrong about elves' stamina. I was also brimming with about eight million questions, but I refrained. It would be best if I kept as calm as possible.

"It's been almost two hours since I killed the wolves," I said, pulling out a pot and turning on the deep fryer. I normally preferred to fry fish in the pan, but the fryer would be quicker. I was dying to know why they had been chasing him, but I bit back the question. I dumped the beans into the pot and almost tossed some seasoning bacon in.

"Do you eat pork?" I asked. Belenus nodded, holding his head for a moment. "Good. Because I'm pretty certain if I served unseasoned vegetables, my grandmas' spirits would haunt me from the grave." It was a bad attempt at humor, but a smile tugged at his lips. 

I couldn't wait anymore. I needed to know the truth.