Kissing Heaven: A Fae Fated Mates Romance

Wilder Smith hobbled around his garden, a heavy crutch supporting him, ignoring the pain. He held a large bag of sliced fruit and another bag that held a slurry of molasses, beer, and brown sugar. Grumbling, he made his way slowly to the end of the vegetable garden, where he grew a wide variety of flowers. It was a big backyard and seemed even bigger with his problems walking.

Gone were the days of being able to stride out into his garden, tend to the only life he would ever father, and enjoy nature. A disastrous wreck involving a drunk driver not seeing him on his motorcycle left him crippled for life, but he persisted in doing everything he did before with a stubborn resolve. Squirrels, rabbits, deer, frogs, and the lovely butterflies depended on him. He wouldn’t let them down.

His dog, Rocky, toddled after him. Rocky was a gift from his mother, so he wouldn’t be lonely, and the creature was a sensitive, sweet dog. He could be bullheaded, but who in his family wasn’t? The important thing was, he had someone who was always happy to see him and cuddled up to him constantly.

Every few days, Wilder set out fruit and slurry around it in the middle of a once beautifully maintained fairy garden. He built the little homes himself and liked to imagine fairies really lived in them. His yard was always full of colorful butterflies and the vegetable garden flourished, which was a good thing, because he hated bothering his mother to go into town to shop for groceries. Wilder made do with what he had out of sheer stubbornness.

The wreck left him with a massive insurance settlement, which did him little good when he couldn’t walk normally. Wilder would have traded it all away to stand tall, walk, run, ride his motorcycle again, and stop hurting. The pain was constant, and he nursed it away with alcohol over medication. A little here, a little there. He was constantly buzzed, but able to take care of work.

The only good thing about the accident was that now he could pursue his dreams as a writer. Nobody would nag him about getting a real job or if he had finished his book yet.

Wilder was free to live as he wanted for the rest of his life, and right now, the only thing that gave his life meaning was feeding the butterflies. Stupid little bits of color, floating here and there, following him as though they knew he was bringing them a treat. He loved them so much. They brought a rare smile to his face.

The pedestals, repurposed fine china plates with beautiful decorations, Wilder set out to feed the butterflies on were cleaned earlier and the insects were already gathering around the edges, flapping their wings and floating up, then drifting to another one. There were so many butterflies.

With a heavy sigh, Wilder carefully began pouring the beer mixture onto each plate, then he put the fruit in the middle. Today there were sliced strawberries, oranges, and bananas in the mix. When he was done, he limped to a nearby iron bench to sit down and watch the butterflies swarm onto the fruit.

“Ungrateful jerks,” grumbled Wilder, watching as the butterflies that were previously floating around him left to take their part of the offering. He sighed, settling back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. A gentle breeze rustled the nearby trees and the sound of the small waterfall he built for the more amphibious life and dragonflies rose above the silence. Rocky laid down at his feet, resting his head over one shoe with a sigh.

The sky was clear, without a cloud in sight. It would be a good day, and in a few minutes, Wilder would gather himself up and hobble back to the house. He would pick up the notebook he was writing in and get started on a story he had in mind, inspired by the butterflies and the creatures in his garden. Some sort of nice little short story about fairies and sprites.

Wilder blinked as a butterfly’s wings filled his view. He couldn’t identify the species, but the wings were a brilliant shade of blue that shimmered to purple as the light hit them. It wasn’t a butterfly. Gasping, Wilder laid completely still, his eyes narrowing on the form standing on his nose.

The butterfly looked like a tiny human about five inches tall. She wore a dusky pink tunic, black leggings, and had a sword strapped around her waist. Her long auburn hair was wild, eyes gleaming amber, and he could see the dark makeup on her face and tips of her pointed ears. She was making faces at him, seemingly annoyed that he wasn’t paying attention to her.

“I’ve had too much to drink, little butterfly,” groaned Wilder, remaining completely still, staring at her. This was the most fascinating hallucination, and he wanted to fix her form in his mind for his story.

She kicked him on the nose.

“Ouch!” Wilder wrinkled his nose. “Don’t do that.” This hallucination was affecting all his senses. The fairy heaved her shoulders and hopped off his nose, heading to the side of his head. He turned his head to follow her, and she glared at him, motioning for him to stop moving. She flew to the other side, and he felt her feet touch down near his ear.

“I am not a butterfly.” Wilder blinked as the barely perceptible voice sounded in his ear. She was yelling, her voice higher pitched than it should have been. “My name is Tiana and we have a problem that we need your help with.”

“A problem? What can I do for a fairy?” Wilder grumbled, remaining still and listening.

“You’re a human. You can stop them from destroying my home, our home.” The fairy continued speaking slowly.

“Oh,” sighed Wilder, closing his eyes. “You’re afraid of the building that’s going on nearby?”

“Yes. They’ve already destroyed several colonies and everyone is evacuating here, because you’re kind enough to feed them.” Tiana continued. “My realm is not far from here. My people are afraid of your machines.”

“They aren’t my machines,” snorted Wilder. “I own all the land that surrounds this house. There are red ribbons on the trees on my border. If your realm is inside the red ribbons, you are safe. I promise, Tiana.”

“It is,” the fairy stated. “Why are you so kind?”

“I’m not.” Wilder grumbled. “I’ve done awful, stupid things in my life and I’m paying for it now. The universe has a way of giving you back what you put into it. You reap what you sow and I’ve sown a lot of idiocy.”

“But you think about things that are so far beneath you.” Tiana continued. Wilder closed his eyes, smiling slightly at the beautiful, firm voice. “Why?”

“Butterflies are beautiful, God’s handiwork, and I figure I can help out a little here and there.” He mumbled, feeling sleepy. “They’re free, without worries, and I am the king of my garden, where I provide and care for all of my subjects. They don’t have to worry about anything, because I care about them that much.” Wilder chuckled, “I am the Wilder Smith. Fitting title for an idiot like me. That’s even my name, Wilder Smith.” He sighed and let sleep overtake him, still thinking he was drunk.

Tiana frowned, looking at the human sadly. She folded her arms and pondered something. The human fairy dog looked up at her and winked. She smiled back and floated into the air, heading off into the trees.

Wilder fell asleep in his favorite recliner in the den, one of his mother’s colorful quilts draped over his legs. It was too much trouble to get to his bedroom, and the recliner was where he slept most of the time, anyway. A pile of notebooks sat on the nearby side table next to a half empty bottle of bourbon and an empty glass.

After the incident with the hallucination in the fairy garden, Wilder tried not to drink anything, but the pains in his legs, hips, and back became overwhelming. One glass became two, then a third to get a good night’s sleep.

“Crap! Why am I naked?” A female voice shrieked from Wilder’s kitchen, making him jump. He blinked up at the darkness, gathering his bearings. It was just a dream. A very weird dream. He sighed and closed his eyes, hearing Rocky’s nails on the kitchen tile.

Wilder’s eyes popped open again at the sound of more swearing and creaking coming from the kitchen. Someone was in his house? He reached for his crutch, scowling. C