The Goodnight Kiss

by Gwen Rivers

  “So, go ahead and ask your questions. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

  “Why now when you weren’t willing to say much yesterday?”

  He props himself on the edge of my desk, hands braced on either side. “Because someone is looking for you. That means you aren’t hidden anymore.”

  I think back to my almost abduction. “Those…creatures that you killed. Were they part of the Wild Hunt?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Nor are they part of the Unseelie Court. A different faction altogether.” His eyebrows draw down as though trying to puzzle something out. “I still don’t know how they found out who you are.”

  “Who do you think I am?” This strikes me as the most important question to ask. He knows my secret and isn’t afraid to be alone with me in my territory. I need to know what he wants and what I can do to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

  Instead of answering, he picks up my cell phone and begins typing. He doesn’t ask for a password, shouldn’t have been able to use the thing because it was locked with my fingerprint, but when he hands it over to me, I see he’s opened a webpage. I glance from it to him and back again before reading aloud.

  “Nicneven, Queen of the Unseelie Court and leader of the Wild Hunt.” My voice doesn’t shake, it is flat and devoid of all emotion. He’s insane. I have a wolf shifting, fire wielding madman in my bedroom, wearing my aunt’s pants. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Aiden returns to the bed, stretches out with his arms behind his head. “Most of what you’ll find online is misinformation, but occasionally the humans stumble over a kernel of truth. For instance, some also believe you to be a witch goddess of some kind.”

  “But that’s not the case?” One eyebrow quirks up in challenge.

  He shakes his head. “Witches have to generate magic with spells and potions. The fey magic comes from the elements.”

  “You’re saying I’m one of the fey? A fairy queen? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know the particulars.”

  “How convenient.” I stare at the photo at the top of the article. It’s of a dark-haired woman with green skin seated haughtily upon a throne of bones. Her expression is cruel and cunning. “I look nothing like this.”

  He shrugs. “You could if you wanted to.”

  I blink. “Come again?”

  “If you used glamour.” He answers my question with one of his own. “What powers have manifested so far?”

  “Powers?” I shake my head.

  He sits up, those muscles in his abdomen contracting with the movement. I note his wound from the night before is barely visible. Does he possess rapid healing abilities, too? “As a Queen of the Unseelie, you can use any of your subject’s powers whenever you chose.”

  “You mean I can do more than just the tree thing?”

  Aiden nods. “That gift is from the dryads. If you chose you could breathe underwater like a water horse, shriek like the banshees, shrink in size like the pixies.”

  “Aren’t pixies good fairies? I’d think they’d belong to the Seelie court.”

  “The fey courts aren’t divided into good and evil subspecies. Mortals are notorious for prejudice against all they fear and that’s their classification. It makes it easier for them to deal with the world in terms of good vs evil. Gnomes are not all kindly little garden dwellers any more than satyrs are lust-filled beasts, though there are certainly some that fit the mold. In fact, I know a century-old satyr who is still a virgin. Everybody’s different.” His answers are smooth. He believes what he’s telling me.

  I try to come up with a question to stump him, to see how deep his delusion goes. “Where’s the dividing line then? What’s the actual difference between Seelie and Unseelie?”

  “It’s more of a location-based boundary, different realms where they ended up and established the courts. Of course, over the centuries other cultural differences cropped up. Seelie fey tend to live alongside humans whereas Unseelie fey want to be left the hell alone. And they sometimes eat those that don’t abide by their wishes.”

  “And how can I be queen of these…more hostile fairies when I don’t even know they exist. It’s not like I ran for office.”

  “Yours is an inherited title, one of four. Each of you controls one of the four elements. Yours is air because that’s how the Wild Hunt travels, on the gusts of the north wind. Brigit is the other Queen of the Unseelie. Mistress of the Mantel. Her element is fire. She reigns half the year, from the first day of spring through Samhain. You tire more easily once spring arrives, right?”

  I suck in a breath. “How do you know that?”

  He gives me a small smile. “I remember it’s not your season. A sizable portion of your magic shifts to her. You are weakest at midsummer, strongest at midwinter. The opposite is true for Brigit. Right now, you are officially off duty until Samhain though you still retain your innate powers and can still tap into those from your subjects.”

  “And the Seelie Courts? Earth and Water?”

  “Soladin, Brigit’s Seelie counterpart is the Lord of the Land. He’s one of the god Pan’s bastard sons. He’s relatively new to the title, having inherited it from one of his older brothers. We don’t hear much from his court. If he’s anything like his dad he’s far too busy plowing every field that comes along. Wardon co-rules at the same time you do. He’s Master of the Waves. Too bad he never manages to master his own arrogance.”

  His story, the way it blends seamlessly with the bits and pieces I know of my history…can he be right? “But I’m only sixteen. I’ve never ruled, never even seen a fey.”

  “Not in this life,” he agrees.

  I huff out a breath. “Aren’t fairies immortal?”

  “Forever young,” he corrects. “Doesn’t mean they can’t die. Or be killed.” Something in his voice grows quiet, his gaze loses focus.

  Just when I think his story can’t get any stranger. “You’re talking about me. Saying that what, I’ve been reincarnated?”

  “It’s…complicated.” He stifles a yawn, the fatigue evident in every line of his skin. “I need to crash. May I sleep here tonight?”

  Disappointment fills me. He’s just revealed a few pieces of a puzzle, but not nearly enough to see how they fit together or to give me a clear picture. But he does look ready to pass out. “The Hunt won’t find you here?”

  He shakes his head. “The Fates have a protection ward in place around the property. It’s like a secret room no one from Underhill can detect. You’re officially off the fey grid.”

  Something else they’ve never bothered to tell me. “Just answer one more question. Do my aunts…the Fates…know what I am?”

  He hesitates. “When you were born, they were charged with protecting and raising you, so yes, they know.”

  And they never told me. I turn away, unable to bear his gaze. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

  “Don’t bother.” Aiden heads for the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack. A moment later the sweats are tossed out and land in a heap. Another heartbeat and the large black wolf pads into the room launches himself up, turns around twice at the foot of the bed and then lies down with a groan, taking up more than half the mattress.

  “I meant you could sleep on the floor.” I grouse.

  His eyes close, a sure signal that he won’t budge anytime soon.

  “At least move to one side.” I shove him with negligible effect and then give up and head for the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  When I return, I see he’s repositioned himself, sprawling long ways across the left side, using two-thirds of mattress real estate. All I can think is I’m glad my bed is a queen.

  Just like me, apparently.

  I pick up the sweats, drape them over the chair, then shut off the light. Maybe I should have some sort of apprehension about climbing into bed with a full-grown wolf. He might be nuts, but he appears harmless, his big furry chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Besides, if he wants to tear m
y throat out he could do so at any time.

  I slip beneath the covers, sure all I’ve learned will spin around in my mind and keep me up all night. But fatigue and mental overload demand their due and I drift off as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  I wake to find myself in another bed, a larger bed, with Aiden’s body pressed against mine. Not Aiden the wolf though. Aiden the man has his arms wrapped around me in a very familiar way. One tucked under the curve of my waist with his big warm palm pressed into my midsection, the other draped protectively over me as though physically shielding my body with his own. His front is pressed tightly against my back, his face is buried in my hair, his breathing deep and even.

  We are both skyclad, covered only with soft furs.

  Sunlight filters through gauzy curtains that look like cobwebs. The windows beyond are thrown open to allow the spring breeze in. From my position, I see a body of water, possibly a lake, the surface sparkling like diamonds in the sun. Beyond great green rolling hills stretch to the horizon. The room smells warm and sweet like honeysuckle and fresh grass, rich earth. And Aiden. The morning is ripe with possibility.

  I turn my head and look at him, a smile on my lips. My handsome consort. To think, I used to dread the coming of spring and all it meant. Now I long for it, for the time of year when I can just be. Be with him. Be me with no other worries or courtly drama plaguing me.

  His eyes open, that vivid green just as breathtaking as it had been the first time I saw it, centuries ago. “My queen. What is thy bidding?”

  “None of that, not today.” I slap playfully at him. “I just want to enjoy us.”

  His perfect lips curve up in a grin. “As her highness commands.”

  Without warning he dives beneath the covers, his hands tickling my exposed flesh. I shriek and swat at him, laughing with my playful lover until I am breathless. Only then do the light touches deepen into familiar caresses. My gasps for breath morph into groans of pleasure as he kisses his way down my stomach to…

  I sit bolt upright in an entirely different bed, the familiar room still dark, a cry on my lips.

  Beside me Aiden—still a wolf—lifts his head and tilts it to one side as though asking me what’s wrong.

  “Nothing,” I shake my head to clear the image from my mind. Of him as a man. As my lover, my consort. It felt so real. “It’s just a dream.”

  I say the words to convince myself as much as to convince him. Just a dream. Brought on by his vivid imagination and my meandering thoughts about sex. If I’m not careful, he will suck me completely into his fantasy world.

  Aiden stares at me a moment as though challenging my claim that everything’s all right. His scrutiny along with the imagined intimacy makes me squirm.

  “Go back to sleep,” I snap.

  With a groan, he lowers his head and shuts his eyes. After a moment I force myself to do the same.

  This time I know it’s a dream from the beginning because I’m looking in the mirror. The face isn’t mine but it’s not the green-skinned woman either. My hair is longer, so long I could sit on it if I chose. A woman—fairy judging by the gossamer wings—stands behind me a hairbrush in one hand, weaving it into two corn silk plaits, one over each ear.

  “You’re with the Hunt tonight, my queen?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “What time shall I tell your nobles to arrive?”

  I glare at her reflection in the mirror. “When I damn well please. Now leave me.”

  She fastens the second braid, falls into a hasty curtsy while murmuring, “As her majesty wishes.”

  I sit straight, waiting for her to exit my chamber. The part of me that is still Nic notes the click of her heels on the stone floor, feels the warmth of the overlarge fireplace roaring with a blazing inferno, the sounds of merrymaking from somewhere not too far off. The scents are dark and rich, familiar and foreign.

  My eyes—icy blue still though somehow different—go to my reflection, studying the perfect features without pleasure. Everything is sharper, from the jut of my chin to the point of my ears. I’ve never given much thought to blemishes, but my skin is as smooth as a porcelain dish, as though it’s never known a pimple. The small hairs on the back of my neck lift and I whip my gaze towards the crackling in the hearth. My pulse quickens, and I can’t shake the feeling that something momentous is about to happen…

  The scene shifts. I am on horseback, my knees guiding my steed through the autumn night. Fall wind fills my lungs, harvest scents in my nose. My mount’s hooves don’t touch the ground but glide on currents of air. Behind me, the Wild Hunt surges forward, my trusted commanders flanking me on either side, whooping and shouting out warnings to the mortals below. Our prey is across the Veil, the villain whose time has come. He is a predator that preys on the weak of his own species. Young boys have disappeared from the village and the elders have left out offerings for the fair folk, asking for protection.

  They will get vengeance instead.

  I raise my sword and slice, creating an opening in a fabric that cannot be seen with the naked eye, then ride through.

  Distance is no obstacle for us, we can cross leagues in half a heartbeat, oceans in a few strides. We will capture and consume his polluted soul. Justice will be done.

  I live for these moments. When I can play with moonlight and stalk with shadows. Not the posturing of court, certainly not receiving the Unseelie nobles as my sister does. Brigit enjoys taking males betwixt her legs. Whether they are fucking her for her status, for her favors, or for the chance to be named her new consort and have the rank and power that title carries. I have never selected a consort, only accept the males during my fertile time for the sake of procreation, as duty demands. I crave only my trusted warriors at my back, the wind tugging at my hair and the music of the night in my ears.

  It’s a shame I’ll have to go back, to accept them into myself for the entirety of the day. I spotted them on my way to the stables, lining up outside that antechamber where I will have to receive them each in turn.

  “My queen,” it is Freda, my second in command. “Is aught amiss?”

  “I am right where I wish to be,” I tell her honestly. Then, curling my fingers in my mount’s mane I surge ahead, preparing to bring the Hunt down to a field near our prey’s homestead.

  Silent as phantoms, the Hunt slows to a stop. No candlelight burns within the small hut but there is light coming from the barn. Our well-trained hounds pause alongside the horse, their growls fading to stillness.

  “Shall we go in for him?” Nahini, the newest member of our ranks, whispers.

  We could ride through the walls, completely unseen and snatch the prey up. But this night I want to take my time, to enjoy claiming the soul of the damned. I shake my head and dismount. “I will fetch him.”

  “My queen?” Freda arches one blond eyebrow.

  I hold up a hand to forestall her inquiry. Her mount whickers low and shifts as though picking up on his rider’s agitation, but she wisely holds her tongue. I stalk forward, eager to find the villain and end him once and for all.

  The man is passed out in a pile of hay, an empty bottle that smells strongly of spirits discarded at his feet. He won’t even be a challenge.

  I reach for him, ready to seize him by his throat when I hear a noise from a darkened corner. It sounds like a moan of pain.

  Frowning, I leave the drunkard and head toward the dark. A boy is tied there, a collar around his throat. No, not a boy, a man, though a young one. He is half-starved with all his ribs visible, arms and legs looking like sticks. He is dirty and bloody from head to toe and from the looks of things, he’s been horribly beaten.

  I should leave him here, take what I came for and ride off. Even as I think it, he makes that noise again, not an exclamation of pain, but of heartbreak. A soul wound. My own recognizes it as the sound it makes every month during my fertile time. Weariness of spirit, a pain from within, that cannot be so easily assessed. The sound of one that’s been forced
to endure unwanted sexual desire. The sound of a rape victim.

  My lip curls in revulsion, not at him, but at what has been done to him.

  One eyelid cracks open, a bright green iris barely visible between eyelashes crusted with blood. “Kill me, please.”

  I’ve heard that request before, from countless victims that would rather die than endure the agony of life. I usually grant their wish, smirking all the while knowing that death isn’t a reprieve. But this young man isn’t mine to dispatch. I try to read him, come up empty. He’s not a mortal, but somehow, he’s been captured and used by one. How?

  “Please,” his voice is soft as he begs. “Have mercy on me.”

  Pain radiates off him in waves, his eyes dull with it.

  “Why do you wish to die?” I ask.

  “Because,” he coughs, blood spattering the dirt by my boots. “I don’t deserve to live.”

  He might die anyway. Before I think better of it, I unsheathe my sword, the silvery blade singing as it comes to life, glowing with a purple light. Seelenverkäufer, the soul reaper, is the blade of the Unseelie, of the Hunt. My weapon, tied to my life force and those collected with it. It is said to contain a fraction of spirit from all those it has felled in battle. His eyes remain open and fix on the blade, on me, as though wishing to see death coming. A warrior’s heart lurks in that sunken chest.

  Before I can think better of it I raise the blade and swing down with all the force I can muster, the razor’s edge singing a mournful dirge as it cuts through the air to its target.

  Chapter 8

  Second Chances

  One thought wakes me from my fitful dreams. It forces my eyes open as adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream.

  Somehow, I’d been brought back from the dead.

  And if I was resurrected, Sarah could be as well.

  It’s also the best way to test if Aiden is telling the truth. I have no doubt that he’s some sort of supernatural creature. I’ve witnessed the displays of his power. It doesn’t mean he’s telling me the truth about myself though. That I’m a queen of the fey and I died and was brought back. The best test I can think of is to see if the same can be done for Sarah.