“She won’t be at the meet for much longer, sister.” Vanora’s eyes darted from her sister’s to the darkened window.
“Hmm? Oh yes. You’re right. Yes, send someone after her. But, only after she’s left the meet and our protection. Don’t want any loose ends now, do we?”
Vanora pulled out a cell phone and punched a button, her gentle aging face marred by a small, sly smile.
Chapter Eighteen
Logan slipped past the edge of the parking lot, easily skirting the sentries shirking their duties at the corner of the entrance. He hit the open space, and his muscles relaxed into long even strides as he took his first easy breath of the night, dropped the rigid aura shield, and became only a shadow under the setting moon.
He sensed, long before arriving at the rendezvous point, that Trina wasn’t there and his frayed nerves tightened. As he backtracked, he fretted over what could have gone wrong. She should have arrived long before him. She’d only had one person to contact. He never should have let her talk him into the plan. It was asinine to be so beguiled by a woman that he’d ignore his instincts.
At the edge of the open space he lifted his head, scenting the night like one of his hounds. There! A whiff of her essence, masked by fading glamour and camp smoke, but it was Trina, talking to one of the sentries. He crept closer to eavesdrop.
“I know where I’m going. Don’t worry about me.” The nervous, high-pitched voice and girlish giggle had him reaching for his sword, magically tucked deep into a pocket. He forced himself to stillness.
Despite the stress in her voice, she wasn’t in any danger. If that changed he could instantly charge forward and kill the boy with his bare hands.
“No, I’m not going to tell you who I’m meeting. It’s none of your business.” Trina moved farther out of the cluster of trailers, giving him a better view of her and the young sentry.
She circled back, attempting to circumvent the boy, but he glanced over at his cronies a few yards away at the fire and grabbed her arm.
“It’s my job to know where you’re going and who you’re meeting. Now tell me, before I have to take you in.”
Fire rolled through Logan’s veins. Instinct hammered at him to kill the man who pawed his woman. Logic made him stay put. One more minute—he’d give her one more minute. Then he’d intervene. It would be better if they left tonight without shedding any blood.
Trina threw off the boy’s hand, turning on him with flashing eyes. “You’d better not leave your post just to chase me. Mariella will have your head.”
Thirty seconds, that was all he could give her before he let his anger slip and took the threat out. He’d begun to move, when the young man let her go.
“Fucking bitch. See if I care if you get hurt.” The boy jerked his head and headed back to his friends drinking by the fire. He didn’t even turn to watch as she made her way alone into the dark.
Logan melted back, following Trina until he was sure they were out of the sentry’s view before he emerged from the shadows.
Trina jumped. “Logan!”
His fear and bloodlust coalesced into anger. “You should never have come, he almost wouldn’t let you leave.” He kept his hands locked at his side, when all he wanted to do was grab her and shake her until she begged for mercy. “Your glamour’s fading. Where have you been? You were supposed to be out of there an hour ago!”
As the glamour dissipated, Trina’s stunned features had a soft haziness. She blinked up at him, her eyes widening, and he kicked himself for his lack of self-discipline. It wasn’t her fault he was acting like a jealous fool.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Unclenched his hands one finger at a time.
“I’m sorry. I’m tense from moving among so many people. I haven’t been in a social situation like that for a long time.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “It’s okay.” She slipped her small, warm hand into his. “It was super stressful in there. I wasn’t really prepared, either.”
A rush of relief coursed through him, expanding the air in his chest.
He returned her smile and took her hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Damn. He had no shame. He didn’t even care that she unmanned him with a single look, stealing his fire and anger and replacing it with the puppyish need to please.
He kept a tight hold on Trina’s hand, and moved in front, to keep her from being slapped by branches as they moved deeper into the open space. He kept turning his head back to see her face light up with the joy of starting down a path that might lead to her family’s salvation.
“Wait until you hear what I found out. I can’t believe I’m finally going to figure this thing out.”
He was distracted, listening to her and ensuring she could find the trail in the dark, when behind them, he heard the snap of a branch breaking.
“What was that?” Trina paused and cocked her head.
“Just keep moving.” He tugged her along and opened his tracking Gift, sifting through the woods around them. When he realized what was behind them, his blood froze.
Shit! Where were the hounds when he needed them? Why hadn’t he brought at least one? Or the insolent puca?
He pulled Trina to a stop and held a finger to her lips to forestall the words about to tumble out.
“Shh,” he whispered.
Her body next to him strained, listening, trying to pick up what he could hear so clearly—the sound of something large crushing the brush to their right. Two somethings large. He leaned close to her ear and spoke in a quiet voice. “When I tell you, run for the entrance to the pipe.”
She started to talk, but he put a finger on her lips. “Shh. When I tell you, just go. Don’t look back. Don’t wait for me. Rinnal’s stone will open the tunnel for you.” He gripped her arm and held her gaze, putting a thin thread of command into the order.
“Run.”
In the dark, her eyes glazed over as she struggled with his power.
“But...”
“No time. Run!” He gave her a push with one hand, reaching with the other for his sword and scabbard as he put even more power behind the command.
She stumbled, tripped, then picked herself up, racing through the dark brush. But it was too late. She would never make it as far as the tunnel.
He cast his senses out and chose the animal on the right, the one closest to Trina. He threw a quick prayer to the goddess that the other one would be slow, then turned, drew his sword, and confronted the enemy.
Chapter Nineteen
Five feet at the shoulder, it was one of the largest wild boars Logan had ever seen, and not one that should exist here in the human’s world. Someone must have brought the animals through a portal, because boars of this size only existed Underhill. Someone was out for blood.
He jumped in front of it, facing it head on, sword at the ready. His tension over Trina transferring into something he knew how to deal with, something that came as natural to him as breathing— the hunt.
The beast slowed, giving him a good look at its maddened red eyes, slavering sharp tusks, and a good whiff of its stench. He had time enough to wish again for the hounds. They would have relished the opportunity to take down one of the beasts.
And then any time for wishing was over—the boar charged.
Logan crouched, slashing at the creature’s throat. The edge of the blade slid on the thick skin, barely scratching the surface and skittering off the side with a whine. He whipped around as the boar rotated on its haunches, eyes rolling, and backed up for another charge.
Even with the trampled brush, there wasn’t much room to swing a long sword on the stony slope. Logan ducked one branch, scratching his face on another. Here under the trees, the boar, with his tough skin and small eyes, had the advantage. Luckily, Singer was a magical blade, one of the few items he’d kept from his son-of-a-bitch father.
He’d barely thought the request before Singer remade itself into a short-sword designed for close quarters, sharp thrusts—a
nd boars. The beast squealed, lowering its head and charging. Hot, damp breath hit his face and he squatted down, bracing for impact. He could see the individual pores on the boar’s skin, count the bristles on its muzzle. As the boar reached him, he shoved Singer up. The point pierced the tough hide of the boar’s throat, the thrust slowing as the magical blade slid deep into the resistant flesh of the gullet.
Blood spurted into Logan’s face and the continued charge of the boar brought the beast up and over him, pushing him to the ground. Hanging on with all of his strength to Singer’s blood soaked hilt, Logan rolled out from under the sharp, pounding hooves, pulled his weapon out, landing hard on a sharp stone.
He got to his feet, spitting out the metallic taste of blood. Savoring the rush of life energy from his prey, he rolled his neck and got ready for the killing stroke.
The boar lowered its head. Its injured lungs wheezed frothy, gurgling breaths of blood and air as it pawed the ground. It wavered, raised its head and, oblivious to its imminent death, it charged again.
Logan weaved out of its way as the boar’s impetus carried it past. The cloven hooves churned up the dry grass in chunks, spraying Logan with dirt and debris. It slowed and turned, huffing blood-spraying last breaths. Logan raised his sword for the death blow, bringing the sword down just as Trina’s scream rang out into the night.
He missed, his blade bouncing off the shoulder, barely nicking the tough hide.
“Fuck!”
The boar charged, gushing blood and screaming its rage. Adrenaline singing in his veins, Logan leapt over the beast’s wide back, his movement carrying him past it and into the dark woods. Leaving the mortally wounded boar to die, he raced towards Trina.
Thick pine branches slapped him in the face and arms as he ran, tearing his clothes and slashing his skin. He burst into a clearing lit by the last of the night’s moon. Trina hung from the branches of a tree, desperation in every line of her body as each slam of the boar on the trunk loosened her grip. Bark and saliva flying, the grunting beast tore into the tree, its six-inch razor-sharp tusks skimming the bottom of Trina’s high heeled boots.
“Hey! Over here!” Logan waved his sword, but the beast ignored him and backed up for another lunge, intent on taking Trina and the tree down.
The boar’s muscles bunched. It pushed off, hooves churning, dirt flying. Logan threw himself between the beast and the tree, but it kept coming. He braced his back against the trunk, gripping Singer in both hands. The ground shook with each pounding of the boar’s charging hooves. Logan pushed the point of the sword into one maddened red eye, piercing first the eyeball with a soft gush, as the boar’s charge carried it forward. Its tusk dug deep into his shoulder and his sword arm went numb, his blade sinking deep into the resistance of the brain.
The boar screamed, spittle and snot spraying into Logan’s face and chest. It wavered on its feet and fell to the ground, its skin twitching. Logan pulled his sword out, getting drenched in a stinking flood of blood and brains.
And the other boar stumbled into the clearing.
Blinking through the fluid, Logan crouched, and wiped his face on his sleeve. The wounded boar slowed, bubbles of blood and air oozed from its mouth as it focused maddened eyes on its target—Logan.
He yelled, raising Singer and bringing the sword slashing down, cleaving the boar’s skull.
The animal shuddered and took one slow step, then another, before falling on its side. It sucked in one last, loud labored gasp of air and, as the life drained out of its beady eyes, energy flowed into Logan.
“Blessed Goddess,” he gasped, “take the sacrifice of these creatures’ lives. And thanks for a successful hunt.”
“Damn. I can’t believe how big they grow pigs in Denver,” Trina’s whisper was hoarse.
Logan closed his eyes and extended his senses as far as he could into the woods around them. Straining his Gift to the limit he tried to sense anyone or anything else. There was a faint energy buzz, as if someone nearby was cloaked in power.
And then it was gone.
DAWN WAS ABOUT TO MAKE its way into the clearing by the time Trina trudged after Logan into the cottage. She was worn out. The earlier fight with Logan, the tension of meeting with Mariella, the encounter with nightmare hogs chasing her up a tree. But most of all, she was tired from jumping at every dark shadow on the long walk home.
She was ready for food and bed. Or maybe skip the food and just fall completely dressed into her bed. As soon as she entered, she stopped short. The tin tub sat in the center of the cottage where she’d left it, but it had doubled in size and become a steaming bubble bath for two.
“No way.” She eyed the cottage’s latest attempt to push her into Logan’s bed and sank down into a chair, tugging off a boot. She pressed her fingers into the sole of her foot. “Mmm.”
Logan arched a brow.
“What? I’m exhausted.”
“Perhaps the bath would help?”
She ignored him and continued her impromptu foot massage. He was the one who needed a bath, that’s for sure. His once pristine white shirt was drenched in blood and it was a good thing he’d made his hair short for the meet, or that too would have been matted and soaked in gore.
“No?” He shook his head at her and lowered a solid wood beam into the cast iron brackets on either side of the door.
Trina’s shoulders relaxed at the heavy thunk. For the first time, she was thankful for the hedge of thorny brambles surrounding them. If she’d had trouble getting out, other things would have trouble getting in.
Logan circled the room, coating each shuttered and barred opening in the blue glow of his magic. Windows, doors, it was all made safe. Nothing would catch them unaware today.
“I’m wiped. You must be, too.” She tugged off her other boot and wiggled her bare-feet, eyeing the steaming water in the tub. Maybe she should get in. But that meant getting naked in front of him again and she had an idea where that would lead.
“Ready to clean up and get some sleep, no doubt.” He placed his sword on the small table within easy reach of the tub.
He stood in front of her. She ignored him, staring down instead at his black boots toe to toe with her bare feet. When she didn’t look up he reached out and took her chin in a gentle grip, tilting it until she had no choice.
“Trina.” Lantern light shone softly through the rips and tears in his bloody shirt, glinting off his muscular chest and arms. He was her enemy. Fae. A warrior covered in blood and gore, but tonight, he’d done what he said he would. Kept her safe. And despite her better judgment, she was beginning to trust him.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry.
“I’m a man with few boundaries. I can go outside while you bathe and let you go up to the loft to sleep alone. Or...” His eyes glowed with that bright blue light, and she trembled.
“Or?”
She knew what he wanted. She could blame his fae magnetism, but she knew better. She’d regret it later but she wanted him now with a fierce melting desire that weakened her resolve. He’d helped her, defended her, proven himself to be more than she’d thought, and she was going to let herself have him one more time. It was inevitable.
“Or I can stay.”
She stroked a flake of dried blood off his cheek. “Stay.”
He dropped her chin, raised her from the chair, and turned her around. He untied the bindings of her bustier, loosening one tight cross of laces at a time. Her freed breasts shifted under the fabric and leather, and her breath eased out in relief as both corset and dress dropped to the floor.
She reached for a towel, but he gripped her wrist and held her still. “Let me look at you.”
A deep heat flushed her skin and she moved to cover her breasts.
“Nay, lass.” He held firm as she tugged away. “Don’t deny me now. I’ve been thinking about peeking under your bodice all night.”
Wrestling with a mixture of pleasure, arousal, and insecurity she dropped her eyes and yielded
.
He traced his finger along the curve of her breastbone and down the fullness of her cleavage. “You’re lovely, Trina. You should be proud of your body.” He released her and tugged his shirt off of his torso, hissing as the fabric pulled away from his skin.
“You’re hurt. For Goddess’s sake, I thought this was all the animals’ blood, not yours.” She stripped off the remainder of the torn, bloodstained shirt.
“Ouch!”
“Let me see.” She brought over a lantern so she could see better A deep red gash thick with congealed blood ran over his shoulder and down his left bicep.
“Just a scratch.” He flexed and winced, grinning at her frown. “Not enough to keep me from pleasuring every inch of you.” He scanned her again and her nipples tightened. His voice dropped low. “Not nearly enough.”
He stripped off his pants and she took the opportunity to examine him with fresh eyes. Long and lean, she realized he was all muscle. He had a strength she hadn’t fully appreciated until she’d watched him tear into the creatures. With a wound like this, a human man would be in the hospital, but Logan was ready for more.
As was she.
“Come on, let’s clean you up before you get into the bath. I don’t want you messing up all that lovely clean water.” She led him to a low towel-draped stool and dipped a cloth into a bucket of hot water and ran it over his injury.
He flinched. “Ouch, lass, be careful.”
“You need healing. I wish Bryanna was here, she’d make sure it didn’t get infected.” Her cousin had strong healing magic that Trina had always envied.
His reached out and gripped her wrist. “I’m glad I have you, and not Bryanna.” His eyes glowed. “My green witch.”
Heat washed through her. She was his—for now.
She ran the cloth over his hair, rinsing it off in the bucket until all the blood was gone from each silky strand and the water was once again magically clean. Dipping her cloth into the water, she soaped his face, sliding silky, white lather over each small wound and bruise.
Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 16