Tamara's Conquest

by Marissa Day

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  His smile was lopsided and filled with bitterness. “You say your grandmother told you old stories? Did she ever tell you a visitor underhill should never eat or drink anything?”

  “I think so.”

  “The rules of magic, you understand, are not like they are in those foolish Dungeons and Dragons sorts of games. They are not hit points, or energy exchange. They are the rules of diplomacy, hospitality and bargaining. That food was provided by the king. If you had eaten anything, you would have been accepting his hospitality, and you would have been in his debt, bound to him until he had chosen to release you.”

  Tamara drew in a shuddering breath. She didn’t want to believe this. Maybe she could have clung to the hope it was all impossible, except for one thing: When she looked at the window, only her reflection shimmered there. Brendan was invisible. He was telling her the absolute truth, and it was killing him to do it. His skin had turned ashen grey and she could hear the pain in his voice. He was under a curse. A magical compulsion gripped him, and he was fighting it, so that she could escape.

  So that she could run, and leave him there.

  Fear vanished. This man, her lover, was preparing to sacrifice his life to try to save hers. How could she turn away from that?

  “What do we do now?”

  Brendan’s pain-wracked eyes nearly started out of his head.

  “Tamara,” he said huskily. “If you stay here any longer, I will take you to him.”

  “I get that. What I want to know is what we do about it?”

  “Tamara . . .” His shoulders slumped. His hands skittered restlessly on the formica tabletop. “You will be made a complete slave to him. You will do whatever he says and you will not be able to resist. If he orders you to fuck yourself to death for his amusement, you will do it, and you will enjoy doing it.”

  “And when you don’t bring me back to him, what will he do to you?”

  “If I’m lucky, he will kill me quickly.”

  She forced her spine to straighten. She forced herself to look him right in the eye and not to flinch at the sight of the agony growing in him. “And then what? He just leaves me alone?”

  Brendan froze, and Tamara eyed him sardonically. “Didn’t think about that, did you, Hero? Or perhaps you were planning on telling him I had a significant blemish, or was insufficient in my passions?”

  Brendan’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Were I able to lie to the king,” he said through gritted teeth, “I would tell him you were a frigid witch with a humped back and riddled through with disease. Please, by the ancient heritage we share, let me die knowing I have saved you.”

  His words bled into her heart, setting off the last thing Tamara expected to find within her.

  Fury; cold, proud, arrogant and absolute fury. It lifted her to her feet and made her lean over the table, forgetting that no one else in the diner could see the man she was talking to.

  “My grandparents were Irish. I’m a New Yorker! We fight our own fucking battles!”

  She whirled on her heel and marched out the door. The impossibility of Brendan’s revelations, the heady sensation of childhood nightmares walking abroad in daylight drove her beyond mere recklessness. Perhaps they even made her a little crazy. That was okay. NYC was the place for crazies, for mad and defiant gestures. She stood out on the sidewalk, oblivious to the stares and soft curses she earned.

  “Oberon!” she shouted. “You candy-assed fairy! You want me? You come and get me!”

  “Very well.”

  The voice was soft, but from the power of it, everything around her went grey and quiet, as if a thick curtain had fallen between her and the rest of the world.

  Tamara turned and saw the fairy king.

  There was no mistaking who he was. He stood inhumanly tall in robes of gold and silver, and his pale skin stretched tight over his bones. For all that, he was beautiful beyond description. His silver eyes glinted as they grazed across her, and she felt her pussy begin to warm.

  “Well, Tamara Cohan?” he said softly. The sound of her name pronounced by his velvet voice went straight to her heart, making it skip a beat. “What is your will?”

  Brendan stood in the doorway of the diner, the only other bright thing in the suddenly dim world. She stared at his smoky green eyes, and her nerve rallied.

  “Leave me alone,” she said to Oberon. “Me and Brendan both.”

  “Don’t be foolish.” Oberon stepped up close to her. “Perhaps my errant knight has frightened you with some bogey story about my court. You will have no regrets coming to my house, I assure you.”

  Vision assailed her, sweeping her away. She wasn’t on the sidewalk anymore. She was in a marble salon decorated with pillars shaped like golden trees. Around her was . . . sex. Men and women, all of them gorgeous, in all phases of the act. Here, a couple fed each other strawberries, sucking on the plump fruits while they fondled each other. There, a broad, strong man dragged a giggling woman onto his lap so she could more easily stroke his gorgeous cock. And there, two of the most beautiful men she had ever seen sucked the breasts of a naked woman while she lounged between them, made helpless by pleasure. But she caught sight of Tamara, and touched the eager hand of the one on the right; the dark, intense, utterly gorgeous man. She murmured to him. He kissed her breast once, and stood. He was tall and perfect, his cock was long and so beautifully hard. He held it gently in one hand. The other hand he held out to Tamara, inviting her to come to him.

  Her own pussy swelled. She couldn’t help it. All she could think about was what it would be like to take that beautiful cock into her, to have this man pleasure her without restraint, while the others watched . . .

  “Go to him, Tamara. He is my gift to you.”

  All around her she heard the sighs and the moans. The man in front of her stroked himself as he watched her. He wanted her. He would do anything she could imagine, and then some.

  You would have been accepting his hospitality, and you would have been in his debt, bound to him until he had chosen to release you.

  The memory of Brendan’s words sliced hard through the vision and Tamara jerked back, all lust suddenly cooled. She turned, to see Oberon behind her. She expected anger, but there was only gentle sadness in his eyes.

  “Does not my gift please you, Tamara?” Oberon asked softly, and Tamara wanted to drop to her knees. She wanted to crawl in front of him. She was not worthy of this goodness, this incredible generosity. She would beg forgiveness. She must beg . . .

  A cab horn blared, cutting through even the magical swaddling around her, and shaking off the compulsion. Tamara could stand strong and breathe again.

  “If I take you up on this, do I stay free?”

  Oberon spread his hands. “You will be free to go as soon as ever you want to.”

  “But I’ll never want to, will I?”

  A spark lit in the silver eyes, and fear shivered down Tamara’s spine. “Tell me, Tamara, what can this city of smoke and stone offer you against the pleasure and immortal life that are mine to give?”

  “Freedom,” she answered without hesitation. “What I do, I do because it’s my decision. I live the life I want. I take the lover I choose.”

  The fae king arched his eyebrows and turned to Brendan who had not moved from the diner’s doorway. Able to look at him again, Tamara’s heart almost split in two. He stood straight, every inch the warrior king he claimed to be, and as he looked at her, pride shone pure and clean in his eyes.

  Fight him, Tamara, that gaze said. Fight him, my love.

  “You were right, Brendan,” Oberon drawled. “They breed them strong in this time.”

  Tamara planted her fist on her hip. “And I just bet you love that in a girl?” she sneered.

  “No, I do
not.” The power of that flat statement rooted her to the pavement. “But you will yield and I will take my pleasure in teaching you to rue your defiance. Now, what, I wonder, gives you such strength?” His eyes narrowed. Tamara felt his gaze slide into her like a knife. Pain shot through her stomach and she staggered. “No child has been there yet. Brothers and sisters safe far away and independent of her protection. Parents dead and gone. Well, then, it must be you have conceived a fancy for my errant knight.”

  Oberon snapped his fingers. The sound was like a rifle shot. Tamara could swear the teenager passing on the other side of the grey veil paused, searching for the source of the noise. “Come here, Brendan MachCaninch!”

  In a single second, all light, all soul vanished from Brendan’s eyes. Staring straight ahead, he walked to the king’s side.

  Oberon smiled sharp and terribly. “Whom do you serve?”

  “I serve King Oberon.” Brendan’s voice was harsh and flat, and absolutely final.

  “And how do you serve me?”

  “Unto death and beyond.”

  Fear at the sight of this absolute, mindless obedience turned her blood to water. Tamara stuffed her fist into her mouth to hold back her scream.

  Oberon’s smile was cruelty itself. “Look hard at him, Tamara Cohan.” Her name slipped across her skin, a smooth blade deciding where to strike. “Look at your lover. If I order him to rape you until you bleed, he will. If I order him to hold your jaw while I stuff my cock down your screaming throat, he will. He is my creature. He answers only to my will!”

  “No,” she whispered. “Brendan will not hurt me.” But her voice shook and the fae king’s smile broadened.

  “Will he not? Brendan, this creature defies me. Bring her here. Now!”

  Brendan moved forward, a golden man of legend in the grip of a creature of nightmare. He was a walking corpse, his eyes deep, blank wells, his mind swallowed whole by the fae king’s command.

  And yet, and yet . . . He struggled. He dragged each foot against the chains of enchantment that bound him. He fought each inch, each agonizing footstep. The veins and sinews of his arms stood out as he fought to keep his fists at his side.

  Around them, distant but present, New York City hummed and rumbled and roared. No one could see them. No one could help them, but New York City, her home, her family’s home, hammered at the fairy barrier. It was as if the city itself fought the enchantment, just as Brendan did.

  And all at once, Tamara knew what to do. Sunlight suffused her limbs, banishing fear.

  She walked forward to meet him. Brendan loomed over her and she tilted her face up to meet his blank gaze.

  “You will not hurt me.” Her voice did not tremble anymore. “He cannot make you. His word means nothing here.

  “My ancestors came here to escape famine, war and terror. This city took them in. It took their blood, sweat and tears, and gave them freedom. Them, and millions of others. The huddled masses came here and their children breathed their freedom into these streets. They turned and gave their hands to those who came after them. They are the city around us. They are part of my blood and yours, and we are stronger than him!” She took Brendan’s hand, his strong hand, laid it over her heart so he could feel the steady beat of human life and warmth. “You are here now, Brendan McCaninch, and you are free!”

  Brendan’s hand shook where it lay against her heart. Slowly, it rolled itself into a fist. Painfully that fist raised itself up. Tamara’s heart stopped cold, but she did not let herself move.

  In one swift motion, Brendan McCaninch swung around and drove his fist into the fairy king’s perfect face. Oberon staggered backward. Scarlet blood streamed across his white cheeks and pale lips.

  “Get away from her!” Brendan shouted. “You leave this place or I swear by Jesus, Mary and Joseph I will make your grave of these stones!”

  Tamara’s eyesight flickered, and for a moment, instead of the impossibly beautiful man, Tamara saw a short, brown creature with limbs like twigs and a fox’s pointed ears.

  “You will pay for this Brendan MachCaninch.”

  “Oh yes? Come on, then!” Brendan lifted his fists. “You’re in the country of my people now! Their blood, my blood is here. Come on, Oberon, and I’ll shed more of your blood to join theirs!”

  Pure hatred shone in his silver eyes, but Oberon did not come forward. The fae king walked back into the grey veil, and slowly, he vanished.

  The sights and sounds of New York City rolled in to embrace them. Pedestrians pushed past, yakking on cell phones. Taxi horns blared. Somebody cursed in Spanish and somebody yelled back in Vietnamese. Inside the diner, the Jersey waitress shouted at them, obviously thinking they’d tried to get out without paying.

  In the midst of all this, Brendan snatched her up and swung her around, kissing her until her breath was gone.

  “You did it!” he cried. “You beat him!”

  “We did it.” Tamara wrapped her arms around his neck. “Together.”

  He paused, still holding her six inches off the pavement. She smiled down into those ordinary, amazing eyes.

  “But how?” His brows creased. “I felt you bolstering my strength, breaking the chains, but how could you be so sure of what you said?”

  “I wasn’t,” she answered. “I mean, I hoped, but . . .” She laid both her hands on this chest. “I was relying on that thing the Irish and New Yorkers are so good at.”

  “Which is?”

  Tamara smiled her best, most wicked smile. “Plain, old-fashioned blarney.”

  Brendan laughed, long and hard and free. The waitress was in the diner doorway, dragging a cop after her, but Tamara didn’t care. She fastened her mouth over Brendan’s, kissing him deep and strong, kissing him as she meant to kiss him for the rest of her life. She felt him go hard, felt his embrace tighten around her. Oh, yes, this was love, and it was real.

  Hand in hand, they turned to confront the furious waitress and the cop, and whatever else this city, this life, might throw at them.

  On the pavement, the spilled blood of the fairy king faded away to nothing.

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  * * *

  Keep reading for a special preview of

  Fascinated

  by Marissa Day

  Available Summer 2012 from Berkley Heat

  * * *

  “Alicia, you cannot sneak away from your own engagement party.”

  Alicia Hartwell looked closely at her cousin. Verity’s brow was wrinkled and she held her mouth in a decided frown, without the crinkling around her eyes that indicated she was holding in a laugh. Her disappointment was genuine, then.

  “I’m not sneaking away,” Alicia replied levelly. “I need to go to the retiring room. Look.” She displayed the gold ribbon dangling from the end of her bronze satin sleeve.

  “You’ve been tugging on the thread for at least an hour to get that to come off. I saw you.” Verity spoke conversationally with a wave of her fan, and a slow glance around the ballroom. Alicia frowned again, running through the possible reasons for the difference between Verity’s stern tone and her casual gesture. Probably Verity did not want to attract notice, which was difficult as she was talking with one of the grand celebration’s two centers of attention.

  The other, Lord Carstairs, was currently deep in conversation with Mr. Corwin Rathe, a man said to be very high up in government circles. Her fiancé’s preoccupation was why Alicia had chosen this moment to make her escape. Judging by the intensity of the discussion, it would be a while before Lord Carstairs noticed her absence.

  “Verity, please,” Alicia’s fingers strayed to the cinnabar brooch she wore on the white velvet ribbon at her throat. It was a nervous gesture she’d never been able to break herself of. “I just need a breath of air. I’m exhausted from everyone
staring.”

  The ballroom overflowed with a glittering crowd that included most of fashionable London. It seemed that every one of them constantly glanced Alicia’s way to measure and judge. Worst of all was her family; uncles and the entire flotilla of Hartwell cousins, but especially her three oldest aunts. Aunt Eugenia patrolled the edges of the ballroom like a palace guard, ready to pounce in with a covering remark in case Alicia said something untoward or did not remember to smile at reasonable intervals. Even foolish, amiable Aunt Mary had bustled up to her several times to remind Alicia to keep circulating among her guests. Aunt Hester, of course, just sat on her chair in the corner and watched.

  “They’ll think you’re going to meet someone,” Verity remarked.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “No, of course not.” Verity’s face crinkled. In fact, they both knew Alicia having any sort of lover—secret or otherwise—was as far out of the realm of possibility as her drinking the Thames dry. “But you know how people are . . .” Verity let her words trail off, and fanned herself furiously. Few members of Alicia’s family had ever taken action to try to make things easier for her. Part of that was a consequence of being just one among a huge cohort. Part of it because no one quite knew what to do with an orphaned relative who was also utterly devoid of comprehension when it came the feelings of others. Only Verity had ever tried to understand her.

  “Don’t be too long,” said Verity at last. “If we have to invent a sick headache for you, the aunts will never let either of us hear the end of it.”

  “Thank you.” Alicia started toward the retiring room again at what she hoped was a casual pace.

  Had she been any other woman, tonight would have been Alicia’s moment of triumph. Uncle Gavin and Uncle Morris—her guardians since she was a child—had spared no expense. Verity’s older sisters had exercised every fiber of their cool minds and well-developed tastes to make sure each detail of the celebration was perfect. The ballroom had become a wonderland of light and color. Pink and gold silks hung on the walls, creating a shimmering backdrop for the profusion of scarlet roses and white orchids that filled every porcelain vase. Alicia herself had been dressed to coordinate with the decorations. Her gown of bronze, figured satin and gold ribbons had a train appliquéd with white orchids. Her hair, which was a tarnished gold color, was piled high on her head and dressed with creamy roses among the pearls and citrines. Even Aunt Hester, the oldest and sternest of her aunts seemed satisfied. Girls who had tittered at Alicia behind their fans at their coming out balls, and had swept past her on the arms of new husbands watched her with faces pinched by jealousy. And they whispered, even as Alicia walked right past them.