by Rosalie Redd
“I, uh…” As if in some bizarre dream, sights, sounds, and smells all intensified, including Zain’s heady masculine scent. Why didn’t she notice the bitter, metallic scent most fae exuded? Maybe he used more cologne than the others. A strange laugh threatened to bubble over, and she clamped her jaw tight to keep it in. She flicked her attention to a rock in the middle of the corridor. Water sluiced over the pebble, leaving a tiny current in its wake.
“Wynne. Have you read any of the manual?”
Heat flushed along Wynne’s ears, rousing her to her senses. She’d always prided herself on her ability to handle any situation. Finding out she had a fae for a father, though, sure topped the list. Anyone would struggle with that bit of news.
She called on the internal strength she’d honed over a lifetime of responsibilities and disappointments, raised her chin, and focused on Zain. “Some. It’s only been a few hours.”
A sly smile tugged at his lip, revealing his chipped front tooth. The imperfection contrasted with his handsome features and made him seem more real. He wasn’t just the enemy, but a man with a past all his own.
“How did you chip your tooth?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He blinked and raised a dark eyebrow. A hint of amusement chased away the surprise in his eyes. “Hazards of my job. I was a prizefighter in my human life.”
Wynne’s gaze drifted from Zain’s broad shoulders, over his biceps bulging beneath his jacket, and down to his lean, thick hands. As she imagined him pummeling his fists into another man’s face, her mind conjured up what it might be like to trace her fingers over all that glorious muscle.
Irritation at her wild thoughts flared at her temple, and she refocused on his eyes. “Guess that comes in handy, since you’re a fae. Fighting must be in your blood.”
“Let’s return to you and the book.” He pushed away from the bars and twirled a string between his fingers. The twine wound tighter and tighter until the gold key at the end touched his finger. “Not that I don’t trust you but humor me and share the details of what you’ve read.”
The key…
She traced her finger over the gold band at her wrist. The cool metal was a stark reminder of his control over her. Heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks. Dear Goddess, she despised this fae.
She plastered on a smile to rival his own. “No. I don’t think I will.”
He arched one eyebrow and slanted his head. “That’s hardly polite.”
Zain clenched his jaw and shook his head, disappointment clear in his stark countenance. He unwound the key, placed the twine over his head, and shoved the piece of metal beneath his dark tank top. His leather jacket creaked at the movement.
“Polite?” She laughed. “You expect me to be civil after everything you’ve done?”
A flinch crossed his features but disappeared behind a harsh tightening of his lips. “After everything I’ve done? You have no idea the things I’m capable of. Unless you want to find out, tell me what you’ve learned.”
Blood rushed through her veins and pounded at her temple.
A low tremble rippled through the room. Dust drifted from the ceiling.
She rose from the bed and crossed her arms. “No.”
A tic burst to life along his jaw, and he unlocked the cell. Metal creaked as the door rolled open.
Zain stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The lock’s loud clank echoed in the small space.
He closed the distance between them. Beneath his jacket his shirt tightened against his chest, accentuating his muscular build, and he tracked her like a large predator after its prey. At well over six feet tall, he towered over her.
She moved around the bed, but he pursued her. The edge of her heel hit the stone wall, and then her back pressed against rock. “W…what are you doing?”
He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her face. “Obtaining an answer.”
His rich, spicy scent enveloped her, warming her in places she’d rather not think about, and when he leaned in, his cool, minty breath tickled her cheek. “Tell me, feisty witch, what have you learned from the book?”
The deep rumble of his voice sent a shiver from her ear all the way to her bottom.
She gasped and gripped his arms. The heat of his skin tingled her fingers, and a spark of light flared from the tips.
“I found a section on healing spells, but haven’t had a chance to read any—”
His muscles tensed beneath her fingertips. He drew away enough to look at her.
His hazel eyes narrowed beneath his dark brows. The green and gold striations amidst the brown reminded her of maple leaves in the fall. Beautiful…
“You’re supposed to read the section on the crystal. Not healing.” He flicked his attention to her mouth then focused on her eyes.
Before she could stop herself, she slid her tongue over her bottom lip.
A low, masculine groan rumbled from him. “Be careful, witch. You’re tempting me, again.”
“So what if I am?” Her bold retort came from someplace deep inside, a defense mechanism to her out-of-control life. She must be an idiot to tease a fae.
He laughed softly, removed his hands from the wall, and cradled her chin in his palm. “Because I may kiss you, and you might like it.”
Pent up frustration vibrated along her nerves. “Give it your best shot.”
With the slightest brush of his lips, he teased her with a gentle kiss. Tingles of awareness burned in his wake, igniting a maelstrom of need and want that trickled all the way to her core. He kissed her again, this time with more force, and pressed his lips tight against hers.
She relaxed against him, the tension draining from her muscles like a sieve. When he skimmed his free hand over her hip and grasped her bottom in a gentle squeeze, she opened to him on a soft gasp. He deepened the kiss, sending a wave of desire through her with such intensity she brazenly mewled for more.
Zain can turn up the charm at a moment’s notice just like any other of his kind. Don’t let him get too close. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, and she tensed in his arms. Was his plan to seduce her? Fae were dangerous, seductive creatures, and he’d given her a tiny glimpse of the things he could do to her.
He broke the kiss, and that sexy, panty-melting smile curled his lip. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She pushed against him, but solid as a rock, he didn’t move. Instead, she wiggled from between his firm flesh and the stone wall. Talk about your rock versus hard place.
“You’re trying to use your seductive powers on me.” She pursed her lips at him. “I h—”
“Hate you.” He chimed. “That’s getting a bit old, isn’t it?”
She wanted to pummel her fists against his chest, but she’d feared that if she touched him, the sparks would fly again. To put distance between them, she paced to the bars. “Leave.”
He laughed. “Not until I see you reading the crystal spells in that tome.”
“You want me to read the note out loud because you can’t read it yourself.” Marco’s earlier words drifted through Wynne’s mind.
Zain was illiterate. There was no way he’d know what section she read. She pasted on a smile, sat on the bed, and reached for the manual. Maybe she could work this to her advantage and help Mom in the process. “Fine. The least you can do is bring an extra blanket for my mother. It’s freezing down here.”
The heavy tome rested on her lap. She flipped to the section on healing spells and started reading. Would he notice she was on the wrong page?
He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the pages. A slight grimace crossed his features. “I expect a report on my next rounds.”
“Which is…” Wynne raised an eyebrow.
“When I return.” An eddy of dust and pebbles swirled around Zain. His thick braid slid over one stiff shoulder and rested against his leather jacket. A moment later, he disappeared in the churn.
A tight cord formed in Wynne’s gut. Do
n’t feel sorry for him. He’s a fae, the enemy. Yet, the sympathetic knot remained, hard and firm as steel.
CHAPTER 11
Z ain sat on the edge of his bed in his room in the Otherworld. The firm mattress accepted his weight, but the antique headboard and frame let out a squeak. The familiar sound echoed in his brain and competed with the recollection of Wynne’s words.
“Give it your best shot.”
Memories of Wynne’s soft, delectable lips and her reaction to his kiss rushed through Zain’s mind. Never in his life had he experienced such a strong attraction to a woman, and he’d wanted more kisses from her with a desperation that scared him.
The gutsy witch had pushed him to the brink with her taunt. Little did she know how many times he’d heard similar statements under entirely different circumstances. His life in the fighting ring had elicited much harsher jeers. Yet, her words, and the ‘I hate you’ that followed, bothered him more than he cared to admit. Deep inside, a lonely, isolated, and nearly forgotten part of him wanted her to like him.
Elbows on thighs, he palmed his face in his hands and massaged his temple. He shouldn’t care about her. Wynne’s life under Gwawl’s hard rule had a single destination. One look at her sick and aging mother and the end result was obvious.
Once again, he wished he’d never laid eyes on the pretty witch. He should’ve stayed away. Instead, he’d watched her from afar. Fantasized about her life. Wondered who received her smiles, kisses, and devoted attention. There must be a man in her life. It certainly wasn’t him and that stuck in his craw.
He wiped his palm over his face and shoved himself from the bed. Situated on his dresser rested an old black and white photo he’d scrounged from his past. Agatha’s ragged picture, charred brown along the edges, brought painful memories.
He’d given Agatha everything she’d ever asked of him. Designer clothes. Diamonds. Furs. He’d thought she’d loved him, but he’d been a means to an end, nothing more.
Why had he sought out the old relic and kept the damaged image on his dresser?
He paced across the hardwood floor, passing the table and chairs set against the wall, and then settled onto his favorite throw rug in front of the fireplace. With the snap of his fingers, flames burst to life in the hearth.
The soft crackle and pop of fire consuming wood echoed in his chamber.
He stared into the flickering light. A recent image of Wynne crossed his mind. Brows furrowed over her beautiful blue eyes, she pursed her lips and traced her fingers over the dark book’s text.
He’d glanced at the unfamiliar words on the page, and spine tightening to the point of pain, he’d fled like a horse in a barn fire.
Was she learning the crystal spells, or had she lied to him, instead concentrating on the healing charms once again?
So intent on helping her mother, she’d even had the gall to ask for a blanket.
Perhaps she thought she’d heal her mother and escape. Fat chance of that.
He fingered the twine from around his neck and withdrew the key from beneath his shirt. The gold casing reflected the light and turned the metal into a blazing sun, one he missed with each beat of his heart. As with all fae, he was relegated to the night. He returned the key to its resting place and rubbed his eyes.
If she somehow succeeded in her plan, he’d have no trouble tracking her down through his connection to the bracelet. Other than him unlocking the trinket with the key, which would never happen, the only way she could rid herself of the bracelet and obtain her freedom was if he died. Without the connection to him, the bracelet would unlock itself and slip from her in an instant.
His thoughts drifted to the insolent fae that reported to him, his other problem.
He pressed his lips together and rose. “Marco. Join me.”
The fire’s crackle echoed through the still space.
“Now, Marco.”
A dust devil burst to life in the corner of the room. The chandelier over the table swayed. A moment later, the dust settled.
Marco, dressed in his traditional suit and long brown overcoat, gripped a human by the throat. The man struggled in Marco’s grasp, and his pleading gaze drifted to Zain. A dark aura, deep red mixed with black striations, encircled the young man’s blond hair like a bent and mangled halo.
A corrupt soul…
“Your timing is less than ideal. You almost cost me this kill.” Marco shook the man like a rag doll, and one of the guy’s LeBron James signature Nike shoes slipped onto the floor.
A vein pulsed along Zain’s brow. “If he drips any kind of bodily fluid onto my rug, it’ll be your blood that spills next. Finish him and do it clean.”
“My pleasure.” Marco snapped the man’s neck.
The crack of bone ricocheted against the wall.
A dark, nebulous wisp, almost like smoke, billowed from the man’s nostrils and open mouth. The vaporous mist slid along the floor and disappeared under the crack in the door. A moment later, the man’s remains vanished. Soon, the dark soul would meet his new god, Gwawl, and join the fae army.
“There, there. All taken care of.” Marco rubbed his hands, and his gaze narrowed. “Why did you summon me, boss?”
Sarcasm dripped from his tone. Marco hated reporting to Zain, but he pissed off a god and now suffered the consequences. At least Gwawl hadn’t sent his bitter soul to the Isle of Tech Duinn. There, spirits rotted for eternity, painfully disintegrating and reforming over and over again. Not a pleasant way to go.
Zain flipped his braid over his shoulder. “I plan to see the witches before I retire for the day. You will check on them while I rest. Make sure Wynne reads from the dark book of spells.”
Marco withdrew his cane from the inside of his coat, crossed his arms, and rested the handle in the crook of his elbow. “You expect me to babysit?”
Zain raised an eyebrow.
Huffing, Marco paced to the dresser before turning to face Zain. “Watching a couple of witches sit in their cells sounds like fantastic fun. Maybe I’ll bring a pair of knitting needles and join them.”
“If you’d prefer.” Zain smiled. He so enjoyed his partner’s frustration.
Marco’s eyes glowed. “I have a mind to—”
The collar around Marco’s neck tightened. Tension stiffened his shoulders, and he clawed at the hard metal.
Zain smirked. Seemed the collar did a great job of keeping its host in line. “You know better than to threaten me.”
The neckband loosened. A gasp escaped Marco’s lips, and his shoulders relaxed. He glared at Zain. “It will be my absolute pleasure to visit our prisoners.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” Zain waved his hand at his untrustworthy cohort. “Night still reigns on the human realm for a few more hours. Don’t you have a kill quota to meet?”
Marco’s face reddened, and his cheeks shook. A mini-tornado swirled at his feet. It grew until the dust and dirt covered his body. Only the glow of his yellow eyes remained before he disappeared in the churn.
Zain ran his hand over his chest. Even through the shirt, the outline of the ragged burn scars was rough to his fingertips.
“You’re stupid. No one could ever love you. All you know how to do is fight.”
His wife’s bitter comments slithered through his mind. How right she’d been. In both his old human job and his current fae role, he fought for a living. He didn’t need to know how to read, but he’d always wondered what he’d missed. Too late for that now.
His thoughts returned to the beautiful, feisty witch who’d flipped his life upside down. If Wynne didn’t learn those damn crystal spells, Gwawl would torture and kill them all.
Zain snapped his fingers, and the fire extinguished with a soft hiss.
Time for a visit with their guests. “Pretty witch, I look forward to your progress update.”
First, though, he needed to stop at the commons store for a spare blanket or two. He was a fool indeed for trying to please Wynne, but he couldn’t ignore th
e burning desire to do so. Attracted to her spunk, determination, and intelligence as well as to her beauty, he craved her respect. Damn, that was a shocker. Hopefully, Gwawl wouldn’t find out.
CHAPTER 12
Damian peered into the dark alley. Lit by a single light from a second-story window, a soft glow chased away all but the deepest shadows. Several dumpsters, some with trash spilling from lids like vomit, lined the forlorn lane. He inhaled, searching for the metallic stink of his enemy.
The unique copper scent, like an old penny, permeated his senses.
Damian reached out to his partner through the gargoyle mind link. “Grayson, got a couple of live ones. Ready to party?”
Grayson whistled. “Nice. Be there in half a shake.”
Damian crouched behind a grime-encrusted dumpster, shifted his skin and clothing to match the rust color, and bided his time. If luck was with him, he’d bag a ride on one of these fae’s worthless asses.
Dear Goddess, please let that happen. He hadn’t heard from Sasha on whether that little sprite, Trixie, had found any hidden spells that might send him to the Otherworld. Not that he’d expected an answer after only a few hours, but hey, his patience was trigger thin. He glanced at the brief sliver of night sky visible between the buildings. A few stars twinkled as if winking at him.
How was Wynne? Was she safe? Had Gwawl or any of his minions tortured her?
He flexed his fingers then clenched them into a fist. His leather gloves creaked in the stillness. If anything happened to Wynne, he’d bring down every single damned fae until none remained even if it took him a millennium.
Down the alley, the screech of a dumpster’s lid echoed through the night.
“Find any prey yet?” A deep male voice reverberated down the lane.
“Nope, but I can smell one close by,” his companion responded.
Fae often searched for homeless people or drug addicts who sometimes slept off their high in one of these bins. The urge to burst from his hiding place had Damian tapping his finger against his knee. He needed to wait just a little longer.
Silent as a light drizzle, Grayson materialized next to him. His buddy adjusted the red scarf around his neck and winked. “Good. I’m just in time for the fun.”