Charlotte

by Mima

  Okay, that sounded intense. She squeezed her thighs together, palms sealed to her knees to keep from leaping at them.

  Ivor tilted, until Ryder slid under his arm, bracing him up.

  “She does not want us. My wolf claws to claim her, but she does not feel it. You vampire prick, always with the drama. I hate you.”

  Ryder curled his fingers, summoning her. Where had she seen that before? Oh, last night, it was just the way Ivor had invited her to join him.

  He winked at her. “Ignore the wolf. They get morose when they’re tired. I think we’ll find his pack is useful, though, when we’re hiding from that thwarted Fairy Queen bitch.”

  Charlotte’s mouth watered. She wanted to kiss him, to be kissed by Ivor, to lie beneath Ryder’s honed, thrusting hips while sucking on Ivor’s firm, round . . . she blushed. Her mind shied from naming it. Cock. Penis. Her stomach cramped in hunger, for their wit and strength and clever lovemaking. The physical yearning was strong, but her mind was crystal clear.

  She looked at the direct gazes of two magical warriors, both sexually primed men, and wanted them both. Not their bodies, not their powers. Or not just. She wanted them, the minds of these men, their honor and intelligence.

  Licking her lips, she stood. Took one tottering step. She held her hand out to Ivor. Another tottering step. Ivor held his palm out, chin lifting. One more step, and her hand lifted to take Ryder’s at the same time her fingers were snatched up by Ivor.

  Both men gripped her tightly. Ryder’s fingers were longer, more nimble, while Ivor’s were warmer, immovable. With them standing shoulder to shoulder, she saw Ivor was just a few inches taller than Ryder. Blue eyes and black met her welling stare. She blinked hard and fast.

  “I’m not sure what this means, but I certainly won’t leave you. Not after what we’ve just shared.”

  “We shall convince her, brother nightwalker.” Ivor’s accent had never been thicker.

  “We shall shower her in pleasure, brother beast.” Ryder smiled a roguish grin.

  They yanked on her hands in unison, pulling her into their chests. Her arms slid around their waists while theirs wrapped around her, sheltering her in the powerful scent of male.

  Pressing her forehead tight to the edges of a pair of uniquely thrilling pecs, Charlotte whispered, “How’s this for adventure, Gram?”

  So a fairy, a werewolf, and a vampire walked into a bedroom . . . Who do you think came out on top?

  Holding up her empty glass she said, “I’d love another.”

  Ryder sighed. His fingers slid into her bra band. “Pup,” he called to Ivor, who narrowed his gaze at this label, “make sure it has an umbrella. The delightful woman who chose me likes umbrellas.”

  With, of all things, a bow over her hand, Ivor let her fingertips fall and took her glass, moving to the bar.

  “You did choose me, did you not?” Ryder’s thumb soothed the vertebrae where her hooks chafed.

  No man had ever touched her there before. “I—I—” Her back arched in reaction to his touch.

  “Ah. I’m embarrassing you.” His hand slid free. “Do you go to him?”

  Her gaze zoomed the short distance to where Ivor leaned on the bar, staring at them, possibly even hearing Ryder’s low words. Go to him? He looked so . . . formal. So masterful. She had chosen playful and loud over reserved this evening. Now it seemed carelessly awkward to ask another man to buy her a drink when the man she’d approached was lying beside her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ryder sat up. “Pardon?” He accented the word as the French would.

  Ivor returned, holding out another lovely slushy thing with a green umbrella. He had a beer for himself, and sat beside her. Right beside her, his thigh along hers. Heat poured from him, giving her goose bumps.

  Ryder on one side, Ivor on the other. A chilled glass in her hand on a young night at sea. She wanted to revel in this moment, but her mind just darted about, seeking ways to undo it. “I think the two of you know each other?”

  Ivor chuckled. “We are fellow hunters with a common . . . can we say enemy yet, my night friend?”

  Ryder shook back his hair. The scent of leather and wine made her crave something entirely different from what was in her glass. “No. Not yet. Perhaps soon. The greed wears on so many of us . . . it won’t be long.”

  Shivering at the ominous words Ryder spoke so softly, Charlotte saw quite clearly how carefully they avoided any telling reference to a gender or position. What were these men involved with? “So you are not friends, just allies.”

  “Never underestimate the bonding power of alliances.” Ryder reached over and took her umbrella, then popped it into the top of Ivor’s beer. “Except when said alliances creep into bedrooms they have no right to.”

  “Bedrooms . . .” Ivor growled, taking the umbrella and tucking it neatly into Ryder’s wine bottle, “are overrated.”

  “Comfort. We are both creatures who know its power, who appreciate fine things.” Ryder pressed the back of his hand over his forehead. “How can you say this?”

  “Beds are for the lazy.” Ivor ducked his head and looked at her. Charlotte’s lungs seized in the grip of the commanding blue. “Do you prefer beds?”

  Charlotte’s gaze shot all around the bar to avoid his. Her brain locked, unable to come up with a single witty reply. He was intimidating. She sought to side with Ryder out of sheer self-preservation. “Beds are great. Terrific. Relaxation.” She winced, clenching her teeth on her babbling.

  Ryder chuckled. “Ally, she has now chosen twice. Take your looming hulk off.” Ryder’s hand slid around her waist, jostling her against him with a friendly pull of sleek muscle. “Mmm, soft.”

  Her face blazed.

  Ryder leaned forward and hissed at Ivor, “Begone, foul creature.”

  Her cheeks grew so hot they spilled heat down her neck.

  Ivor chuckled. “Perhaps you will rethink your dedication to beds.” He stood, his beer dangling from his fingertips. “It was enchanting to meet you, Charlotte.”

  Ryder took the umbrella from his bottle and tossed it at Ivor’s retreating butt. It bounced off like a small shuttlecock and fell to the floor. Ivor didn’t seem to notice, but Ryder gave a little-boy titter anyway. His hand curved over her knee. “I’m flexible enough not to need a bed, woman of the moon.”

  His hand rose, slow, slow enough for her to avoid, but she didn’t.

  “Are you flexible, or do you really find beds ‘terrific’?”

  She set her drink down on the side flower table and forgot it. Turning to face him, she blinked, stunned to find his chiseled features so intent on her. “I don’t know. I’ll need to talk more about it. Later. Can we talk first? And maybe play?”

  His face flexed with several emotions, but she thought he liked her. He nodded slowly. “Yes, s’il vous plaît.”

  She shivered. “You’re French?”

  “A long, long time ago. But I’ve been American for a hundred years or so.”

  Laughing with this man was going to be so very easy! “Does our country age you so?”

  “Not at all. Just the opposite. I stay young in America.”

  Well, then that made his comment nonsense. Shrugging, she said, “Maybe someday I’ll go to France.”

  His finger rose to trail along her jaw, stopping in the hollow below her ear. Her jaw suddenly sizzled, spreading heat from the cool touch across her scalp. “Let’s not worry about someday. We have tonight, yes?”

  Sighing softly, she nodded. “Oui.”

  His smile was brilliant, his teeth sharp and even, as white as the moon.

  “Don’t hurt him.” Her voice wavered, hoarse. “I’ll go.”

  The Elder nodded, her knife disappearing into the darkness of her woven-cloth robe. “Such a good girl.”

  Charlotte was a good girl. She’d
always been a good girl, and if that had momentarily pinched, it had been comfortable and satisfying enough. She was proud of who she was, raised by Gram from the age of eleven, a woman who saw herself and the world clearly and didn’t strive for material things.

  Life had been good, if sometimes sad. She knew herself and she wasn’t afraid of death, although she wasn’t exactly eager to discover it. But sacrificing Ryder was impossible.

  Charlotte went to the door. The lever latch gave beneath her hand. She stepped through a flimsy wall into an area with layers of curtains, portable stairs, and black linoleum. She looked over her shoulder.

  Ryder hung, bloody and limp. Stomach like iron, she tried to make something out of the moment and demand a concession. Her words weren’t quite firm, but they were clear. “Cut him down.”

  The woman tilted her head, those strangely intense, opaque eyes shining like turquoise. “How do the young people say it now?” She folded her hands in the waves of her textured black linen cloak. “Not. My words said I’d walk away and leave him here. Setting him free wasn’t part of the deal.”

  Charlotte thought the Elder would kill him for sure. It wasn’t as if the woman could loose a tortured vampire. Then again, maybe she could. Maybe the laws said she could do all this, and maybe she was just powerful enough not to care about Ryder’s vengeance.

  Charlotte only knew she could not be a part of this violence and needed to stop it. She looked between the heavy blue velvet curtains. The light shone so brilliantly, but the sound of the voices gave proof to a full auditorium ready for a show.

  “What are they expecting to see?” Her hands were cold. She smoothed her sundress. At least she was heading onstage looking her best.

  “Why, a magician. And we wouldn’t want to disappoint them.” The woman stepped toward Charlotte, standing only as high as her shoulder.

  Charlotte edged farther into the wings to stay out of her reach. “I just go out there and pull up my power? And then you’ll let him be?”

  “Walk or I will take out my knife again, and this time I will not stop.” Her voice guttural with disgust, the woman spat the words in a spray of saliva.

  Charlotte skittered farther away, imagining each drop contained real venom. Taking a breath, she now stood between the drapes. In the wings across the stage, she could see a man with a headset and a clipboard frowning at her.

  The Elder walked up behind her, and Charlotte stepped onto the polished black floor. The lights were blinding. She started to raise her hand to shield her eyes but lowered it, struggling to lift her chin. The small stage was filled with an elegant, formally set Victorian dinner table featuring an enormous flower-drenched candelabra. The crystal goblets sparkled and gleamed with ruby liquid. Her pretty purple sundress didn’t match in the least. Surprisingly, the stage wasn’t much longer than the ten-person table, and not that deep at all.

  The audience’s voices swelled in a surprised murmur, then quieted with expectation. Charlotte caught the faces of the first few rows of people, some in glittering formal dresses, a few in nice casual summer clothes. There were young faces, some older faces . . . and a child of about eight.

  Crossing past the end of the table, she went forward to center stage, wondering how the enforcer would kill her. Surely not in front of all the humans who were supposed to stay ignorant? Would it be quick? The Elder was clearly not worried about any kind of trial.

  Coming up to the very edge of the stage, Charlotte was able to see several yards into the audience. The stage itself wasn’t elevated but more of a Greek design, with the seats rising in half circles all around. She stood below many of the faces, with the first row of people close enough to touch.

  The house lights dimmed. Charlotte stood stuck in silence in a well of pitch. Someone cleared their throat. A phone chimed as it was turned off. She had never been before so many people in her life. This was not quite the same as presenting her history paper to her high school class.

  Reining in her neck against the desire to turn and check for the Elder, Charlotte looked toward the spot where the little girl in the cheap Snow White costume sat, and condemned herself with simple words she’d barely had time to believe in.

  “I’m a fairy.” Her voice was picked up by an unseen microphone and spread with clarity, low and shaky.

  A soft whisper of interest spread across the crowd.

  Her throat swelled shut and her heart went staccato. Charlotte realized she didn’t really need to talk. Closing her eyes, she turned her hands palm out, lifted her arms, lifted her chin, and inhaled enough to lift her chest. Her hair slid over her shoulders, swaying against her back. She dragged the new power up out of her, past her nerves, past her anger, confusion, and frustration.

  When it nipped across her skin with full-body pins and needles, Charlotte opened her eyes. Beyond the stage lights shone another light. It was huge, creamy, and did not match the blue-and-gold décor around her. It was the moon.

  Charlotte exhaled and yanked on the moonlight streaming through a huge sunroof at the back of the auditorium. She ate it up, spreading her power out around her. She felt it brush against the people facing her. They gasped.

  Charlotte waited, expecting at any second to be struck by metaphysical lightning, killed for the revelation the Elder demanded. Nothing came. Breathing in soft pants, she considered. She needed only to walk off, having firmly broken the law.

  But since she was going down anyway, why not discover what she could do? This was it. Her one chance to test her heritage. Gram, here’s an adventure you should have known.

  Her skin close to splitting open from energy, she pushed it out farther, imagining it swooping in controlled arcs, like she was frosting a cake. The people to the sides of her gasped again. Then more people farther away. Did they feel it?

  A woman near the child said, “Such beautiful colors!”

  Colors? For some reason, the new revelation made Charlotte smile. It was a really stupid time to smile. But she did. Let them all swim in the mysterious colors she didn’t see. For the first time in her life, Charlotte felt beautiful, powerful, and special. She thrust out her hands and threw her power until it slammed against the upper walls and eddied back.

  Knowledge crackled at her. Despite her inability to see the larger room clearly, she knew exactly where the two sets of doors now were, and where the sunroof began and ended above. She knew the hallways behind her, and she knew where the Elder still stood, because the power pinched and narrowed, draining into the woman.

  Leech. So she wanted Charlotte’s magic? Well. Share and share alike.

  Charlotte snarled, fisted her hands, and yanked them to her hips like a deranged cheerleader. “Stand up!”

  It didn’t happen at once. Several people in the first row stood instantly, programs and sweaters falling unheeded. Then a few farther up, and on the sides, and more.

  Where that first order had come from, she had no idea. But as her astonished gaze flew around the shadowy people slowly rising from their seats, a wild idea popped into her head.

  Charlotte whirled and pointed at the Elder with such flare her skirt fluttered. “Capture her!”

  The sucking at Charlotte’s power suddenly snapped off. The woman backed away, her black cloak disappearing into the shadows.

  “Get her!” Charlotte shouted, her voice echoing across the big room.

  People stepped onto the stage, stumbling and hurrying. They streamed past Charlotte, faces concerned as they slapped at the stage curtains. Dozens of people swept past her, intent on finding the Elder.

  A rush of awe filled Charlotte. They did her bidding. She had power. The woman had wanted her to use it, and Charlotte hoped she regretted it.

  The door at the back of the auditorium opened.

  “Como chingados!” a big deep voice snarled.

  Charlotte’s stretched power washed across something that siz
zled with the potency of a fajita plate fresh from the kitchen. That, and raw ocean air drenched with moisture spiked into her energy like tequila.

  She whipped her head around. A shape came down the aisle, pushing through the people still waiting to file onstage at her command. He was big, burly, and bald.

  When he tromped onto the stage and stopped, bracing against the crowd trampling past him, she had to look up into his narrowed eyes. Charlotte’s smile stayed in place. The enforcer was here, but maybe she had found some small revenge on the evil fairy.

  “Madre de Dios.” He sounded completely put out, his voice echoing with irritated disbelief. “You mesmerized the whole fucking room. Do you know how much work this is going to take?”

  Still flushed with power, running wide open, she held her breath. Yet he never raised one of his immense arms. His own energy slapped at hers, dizzying her. And still he didn’t strike out at her.

  “The Elder made me do this. Ryder is in the dressing room. She tortured him.”

  He snorted, shaking his head enough to move his bushy, frizzy beard. “First of all, nobody can make you do anything. This was your choice, babe, and you’ll face that. You could have thrown some sparkles, but you’ve turned them into a mob. That’s pretty cold. Second of all, interspecies violence is legal. But you’re one of her fairies, so what’s up?”

  Voices rose from the farthest seats, a few unmesmerized people calling out fearful questions. Charlotte pushed at a man who knocked into her. “I just found out about my fairyness. I’m not registered, and apparently the Elder really didn’t like me waiting to see her.”

  “Huh.” His tattooed arms flexed as he pulled thoughtfully at his beard. “So . . . how is Ryder in this?”

  “We were together last night.”

  The enforcer grinned. “The man moves fast.”

  “She said you’d kill me.” Charlotte hugged herself, shivering. “I’m not supposed to show my power to humans. But she was cutting Ryder. I couldn’t stand by.”