Seduced by Moonlight mg-3

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  He was solemn now. "Asking me, or telling me?"

  "Right now, I'm asking as a friend, a lover, not as princess."

  He moved the pillow behind him so he was sitting up even higher. "Okay, since you asked nicely." The grin crept back. "Besides, Frost isn't really my type."

  I rolled my eyes. "If you make one homosexual joke, I will kick you out of this bed tonight. I swear it"

  "Would I do a thing like that?"

  "Yes, damn it, you would." I touched his arm, gripped it. "Rhys, please, don't."

  Frost and Sage were almost in the room, and now I could hear what they were arguing about. Frost wanted Sage to take blood without using glamour, and Sage wanted to use glamour. It was more fun that way, the little demi-fey was saying.

  Rhys's face went serious, and he sighed. "I like Frost, he's a good man in a fight, but he's been touchy as hell on a winter's day since he joined the courts as a sidhe."

  I caught the odd phrasing, but I knew what Rhys meant. I'd seen Frost's first form. That form hadn't been sidhe. There'd been so much happening that I hadn't had time to think about the meaning of any of it. Frost hadn't always been sidhe, yet I'd been taught that you had to have sidhe blood in your veins to become sidhe. I remembered him dancing across the snow, child-like, beautiful, the way a rush of snow is beautiful when the wind lifts it up and throws it to the sky in a dance of shimmering silver. What I'd seen hadn't been sidhe. I wasn't sure what it had been, but if not sidhe, then what? If never sidhe before, then how was he sidhe now? Questions, and no time for answers, because Frost came through the door with Sage fluttering at his shoulder. I couldn't talk to Frost about what I'd seen in the vision in front of Sage. I wasn't sure that Frost would want it discussed even in front of Rhys, but I knew that Sage wouldn't be welcome in the discussion.

  Sage entered fluttering at Frost's shoulder the way a taller fey would have walked at his side. "I will not do it without the glamour, and there's an end of it."

  Frost was shaking his head, all that silver hair sparkling in the light. "I will not allow you to bespell me, Sage, and that is the true end of it."

  "Gentlemen," I said.

  They both turned with petulant anger plain on their faces. But Sage's face went from pouting to lust in the blink of an eye. He flew toward the bed with a laugh, fluttering above my head like a tiny helicopter trying to get a better view.

  Frost stayed by the door, and the look on his face stayed petulant, angry, with just a hint of fear. It showed in his grey eyes for a few moments, real fear, then it was gone, lost behind his arrogance. I knew the arrogance was partly to hide whatever he was thinking. I knew he was more than that now, but the knowledge didn't really make him any easier to deal with because it meant he was unsure of the situation, or didn't like it. Never a good thing.

  I held out my hand to him. "Come to me, Frost."

  "To you I would gladly come, Meredith, but not to all of you."

  I let my hand fall across the pillow that was still in my lap. Sage wasn't getting quite as good a show as he might have wanted, but he fluttered joyously above me because I tended to put on clothes or get under the covers before he took blood. He'd proven himself untrustworthy. I don't mind being groped when I've invited it, but unwanted attention I didn't need. I figured with Rhys and Frost, I'd be safe enough. Looking at Frost still standing by the door, I began to wonder.

  "You agreed to this, Frost," I said.

  "I agreed to give blood, but not to let the little fey work his glamour on me."

  Sage turned in midair and fluttered back toward the bigger man. "A sidhe who fears the magic of a demi-fey, what riddle is this?"

  "I do not fear you, little man, but I will not willingly allow any fey to use his magic upon me."

  "Allowing Sage to use glamour when he takes blood is the compromise, since I won't give him sex."

  "It is not my compromise," Frost said, and he seemed to look taller, broader of shoulder, more sure of himself. I'd learned that the more certain he seemed, the less certain he was, but he wouldn't have thanked me for knowing that, let alone for sharing it.

  Rhys sat up from the pillows where he'd been reclining. "Princess, may I?"

  I made a small motion, and sighed. "If you think you can help."

  "Let Sage taste Frost" —he hurried with the next words, because of the look of outrage on Frost's face—"as he tasted me, a tiny lick, nothing else. Let's see if Frost really tastes like a god, or whether he just tastes sidhe."

  It wasn't a bad idea. "Frost, will you allow Sage to lick you, that and nothing more?"

  Frost opened his mouth, I think to refuse, but I added. "Frost, please, it's not that much to ask."

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded, once. "I will allow it."

  "Sage," I said, "a small lick like you gave Rhys in the other room, nothing else."

  Sage flew close enough to the bed for me to see a truly evil smile, but he nodded. I didn't trust it, but he nodded again and fluttered toward Frost.

  Frost started to take a step back, then seemed to realize what he was doing and stood his ground. Most sidhe seemed to believe that no one short of another sidhe could use glamour on them successfully. It wasn't true, but a lot of them believed it was. The fact that Frost didn't believe it made me wonder whose magic he'd fallen afoul of. He reacted as if he had reason to fear the demi-fey.

  "Wait," I said. "Has Frost ever been given to the demi-fey for torture like Galen was given to them?"

  "No," Frost and Rhys said in unison.

  Sage shook his head. "We've never had the pleasure of the Killing Frost staked out for us." He licked his tiny lips, making enough of a show of it that we'd all see. "Yum."

  Frost looked at me. "Don't make me do this."

  "Do what? Let him lick your skin, see what you taste like? It's not a hardship, Frost. Did you fall afoul of some lesser fey's glamour? Is that why you're worried?" The moment I said it, I knew I'd been too bold.

  "I have fallen afoul of no fey." His face was at its most beautiful, cold and arrogant, with the bone structure to make a plastic surgeon weep with envy. The grey of the silk robe seemed almost to blend with the glittering silver of his hair. He was like some sculpture too beautiful to touch, too proud to stoop to touching anyone else.

  I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but didn't dare in front of the other men. I looked into that face, trailed my gaze down his chest, his waist, thought about everything that lay under the robe, and knew that even if we'd been alone, he might not have admitted that anything was wrong.

  "Taste him, Sage." My voice sounded as tired and discouraged as I felt.

  Sage moved forward, his wings barely moving, as if he should have fallen rather than floated. He hovered just over Frost's face, then darted in and out, a blur of yellow and blue and red. He was near the ceiling and out of reach before Frost could swat at his face, almost as if Sage had known he'd do it.

  Sage was hissing, and at first I thought it was because Frost had swatted at him; then I heard the anger in his voice. "He tastes no different from the white knight."

  "Then take my blood and let Frost out of it," Rhys said.

  Sage flew near the bed. He crossed tiny arms across his chest and stamped his foot in midair, as if he were on solid ground. "No. I bargained for two sidhe warriors, and it's two I want."

  "I'll give blood," Frost said, "but no glamour. I agreed to blood, not magic."

  Rhys started to say something, but I touched his arm. "You'll have what we bargained for, Sage, all of it, but let Frost go back to his bed. He's no use to us tonight."

  Frost flinched at my last words, a mere tightening around his eyes, but I'd made a study of him and knew what it meant.

  "Who would you have in his place?" Sage asked, flying lower so that he and I were face to face. "Galen, perhaps?" His smile managed to be both evil and happy.

  "You know better than to ask, Sage," I said.

  He pouted, but he didn't mean it. "I will not share you with th
e goblin again. I want no drink from Darkness." He seemed to think about it for a moment, then alit upon the pillow in my lap. The purple satin sagged under his weight. He was always heavier than he looked, or even than I remembered. "Nicca, then, for he is all that remains."

  I nodded. "Agreed."

  "You have not asked Nicca if he will allow the demi-fey to take his blood," Frost said.

  I looked at him, and he was still heart-stoppingly handsome. The question was, was beauty enough, and the answer, of course, was, no. "I don't have to ask Nicca, Frost. If I send for him, he'll come, and he'll do what I tell him to do. Nicca won't argue about it, he'll just do what needs doing."

  "And I won't," Frost said, tilting his chin upward, looking like something carved of arrogance and defiance.

  I sighed. "I love you, Frost."

  That softened his face, made the uncertainty rise to the surface for a moment.

  "I love you in my bed, I love so much about you, but I will be queen. I will be absolute ruler of our court. You seem to keep forgetting what that means. No matter who is king, I will still rule. Do you understand that, Frost?"

  "You would have a puppet as your king."

  "No, I would have a partner who knows that unpleasant things must be done, and doesn't argue about things that cannot be changed."

  "I cannot be other than I am," he said, and his voice didn't match the steel calm of his face.

  "I know that." My voice was soft.

  For a second he looked woebegone, then the icy arrogance slid back into place. The mask that he'd worn for centuries at the court. He stared down at me, and there was nothing in his face that I could reason with. He was Frost, the Killing Frost. You do not reason with the cold of winter. You either take shelter from it, or you die.

  His voice was as cold as I'd ever heard it when he said, "I will send Nicca to you and I will tell him nothing but that you require him."

  "Do that," I said, and couldn't keep my own voice from growing colder. I was angry with him, angry and frustrated, and I didn't know how to save the situation. I was a future queen, and I couldn't even handle my own personal life. That seemed a bad sign. I added, "Thank you, Frost."

  "Don't thank me, Princess, I'm just doing my duty." He turned as if to go.

  I called him back with my words. "Frost, don't do this."

  He only half turned. "Do what?"

  "Make this all about you and your hurt feelings. Some things aren't about you. Some things aren't personal at all, they are just necessary."

  "May I go?"

  I said a short silent prayer for patience with this impossible man, then said, "Yes, go, send Nicca to us."

  He left without a backward glance, one hand rubbing the small of his back, which meant he'd had a weapon of some kind there. Frost seldom went completely unarmed. And when he felt insecure he touched his weapons, the way some women play with their jewelry.

  "Well," Rhys said, "that went badly."

  "Moody, even for the Killing Frost," Sage said, "and angrier."

  "Fear," Rhys said, softly.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Fear," he repeated. "The haughtier Frost gets, the more nervous he is, and nerves is just another word for fear."

  "What's he afraid of?" I asked.

  "Me." Sage sprang into the air, twirling as if to show off his wings and his skill.

  Rhys grinned. "You can be fearsome, but I don't think that's it."

  "Then what?" I asked.

  Rhys shrugged. "I don't know."

  Nicca appeared in the doorway. His ankle-length hair was like a tousled cloak around his body, but he'd thrown on his robe of royal purple silk. The color suited him, bringing out the rich brown of his eyes, the reddish highlights in his nearly auburn hair. It made his skin seem darker, more chocolate. "Frost said you wanted me."

  I explained what we needed, and he simply said yes. No fight, no pouting, no disagreement of any kind. It was more than refreshing. It was exactly what the night needed, something simple instead of difficult. Frost in my bed was a thing of great hunger, huge demands, and fierce pleasure. Tonight a little agreeable pleasure, some lesser demands, and a gentle hunger seemed just what the doctor ordered.

  CHAPTER 12

  I lay back in the bend of Rhys's arm, nestled against the curve of his shoulder, my head resting on the firm warmth of his chest. Nicca was propped up on his elbow, his body curved just behind mine. He kept a fraction of a distance between us, so that all I could feel against my skin was the humming vibration of his aura, his magic. I wanted to ask him to close the distance between us, to slide his body along the back of mine, but I didn't. I hadn't invited him here for sex. It was Rhys's night, and he'd stopped sharing me with Nicca after we'd defeated the Nameless and some of his powers returned. I'd assumed that with even more of his old power returned, he'd be even more reluctant to share me, so I hadn't asked. Feeling Nicca's warmth at my back, made me want to ask.

  I nuzzled along Rhys's chest, making a caress of moving my head enough to look at his face. "I want Nicca to stay with us tonight."

  "I'll just bet you do," Rhys said, but the smile was starting to be replaced with that serious look in a man's eyes.

  I stroked my hand up his stomach, gliding to his nipple and tracing lazy circles around the aureole until his nipple came to attention, and his breath came a little faster. He grabbed my wrist. "Stop that or I won't be able to think."

  "That's the idea," I said, and smiled at him, but knew there was something more urgent than humor in my eyes.

  "I notice you don't ask me to stay the night," Sage said. He landed on the hard, sculpted plain of Rhys's stomach.

  "You are welcome to spend the night," I said, "but not in my bed, not in my body."

  Sage stamped his foot on Rhys's solid flesh. "It is most unfair that I will use my glamour to make you feel such wondrous sensations, but I am denied the fruits of my labor. Especially since others will partake of that bounty."

  "You're the one who wanted two sidhe men, Sage. You know the effect your glamour has on me, and on others."

  He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, yes, only myself to blame." His face went instantly from a pout to a smile that was half lust and half joy. "I'll make you a wager."

  I raised myself from Rhys's chest enough to shake my head. "No."

  "What kind of wager?" Rhys asked.

  "Don't do it, Rhys."

  He looked down at me. "Why not?"

  "You haven't felt Sage's glamour. I have."

  A touch of sidhe arrogance mingled with Rhys's humor. It was our racial Achilles' heel, no mythological mixing intended. Our arrogance had been our undoing more than once.

  "I think three sidhe should be proof against demi-fey magic."

  I touched his face. "Rhys, you should know by now not to underestimate the fey just because they aren't sidhe."

  He jerked away from my hand. I hadn't meant to touch his scars, hadn't meant to imply what his face said he'd taken as my meaning. He was angry now, as he always was when he was reminded of what the goblins had done to him. "I think it is you who forget what we are." The blue rings in his eye began to glow with a soft, pulsing color, robin egg blue, winter sky, all throbbing in time to his anger, and his power.

  "If I am Cromm Cruach again, Merry, then Sage can't touch me."

  I wanted to say, What if you aren't? but something in his face stopped me. What do you say to a man's pride? "I've never been a god, Rhys. I don't know what it means to be that untouchable."

  "I do," he said, and there was a fierceness to him, almost a franticness that I'd never seen. I recognized fear when I saw it, though. Fear that he wouldn't be what he had been. Fear that he might never again regain what he'd lost. I'd seen the fear too many times, in too many other sidhe faces, not to know it. It was the fear of my people — that we were failing as a race, that we had already failed, and would all fade and die. It was a fear that we'd carried so long, it was almost a national phobia.

  If I
said no to his wager with Sage, then it was as much as saying he wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough. It wasn't what I meant, but he was male, and no matter what their flavor, males all have some of the same failings; and I was female, and no matter what flavor we are, we share some of the same failings. His failing was the fragility of his ego; mine, that I was about to stroke his ego at the expense of nearly everything else. I knew it was a mistake when I opened my mouth and said, "Do what you want to do, but don't say I didn't warn you."

  "So, white knight, do we have a wager?" Sage asked. "I use my glamour to bespell you all, and if I can work magic on three sidhe at once, then I gain my heart's desire."

  "Rhys," Nicca said, "have a care."

  "I'm not that stupid," Rhys said. "What is your heart's desire? I need to know that before I can agree to it."

  "To fuck the princess," he said.

  Rhys shook his head. "I can't bargain what I do not own, and it's her body, not mine."

  "No intercourse," I said. "I will not let you have a bid for the throne, Sage."

  He shrugged tiny shoulders. "Fine. If not the act itself, then what?"

  I had to admit that weeks of feeling Sage's glamour pour over my mind, my body, had made me curious. His personal glamour for seduction was the best I'd ever felt. Just from a small bite on my hand, and his magic, he could bring me to the point of orgasm. It would be a lie to say I hadn't wondered if it would be even better if I allowed him to touch me. But it wasn't that alone that suddenly made my body go still and quiet.

  I had the most amazing lovers in the world, but there were things that they denied me, and themselves. We were trying to get me pregnant, which meant that all sex ended in one way, and one way only. If it couldn't get me with child, we didn't waste the seed. I had persuaded more than one of the men to let me take him in my mouth, but none of them would finish there, no matter how much I begged or how much they wanted to. It hadn't just been intercourse that they'd been forbidden for centuries, it had been any release, even by their own touch. There were so many things besides intercourse that they missed. They would talk about it, but not do it, because it was a wasted opportunity. A waste of seed to plant inside me. A waste of a chance to be king. I realized, suddenly, that I was beginning to feel like a brood mare. Something you mated only to beget a child, not because you wanted to be there. I knew they wanted me, but not truly that they would want me if there were anywhere else they could go. Would my handsome men still want me if there were no throne to win?