Masked Desire

  “I know you do. We all do, even the queen. Rendell said it’s a masquerada. Is that true?” Isindle sounded horrified.

  “It is not. She is, and her name is Michaela.”

  His sister sagged against a tree. “Tismelda will have your head for this. A mixed mating while you’re exiled? She’s already furious that you aren’t doing more to get her forgiveness.”

  “I was—but my plan was delayed.” Damn Hiro’s killer. “Has she threatened you?”

  A small smile flickered across his sister’s ghostly face. “Of course. She can’t do much though, since I was elevated to mage status.”

  Cormac breathed a sigh of relief. At least Isindle had the backing of the powerful Fern House, mages who held secrets that even the queen treated carefully. Still, the thought of the queen having power over Isindle made him furious. He should be there to protect her.

  Idiot, if it hadn’t been for you she wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. You were the one who was exiled.

  “It’s not what you think happened. It was an accident.”

  “The queen will not accept that as an excuse. Matings don’t happen by accident.”

  It does when one is mated to Michaela. “You need to trust me. Find out if there is a way to annul it.” That would solve their problems but he had a feeling it would be impossible.

  Life did not like making things easy for him.

  “I will try.” She sounded doubtful. “That’s the best I can do.”

  Isindle faded and she put her hand over her heart as a farewell before she disappeared. It took great energy to project like that—Cormac couldn’t even attempt it now that he was keeping himself sequestered from the dolma. Seconds later, she was gone and he was left staring morosely at an empty clearing. Rendell’s spy ring was good—he must have found out about the mating soon after it happened. He couldn’t even blame the fey for spilling his cowardly guts. Tismelda would have been in a right rage when she found out about his tree in flower, and Rendell would have been the first to be summoned. Knowing the little weasel had received the first rush of the queen’s anger cheered him slightly.

  There had to be something else he could gift the queen. As a caintir, he could find out from her tree what her greatest desire was, yet the moment he accessed the power, she would send hunters after him. Could he do it fast, without her knowing? A quick dip?

  He eyed the rough bark of his tree. In High Park, with his glamour on it, the tree looked like any other chestnut. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to live in an oak, but this was a nice tree, with a leafy squirrel drey wedged high between two branches. Slowly, he brought his hand up to the trunk. All he had to do was reach out. That was it. Put his hand out and touch the damn wood.

  Then he’d hear the forest sing again. He’d be one with the dolma. He could placate the queen. It would only take a second.

  “Cormac?” Michaela’s voice drifted out from inside the tree, and he put Tismelda’s rage out of his mind as he drew his hand slowly back.

  Chapter 21

  Cormac was up before dawn. Michaela lay beside him, curled up on her side with her hair tumbling across her face. Incredible how her hair always stayed tied up neatly during the day but fell out of whatever braid or bun she tried to contain it in at night. He pushed a tress off her cheek and she murmured and rubbed her nose without waking. Resignation rolled through him.

  She’d been poisoned.

  She’d been in no way to blame for their mating.

  It was just a shitty, fucking accident.

  Since he couldn’t reasonably take any anger out on Michaela, he’d have to redirect it to a better target—the one who had tried to kill her and caused this whole extravagant mess.

  The bed was warm, and he decided he could think cocooned there as well as he could walking around the clearing. Not that there was much to think about. He knew what had to be done.

  Michaela had to recover. That was the most important step. Rest and the medicine from Eric’s medic were already taking care of that. When Michaela was well, they needed to return so she could track down and beat Frieda’s ass and send that army running. Here he frowned and tucked his arms under his head. She would be working closely with Stephan. Michaela said they were only friends, but what she thought and what Stephan might have as a deeply hidden hope were two different things.

  He’d keep a close eye on that.

  Then, of course, he needed to get his hands on her poisoner and wrap them like a pretzel around the nearest tree. That would be most satisfying.

  After that, he’d have to find out who had ownership of Hiro’s Japanese land, convince them to sell, and get it to the queen to save his forest. Hopefully it would still be enough to placate her despite his mating. He pondered this as he stared at the dappled shadows on the ceiling.

  Better make that two forests, just in case.

  Right, and Hiro. While Cormac didn’t care personally about Hiro, finding who killed him remained a priority so he could mete an appropriate punishment on whoever had dared think of harming Michaela. The poisoning had made it clear that she was the intended target.

  Finally, get this mating annulled. He had no desire to be mated, nor, apparently, did she. He was a caintir and couldn’t risk his mate to the same dangers he faced, especially if she could sense the dolma. Michaela was brilliant, strong, and gorgeous but she was also a rigidly inveterate rule-follower. He shuddered at a life filled with endless routine. They were not a good match outside of bed.

  But in bed…He shook his head to clear it of the image of Michaela, mouth relaxed and her whole body satisfied.

  Pale light filtered through the windows and he stretched, feeling somewhat gratified now that he had the priorities straight in his head. It had been a long time since he’d had meaningful work to do, and he’d almost forgotten how much he enjoyed being busy. He thought back. Yes. Fighting in the war had been the last time.

  He controlled a shudder. The war had been made more terrible by how much he’d anticipated it. Like a fool, he’d thought battle was exciting and combat the true test of a man. Kiana had warned him but he’d ignored her. “You’re a caintir, Cormac. You will feel the pain of every tree felled and every animal killed.” He hadn’t believed her and he’d been wrong. By the end, even the trampling of a single blade of grass had been agony.

  All that pain for so many, and in the end, what had it been for? Simply a new face on the throne.

  He didn’t want to think about the horrors that brought the bitch queen to power, so he slid out of the covers and pulled them over Michaela’s shoulders. She was improving, he noted gratefully. A small flame lit in his chest but he fought it back.

  He was mated. His forest had confirmed it.

  It didn’t mean he had to accept it.

  * * * *

  Michaela opened her eyes, yawned, and knew she was healed. For two days, she couldn’t even stand up without wanting to simultaneously throw up and fall down. Cormac had been a superb doctor, dosing her with what she assumed were medic-mandated cures.

  Cormac sat with his feet up on a table, golden hair smoothed back and a sheaf of papers on his lap. He twisted to look at her.

  “Good morning,” he said gravely.

  “Morning.” After he’d dropped the mating bomb on her, she’d been reluctant to talk. Luckily, her illness meant she’d spent most of the time sleeping. Now there was no excuse.

  He assessed her with a critical eye. “You look better. Much better.”

  “I am.”

  Cormac nodded with approval, the gesture of a man who had done a task well. “You’ll want to wash and eat. There’s a stream outside and food will be waiting.”

  Questions about the mating, what was happening with Pharos, and where the hell his tree was exactly could wait for ten minutes. The lure of being clean, combined with the idea
she would be more formidable with her teeth brushed and hair untangled, was too great.

  Also, she had a bad feeling that the rank, goaty smell was coming from her.

  “Through the door to the left,” he added. Under the thin white cotton of his T-shirt she could make out the dark emblem on his broad chest. Her sigil pulsed in response, sending a hot, lazy sensation through her body.

  Nope. Nope. Think of it later. In fact, don’t think of it at all. Cormac might think that the mating was irrevocable, but there was always a solution. Michaela tipped her chin down as she pulled out her shirt to look at the light green tracing on her skin. How did one reason with a forest? She frowned. That was Cormac’s job and once this was all over, she would see that he did it.

  She walked out the door—it looked like regular door, but rounder—and into a bright clearing unlike anything she’d seen. The grass was green and cool on her bare feet though the air was a balmy kiss. Birds chirped. Straight out of a Disney movie, she wouldn’t be surprised if a singing line of cuddly animals came marching out of the woods.

  Behind a strand of trees was a perfect babbling brook, so clear she could see the small pebbles lining the sandy bottom. She wrinkled her nose, wishing it was a steaming tub that she could wallow in instead of a cold stream. Never mind. She’d once washed in water collected in a ditch and should be grateful this was at least private and clean.

  A row of stone steps led down the bank and a small bar of soap and a thick white towel lay with a cotton robe near the stream. It did look enticingly fresh. She shrugged off the loose pyjamas and poked in a tentative toe.

  Within seconds of plunging in, Michaela never wanted to leave. The water bubbled around her and was deep enough to have a real swim, her hair streaming out behind her. Under the dappled light, she flipped on her back and let herself float with only her face out of the water. It was so calming she could close her eyes and drift off. If there was any poison left in her system, it must be draining out of her.

  Poison. All sense of well-being deserted her and she sputtered into the water with an inelegant splash. She couldn’t play in a stream. There was a job to do. No, more than that. Crises to avert. The killer might have claimed another victim while she lay unconscious, although she was now certain, despite Madden’s accusations of ego, that she was the intended target. Yangzei was wandering around. Eric’s warning about Frieda. She’d need to get back to the masquerada council and talk to Tom Minor about their security. That bitch might be in North Africa now, but Eric, and by extension Caro, would be Frieda’s primary target. Eric was strong, had chased her out of masquerada society, and was mated to a woman Frieda hated with a passion that was roundly reciprocated.

  The pleasure gone from her bath, Michaela reached for the soap for a quick sudsing. Her soapy hands ran over her new tattoo. It had gone from a light jade to a dark forest green that reminded her of Cormac’s eyes. She sighed. Incredible that being mated had become simply another item on a long list of things she had to deal with.

  She’d sworn that she’d never marry again. Six rounds of unwilling marriages had been enough for even a masquerada lifetime. Now she was mated—even the word seemed so much more serious than mere marriage—and it was her own fault. That stupid, stupid lie, now turned truth.

  That she was mated, to Cormac of all people, was…bad. He was exasperating, but she was beginning to enjoy his company. She definitely and very much enjoyed his touch and those strong hands with the long fingers that stroked her so confidently. She shivered with a mix of desire and something close to trepidation. None of her past partners had matched her in strength. They respected her. Sex had been pleasurable with a parallel level of give and take, but she had been safe in the knowledge that she’d always had the upper hand if necessary.

  Cormac was not like that.

  A burning flash rolled over her, emanating from her tattoo and turning her insides to liquid. Cormac. All her other worries dropped away as she soaped her breasts, thinking about how he touched them. She wanted him. She could almost feel his mouth sucking on her flesh.

  Her hands smoothed down her belly. She spread her legs and rubbed, wishing the fingers sliding through her wet folds were Cormac’s.

  * * * *

  Cormac dropped his feet from the table and groaned. Pinpricks of pleasure rippled over him as his cock thickened. The sigil on his chest almost burned.

  Michaela was touching herself and thinking about him.

  That was almost enough to make him come, but he managed to control himself long enough to unzip his jeans and spring himself free. Fisting himself, he let her sensations flow over him as he tried not to come before she did.

  No one had told him this was what being mated would be like. He muffled a groan in his shoulder as he forced himself to slow down. If it was this incredible now, he might actually pass out when he was able to sink deep into her. He closed his eyes and imagined how he would pleasure her. On her knees, holding her hips high? Then he could reach under her. Against a tree outside?

  He could almost see her, right now. She lay back on the steps, her knees too weak to hold her and her legs spread wide. One hand rubbed frantically as she pounded the fingers of her other in deep. She was panting, her chest heaving and so gorgeous he wanted to eat her.

  Please let her come. He’d die if she took this precise moment to show her usual self-restraint. His hand moved faster, matching her rhythm.

  Then, she called out with a deep shuddering cry. Cormac exploded, stars in front of his eyes as he sagged deep into his chair and felt his cock pulse.

  It took him a minute to recover. Then he leapt to his feet in a desperate attempt to tidy up before she came back. The last thing he wanted was to have totally misjudged the situation. It would be awkward if he was standing there with his pants down as she innocently strolled in from her bath and he realized the whole thing had come out of his imagination.

  Not that he had. The one thing in this whole crazy mess he was sure of was that Michaela had made herself come in the stream while thinking about him.

  Jesus. He was hard again.

  Think of rain. Ice. Cold things. He straightened everything out and put the water on for tea with a shaking hand before sinking into a chair. He’d rarely had a more intense experience. The mating bond had both deepened and tightened his connection to her.

  The kettle started to boil when Michaela walked in, her hair tied up in a turban. A long lock she’d missed hung down her back in a slight wave.

  “Hello,” she muttered.

  He turned off the stove and poured the water into the teapot, letting the fragrant steam fill the room. “Did you have a refreshing bath?”

  Any doubts about the reality of what had happened were put to rest when Michaela’s face pinked. She avoided looking him in the face as she tightened the robe. “Very refreshing, thank you.”

  He wanted her. That’s all there was. He sighed. “Sit. We need to discuss our situation.”

  Instead, she turned in a slow circle, inspecting the room. “This was a tree on the outside.”

  “I told you it was.”

  “No, but look.” She waved her arm. “This is definitely not a tree.”

  Cormac tried to see the space as she did. This had been one of his living trees for a long time and he hadn’t looked at it in a while, at least not with a stranger’s eye. “It’s a fey tree.”

  “That doesn’t answer how it made a tree trunk large enough to live in, but only from the inside.” She sat down and pulled off her turban, letting the ebony vine of hair unwind down her back. His hand twitched as he thought about wrapping it around his hand to reveal the soft skin at her throat. He could almost see the delicate pulse quicken as he gazed at her. Was his arousal affecting her the same way hers did him? “Cormac?” Her voice went husky, then she coughed. “Excuse me.”

  She was out of the room and through th
e curtain before he could speak. Cormac shut his eyes and tried to breathe normally. The mating bond was far more intense than he had anticipated. He ran a shaky hand over his head as he heard Michaela rustling around behind the curtain. To be honest, he had never anticipated it because he never thought he would be mated. It could be that she was a masquerada mated to a fey, or that he was a caintir.

  Or perhaps because he was Cormac and she was Michaela.

  Michaela strode back into the room with a grim expression that said she was ready to tackle multiple unpleasant conversations. “Where am I?” she demanded. “Where exactly is this tree?”

  He pulled out some fruit and poured a tall glass of tree sap. “Eat.”

  “Talk.” She crunched into a deep red apple.

  “We’re in High Park, still in Toronto. Deep in the forest, so not many come by except some coyotes and raccoons.”

  “That’s not High Park out there.”

  Cormac pointed to another door that lay behind a curtain. “Out that way it is.” He ran his hand along the wall. “This is a fey living tree. To others it looks like a regular tree—this one is a chestnut—but it’s a portal to the Queendom. We’re in both the tree and not-tree.”

  She chewed for a while, her eyes distant, before she nodded. “Okay.”

  Cormac waited, but that was all she said. “Okay?”

  She laughed, a light and pretty sound that he hadn’t heard before. “We’re arcana. This is fairly normal when you think about it. Is the portal open?”

  He shook his head. “I’m an exile, so mine goes only to a predetermined space outside the Queendom proper.” There was a tug on his sigil.

  Michaela winced and put a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry.” She glanced down, her eyes wide. “I felt you.”

  “We’re mated,” he said simply. He caught her gaze with his own. “We’re one. It might not have been deliberate, but we need to deal with it. Perhaps in time it will seem normal.”

  Michaela tugged on her earlobe. “I can’t apologize any more for what I did.”