“Remember, be polite, Raj. Be good.” One good thing about Raj being a gargoyle and Kipa being a god—my father’s curse couldn’t touch either one of them. Some magic could affect them, but a natural curse like this? Not so much. Not even a Medusa could freeze Kipa or Raj to stone.
I smoothed my skirt and grabbed a quick look in the foyer mirror. My hair was neat, and my clothes were tidy and clean. I sucked in a deep breath and opened the door, and there he was, just like I remembered him.
Curikan stood about five-nine, with shaggy hair that barely skimmed his shoulders. It was the color of night, darker than my own brunette and without the natural purple streaks. His eyes were leaf-green, and he was lean and muscled.
“My little Raven,” he whispered, opening his arms.
I flew into them, slamming my arms around his waist. “Da!” For some reason that I didn’t understand, and hadn’t expected, I started to cry. Thank gods for waterproof mascara.
“Raven, honey, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” He brushed my forehead with his lips—a very different kiss from the ones that Kipa gave me.
“Nothing,” I said, wiping my nose. “I just… It’s been so long. And so much has happened.” For a while, I made regular visits back home when I first moved to the West Coast, but the past ten years had flown by without more than talking on the phone or emailing.
My arm around his waist, I escorted him inside, hoping he would like my house. He’d been the one who paid for it, after all. “Here we are. Welcome to my home.”
Curikan looked around, nodding his approval. “Very nice. You’ve done well for yourself. I’m so proud of you, especially after you lost Ulstair last year.” He paused, then added, “So, you have a new beau?”
I had told him about Kipa, but not in so many details. I had conveniently left out that Kipa was Lord of the Wolves…a god. For some reason, that seemed like news that was better delivered in person rather than over the phone.
“Um, yes. Kipa. But I didn’t tell you something about him that you should probably know before you meet him—” I paused as the door opened behind us. Whirling around, I saw that Kipa was there. I glanced at my father’s face.
He stared at Kipa for a moment, inhaling sharply. Then, as if he were solving an equation, understanding filled his face. “You’re that Kipa.” He held out his hand.
Kipa grinned at him, shaking his hand. “Yes, sir, I am Lord of the Wolves. I take it Raven neglected to mention that little fact?”
“Yes, she did. And frankly, I’m not surprised.” Curikan glanced at me. “You could have trusted me, girl. And why didn’t your mother tell me? The pair of you, honestly.”
“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel if I told you I was dating a god.”
It was the truth. I had been worried that if I told him if I was dating a god, my father would have gone ballistic. Dating mortals? Humans? Not quite so pleased, but Curikan wanted me to be happy. Dating another Ante-Fae, or one of the Fae? Perfectly fine. But dating a god was dabbling in a world a lot more ferocious than either of us belonged to.
“I see,” Curikan said. He gave Kipa the once-over, then shrugged. “Well, as long as you treat my daughter well…I may not be a god, but if you hurt her, I promise you, I’m fully capable of making your life…difficult.”
Kipa nodded, and for once he didn’t look like he was trying to bite back a smile. “Understood. I won’t hurt her, Curikan. I respect Raven and that won’t change, no matter whether our relationship continues to grow or whether it fades.”
I slowly let out my breath. They hadn’t killed each other at first sight. A lot of my reassurances to Kipa had been based on hope rather than realistic expectation. Leading them both into the living room, I gave thanks that I wasn’t in the middle of a hellhound versus wolf fight.
Raj glanced up. He brightened. “Is this Curikan?” We had already discussed whether he was going to talk in front of Curikan and I had assured him it would be a good idea, since Curikan was family.
Curikan hadn’t met Raj yet. I’d found Raj a gargoyle-sitter the few times I left him to visit my father. He hadn’t met the ferrets, either.
Curikan stared at Raj for a moment, then broke out into a wide smile. “Curikan greets Raj. Curikan hopes Raj is feeling well,” my father said. We had discussed Raj’s odd cadence over the phone, and Curikan had informed me that most all gargoyles spoke in the third person. It was an odd trait, but prevalent in the gargoyle communities.
“Raj got scolded for making a mess today, but Raj is happy.” Raj turned back to the TV, more interested in the program than talking.
I tapped Raj on the shoulder. “Why doesn’t Raj watch his show in Raven’s bedroom?”
Raj shrugged, handed me the remote, and meandered off down the hallway after murmuring a vague good-bye. He loved his television and when his favorites were on, he turned into a couch potato who had no intention on doing anything but watching his shows.
After he was out of the room, I turned back to my father, who had sat down in the recliner. He was a good-looking man, actually, when I forced myself to see him in any way other than as my father, and he still looked young. But the Ante-Fae usually did, unless they were born old or had lived a very long, long time. We could die, but we just took our time about it, outliving even the Fae, and probably some of the dragons.
“So, your mother tells me you’ve been mucking about in the war against Typhon?” Curikan eyed me steadily. “She says you have something to tell me that I probably won’t like. Is that it?”
“Not quite.” I didn’t want to bring up Pandora, but my mother had warned me that if I didn’t tell my father, she would. And since she was coming for dinner tonight, I had better tell him before she got here. I bit my lip, trying to figure out where to start.
Kipa sat silent, but he looked like he was sitting on eggshells. I knew he wanted to help me so that I didn’t have to relive it again, but I couldn’t let him do that. For one thing, I considered myself a strong, independent woman. For another, I had to learn how to confront issues that I didn’t want to address. I tended to avoid conflict if it was something I didn’t want to talk about, and the torture I had endured at Pandora’s hands was definitely in that category. Sejun had removed the charge—thoughts about it no longer triggered panic attacks or flashbacks. But the fact was, I wanted to just let it stay in the past. Also, I knew my father would blow up when he heard, and I didn’t want him running off doing anything stupid.
“All right, here’s the—” I paused as the doorbell rang again. “Hold on.” I jumped up, running to the door. Peeking out the peephole I saw that it was Phasmoria, my mother. Lovely. Our family reunion was starting early.
I opened the door and my mother gave me a quick hug. She and I weren’t huggers—not with each other. “Phasmoria, you’re just in time. Curikan just got here.”
She stared at me for a moment, then mouthed, “Have you told him?”
I shook my head. “I was about to. Hell, he just found out Kipa’s a god.”
“That must have been priceless,” she said, grinning.
“Oh, it was. You should have been here.” I looped my arm through hers and escorted her into the living room.
Even though my mother had left when I was twelve—she was one of the Bean Sidhe and the Morrígan had required her to return to her duties—I resembled Phasmoria more than I did my father. He was far more gentle than she was, though that wasn’t the usual nature for one of the Black Dogs. He was also more sedate and set in his ways.
“Curikan,” my mother said, opening her arms to him.
He hugged her, kissing her on the lips. “Phasmoria, you’re looking well.”
“Thank you. You heard I’m now Queen of the Bean Sidhe?”
“Yes, congratulations on your promotion.”
“And I heard that you’ve been writing a book?” my mother said.
That was news to me. I turned to my father. “You’re writing a book?”
He nodded. “
Yes, actually. A memoir. I don’t know that I’ll ever publish it, but I thought you might like to have a copy for family records. In case you have children some day.”
Phasmoria settled herself beside me on the sofa. “Go on with your conversation,” she said.
My anxiety returned. There were so many ways this could go. “I need to tell you about something that happened to me. I didn’t want to worry you, but Phasmoria threatened to tell you if I didn’t.”
Curikan frowned. “If your mother thinks it’s important, then it is. Your energy just shifted, as well, and in a way that worries me.” My father was adept at reading both energy and body language.
“You’ve heard of Pandora, correct?”
He nodded. “Yes. What about her?”
“She’s signed up as one of Typhon’s emissaries. A few months back, she kidnapped me and…she tortured me.” I was staring at him, waiting for the explosion.
Curikan’s eyes reddened and all of a sudden, a massive black hound was sitting there, on the floor, snarling. He was almost twice the size of Raj and a mist rose around him. He snapped at the air. I hurried to his side, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Calm down, Da, please. I’m all right. There’s no way you’re going to be able to find her, so turn back into your biped shape.” I glanced at my mother. I had expected a number of reactions, but not for him to shift.
Phasmoria slipped to his other side. “Curikan, listen to me. You need to control yourself. Our daughter needs us to be level-headed and here for her, not running amok.” She whispered something in his ear that I couldn’t quite catch. The next moment, he shimmered back into his human form.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his hair tousled. He picked himself up off the floor and took his seat in the recliner again. “You know that strong emotions can make me shift.” He turned to me. “Beloved daughter, what happened? Are you all right?”
I quietly told him what had happened, about meeting her at the necromancers’ group in Fire & Fang, a vampire bar, and not realizing who she was. And then, how she had captured me and what she had done to me, and why.
“My toenails and fingernails have grown back in. My wounds are healed, though I have some scars. But I’m all right. I went to the Elves for therapy, and they used their techniques on me to remove the trigger emotions, but leave the memory.” I reached out to take his hand. “Truly, I’m all right now. I’ll never forget it, and I’ll always hate that bitch with a passion, but…I’m okay.”
Kipa and I brought them up to speed as to where we were in the battle against Typhon.
“Kipa’s working with both the Wild Hunt and Mielikki’s Arrow on the front lines. I’m on call for when the dead rise. Meanwhile, tomorrow, I need to go over to visit a tarot client who’s got some sort of poltergeist energy running amok in her house. I don’t know how long it will take. And tomorrow evening is the opening of the harvest fair, so I’ll be heading out to Marigold and Rain’s house. Kipa, would you entertain my father while I’m out?”
“I was going to go with you—” Kipa began, then paused. “Of course, I’ll be happy to.”
“Better than that,” Phasmoria said, “I’ll stay the night and tomorrow, while you’re at your client’s house, I know a little bar where we can get a drink and we won’t run into any Fae, humans, or magic-born, so Curikan, you’ll be safe to visit. Kipa, why don’t you come with us?”
I stared at her. “Where is it? Why haven’t I’ve heard of it?”
“It’s owned by one of the Ante-Fae—Yinny. The bar’s called Cellar Chain, and it’s out past TirNaNog, on one of the backroads. Exclusive to the Ante-Fae and deities.” She grinned. “I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it. It’s a key-club. I’ll make sure to get you on the list.”
I was about to say I didn’t need access, but the oven timer rang. The eggplant parmesan was ready. I turned to Kipa. “Love, can you set the table while I see to dinner? We’ll eat in about ten minutes.”
As I headed into the kitchen, I glanced back. My mother, the Bean Sidhe, was chatting with my father, one of the Black Dogs, while my Lord of the Wolves boyfriend was listening. Yeah, families. Sometimes they could be the quirkiest groups around.
Chapter Three
The next morning, after a long evening of reminiscing, I woke next to Kipa. I turned to face him, hunkering down under the covers as the rain beat a steady rhythm against the window. It was supposed to clear up during the afternoon, and then be cool and crisp during the evening for the start of the harvest fair.
Kipa opened his eyes and murmured something, reaching for me. I slid into his arms, silently pressing my lips against his, fully intending to take advantage of him, when a knock interrupted any thoughts of morning nookie.
“I made breakfast!” My father’s voice echoed from the other side of the door and I quickly disentangled myself, pushing myself to a sitting position as I pulled the covers up under my chin.
“We’ll be out after we shower!” I called. “Don’t come in!” It never bothered me when my mother interrupted our sleep, but with my father, I felt the urge to hide Kipa in the closet. Curikan knew full well that Kipa had stayed, but even so, I had the disarming image of him charging in to save me from the clutches of a god.
Kipa laughed, lazily sitting up. The covers fell across his lap and his hair was tousled, trailing down his back. With his bedroom eyes, he looked sleepy and sexy and I wanted to wrap myself around him even more. I settled for wrapping my arms around his waist and kissing him on the neck.
“Morning, love,” I whispered, nibbling on his ear.
He glanced over his shoulder, arching his eyebrows. “Morning, gorgeous.”
We took a quick shower together, and while ten minutes wasn’t really enough time, we managed to slip in a quick tryst under the running water, with me pressed against the shower wall while Kipa ate me out, kneeling between my legs. I let out a sharp cry as I came—he knew how to work my body—and then lathered up with some shower gel and gave him a quick hand job as the water streamed over us. Momentarily satisfied, we finished rinsing off and while I blow-dried my hair, Kipa plaited his own into a French braid.
“Toss me my clothes, would you?” I asked from the vanity.
Kipa carried over the outfit I had chosen. I slid into black tights, then a kicky three-tiered black skirt. I fastened my bra—underwire was a must for my girls—and then pulled on a black sheer long-sleeved top over it. You could barely see the intricate designs covering my torso and arms through the shirt. I had elaborate birthmarks that rivaled the best tattoos. Scrollwork and Celtic knots trailed up my arms from wrist to shoulder, weaving across my chest and torso thanks to my father. My back was covered with the design of wings—a nod to my mother’s Bean Sidhe blood.
I shrugged on a cropped jacket with short sleeves over the shirt and then did my makeup—vivid dark eyeliner, purple shadow into a smoky eye, and a deep eggplant lipstick. I loved the intense, dramatic look and it suited me well. As I slipped on my granny boots and laced them up, Kipa sat on the bed. He was wearing an orange turtleneck, a pair of camo cargo pants, and brown suede boots. When I was done, he stood and opened the door for me.
“Thank you, sir!” I said, curtseying.
He laughed. “You’re welcome, milady.”
We hustled down the hall to the dining room where my mother was setting the table. Curikan was in the kitchen, and Raj was eating his breakfast—what looked like blueberry pancakes—in the corner.
I cleared my throat. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Oh yes.” Phasmoria winked at me. “Sometimes Curikan and I revisit old times.”
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” That’s all I needed to hear. While the Ante-Fae were even less reticent about sex than the Fae, even we didn’t relish discussing our parents’ sex lives. “What’s for breakfast? Do I smell blueberries?” I took my seat and shook out my napkin. “I’m starved.”
Curikan appeared from the kitchen, carrying a
massive platter of pancakes in one hand and a platter of bacon and scrambled eggs in the other. He set them in the center and then, after giving me a quick kiss on the forehead, took his seat. “I’m so glad I came. I get lonely out there in the hills.”
“Have you thought about moving closer to some of the Ante-Fae compounds?” Phasmoria asked. “You would be far less likely to harm anyone there and you could go out in public more.”
Curikan shook his head. “No, I’ve had my fill of accidentally hurting people.”
“You always had a soft heart,” my mother said, digging into the pancakes.
I handed her the syrup. “So, what do you want to do this morning? I have an appointment at two-thirty, but I’m free the rest of the day until around six. We could go somewhere…I could show you the sights.”
“No, I’m quite happy hanging around with you for the morning. Then you do what you need to. Your mother is taking us to that bar, and then we’ll come home and hang out with Raj.” He glanced over at the gargoyle. “Hey, Raj, you want company today?”
Raj looked over his shoulder. “Raj loves company. Raj can show you the programs he likes to watch every day.”
I tried to suppress a smile. “Now you’re in for it. Raj loves his shows.” Turning to Kipa, I asked, “What are you doing today?”
“I’m going to pass on the bar. Herne texted me and asked me to head over to the Wild Hunt for the better part of the day.” He shook his head, stabbing a forkful of pancake. “Everything is on tenterhooks right now. The world is poised on the fulcrum, and one misstep either way could unbalance everything and send it toppling over the edge.”
That sobered the mood. But he was right—the world was standing on a razor’s edge and Typhon was determined to destroy the way of life as we knew it. He intended to enslave the planet into a reign of terror and servitude. We had discovered that the Father of Dragons planned to enslave humankind, along with the Fae, the shifters, and anybody who could fall to the dragons. In his eyes, mortals were to use as slaves and food for the returning dragons. If we didn’t stop him, he could easily do just that.
Witching Time: An Ante-Fae Adventure (Wild Hunt Book 14) Page 3