“Family reunions and ex-girlfriends,” Liz placed her hands on her hips, a move that didn’t fit the demure dress she wore, and one he adored her for. “Oh, and apparently I’m owned by Kieran for the party?” She pursed her lips and leveled him with a gaze.
Kieran ducked his head to avoid Jett’s stare. “Before you say anything, Misandra and my brother were both ready to lunge in for the kill due to certain complications. I had to step in. This way, anyone who wants at her has to fight me first.”
“So there’s more to this?” Liz asked, her voice bristling on edge.
Jett folded his arms in front of his chest. “Not like I disagree with your choice, Ky, but there’s more to claiming ownership than he’s letting on. It’s not a temporary thing—by making the declaration, he’s accepting responsibility for your safety from here until eternity in the fae community or until someone challenges and kills him.”
Liz’s lips thinned.
Fuck. The impulsive move seemed natural in the moment, a surefire way to keep her safe. Jett was right though, he hadn’t thought the repercussions through. Still, even if she wanted nothing to do with him down the road, and even if she broke his heart, he couldn’t imagine a day he wouldn’t want to keep her safe. She wasn’t a fling or some pretty face to him. Liz O’Brien had become a vital person in his life, one whose presence grounded him, and being around her soothed the bitterness and rage that burned in him for so many years.
“Jett, care to take a walk?” Her voice turned to ice as she turned away from him.
Jett winced, tipping two fingers in Kieran’s direction with a salute. He mouthed a ‘sorry’ as he walked off with Liz.
This party proved to be a veritable nightmare from the moment he stepped in. He lifted the glass to his lips and chugged the scotch in one gulp, needing the blaze more than anything right now. The ache in his chest burned something fierce, and here amidst all the finery, Court manners, and people who despised his existence, he’d never felt lonelier.
He plunked his empty glass on the bar and circled around to the foyer they’d entered through, his stompers slapping against the tile. Misandra’s gaze lingered on him while he strode through the room, but he didn’t bother looking up as he found the side door Trevor had entered, leading to the back rooms behind the stage. A couple of women slunk up to him while he dodged past butlers carrying trays laden with everything from small spoons of caviar to spongy treats dripping with the pink nectar from the Summerlands in the fae realms. Kieran bypassed it all as he slammed the door behind him.
Shadows filtered over him, and a couple of boggans shifted farther into the corner. Clanks sounded ahead, combating with the muted performance of those sirens. He followed the noise, turning a corner to stumble onto Trevor hard at work assembling their equipment. They had plenty of time to get ready, and the four of them prepped fast, but he’d sent Trevor for the sole purpose of getting out of the limelight. After the mess that occurred at the party so far, Kieran wished he had joined him from the outset.
“Didn’t expect you here so early.” Trevor straightened, dusting off his pants in the process.
Kieran didn’t miss the glance behind him as if he expected Liz to come slinking up at any moment. His chest tightened. She’d walked off with Jett with a coldness that froze him to the core. Liz might not forgive him for this one. “You had the right idea from the get-go hiding out back here.” Kieran leaned down to grab the stand, extending it to full length and pulling the cording out to plug in his gorgeous dynamic mic, all glossy chrome.
“Love the dose of paranoia these sorts of functions inject me with. Don’t suppose you happened to catch if Tymarch Alberich was in the crowd?” Trevor’s voice remained light with his Southern lilt, but Kieran caught the trepidation there.
“No, but the day I meet him, he’s a dead man. No way I’d let him take away my best guitar player.” Kieran growled, his voice low and serious as hell.
“Property doesn’t get a say in the equation,” Trevor plucked at a couple of strings to test his guitar, his fingers spitefully finding the strands and echoing the bitterness in his tone. His eyes darkened as he refused to look up, caught in a spin cycle of bad memories.
“None of that nonsense.” Kieran met his gaze, heat blazing in his own. “You’re my friend, my brother. Never property.”
Trevor set the guitar down with gentle movements belying the intensity emanating from him. He began walking as if he’d stroll right past Kieran, but instead, he stopped in front of him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’d follow you anywhere, brother.”
Kieran nodded and pulled his best friend in tight. He remembered those early years after he’d met Trevor, the cold loner who wanted to start a band to stay on the run. The man he’d first encountered would’ve never been honest about his fears and would’ve never disclosed his past. The man he’d first met was ice, but over time, Kieran wore him down. Amongst the humans, Trevor wouldn’t need to worry about his former owner coming for him—in the Summerlands and pockets of fae territory in the Otherworld he could be tracked and retrieved.
“Care to share why the hell you’re retreating back here so fast?” Trevor pulled away, working on his guitar set up as if he’d never left it.
“First people I run into on the floor are Misandra and Larsen. And I may have claimed ownership over Liz.” Kieran mumbled those last words, because he was in for one hell of a reaction.
Instead, Trevor shook his head and smiled. “You didn’t think it over for a damn second, did you?”
“Not in the slightest.” He gave him a sheepish smile. The guys knew what a hothead he was and anticipated it from him the moment they signed on to this gig.
“Rockstars coming through,” Renn shouted as he strolled through the side door, startling the group of boggans who’d about given up on privacy. The huge grin on Renn’s face spelled cocky, and the way he swaggered in like he owned the place provided a sheer contrast to all this stuffy Court formality.
Jett entered in with him, hands in his pockets as he leveled their drummer with the utmost disdain.
Kieran kept his eyes glued to the door, waiting for Liz to trail in behind them, but no such luck.
Jett stepped beside him and lifted a hand in the air before he spoke. “Before you ask, she’s in the entertainment room and will be waiting in the audience. That way we can keep an eye on her while we play and no one can get away with any foul play. But it’s time to prep for the show since the siren serenade is coming to a close.”
Kieran pressed his lips together, the burning pit in his stomach begging him to press for more information.
Jett’s eyes glimmered with knowing. “Yeah, she’s seething, Ky. Let her stew for the time being. Our girl’s reasonable.”
Though Jett was right, Kieran couldn’t help the urge riding through him to ditch the gig, track her down, and make sure things were okay between them. He didn’t like the icy way they’d left things, and regret burned through him with an urgency demanding resolve. After all, Kieran didn’t do regret.
“Take the advice for once,” Trevor suggested, cutting through his thoughts. “Besides, we’ve got a show to play.”
Kieran exhaled as he grabbed his mic stand, prepping to drag it out onto the stage. He might be amidst the Court he hated with all their stuffy rules and regulations, but his band never conformed to their schtick. And those poor miserable bastards had invited Discord’s Desire to play a gig at their hoity toity soiree. A grin spread on his face. “Let’s go inject some life into this cemetery parade, boys.”
Chapter Eleven
Jett plied her with three scotch and sodas, and her temper hadn’t fizzled. The second they stepped out of this onerous party, she would tear Kieran a new one. Of all the stupid, impulsive things he could’ve done—her grip tightened around her glass, close to the breaking point. She sucked in a deep breath, forcing a slower exhale as she leaned against the back wall of the entertainment room.
Once the sirens stepped off stage a lo
t of the crowd cleared, since most folks were dipping out for a snack and a top off of snake venom or whatever the hell these creatures drank. However, once the boys stepped on stage, the crowds would return. They always did. No matter how infuriating a certain front man could be, the guys had an unparalleled charisma they channeled into their live shows, and all of their sexy fae mojo didn’t hurt.
Liz scanned the room, not wanting to admit she searched for Larsen. The hope he had the answers she searched for hurt too much to bear. Besides, if she truly was one of the hunters at war with the fae, the sole thing keeping them from murdering her on sight was Kieran’s stupid claim. If they’d have let her slip her Beretta into her dress, she might feel safer, but according to their Court laws, bringing weaponry to one of these shindigs equated to walking in with a live grenade.
“You came with the band, yes?” a voice drew her attention.
Liz blinked for a moment before she realized the question was directed at her. A woman approached, and to her relief, not of the scowling Kieran’s exes variety. At least, not one he’d mentioned. This tall, lithe beauty radiated elegance to the point Liz felt like she fumbled around in Keds. Her cerulean dress shifted into lighter and darker shades as she moved, wrapping around her with a mermaid flare. Those inquisitive dark eyes held the fae wildness she expected, but unlike many of the others, this woman appeared more human. Apart from her tipped ears and the mischief in her gaze, the lady didn’t need much glamour to pass.
“Yeah, I’m their booking manager,” Liz said, lifting the scotch and soda to her lips. Kieran’s rules ran through her head again—don’t accept a favor, drink, or food. Unlike their brilliant band leader, she wasn’t the sort to blurt out whatever came into her head.
“I’ve wanted to see them play for a while. They’ve been stepping into my territory,” she said, tapping one manicured finger against her full plum lips. However, based on the amusement dancing in her gaze, she didn’t mind the competition.
“As the odd human out, I’ll give full disclosure—I’ve got no clue whose territory we step into, unless you’re talking state border lines.” Liz kept her focus on the woman beside her, even while the guys dragged equipment on stage. Her nerves skated on edge in this place, and though Kieran did the fool job of claiming ownership over her, she didn’t trust the fae here for a heartbeat. “Name’s Liz O’Brien by the way.”
“Danica Maslanka, and I mean the entertainment side of the street. I’m a leannan sidhe, Lizzie O’B, one of the tastemakers of our kind.” Despite the woman’s elegant attire and stance, once she opened her mouth, her tone emanated playfulness, and her eyes glinted with amusement.
“Lizzie O’B’s a new one. Hope it doesn’t stick,” she teased. Even though her guard remained up, she’d rather deal with slick talking gals like this one than all the clipped words and polite roundabouts she’d encountered thus far. Besides, Liz couldn’t help the curiosity bubbling inside, that maybe, maybe this woman knew a hint of what Larsen mentioned earlier.
“I’m surprised they’re playing here.” Danica cast a glance her way, intelligence lighting those deep chocolate eyes. “Those boys are as far away from an uptight Seelie shindig as they come, especially being neutral.”
Liz eyed her back. Of course, the woman fished for information, but Liz wasn’t born yesterday.
Danica pursed her lips as if she chewed on her thoughts. “Ah, fuck it,” the woman said, with none of the delicacy Liz expected. “Blink twice if Larsen’s stirring up shit for your boys again.” The side of her mouth quirked into a smirk. Liz blinked twice out of sheer surprise.
“What have you heard?” Liz asked, her voice sharpening.
Danica scanned the entertainment room, watching all manner of gilt and polished fae filtering in. Discord’s Desire had assembled on stage, and Ren tapped his drumsticks to a light beat as they prepared to play. She didn’t miss how Kieran’s eyes locked on her when he gripped the microphone.
“Not here,” Danica murmured, crossing her arms. Her focus lasered ahead. “Too many listening ears.”
Liz frowned, mulling over the idea. She wasn’t asking a favor or offering food, and the woman wouldn’t harm her since Kieran claimed her based on their weird societal rules. As Kieran’s possessive gaze burned into her, the anger from moments before returned, that the ass would dare jump into something like declaring ownership without asking her first. If he planned to keep her locked in a cage for safety, he had another thing coming.
“Then let’s find somewhere we can talk,” Liz said. Even though her nerves thrummed from the idea of walking anywhere alone with a strange fae, her irritation marched in louder. Unlike the other fae she’d encountered, Danica didn’t come off as plastic, cold, or dismissive, and Liz needed answers.
The melody began as Trevor plucked the strings, transfixing the audience. Jett’s low bass notes wove in, and the percussion and bass beat of Renn’s drumming followed as the song’s pace picked up tempo. When Kieran’s velvet voice penetrated the air, a hush slid over the crowd. His gaze marked her like a brand, so Liz took the opportunity to lock eyes with him, flash a big smile, and wave before she slunk out of the room after Danica. Let him stew on her disappearance for awhile.
Danica loped through the crowd with a gazelle’s stride, but Liz followed just as fast, swerving past a group of satyrs who were beginning to leer at the crowd. Their kind were raring to go at a moment’s notice, and with Discord’s Desire’s pheromone charged performance, they were straining the seams of their tailored dress pants. Liz gave herself a mental pat on the back—another good reason to get the hell out of this room. She dealt with enough randy fae in the RV and didn’t need the extra trouble.
The cool breezes from outside filtered into the next room. The open doors led to an atrium lit by torches, hanging bulb lights strung around the vicinity, and illuminated bowls of water rippling with the breezes. An ornate fountain bowl of carved marble fishes dominated the center, and the burbling sound echoed in the quiet of the near-abandoned area. With all the flash and noise coming from Discord’s Desire, the couple of wooden benches out there lay empty.
They found a bench far enough away that light from the open glass doors didn’t spill onto the pavers, and the shadows devoured the thatched surface. Liz’s bare arms prickled with goosebumps as she took a seat beside, Danica whose focus never rested one place for long. This wasn’t a woman of patience but a veritable firestorm full of sparrow curiosity and lit sparks.
“Care to share why you’re not running circles around our conversation like the rest of the people in this joint?” Liz broke the silence between them.
“Only if you want to explain what one of your kind is doing in a shindig like this. From what I’ve heard, hunters would rather see the lot of us slaughtered and yet here you are, living with Discord’s Desire.” Her eyes danced, and her mouth quirked in a small grin.
“Touché,” she replied with a wan smile. She stretched her arms over her head, despite the strain of the stiff champagne dress she wore.
While she was desperate for answers, she’d been around the block long enough to know demanding them wouldn’t get her anywhere. Desperation never played a winning hand in negotiations. For the first time since she arrived into this building, she took a deep breath, and her nerves settled to a simmer. The soft moonlight filtered in through the glass ceiling, creating patterns onto the slate flooring, and the hint of salt in the air added to the crispness.
“So I’m guessing you’re not part of the Larsen fan club,” Liz said, pressing her palms into the overlaid crosshatched wicker. “Just a stab in the dark here.” She took care not to ask direct questions, because based on the way these folks operated, they’d lawyer their way into construing answers as favors.
Danica kicked her feet back and forth along the bench, more energetic and youthful than the elegant image the woman cast inside. Her cerulean dress fluffed with the motions, the ethereal fabric floating feather light for a moment before it descend
ed.
“The asshole thought it would be fun to take my little sister for a spin and leave her in the dirt. No one fucks with my little sister.” Her voice grew tempered with cool conviction. “So, needless to say, I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground for a bit when it comes to his goings on. Hence why I knew he ordered a hit on his own brother.” Her gaze flicked to the atrium entryway, and her hands balled into fists.
The silhouette was unmistakable, even though Liz had just met him. Larsen Blackmore stepped into view, the shadows and icy light turning his features to perfection. The man possessed a cold, coiled beauty, so different from Kieran’s ripped-jeans raw heat. Liz preferred to dance in the flames.
“What are you lovely ladies doing out here unaccompanied?” Larsen’s voice came out a low purr while he prowled over to them as slick as a panther. Knowing the ugly man behind the beautiful face though, the package didn’t deliver.
“I’m pretty sure I’m accompanied,” Liz said, turning her head to look at Danica, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Didn’t we come out here together?”
Danica’s smile grew. “Larsen, in case you didn’t take the hint, your company’s unwanted.”
His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes sharpened. The man perfected his mask in a way that made Liz’s attempts look like child’s play. “I wanted to inquire as to how my dear brother’s doing. You seem to know him well.” Those shark-like eyes slid her way, pinning her with his predator intensity. Not for the first time this night, she wished she’d ignored the rules and brought her Beretta.
“Just peachy. Now that they’ve got a proper manager, we’re doing tours all over the place.” Liz delivered a sugar smile with her words, because she sure as hell wouldn’t admit they’d been struggling with the henchmen he kept sending their way.
“How are the senior Blackmores doing?” Danica met his gaze, knowing in her own. The woman kept a pulse on all the goings-on around here. For her to bring it up in the first place must’ve meant troubles brewed amongst the family.
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