It took a firm tug to pull the white shirt free of Tamsin’s waistband, Lori put both hands on the newly exposed skin. The contact released a fountain of desire, flowing up Lori’s arms and engulfing her entire body. She could feel the slickness grow between her legs.
Tamsin’s laugh was mainly breath. “Does it get to be my turn soon?”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it.” Without warning, Tamsin arched her back and flipped Lori onto the bed.
“You want to make a fight of it?”
“No. Just levelling the playing field.”
Lori’s stretchy T-shirt put up little resistance. The rest of her clothes followed, ending up scattered across the floor.
All rational thought was lost in the touch of skin on skin, bodies moulding together, warm and pliant, hard and soft. Lori was consumed by passion, by raw burning desire. She needed Tamsin’s touch. She needed Tamsin’s fingers inside her, Tamsin’s tongue exploring her, Tamsin’s body pressed hard against her. She needed Tamsin to take her to the summit and send her over the edge.
And she got it.
Lori’s climax exploded, leaving her weak and gasping. When she recovered her breath, she opened her eyes to meet Tamsin’s, staring at her from scant inches away.
“Was that okay?”
“Oh yes.” Strength slowly returned to Lori’s arms. She pulled Tamsin’s head down into another long, searching kiss. Then, shifting around, Lori rolled Tamsin onto her back. “Now it’s my turn.”
Lori ran her fingers the length of Tamsin’s side, exploring the softness of skin overlaying firm muscle. Tamsin groaned as her body tensed and arched, her eyes closed, her hands clenched, her breasts rose and fell with each ragged gasp.
The sight of Tamsin responding to her touch was enough to reignite the hot desire in Lori, but it could wait. First, she wanted to enjoy the sense of power and control, making Tamsin shake and groan, watching Tamsin hit the peak, again and again.
At last, Tamsin caught hold of her wrist. “Dammit, woman. Don’t you take prisoners?”
“No quarter asked for or given.”
“If that’s how you want it.”
Tamsin’s arms wrapped around Lori’s shoulders, again taking control. Laughter bubbled in Lori’s throat, caught between the gasps.
A long while later, they were both sated, and lay together quietly, exchanging soft kisses. Lori traced the line of a thin scar along Tamsin’s thigh.
“A werewolf. I didn’t see it in the dark.” Tamsin offered the information.
“Really?”
Tamsin nodded.
“I’ve never had a lover who fights werewolves. I think that’s where I was going wrong before.”
“That would have been a tough requirement, since there’s no werewolves on Earth.”
“It’s not the werewolves themselves, it’s the lack of spirit to tackle them. You were right, when we spoke, way back, I did resent my parents for leaving me behind. And then, what with Grandma criticising everything they did, and the other kids at school laughing at me, I just decided everything was Mum and Dad’s fault and I wasn’t going to be like them. Of course, computers are fun, but…” Lori grinned. “Virtual reality is an oxymoron. I need to take some risks, now and again.”
“I could have told you that the day we met.”
“As a general life principle?”
“No. You in particular. When you walked into the Halfway House, with your pen and notebook, asking for fruit juice and looking down your nose at us, I was expecting all sorts of trouble. I thought you’d be terrified. I imagined we’d have to carry you out to the wagon, and you’d be crying and whining all the way to Annwyn, or doing stupid things like trying to escape. Instead you just sat there, unfazed and totally pissed off at me.” Tamsin stared into Lori’s eyes. “Do you have any idea of the effect you and your snippety attitude had on me?”
“Really?”
“Yes. And it hasn’t gotten any less. Let me show you.”
Tamsin’s hands began tracing new patterns over Lori’s skin.
Chapter Twenty-four
The change struck Lori the moment she stepped through the door. The aroma of food was the same, but the mess hall was eerily deserted with just the Silver Ravens seated at their normal table in the corner. A huddle of boggarts dithered around the kitchen doorway, unsure what to do, now that dozens of people were no longer shouting conflicting demands at them.
Shorty looked up as Lori and Tamsin wove between the empty tables. “Hey, where’ve you been?”
“I can guess.” Judging by her smile, BH was guessing correctly. Her eyes danced with amusement. “Had fun?”
Lori slid onto the bench beside Tamsin, hoping she was not turning red. “Yes, thank you.”
Widget had also put two and two together. “And we know a song about that, don’t we, boys and girls?”
“I think you know over a hundred.” Hippo flicked a wet pea across the table at Widget. “Ignore him, Mousie. He’s just jealous because he can’t find the blow-up sheep in his bag o’ tricks.”
“So you’re the one who took it!” Widget feigned surprise.
Lori joined in the laughter as she helped herself to vegetable soup from the pot in the middle of the table. She was well on the way to becoming one of them, if she wanted, not that they had a future in Annwyn. It appeared she had even acquired a nickname.
“Please, madam.” A boggart stood at Tamsin’s shoulder.
“Yes?”
“His Majesty, King Gilwyn, sent these for you. A reward for your help.”
Tamsin accepted the rack of four bottles. Her expression was a polite poker face. “Please convey our thanks to His Majesty.”
“Yes, madam. Thank you, yes.” The boggart scuttled away.
“Just how stupid does he think we are?” Finn muttered under his breath.
“He might not know Rianna has already tried this trick,” Tamsin said. “They may both have happened to read the story in the same book and decided to give it a go.”
Gilwyn’s lack of imagination was breathtaking. Lori held a bottle up to the light. The colour was right for brandy. “Chalk one up to the Dunning-Kruger effect.”
“What’s that?” Tamsin asked.
“Ill-informed people are unaware of what they don’t know, which means they fail to account for others being way ahead of them. Gilwyn is too sure of himself to think he needs to put any effort into outsmarting us.”
“It’ll be fun, educating him.” Tamsin waited until the room was clear of boggarts “Have we all had enough soup?” With no objections, she emptied the bottles into the pot.
A pair of boggarts appeared, carrying a large roast bird between them. Lori did not think it was either a turkey or a peacock, although the size was right. They placed the platter on the table and left again, taking away the soup pot, with its drugged contents.
Finn stood up, wielding a carving knife. “Shall I play mother?”
“You just want an excuse to put those false boobs on again.”
* * *
Tamsin wrapped her arms around Lori and planted a slow kiss on her lips. She then gave a regretful smile. “Unfortunately, that’s all for tonight. The others will be along in a minute.”
“Okay.”
Even so, Lori made the most of snuggling against Tamsin’s body. The old roller coaster. The start of a relationship, when everything was exciting and intense, before mundane familiarity set in. Or would things be different with a woman who was more adept at fighting dragons than balancing columns of numbers? Time would tell.
The expected tap on the door came. Lori stepped away and tried to act cool and relaxed, while feeling anything but. This was the first time she had seen Tamsin’s quarters. The room was no larger than hers, but Tamsin had spent her years in Annwyn upgrading her home comforts. Cushioned chairs faced the fireplace. A set of shelves held books and ornaments. The walls were hung with tapestries, paintings, and a rack that looked as though
it was intended for tools of varying sizes and shapes, although it was currently empty.
“Is that supposed to have weapons on it?”
“Yup.”
“Gilwyn had our rooms searched while we were at dinner?”
“That’s what it looks like.” Tamsin opened the door.
“Bastards have swiped my bag.” Widget sounded disgusted as he stomped into the room.
BH followed. “And everything made of iron or steel, except my throwing stars.” She patted the pouch on her belt.
“You know you’re not supposed to carry them in the mess hall?” There was no rebuke in Tamsin’s voice.
BH grinned. “Report me.”
“Weren’t they taken off you when Rianna had us enthralled? How did you manage to keep hold of them before?” Lori asked.
The grin widened. “That’s my secret.”
Finn, Shorty, and Hippo arrived, also minus weapons.
“It confirms Gilwyn is up to something,” Finn said.
“Yes.”
“And he isn’t completely stupid.”
“Nobody is. But some come closer than others.” Tamsin’s tone left little doubt where she ranked Gilwyn. “It cuts out the option of making a run for it. We don’t want to be unarmed if any slua are hanging around the portal.”
“Oh well, look on the bright side. We were right to pour the brandy away. Otherwise, just think of the waste. And we still have our knives.” Hippo patted the sheath on his belt.
Tamsin moved to the window and peered through a crack in the shutters. “Silver blades will be useful. We want to take Gilwyn alive, so we can bargain our way out. If he’s dead, we’ll have a volatile situation, and there’s no saying which of the fay will come out on top. It’s also vital we pick up some scrolls, and he’s the one who knows where they are.”
“What’s with the scrolls?” Finn asked.
“It’s a long story, and we don’t have time now. We need to move quickly, while he’s waiting for the drug to take effect.” Tamsin left the window. “The gates are guarded by boggarts armed with silver tipped spears. We can handle them, but not before they raise the alarm. Fortunately, thanks to Gilwyn, we know another way into the keep.”
“Won’t he have guards on the secret passage?” Widget asked.
“Probably. But he’ll expect us to do the same thing he would in our shoes. If he could use firearms, and they were taken off him, he’d be desperate to get them back. He’ll be looking to the armoury for the first sign the brandy trick hasn’t worked. The last thing he’ll be ready for is us attacking the keep, armed with silver daggers and a couple of broom handles.”
* * *
The Silver Ravens slipped silently through the garden of the inner bailey, keeping to the darkest shadows. Once in the storeroom, Finn twisted a wall sconce first left than right. In the best traditions of kids’ movies and TV shows, a trapdoor appeared, revealing the steps leading down.
The air underground smelt of mould and wet stone. The tunnel had been carved from the bedrock beneath the castle. The passage was so narrow they were forced to go in single file and Shorty had to duck. Dust, cobwebs, and soot decorated the walls and ceiling. Widget was at the front, with the one flashlight that had escaped the boggarts’ notice. Lori was towards the rear, armed with a broom handle from the storeroom. Tamsin had been speaking quite literally about their weapon options.
As it turned out, Gilwyn had put a guard on the passage exit—a single boggart with a hand bell, who had fallen asleep at her post and was safely overpowered and tied up, even before Lori emerged from the tunnel.
“The thrall pen is full,” BH whispered, peering through a crack in the door.
“Good,” Tamsin said. “That means Gilwyn hasn’t sent anyone to capture us yet. Hopefully, we can get a lot closer to him before the alarm is raised. There’s another secret passage from the dungeon to the study above the audience hall.”
“Do we know how to find it?” Lori asked.
Finn smiled. “Luckily, Gilwyn showed us when we were going after Rianna.”
The lower levels of the keep were deserted, and they reached the dungeon without encountering anyone. Finn led them into the new passage which branched and squeezed its way between walls and up ladders. The castle was honeycombed. Without BH’s sense of direction they would surely have become lost, but eventually, a section of wall swung open on the familiar study.
Lori tried the cabinet door. “Do you think Gilwyn would have put the scrolls back in here?” She threw the question over her shoulder.
“We’ll ask him when we see him,” Hippo replied.
“Why wait?” Widget spent a moment examining the lock, then placed the tip of his dagger in the narrow gap between the door and struck the end of the hilt with his fist. The door popped open. “Now that’s what I call a really crap lock.”
The scrolls were back in their pigeonholes.
“Leave them for now. We can’t carry them.” Tamsin stood at her shoulder. “But we know where they are if Gilwyn doesn’t want to be helpful.”
“Or has an accident,” Finn added.
Meanwhile, BH had opened the study door a crack and peered out. “All clear.”
Staying close to the back wall, they followed BH along the balcony and down the spiral staircase to the floor of the audience chamber. She signalled a stop by an open archway behind the throne—the entrance Rianna had always appeared through. Over BH’s shoulder, Lori saw into the most opulent hallway yet. Thick tapestries lined the wall. Gold inlaid floor tiles sparkled around the edges of deep pile runners. Candlelight cast rainbow colours through crystal chandeliers. This could only be the royal apartment.
BH peeked around the corner, then indicated to the others, holding up a single finger. She slipped a throwing star from the pouch at her waist. A soft whoosh and then two thumps. “That’ll teach him not to pay attention on guard duty.” BH whispered the words.
Now Tamsin took the lead, creeping along the corridor to where a dead fay was crumpled outside a heavy wooden door. His silver halberd lay beside him on the carpet. Tamsin shoved the body aside with her foot and placed a hand on the door handle. From inside came the soft sound of a harp, then voices and a low groan.
After a moment to ensure everyone was ready, Tamsin wrenched the door open and barged in, with the Silver Ravens on her heels. Shouts, squeals, and yelps erupted in the room. Coming in at the back, Lori clipped someone’s foot and half fell through the doorway.
The room was large, yet gave the sense of being cosy, due to the warm candlelight. The panelled walls were painted red, matching the thick rug on the floor. Settees were strewn with embroidered cushions. The air was heavy with the scent of perfume and alcohol. It was a room just begging to be called a boudoir. Windows on one side gave access to a balcony, the same one Lori had viewed from above, watching Rianna with Tamsin.
Gilwyn, shirtless, was on his feet, backing away. Another fay man was struggling to rise, his efforts hampered by the naked human woman straddling his lap. When he succeeded in pushing her off, there was no surprise to see his clothes unbuttoned and untied, from neck to codpiece. Six more blank faced human thralls, in varying states of undress, were frozen like statues. The only one who was fully clothed was the harpist, sitting by the fireplace. Three boggarts made a comical tableaux by a small round table in a corner. One had been midway through pouring a drink and was now too taken aback to stop. Red wine spilled over the brim of the glass and trickled to the floor.
“I’m sorry. Are we interrupting something?” Tamsin’s voice was innocently cheery.
“I—” Gilwyn choked off. He snapped his fingers.
Something moved in a dark corner of the room—something large. Three hellhounds shook their heads, roused from sleep. Fire-rimmed eyes fixed on their targets. In an instant, the dogs were on their feet and bounding across the room, surging in a living wave of fur, muscle, and teeth.
Tamsin, Finn, Shorty, and Hippo met the onslaught, armed only
with a dagger apiece. The long blades definitely counted as combat knives, but they were hopelessly outmatched against the monstrous hellhounds.
The first dog leapt for Tamsin’s throat. She ducked and twisted aside, cracking her left elbow into the side of its head. Her right hand, holding the knife, lashed out, slicing down the animal’s ribs. Neither action deflected the hellhound. Its weight carried it on, slamming into Tamsin, and knocking her to the ground. The cut could be no more than a light wound.
For a heart-stopping moment, the beast stood over her, teeth bared, but then the hellhound began to convulse, twitching, yowling. It fell to the side, curling into a heap—a shrinking heap. In the space of two seconds, the dog was the size of a rat. It hissed, spat, and ran under a settee, gone so quickly Lori could not say for sure what the animal was, but the silver had done its work. Had Tamsin known the hellhounds were the result of transformation magic?
The other two beasts met a similar fate, but the fight was not over. A second wave was coming—blank faced thralls, slow, lumbering, silent, and yet, in a strange way, no less frightening than the dogs. They were so poorly coordinated, they presented a limited challenge, but like the zombies in movies, they refused to stay down. Tamsin and Finn struggled to restrain the largest man. They clearly did not want to harm the innocent victims of fay magic, but might have no choice.
Meanwhile the two fay had retreated to the far wall, and the boggarts were all trying to huddle under the table, despite the lack of space. BH had another throwing star in her hand, although in the hectic activity, she was unlikely to get a clean shot, even had she wanted to kill Gilwyn.
Lori fended off the harpist, using her broomstick. Having swapped the leathers for her old jeans, she did not have a silver knife, or any other weapon, except…
She shouted over the chaos, “It’s just iron that’s automatically fatal to the fay, isn’t it?”
“And steel,” Widget shouted back.
“What about a nickel-brass alloy?”
“Should make them as sick as a dog, I’d guess. But—”
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