The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1)

by Jessica Aspen

  He stroked it back from her face, finger-combing the ripples out and skimming the skin on the nape of her neck with light, soothing touches that soon had Trina quivering. Turning her to face him, he reached for her again, and she went into his embrace like a ship into a dock, shaking and trembling from her conflicting emotions.

  They rocked from side to side, hips pressed together in a slow, easy rhythm. Her tension slid away. Against her belly, his arousal grew, and her resolve weakened.

  “Feel better?”

  She nodded. Afraid that speaking would shatter the moment, she kept her face pressed against his chest and listened to his heart thumping through his shirt. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud. Her heart changed its beat in response, matching his rhythm beat for beat. She inhaled the smoky, hot smell of leather and the scent of his skin and she softened between her thighs, becoming slick, hot, and wet.

  The smart thing to do would be to step away.

  Crying had opened up a deep, emotional hole inside her, a hole she might never fill. But sex would help. She hadn’t planned on this, but nothing in her life had turned out as planned. Screw it.

  She was far from home and family and he was far from the man she might have chosen. But sex with him would be a temporary stop-gap and fill the huge void of emptiness inside her. She would take what she needed. Now.

  She slid her tongue out, licking salt from her lips, and gave him the invitation he waited for. That she had waited for.

  He drew back. His fall of long black hair almost hid the ferocious hunger in eyes that delved deep into hers, searching and finding her answering desire for his lips, his touch, his body. He leaned down and brushed her open mouth with an exquisite tenderness that resonated deep inside her. She sighed, and pretended it was real.

  His embrace tightened and he came in faster, harder, increasing the pressure of his lips into a force that she welcomed and opened for. Small, soft uncontrolled moans rose in the back of her throat. The heat of his kiss liquefied her bones, stealing her strength and the last bits of her resolve.

  She didn’t know if it was because she was lonely and scared or if it was his magic that had her desperate for him in a way she’d never been desperate for a man’s touch before. And she didn’t care. Her skin burned. She was too hot, too needy, too hungry for him to wonder about the reasons. Clinging to him she pressed her hips into his arousal, and lost the ability to stand. His stroking hands moved down to her ass and pressed her against him in an iron grip. She moaned, his erection leveraged hard against her, and she rubbed against him with her face, her breasts, and her hips.

  Needing his touch.

  Craving his touch.

  She grabbed his hand and led him to the couch, all worries and thoughts gone now that she’d decided to take advantage of her situation and steal his comfort. He sat down and lifted her on his lap, her skirt riding up over her thighs. He ran a finger under the edging of lace that ran along her ass and she shuddered.

  Her breath coming in fast, short, pants, she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, pulled the fabric apart, and explored his chest with feverish nips and kisses that had him shaking under her touch. His chest was smooth, just a few rough hairs providing texture under her palms, teasing her skin. He unzipped the back of her dress and undid her bra. She helped, not caring as the dress tore when she pulled it off to pool at her waist and lay her breasts bare. He pulled one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking and licking until she cried out her pleasure and rocked harder against the bulge of his hard-on.

  Their clothes ended up thrown carelessly on the floor. They were naked, hot hands and fingers stroking until she burned with need. The tip of Logan’s cock pushed at her and she tried to maneuver him inside where she was ready, wet, and aching.

  She’d made her decision, no waiting anymore. She wanted him to take away her fears and worries, take her into oblivion.

  Hands on his shoulders, she held on while he gripped her ass and angled her down and onto him. His hands bruised, urging her to move.

  He felt so good, so right, deep inside her as she moved up and down his shaft. So right she didn’t remember why this wasn’t a good idea. All her doubts and fears fell away, leaving her to enjoy the moment, the man between her thighs, and her orgasm building stronger and stronger. She came, clenching her hands on his shoulders. His kiss swallowed her moans turning to screams. Sucking them into his mouth, he shuddered in simultaneous release.

  They sat locked together, Trina’s face buried in the damp, salty skin of Logan’s neck. Heartbeats and breaths slowed together as they recovered. Trina leaned back, smiling and secure in his arms. She looked at his face and stiffened as she recognized that smug smile that men couldn’t keep to themselves when they got what they wanted from a woman.

  “Maybe keeping you wasn’t a bad idea after all, Trina MacElvy.”

  She sagged down.

  This had been a mistake.

  Logan’s grip relaxed and she took advantage, moving in a sudden tumble to the floor. She hopped up, grabbed her clothes, and aimed for the bathroom. Then she remembered there wasn’t one.

  “Great, just great.”

  She wrestled herself back into the torn, clingy dress, struggling behind her back with the zipper and muttering low, violent curses.

  “Where are you going? Why are you getting dressed?”

  “The facilities are outside, remember?” She snarled. She didn’t look at him as she grabbed the lantern from the table and went outside, leaving him in the dark. She got three steps beyond the door before turning around and coming back in.

  “I’m borrowing your boots. There’s no way I’m using an outhouse bare-foot.”

  His smug smile faded.

  Trina clomped out of the house in the over-large black leather boots and pushed her way through the enormous hounds settled in sleepy piles on the front porch, so angry with herself she didn’t care about their otherworldliness. They were just dogs, he was just a man, and she was an idiot.

  She found the outhouse and took her time, grateful that someone had left something so modern as toilet paper in it. And decided that the elf owed her shoes.

  She hesitated on the porch of the cottage, surrounded by sleeping, magical hounds, and braced herself for the argument about to happen. She’d jumped the bones of the man who had been trying to kill her and had the most intensely physical sex of her life. She had no leverage now. He thought she was just an easy lay. She’d screwed up. Again. Now she had to go in there, face him dead-on and tell him no more sex.

  And the worst part, although it was bad enough, wasn’t that she would have to spend the rest of the year fighting his elven attraction. The worst part, was now that she knew what it felt like to kiss him, to touch him, to have him inside of her, now she’d be fighting her real desire to do it again.

  But she couldn’t. She sagged against the door. Not unless she wanted to live the rest of her life with the betrayal of her family and the weight of her guilt.

  Chapter Eight

  Haddon’s day as the queen’s right-hand man had gone from tolerable to horrendous.

  It began to go wrong early in the afternoon when the shadows from the tall trees shading the large reception area lengthened and a small grey cavern gnome was admitted for an audience. As soon as Haddon saw the sniveling, cringing gnome make his requisite, crawling bow he knew the day was about to go to shit.

  The gnome’s master was Prince Kian, the queen’s only son and most important prisoner.

  The queen was in her more approachable Aeval aspect and Haddon witnessed the fool’s relief written all over his face before he lowered it to the grass. Obviously, the gnome had something to present from the prince and he thought he stood a chance with Aeval.

  Haddon knew better. It would make no difference. If the queen wanted to have a temper tantrum, she would. It pleased the queen to have the court tiptoeing around her, pacifying her. And if there was anything guaranteed to set her off, it would be a request from her son,
the ungrateful sod.

  At the sight of Kian’s servant, the ends of the queen’s kinked, purple-red hair lifted with electrical static. This was not a good indicator for anyone standing close to the throne, but Haddon kept his face smooth. He wouldn’t have lasted an hour with the queen had she been able to read his fear of bad hair days.

  The queen frowned and lifted a delicate hand to smooth out the slight frizz. Her Majesty was already showing signs of irritation and the gnome had yet to open his wide-lipped mouth. She left the gnome groveling and grinding his face into the grass for ten excruciating minutes before allowing him to regain his feet and state his business. The shaking gnome rose but instead of speaking, he stared at the hot pink flowering vines covering the base of the thrones.

  The queen rapped long, hard fingernails on the polished wooden root that formed the arm of her throne. “Well, speak up!”

  The longer the gnome abased himself, bowing and not speaking, the more the queen’s hair calmed down. For a moment, Haddon thought he’d been wrong, that the gnome was merely nervous and he didn’t have anything special to present, other than his regular quarterly report on the prince. But then the pathetic gnome pulled out a worn piece of parchment, sputtered a little, and cleared his throat before proceeding to read an obviously prepared statement.

  Gnomes were not very bright.

  “My lord Prince Kian requests that he be allowed a visitor, Your Majesty,” he said, his nasal voice barely audible over the din of the court.

  “Louder!” The queen cracked out.

  His large ears quivered. The visible round bump in his neck bobbled as he tried to swallow.

  “Prince Kian re…re…re…quests a visitor, Your Majesty,” he repeated in a somewhat louder tone, the paper in his pasty, knobbly hands visibly shaking.

  “A visitor? What sort of a visitor?”

  “His Majesty humbly requests that he would like someone to play chess with. He grows bored with my poor playing ability and requests someone smarter than a common cave gnome.”

  “He grows bored.” The queen’s eyes rounded. “He grows bored! Did you all hear that?” The ladies in waiting nodded in unison, the tiny wings on their shoulders flapping fast, and there was a general mutter of agreement from those of the court close enough to take the risk.

  The gnome quailed at her words, the odor of his fear increasing as the queen’s volume grew. Haddon tried not to inhale too deeply and moved another step back until he was slightly behind the queen.

  “Why does my son think I put him there? Maybe a little boredom will force him to think about my request.” Her fingers tapped out a nervous staccato. She looked down at the gnome, her fine, dark eyebrows pulling together. “Is that all?”

  “N...n...no, Your Majesty.” The gnome swallowed again, put his thin shoulders back, and continued with his mission. “My lord, the prince, also humbly requests that you allow him his freedom.” His voice wavered, trickling off into a pool of dark silence.

  The experienced denizens of the court had started working their careful, casual, calculated way from the throne the moment they realized the visitor was the prince’s emissary. Now, a few more of the less oblivious followed suit.

  The queen’s voice dropped to an almost inaudible tone. The gnome moved as close as he dared to the throne, his huge pink-tipped ears flaring wide to catch every virulent word.

  “You may inform my self-centered son that he may leave his ‘vacation’ when he has agreed to marry my niece, Agrona. I am tired of his constant petitioning and whining! He has been in that cave a mere fifteen years. And it is as charming as any palace in Underhill. Charming!” She glared at Haddon and he nodded his affirmation, wishing he dared take another step back. “My son should be thankful that he has you to attend to his every need. What more could he want?” She stared at the cringing gnome. Her purple eyes darkened and narrowed into slits. “Wait a moment, what’s your name? Beetle?”

  “Beezel, Your Majesty.”

  “Beezel. Don’t I have your wife and children tucked away somewhere?”

  Haddon hadn’t thought it was possible for the grey skin of the gnome to get any paler, but it did. That was the moment a dark mist crept out from the queen’s skin, hovering about her form and slowly obscuring it, the moment Haddon’s day fell apart.

  The queen had been in her pleasure aspect of Aeval when the gnome entered the court. Treacherous, lovely, and calm. Now all Haddon could see floating in the shimmering mist were her extraordinary purple eyes, like a cobra’s, ready to strike.

  “I…I…I…” Beezel stammered.

  Then the mist dissipated, revealing the dark beauty of the queen’s more dangerous aspect, the Morrigan. Far older than many could remember and from the brutal time period thousands of years ago when the Tuatha had come to Earth and the queen had dominated humanity in the form of a living goddess. Stark blue veins traced under her whiter-than-white skin. Her rambunctious red hair had metamorphosed into heavy, inky ringlets with lowlights of red, dark as dried blood, the snaky tresses moving with a life of their own.

  Even her jewelry morphed from golden leaves to silvery, white skulls swinging from a wide-linked chain around her neck.

  Her huge bat-like black wings unfolded, the iridescent, six-inch razor-sharp feathers blocking out the light coming through the tall trees. The gnome shrank away from the thrones and his shaking increased, his many teeth hitting each other like mallets echoing across the still court.

  “You tell my ungrateful son that the next time he sends someone to me, it had best be about his wedding or I will come to him myself!” she shrieked, acidic spittle flying from a mouth contorted into a specter of rage.

  The large black wings beat the air faster and faster, raising a huge wind that blew the little gnome back even as he struggled in vain to make his bow. He fell forward. His feet flew back and he landed on his face, grasping at handfuls of the grassy floor in a vain attempt to halt his progress as he skidded across the wide empty court. The enormous doors of the court swung open and Beezel blew through, hitting a pillar hard on his head and sliding down to lie in an unmoving pile. The heavy doors clanged shut.

  The deserted court was silent. Everyone who could flee had fled the wrath of the queen. The only sound the slight brushing of the shaking leaves in the trees.

  Fifteen years ago, the prince had disappeared. All of his supporters had been exiled or thrown into the dungeons. No one in the court knew where he was. No one asked. No one dared.

  The wind blew harder. Haddon’s feet lifted off the ground. He grabbed for the throne, his fingers sliding on the smooth wood, his legs sailing out behind him. He spoke in as calm a tone as he could and still be heard over the storm. “Your Majesty, please. It does you no good to get so upset about His Highness. He will come to his senses eventually.”

  The queen’s wings slowed and the wind died. Haddon’s feet touched the ground and he let out a small sigh of relief under his breath. The queen eased her wings behind her back and folded them into a tense position, ready to spring out if needed as she subsided onto her throne, her darting eyes still vivid with anger.

  “If that stupid huntsman would finish his job and track down all of the MacElvys, I wouldn’t have to keep my son confined. It’s for his own safety, you know.”

  “I know.” Haddon soothed, relieved to have his feet once more touching the ground and the queen thinking about covering up her true plans. “And once you have him wed to Agrona, she will keep him safe.”

  “Safe, yes. I just want him safe.” She smiled slyly and winked at him. “Laila!” One of the queen’s many ladies-in-waiting rushed over. “I need some plum wine.” Laila scurried off. The queen leaned in to whisper in Haddon’s ears, “Kian is nearly causing too much trouble. Once the MacElvy’s are dead and he’s married to Agrona, he’ll be much easier to manage.”

  Yes, he would be. Agrona would suck the prince of his Gift, his virility, and eventually, his life. And the queen would take all of that from Agron
a and use it to wreak her vengeance on the Golden Court of Oberon.

  Haddon patted the queen’s shoulder, soothing and fussing as he poured the wine and served marigold biscuits. The crisis was over, but he’d spend the rest of the day working double-time to keep the queen from killing anyone. She’d need her ego soothed, disruptions kept to a minimum, and her lusts slaked. And he was the person she would go through for everything. He’d made sure of that.

  Even he, who had done terrible things in the name of advancement, things that turned his stomach, quailed at the thought of being wed to the queen’s niece. Agrona, a product of generations of royal inbreeding combined with some distant troll blood. Not only would the prince be losing his freedom and his powers, he would end up an empty shell, a puppet, when Agrona turned her life-sucking Gift on her husband.

  The prince would be safe from harm, no longer a threat to the queen’s rule or peace of mind. And the prophecy would be nullified.

  All of this worked in Haddon’s favor, as long as the prince stayed locked up. It had taken years for Haddon to become the man next to the throne. The throne was next. All it would take was patience, cunning, and a little manipulation.

  Long ago, during the violent, early years of the queen’s childhood, when the queen’s father had stolen him from his parents to be the princess’s whipping boy, Haddon had perfected the art of inner concealment. It had kept him alive. Later, iron control and a willingness to do what was needed had done more than help him survive, it had helped him move up the ranks from bullied, crawling servant to trusted retainer. Now he was finally in a position to make his move. And he’d be damned if he let the prince or the queen ruin his plans.

  Chapter Nine

  Trina snuggled into to the warmth of a firm body, waking slowly to the safe solid sound of a rhythmic heartbeat. She yawned, rubbed some sleep out of her eyes, and watched the dust motes drifting on the early morning light that shone on Logan’s hair.