“What?” Okay, she had a crazy man on her hands. She tried to pull her hand out of his, but unless she was willing to hurt him she couldn’t get free.
“Loyalty and protection I give to thee. I am your man, and you my liege. By this oath I am bound to thee, by the law of three times three.”
“Um, Mr. Snodgrass, I don’t think—”
“Loyalty and protection I give to thee. I am your man, and you my liege. By this oath I am bound to thee, by the law of three times three.” He sank back against the pillow as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but his gaze never left her. The pained expression that had gripped his features dissipated. The tight hold he’d had on her hand loosened. “Beware, my lady. There are those that will harm you because of your association with Robin Goodfellow.” He took a deep breath, the movement flexing massive shoulders. He gave her what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile but looked more like his dick was caught in a meat grinder. “I will be there soon to protect you, I swear.”
Oh, boy. How the hell did she keep getting into situations like this? “Mr. Snodgrass—”
“Snod. My name is Snod.” He smiled, and his homely face became almost human. “You saved my life, and I am yours.”
She cocked one eyebrow in disbelief. “I don’t think my apartment building will let me keep a person as a pet. Besides, what the hell am I supposed to feed you?”
He started to laugh, but it became a wracking cough. She soothed him back down, petting his arm and muttering nonsense until his eyelids began to flutter once more. “I will be there soon, my lady. Until then, trust no one.” He frowned, trying to fight the sleep he needed to heal. “Promise me.”
She patted his hand. “I promise I’ll be careful.”
His lips curved into a serene smile as he finally fell asleep. She blew out a breath and moved to the foot of his bed, reading his chart.
Busted ribs, bruised lungs, a broken arm and numerous contusions. All in all, it could have been much worse. As it was, the doctor had marked down his remarkable recovery rate. It seemed Snod had been in bad shape when he’d been brought in, but that all the tests showed he was healing much more quickly than expected. The doctor was planning on running extra tests.
Michaela tsk’d and put the chart back. Doctors loved unnecessary tests. If the man was healing, what was the problem? Did the doc think Snod was an alien or something?
Sheesh. Michaela closed the room’s door and headed for the elevator, nodding thanks once more to Candace as she passed the nurse’s station. Sometimes the doctors didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.
Now all she had to do was sneak onto her floor, avoid Dick for the rest of the night, and meet Ringo for breakfast tomorrow.
I wonder if that dude dressed as Robin Goodfellow is available for lunch?
Michaela groaned and covered her face with her hands. God. What was she going to do?
Robin watched as the elevator doors closed on Michaela, then glided silently, invisibly, toward the redcap’s room. He’d planned on killing the creature, but listening to its oath of fealty had startled him, made him wary. If he destroyed the creature, Michaela would more than likely attempt to find out who had done it and why it had been killed. She would wind up destroying herself in the process, and that Robin could not allow.
At least the Seeming prevented the creature from registering on human tests as anything but a mortal. That would have been an unholy mess, but the gods had ensured that the fae were protected, even from the rapid technological advances of the humans.
Still, how did the woman get into these situations? It amazed him, it truly did.
“The only reason you’re still alive is the woman who left.”
Robin paused at the doorway. He recognized that voice, and it left him cold.
“I am hers, and she is mine.”
The hospital shook as Robin’s eyes flared green. It should be him saying that, not some redcap lying broken in a hospital bed.
“I will protect her, even from you, Lord Raven.” The redcap’s deep, rumbling voice was filled with conviction. He would fight the Black Court fae to keep his new mistress safe.
Robin took a deep breath and tried to calm his rage. He hadn’t lost control so much since he’d been very young. The last time someone had claimed something of his…
Well. They were still uncovering Pompeii.
“And that is why you will live, despite Lord Bres.” Raven laughed, the sound dark and vaguely familiar. “Though if he were to lay hands on you there would be nothing left but dust.”
The redcap growled. “I will protect her even from Lord Bres.”
Robin’s brows rose. That was, indeed, brave of the creature. The Fomorian was one of the oldest, and last, of his kind, and ruled the redcaps with an iron fist. He’d once been king of the Tuatha Dè and forced them to act as slaves to the Fomorian rulers. Somehow he’d wound up with the beauty of both his Fomorian father and his Tuatha Dè mother, making him one of the most exquisite-looking people to ever walk the earth. Very few could resist his charm when he chose to employ it. Even fewer wished to incur his wrath. He was vicious to those who crossed him in any way. He ruled the most brutal thugs in the fae world and relished the role.
All except this one, who’d pledged himself to Robin’s truebond. Ah, the irony. When Bres discovered his lackey had grown a spine he would make the creature suffer pain unknown to mortal man.
Raven seemed almost curious. He watched the redcap with all the attention an entomologist would give a new species of bug. “Bres will not like this, and you know what he does to those he doesn’t like.”
“Lord Bres no longer has power over me.”
“What?”
Indeed. What was the creature talking about?
“Lord Bres knew. Lord Bres tried to hurt me, but Michaela came and made the pain go away. I will protect my lady with my last breath.” The creature sighed. “She makes the pain go away.”
It was said with such childish wonder Robin was shocked to his core.
“I will protect her even from the Hob himself.”
Now that, Robin could not allow. “Indeed?” He sauntered into the room, his boot heels clacking on the polished linoleum. He was pleased to note Raven had been unaware of his presence, as the Fear Dearc started most delightfully. “And how do you propose to do that, I wonder?”
Raven’s eyes narrowed viciously. “Stay away from Michaela, Hob.”
Robin tilted his head and laughed. “I think you have no say in the matter, Fear Dearc.”
The redcap’s gaze was bouncing back and forth between them like a Ping–Pong ball. “No one hurts Michaela.”
Robin bowed slightly to the creature. It belonged to Michaela now and, perforce, to him. Robin Goodfellow took care of his own. “On that, we agree.”
The Fear Dearc shot the redcap a sour look. “Indeed.”
Robin took a deep breath. “We need to…”
What was that scent?
The Fear Dearc’s head cocked to the side, a gesture so familiar Robin was shocked. “Need to what, Hobgoblin?”
Robin frowned. Where had he smelled that elusive fragrance before? He took a step closer to Raven, who took a step back.
There. That wild, feral scent that surrounded the Raven Lord. What in blazes was it?
“I don’t think so.” Darkness swirled around Raven, dark wisps that engulfed him until there was nothing left but the lingering scent of smoke…and Hob.
Robin took a deep breath, and the world swirled around him in a dizzying wave.
No. It was not possible. He refused to believe it.
The son of Robin Goodfellow could not be Black Court.
Chapter Eleven
Oberon forced himself not to sigh. Damn mortals and their ingenuity. He wanted to find the person who’d developed both the Internet and video calls and flay them alive. Lately it seemed every Tom, Dick and fairy wanted the great King Oberon to mediate their disputes.
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br /> Now Gloriana was calling him for “updates”. There had been a time when he had been able to do his job in peace. Now he was acting as his own damn secretary. Perhaps Robin was right and he needed an assistant. But truly, who could he trust? “We have received no word yet, Gloriana. Be patient. It has only been a day.”
The White Queen sniffed disdainfully, her bright, iridescent wings fluttering behind her. “I see no reason why my nephew is still in the hands of the bitch queen. Mark my words, Oberon, she’s up to something.”
Of course she was. Titannia didn’t take a step unless it benefited her in some way. “Allow the delegates to at least attempt a negotiation, Gloriana.”
She scowled, the expression taking her pert prettiness and turning it ugly. “Why did you send him as the arbiter? He’s a traitor to the White, and biased.”
Oberon bit back a growl. There were days when he wished he’d never met Titannia. If he had not, Gloriana would not have been elevated to the position she was in, but the word of the gods was inviolate. Gloriana’s light was supposed to counteract Titannia’s darkness, but more and more that light seemed more like inflexible ice, unyielding and due to shatter at any moment. “Lord Duncan Malmayne-Blackthorn did nothing to—”
“He bonded with a vampire. How much more proof do you need?”
Gloriana’s inflexible attitude toward the turned fae was rooted in her last encounter with Titannia. Oberon understood her anger at the Black Queen, but she’d allowed her prejudice to spill over onto an entire race of beings, banning them from the White Court with all the venom of a woman scorned. Even those of pure heart, like Jaden Blackthorn, were denied entry. Indeed, Gloriana’s policy was to kill them on sight if they even approached the White Palace. Not even his Blades were allowed inside if they were vampires. “Not all vampires belong to Titannia.”
“Fool yourself if you must, but do not attempt to fool me.”
Oberon quirked one brow, wishing she were in front of him. If she were, his power would put her on her flat ass. “You dare to call me a fool?”
Gloriana had enough common sense left to backpedal, but only so far. “I think you have blinders on where Robin Goodfellow is concerned. You always have. All know the vampire is one of his favorite pets.”
“Robin is mine, Gloriana.” The threat was clear. No more need be said. Robin had been and always would be Oberon’s. His was the only loyalty that Oberon never questioned, never truly doubted. While Robin might give in to fits and starts of mischief, Oberon had only to say the word and Robin was at his side, ready and willing to do whatever Oberon wished of him. He never had to ask for more, for Robin was always willing to give him all.
Gloriana bowed her head. “As you say.”
“Indeed. I do say.” Oberon smiled and Gloriana shivered. Good. “The negotiators are in place, the mediator is present and ready to work. We still do not know where the boy is, but my Blades are searching.” He ignored her grimace of distaste. Ever since Jaden had become the lord of Clan Blackthorn she’d become sour where his Blades were concerned.
Hell, even before then she’d started to sour toward them. Robin believed that, if not for her interference, the darkness could have been rooted out long before the Malmaynes gave their allegiance to the Black.
“I am no longer certain negotiation is necessary. They’ve had the boy long enough to have turned him. He’s of no use to me.”
Oberon blinked slowly. He’d worried Gloriana would turn her back on the boy, and now he had proof. “You would leave him to die?”
“He’s more than likely already dead. You know how she is. This is a feint for her true objective, a means of distracting me.”
On that, at least, they were agreed. “Then perhaps if we find the boy, we find the objective.”
Gloriana smiled. “She is dark, but she is not dim. No, Evan will have no place in her grand scheme as anything more than a red herring. If the negotiations fail, leave him to his fate.”
Oberon smiled back. “No.”
He cut the connection before she could answer. He was not hers to order around. The boy, if he was untainted, would become his, as would the whole Yates family. He had no illusions that Gloriana would bother keeping her brother and his children around once Evan was retrieved alive. No, once a member of a family or clan was proven to be Black Court, they were all painted with the same dark brush, at least in Gloriana’s eyes. He’d gotten more remnants of White Court families, devastated by losses their own queen imposed upon them in her purges, than he ever got of Black Court.
Oberon pulled up the genealogy charts for the royal family of the White Court and started sending out orders. Plans would need to be put in place for the refugees. Gloriana might have become the ice queen, but Oberon, whether anyone believed or not, still had at least half his heart.
The other half had died centuries ago, buried alongside his bond with Titannia.
My one and only truebond. Oberon snorted. The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor if Titannia was its idea of Oberon’s perfect match. He could no longer remember when it had started to go wrong, the lies, the cheating, the never-ending arguing and one-upmanship. Nor could he remember who had started it all. If he could pinpoint the moment when she gave in, gave herself to the demon, it might ease his mind. But he could not. Perhaps, someday he’d be able to look back at all he’d lost when she’d betrayed him and feel…something. Anything but the yawning empty nothing that had been left behind when the gods, to save his life, had severed his truebond.
Until then, Oberon would guard what was left of his heart and soul and pray nothing stole them from him. If they were lost, the world itself would be lost, in ways far worse than even Robin Goodfellow could comprehend.
Michaela flopped into bed, groaning. She glanced over at the clock. Four hours. She pulled the sheets over her head and moaned. She’d get four hours of sleep before she had to get up, shower, dress and meet Ringo for breakfast. Michaela yawned and made sure her alarm was set. She hadn’t even bothered with a nightgown, falling into bed naked and with the evening’s makeup still on.
Maybe she’d get lucky and see the faux Robin Goodfellow too.
She smiled, her eyes drifting shut. Both men were hotter than hell, entertaining, and looked at her like she was chocolate mousse and really good coffee, and they didn’t know if they wanted a bite or a sip first. Most men viewed her as the “cute one” of her friends, but she bet if Amanda were right next to her they’d still only have eyes for Michaela.
Of course, pigs could fly out of her vagina singing “Hail to the Chief” too. Anything was possible.
“Who is Amanda, and what makes you think I could possibly want her more than you?”
All it took was a feather–light touch to her instep and Michaela was giggling like a child.
“You know you are the only one I want in my bed.”
Michaela nodded and then shook her head.
“Do you doubt me?”
Michaela shrugged. It wasn’t him she doubted. It was herself, her fickle, wavering heart that seemed to want two men, one of whom she’d barely met but looked like her deepest, darkest fantasies, and one who was a dream all on his own and treated her like she was worth more than gold. She’d loved Robin forever, but Ringo called to her in ways she’d only felt with her dream man.
“Shall I prove it to you?”
She opened her eyes to find Ringo hovering over her, those beautiful, changeable eyes of his burning into her. He touched her again, his palms sliding along her skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
“Please.”
Ringo kissed her deeply, taking her mouth the way he had after lunch, claiming her with lips and tongue and teeth until she melted beneath him, pliable and wanting. He smiled and lifted the sheet away. “As you wish.”
Ringo wasn’t a man who did things by half measures. He immediately latched on to her nipples, suckling them into ripe, wet points of neediness. He stroked her body like it belonged to him,
soothing her one moment and inflaming her the next. It wasn’t long before she was writhing beneath his touch, demanding he give her what she craved.
God, she wanted him.
Ringo nipped her stomach, his tongue rimming her belly button before he reached between her thighs. He moaned his approval of her closely shaved pussy before diving in, taking her clit between his lips and sucking on it until she was drenched and shaking. She was so close to coming it tingled along her spine, made her thighs quiver.
She grabbed hold of his head, burying her fingers in his hair. She wasn’t above begging if it got her what she wanted. “Ringo. Please. Make me come.”
“I need to hear you say Robin.”
She looked down, shocked to see bright red hair running through her fingers. Laughing blue eyes sparkled with lust, and something more. Something untamable.
“I am going to take you, pleasure you until you scream my name.”
Before she could protest, Robin crawled up her body and slid into her, stretching her farther than any lover ever had before.
She gasped. It was the most perfect sensation in the world, one she never wanted to end. They’d never done this before, but dear God she hoped they had about a thousand repeats. “Robin.”
“Indeed.” Robin kissed her deeply. She could taste herself on his tongue. “Now, we dance.”
Robin didn’t begin to pound into her the way she’d expected. He set up a slow, hip-rolling rhythm that had her clutching his arms and shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. Little crescent marks appeared, blood red against pale flesh, and he smiled when he saw them.
Her own skin was slicked with sweat, her limbs shaking as he denied her over and over, bringing her close to the brink only to back away at the last minute.
If he kept this shit up she was going to kill him and take matters into her own hands.
He laughed as if he read the threat and was amused by it. “Do you want to come, my dear?”
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