by Sarra Cannon
A chance for Simone to finally get away from her little hole-in-the-wall? Her heart leaped at the possibility. But, the fact that it was possible in the first place gave her pause. The only people who could take her place at the motel were family, and Heath and Siobhan weren’t that, in spite of Heath’s declaration.
“You’re thinking too hard, love. I know just the cure for that.” Heath smirked.
That damnable smirk she wanted to kiss right off his face.
Nopity-nope. She didn’t know how he was doing it, but he had to be magicking her somehow. Maybe it was residual tomfoolery from when he’d siphoned that energy off her earlier. She could have sworn she’d read about that once in a vampire book. “This has got to be a trap. The moment I try to walk out of here, I’m going to get zapped by a bolt of lightning or whatever Hestia uses to keep us peons at bay.”
He groaned, rolled his eyes, and nudged the thermostat switch toward a cooler temperature. He must have been hot, but for an entirely different reason than she was. “Gods, woman, if I have to call her here…”
“Call who? I’m sure Siobhan will show up on her own eventually. You fairies seem to have a knack for that.”
“Not Siobhan, sweetheart, Hestia.”
“Hestia?”
“Mm.” He scratched his head, paced at the foot of the bed. “We Sídhe try to stay on the good side of the gods, but we’re not perfect.”
“Obviously.”
“Hush. The very idea of having to grovel to get information because Mum pissed her off a century ago—”
“Pissed off in what way?”
“Too many ways to itemize. But if you insist on getting confirmation from the goddess’s own lips—”
“I’ll get it myself.”
“What?”
Simone grabbed her cleaning basket and left the room with Heath on her heels. She yanked down the back of her shirt over her ass, convinced that was precisely where his gaze was, and quickened her pace. In the office, she set the basket atop the counter and strode to the large oil painting mounted over the rack she used to display dusty brochures about local attractions.
She cleared her throat and gave the stone fireplace in the picture a little tickle. “Earth to Hestia. Earth to Hestia.”
She stood back, jamming her fists onto her hips, and gave Heath a little nod. “You might want to stand back. She usually pops in right around there.”
And she did. Heath barely had time to move away before Hestia materialized in front of the check-in desk. The dark-haired beauty was, as always, dressed in a flowing white robe cinched at the waist by a belt made from the braided straw yanked from the broom of one of her enemies. Or so she’d claimed.
She turned to Heath and clasped her hands together, “Oh, good, you’ve found her. Took you long enough.”
Heath cocked up an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Hestia blew a raspberry and with one of her long sleeves, knocked some of the dust off the painting’s frame. “I couldn’t possibly give you any more signs than I did. I was thinking I’d have to resort to skywriting or taking out a classifieds ad.” She turned to him and pointed. “Do you people still read newspapers?”
“Uh, Hestia?” Simone tapped the goddess’s narrow shoulder. “Mind telling me what’s going on here? I’m the one who called you.”
“Of course you did, my cursed one, or else I wouldn’t be here. You only ever summon me when you want to accuse me of something, so what is it this time?”
Simone grabbed hold of her own ponytail and gave it a frustrated yank. “You’re confusing me. I summoned you because Heath wants to know the terms of my curse and evidently doesn’t believe what comes out of my mouth. But, as soon as you arrived, you said something about finally. Explain what finally is supposed to mean.”
“Did he not spell it out? You’re his.”
“His what?”
Hestia rolled her wheat-brown eyes. “His mate. His fated love. I arranged it myself six years ago.”
“Um, I stepped into the curse six years ago.”
Hestia huffed. “I may be old as dirt, but my memory works as it should. I put him into the curse so you’d have a partial way out should you never be able to break it.”
“Wait. What? Explain this in dumb-dumb terms. I’ve inhaled a lot of furniture polish fumes today.”
Hestia sighed and slumped into the seat beside the brochure rack. A tuft of dust rose up from the stuffed chair, and the goddess expelled a delicate cough. Yet another thing for Simone to vacuum.
“Look, the truth is I felt awful that you stepped into the mess someone else had made. I’ve never once undone a curse after casting it, and I never will. I’ve never even altered a curse, but what happened to you wasn’t fair. It was malicious intent on your aunt’s part, and I can’t re-curse her until the curse on you is lifted…if ever. I figured since I couldn’t pull the curse, I’d try to at least offer you some respite.”
“In what way?”
“By giving you some extra family.”
“But—”
Hestia clucked her tongue, cutting her off. “Fairies don’t need papers or formal ceremonies. They see their mates, and that’s it. They’re a family. Congratulations.”
Simone cut her gaze to Heath, who was wearing that told-you-so smirk like the jackass he was. “But—”
“Works out for him, because taking a wife means he gets out of his conscription and is able to tend to other matters.”
So that was what his mysterious statement in the room had been about. But… “What other matters?”
“Such as his mother.”
“You’re confusing me more.”
Heath chuckled. “I’ve never before been so happy to have been made a pawn of the gods.”
“Wait.” Simone put up her hands. “Someone explain. Right now, I feel like I’ve been dropped into the middle of a long-running soap opera and don’t know any of the cast.”
“In a nutshell,” Heath said, “we Sídhe have made a lot of enemies throughout the millennia, and most of our old—”
Hestia cleared her throat.
Heath bowed slightly. “Apologies, goddess. You’re as young as the morning dew.”
Hestia preened.
“Most of our assorted pantheons have been ignoring us for centuries. We aren’t a monolithic group with a single culture. Those of us who don’t live in the realm have communities all throughout this world, but there’s a single high queen and high king.”
“Your mother and father.”
“Aye.”
“Their joining merged the last two large groups of Sídhe. My father was born in what was the Persian Empire at the time. My mother was born in the land of the Celts. Her actions have created irreparable strain amongst other fae and non-fairy supernatural groups. There have been rumblings to unseat her, and I haven’t exactly done anything to suppress them.”
“Are we talking cloak and dagger shit here? You’d harm your own mother?”
He made a waffling gesture. “I’d prefer not to, but I am fae. Practicality is in our nature.”
“Oh, my God.” Simone took a big step back and glared at Hestia. “My fated mate is a confessed would-be murderer?”
Hestia rolled her eyes. “No, he’s a hunter with a mother who needs to be neutralized. She’s out of control, and my hands are tied. I can’t deal with her without breaking rules of non-interference, but he can.”
“So, about the marriage thing,” Heath said, totally ignoring Simone’s sideways stare, “would me saying it is so do for all intents and purposes, or would there have to be a ceremony? It’s not clear to me. Possibly because she’s got some Sídhe in her mix.”
Hestia held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart and widened them. “More than a little. Her mother suppressed it so she wouldn’t be found by your mother.” She cringed. “Or your crew, I guess.”
“Her mother was a runaway? Makes sense.”
Hestia nodded. “I wouldn’t send a plain-old human y
our way. I’m not that kind of cruel.”
“That makes her half, I guess. Mum is going to shit a fairy brick.”
Simone gave Heath’s sleeve a hard yank. “What the hell are you talking about?” They were so casual about the situation, as if it weren’t a big deal when it so was. “I haven’t seen my mother since after I graduated from college. She’s off traveling the world or some such bullshit. She’s probably in the wilds of Kenya communing with gazelles or something.” Her mother had been the one person from her old life who keeping away had been easy. She had to work hard to keep everyone else who might be affected at arm’s length. “And there’s not going to be a ceremony because there’s not going to be a marriage. I don’t even know that guy.”
Hestia and Heath both sighed.
“You’ll have to convince her,” Hestia said.
“So be it. I need to head to the fairy realm to do a snatch and rescue with Thom. I thought I’d take her along. Perhaps she’ll see what it was her mother ran away from. I bet it won’t take me long to figure out who her mother is, either.”
Hestia gave a slow nod. Simone narrowed her eyes. Just how much does the goddess know?
“Listen, leave my mom out of this.” Yeah, she was flighty, scatterbrained. Had been perplexed that raising a black child wasn’t a straightforward thing, which Simone had thought was odd as she got older, but she’d figured Mom had just been naive. Sheltered.
Apparently not.
“We won’t bother her. She can stay right where she is. Technically, my job would be to apprehend her and return her to my mother, but I’ve always ignored that part of my mission when it suited me. Go pack a bag.”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin. She didn’t care if she looked petulant. She wasn’t going to let some bossy fairy lead her around by the shorthairs. And she needed some answers. Heath had gotten his, so now it was her turn to lead the mission of discovery.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We can pick you up something on the way.”
“No. And I don’t just mean I’m not packing a bag, but that I’m not going anywhere with you. You can’t just…” She waved her arms spasmodically. “You can’t just drop truth bombs of that magnitude on people and expect they’ll be all right with it!”
Hestia nodded. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“Don’t use that patronizing tone with me. You told me nothing. Of all the times you stood in that exact spot reminding me of the terms of my curse, not once did you insinuate that you’d saddled me with a big fucking fairy or…or that I’m one!”
Hestia gave her yawning mouth a little pat. “If you’d asked, I would have told you.”
“How would I even know to ask that?”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“And I don’t like the fact I’ve been so far out of the loop that I was practically in outer space. I think I win.”
Hestia’s shrug was elegant as only a goddess could manage. “There is but one of me, and billions of you. It’s hard to keep up with everything.”
“You could try Post-it notes. I think that would have been important enough to merit wasting a sliver of paper.”
The office door creaked open. Thom poked his head into the room, scanned its inhabitants, and quickly retreated, slamming the door behind him.
Hestia snapped her fingers and pointed at the closed door. “That’s surprising. His curse his still active.”
“Aye,” Heath said.
“Huh. Didn’t think it’d take this long. I guess he doesn’t care as much as I thought.”
“He cares plenty, trust me on that.”
Simone cleared her throat loudly to get Heath and Hestia back to the matter at hand.
“Yes, love?” he asked.
“Don’t call me love.” She looked at Hestia. “Lay this out for me in simple terms—give me the thirty-second season premiere recap.”
“Fine. One, your mother is Sídhe and of the realm. Heath can tell you what that means. Two, you and Heath are a fated pair, thanks to me. Hate him all you want, but you’re stuck together. You might as well try to enjoy it. Something will happen that’ll bind you together. Usually it’s pregnancy, but it doesn’t have to be that. Besides, the Sídhe aren’t extraordinarily fertile. Your binder might simply be the curse. Who knows?” She grinned. “Congratulations. You make a lovely couple.”
“I—”
Hestia popped away before Simone could state her objection.
“Goddamn it.”
Thom poked his head in again and cast a wary gaze at where Hestia had been standing. “Is she gone?”
“She’s gone,” Heath said.
Thom let out a relieved exhalation and stepped in.
What’s up with that?
“Got us on the last flight out of Norfolk tonight. We need to get on the road. All set?”
“Sure.” Heath threw Simone over his shoulder and hauled her to the parking lot.
She kicked and flailed, scratching at his back to no avail.
He walked around the office, back to the cottage, and opened the door a smidgen. “Siobhan, we’re leaving. Call if you have any trouble.”
“Eh, don’t worry about us. Supposed to hit seventy degrees tomorrow. We might have a beach party.”
“You do that.”
Heath closed the door before Simone could make a plea for rescue…as if any of those freaks would render aid to her instead of their prince.
Prince! Their fucking prince.
He plopped her onto the back of his motorcycle, shoved Siobhan’s spare helmet onto her head, and draped his jacket around her, zipping it up. “Might want to put your arms through the sleeves. You’ll need to hold on to me.”
“I don’t know what things are like in your realm, but in mine, this counts as kidnapping.”
Heath handily caught a bag Thom tossed at him, which was a hell of feat given the thing had to weigh at least sixty pounds. She’d lifted it earlier while cleaning. He strapped it to the bike and mounted. “I wouldn’t kidnap my own wife. I’m merely transporting her from one point to another when she’d prefer I not do so.”
“I’m not your wife.”
“Technically, you are.”
“That’s not the way it works.”
“It is in my world.”
“Then I want a fairy divorce.”
“Nope. Doesn’t work that way. Besides, you heard Hestia. You’re stuck with me. Try to enjoy it a little.”
She growled.
He grinned and pulled on his own helmet. “So cute,” came his muffled voice before he kicked the hog into a roar.
Chapter 5
Heath moved Simone through the airport security line with Thom on his heels, ignoring the stares from passersby. He was used to being stared at. Sometimes people stared because he looked a fright, and sometimes it was because people looked too closely. They’d note something was off about him, though they probably couldn’t put a finger on what. At the moment, they were probably staring because Simone was dragging her feet and frequently stumbling under the weight of her own stupefaction. She was mortified. Heath didn’t catch onto it until they were in line checking bags and a group of German tourists had crowded behind her. She kept moving up, and they kept following. Every time she’d moved, they had as well because that’s what people did in lines. She’d run out of space to escape them. Red-faced and with a sheen of sweat on her brow, she’d squeezed between him and Thom. In her cozy little niche, she shook.
It made perfect sense. A woman who’d been practically alone for the last six years would need to be reacclimatized to crowds. Even if she hated him, being near him as opposed to a bunch of strangers was probably the more comfortable choice.
Her hands trembled as she handed her ticket and passport over to the TSA agent.
The agent cast a glare over Simone’s shoulder. “Could you please take a step back, sir?”
“Oh, we’re together.” No way was he going to let he
r get too many steps away from him. He didn’t think she’d run off on her own, but he hadn’t survived as long as he had by underestimating people.
The agent cut his gaze to Simone who was staring ahead at the people filing through the scanner lines. “Is he with you, ma’am?”
“Just check her ID and stamp her ticket,” Thom muttered.
“Come on, man, you’re holding up the line,” someone said from the back.
Thom turned, and shouted, “If you can’t be patient, get in a different fuckin’ line. His wife is afraid of flying. You’re making it worse, you sodding dickhead.”
“Sorry,” the guy muttered.
“Give me your stuff,” the agent said to Heath.
Heath dropped his passport and ticket onto the podium.
The agent flipped through the multitude of pages in his passport, stared at his credentials, and gave him another evil glower.
Heath couldn’t help the fact he flew a lot. Unfortunately, fairies weren’t equipped with teleportation abilities.
The agent stamped the ticket and thrust it and Simone’s at Heath. “Check the monitors for your gate number.”
Heath held his tongue as he passed the podium, then took Simone’s arm and guided her toward the conveyor belt. He tossed on his carryon and tucked their credentials into his jeans pocket.
“That…my passport says Horan,” she said.
He bent and untied her shoes, tapping them on the toes to indicate she should step out of them. “I imagine it does.”
“Didn’t say that the last time I looked.”
“I imagine it didn’t.”
“It’s not my name.”
“Technically, it is. Our name conventions are much like yours. Surname is that of the male spouse, and Horan is the name Siobhan and I use. Our father’s surname is much less pronounceable.”
“But—”
He stood and squashed her objection with his lips. He kissed her gently and whispered, “Ask questions later. Suffice it to say, there’s weird magic in play as far as Sídhe unions are concerned. Some things, like forms and contracts, update automatically as needed.”