by Sarra Cannon
“A thousand years.”
He bobbed his eyebrows.
“I would imagine half-Sídhe don’t live so long.”
“Hard to speculate. Many do. Depends on their power, certainly.”
“But Oliver seems to be aging at a normal clip.”
“Because his mother’s power was stripped when she left the fairy realm. The power he has now is mostly Afótama. I don’t know how that’ll affect his aging, or Matt’s for that matter. If you’re worrying about dying off long before me”—he grinned—“I don’t expect it to be an issue for a great deal of years.”
“No way to know for sure. I mean, I look great for twenty-eight, but—”
“You’d look amazing for any age, love.”
“You say that now, but will you say the same when you have a gray-haired, long-tittied old bitty on your arm?”
“Fairies don’t age that way. Our cells regenerate too efficiently.”
“I’m only half fairy.”
They leaned back from each other when the waitress appeared with their plates. When she’d left them alone, he leaned in and whispered, “That may be the case, but I believe you’re worrying about things that aren’t going to happen. We’re going to be together for a very, very long time.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Your energy, it…” He pulled out the little plastic spears holding his hamburger together. “It’s been different since we returned from the fairy realm.”
“How so?”
“Hard to explain since you’re not an energy reader, but I think Fergus did something to yours.”
“I think he did.” She picked up her spoon and stirred the cheddar into her chili. “Is it different in a good way or bad way?”
“Neutral. The best way I can explain it is that you were a flowering bush planted too close to a large tree. He cut back some of the limbs to let the sun down to reach you.”
“And now?”
“Now, all the shoots that once didn’t have enough sun have blooms. Your energy is more showy. Easier to read. You’re not the run-of-the-mill powerless half-Sídhe. I can tell you that for certain. If the energy keeps flowing the way it is now, most people would guess you were more than half.”
“How is that possible? My father is plain-old-human.” She hoped. She didn’t think she could deal with any more surprises in her life.
“Aye, I believe he is, because most of the energy I read from you is familiar to me. Encountered it before from your grandparents. The little I can’t identify might just be genetic contamination. Mutation typical in any offspring. Still, the fact you seem more than half makes me think your father was just a contributor of genetic material, and for all intents and purposes, your mother had a Sídhe child. Would explain why she tried to tamp down your energy. We might have found you years ago if she hadn’t. Your granddad probably figured it wouldn’t hurt anything now that you were with me.”
“That’s outrageous.”
He shrugged again. “Of everything you’ve learned this week, you think that’s outrageous? You’re a fairy. Better get used to it.”
“What else can I expect to happen?”
He turned his burger around in his hands and stared down at it. “I wish I could tell you. Every fairy is different, and it seems every time I start making speculations about you, I get diverted by some new and unexpected quality of yours.”
“I guess The Fates are fickle bitches.”
He chuckled and took a bite of his sandwich. “Aye, they are. I’d be careful about saying that out loud, though.”
“I’m already carrying one curse. What’s one more?”
“I doubt they’d curse you, love, but you definitely don’t want to put a sour taste in their mouths.”
“Why wouldn’t they curse me again?”
“Hestia didn’t want you cursed in the first place, remember? It just worked out to be convenient for her. For me as well, I suppose. If you’d been out and about instead of stuck on the Outer Banks, who knows what sort of trouble you might have gotten yourself into.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was lured into the curse intentionally. Hestia said it was accidental, though.”
“What would you be doing right now if you weren’t running a motel?”
“For money, you mean?”
“Aye.”
She let out a breath and scooped up a spoonful of chili. “Remember, I worked very briefly in marketing before I stepped into the motel trap. I don’t know if it’s something I would return to if I had the opportunity.”
“You don’t have to work, you know.”
She rolled her gaze up to meet his stare. Intense, but warm and curious. She’d learned in the past few days he wasn’t a man who wasted energy or words. Everything he did and every statement he made had a purpose, even if that purpose was simply to inflame her. He didn’t speak simply to make conversation. “You’d expect me to live on your dole?”
“No. What’s mine is yours. I was clear about that. You don’t have to ask me for what already belongs to you.”
“Okay.” She set down her spoon and rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Say we’re legitimately married—”
“You mean legally. We’re already legitimately married.”
She didn’t want to argue semantics. “Fine. Legally. Assume I accept you and we”—she made a waffling gesture—“we merge households or whatever.”
“I’m following. Go on.”
“What exactly do you expect me to do with myself? I’m not really cut out for a life of leisure. What do fairy princes do when they’re not tracking absconders?”
“Depends on the prince. I’m certain that most who came before me had at least a few hobbies.”
“Yes.” She snapped her fingers. “Hobbies. That’s not the same thing as working, as being productive.”
“You’re imagining a problem that doesn’t exist. We tend to be very good at finding ways to occupy ourselves productively.” He leaned in and put his hand to her lips before she could let out the retort. “And I don’t only mean in the bedroom, although I could certainly keep you occupied there for a day or two at a time.”
She pushed up an eyebrow. A day? She’d never been with a man before who could even manage an hour or two.
He dropped his hand and grinned. “What’s with that expression?”
“Not that I’m interested at all…” She rubbed her aching thighs together and choked back her needy sob. “But what could possibly take a day?”
“I can be very creative, love. It’s not always about intercourse or completion. Sometimes, it’s about play.”
She gulped and waited for the waitress to depart. She’d brought Simone’s sandwich and refreshed Heath’s drink.
“You mean…like what you do with Thom? But if he can’t—”
“Do you really want to know specifics? I’d imagine you’d find compartmentalizing the what from the whom quite difficult.”
“I know you’ve been with other women, Heath. I’m not that naive.”
“And you don’t feel any jealousy about that at all? Because I could maim every one of your past lovers and feel no guilt over it whatsoever.” His charming smile wilted a bit at the corners.
“Simmer down, Cujo.” She spooned up the last of her chili and pushed the bowl toward the table edge. “I’m sure your exes are magnificent, ethereal beings if the women in your crew are anything to judge by, but I’d prefer not to give myself anything new to obsess about.”
“Not exes. Merely women I’ve fucked, remember? Sídhe don’t do relationships the way folks out here do. We have physical encounters to slake our needs, but we don’t seek connections. We hold out for our mates for that.”
“Are you telling me you’ve never had a girlfriend?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I haven’t.”
“I’m your…your first girlfriend?”
“My wife.”
She gave her head
a small shake and put up her hands. She could barely wrap her mind around it. This man—this gorgeous, charming, occasionally frightening man—had never been in a real relationship?
He reached across the table and plucked up a couple of her potato chips.
“I’m…your first.”
“Aye.” He went back to eating. He made it seem like it was no big deal, but for her, it was the biggest deal. He was a one-hundred-seventy-year-old novice, for all intents and purposes. To think, she’d actually had more experience in something than he had. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.
She cleared her throat and quartered her sandwich. “Wow.”
“That bothers you?”
“No. Bothers isn’t the right word. Again, just surprising.”
“I would have thought you’d believe no one would have wanted me.” The words were pitiful, but that damned sexy smirk certainly wasn’t.
“Well, there’s someone for everyone, the old saying goes.”
“Not quite. There’s someone for most of us. Or someones. I’m happy to have just one someone. Don’t know if you realize it, but you’re a bit of a handful.”
“I’m a handful?” Her voice took on a pitch of incredulity.
“Mm-hmm.” He leaned against his side of the bench and draped his arms across the back. “I don’t mind so much when we’re out in about. The stubbornness can even be a bit charming at times, but when we’re alone together, would a bit of compliance kill you?”
“Compliance goes along with acceptance of my circumstances. I don’t accept you as my husband.”
He tipped his head back and groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Simone.”
“But I will accept you as my boyfriend.” The words seemed to have completely bypassed her verbal filter. They just fell right out of her mouth without benefit of her brain. It seemed to be an increasingly frequent dysfunction for her.
He pressed his palms against his beer glass and stared at her. Just stared.
“What?”
“Boyfriend?”
“Take it or leave it.”
She actually had sex with her boyfriends, and as of yet, Heath didn’t seem interested in providing that fringe benefit.
“You’ve got to court a girl a little, you know?”
“You’re already mine, so I’m not seeing the point.”
She shrugged and took a bite of her sandwich. It was heavenly. Spicy and greasy with just the right amount of crunch.
“You express more passion for food than you do for me?” He almost sounded sullen—a temperature she hadn’t known he was even capable of. His little pout was what nearly did her in, though.
She could have melted in her seat. She wanted to crawl around to him and kiss him silly. Sit on his lap and stir him into a frenzy and leave him so goddamned unsatisfied. Maybe if he were hard up, he’d actually fuck her. But she didn’t just want a fuck. She wanted to make love to him and curl beside him to cuddle when they were done. She wanted to pet his hair like he was her sweetheart and see how annoyed he’d get at her stupid jokes. See if he’d roll away and find something else to do when they were done. They may have been fated mates, but that didn’t mean they had to be affectionate. If she were going to be truly honest with herself, she’d admit that she wanted that. She just wasn’t certain she knew how to receive it.
“It’s a good sandwich, Heath.” She licked the sauce off her fingers and tracked his gaze to her mouth. Perhaps he’d read her lips. “Can you be a good boyfriend?”
“I’m not even sure what that entails.”
“It means we’re getting to know each other. Mind and…” She pulled her index finger between her lips and licked off the last little bit of spicy sauce. “Body.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Because you want to fuck me and are withholding cock to punish me for perceived slights?”
“Yes, I want to fuck you. Long and hard and in positions you’ve never conceived of, much less tried. I’d love to see that ass I admire so much in the air with my hands spreading your cheeks and my prick slamming in and out of you.”
Her heart sped and face burned hot as a furnace. Yes. She so wanted that.
He licked his lips and leaned in a little closer. “Drape you over my bike and swat your ass until it’s red as a poker and your cunt drips for me.”
Breathing suddenly seemed a chore. She put her hand to her chest and tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling.
“Maybe a good spanking is what you need, not a fuck. It might even cure you of some of your discomfort around me. Do you think that would do the trick, love? My hand coming down on your ass until you can’t even draw enough breath to beg for me? Would that be the getting-to-know-you you so desperately need?”
“Yes,” came that unfiltered voice again.
He didn’t even flinch. He waved the waitress over and slipped his wallet out of his pocket. “So be it.”
Chapter 15
Heath’s plan had been to take his so-called “girlfriend” up to the room and make good on his threat, but he’d somehow managed to forget about the huntresses he’d left interrogating their three bonus Sídhe.
Siobhan was at the other side of the suite door when he unlocked it, giving her head a tired shake. He nudged Simone in from the hallway and locked the door behind her. “How’d it go?”
“Managed to shake a few surprises out of them.”
“You didn’t kill them, did you? We must remember Simone’s gentle disposition. Wouldn’t want to upset my poor dear.” Yet. He’d be upsetting the skin of her pretty ass soon enough.
Simone sighed and squeezed past him into the master bedroom.
“No, we didn’t kill them, but the temptation was certainly there. You should award us medals for our considerable self-restraint.”
“I’m sure there’s enough wiggle room in the crew budget to make that happen.”
She led him to the sofa where the three Sídhe were still bound and sagging from energy loss. They’d somehow managed to pick up a few new cuts and bruises in the time it took Heath to eat dinner. He wondered how that could have possibly happened.
He grabbed a chair from the dining table, spun it around, and sat backwards to rest his forearms across the top. “Who do you want to start with? Who’ll be the sweet dessert following my fabulous dinner?”
Siobhan moved behind the sofa and gave the quarter-Sídhe’s head a little knock.
“Ow.” He pouted, but likely didn’t have enough energy left to properly recoil. He’d be feeling that bruise collection in the morning, though, or whenever Heath got around to giving him back some of his energy. He needed to neutralize it first, and that took some doing. Some privacy.
“I was uncertain about this one,” she said. “I was the one who received the tip about him. Hate to say it, but when it came in, I was suspicious. Usually, the absconders don’t tattle on each other.”
“Right.” Most of their tips came from non-Sídhe sources—supernatural sorts who knew of them, could identify them, and knew what they were capable of, but who likely didn’t have the capability to capture them. “How’d you figure out it wasn’t a typical source?”
She grimaced. “It just seemed too specific, you know? Sometimes we get really good information from witches and psychics, but very few people would know the exact flavor of a fairy’s energy.”
“And this person did?”
“Aye.” She held her hand out to Caryl.
Heath furrowed his brow, wondering what they were up to, but that became clear the moment a very familiar dagger hilt came into his line of vision. Caryl pressed it into Siobhan’s palm. Siobhan brandished it at Heath.
“I believe this belongs to my new sister?”
Standing, he took it from her. Examined the intricate inlays, the stones, and the inscription: For my heart. He hoped Simone didn’t take that literally. He’d thought it was a sweet sentiment at the time, but she might have been the kind of woman to consider it a conven
ient instruction.
“Is that it?” Caryl asked.
“Aye, that’s Simone’s. Where’d you find it?”
Siobhan gave the quarter-Sídhe another knock on the side of the head.
“Ow.”
The two Sídhe guards sandwiching him flinched. They had to know they’d get whatever was coming to them next.
“Seems this fucktwat has been fencing stolen goods. That’s what his little network does. Sídhe in the fairy realm are passing valuable artifacts to the folks on the outside and selling them where the provenance can’t be traced.”
“Except by us.”
“Exactly.”
“And looks like our friend Deanie is right in the middle of it.”
“Of course he is.”
Deanie spent an inordinate amount of time in the vicinity of the fairy mounds for someone who technically wasn’t allowed in the realm. He’d been thrown out for being an obnoxious little shit. It’d been a first for Mum. Usually she piked people she found repellant. She’d had a rare “kind” day.
“We’ll worry about who on the inside is passing him shit later,” Heath said. “It’s got to be someone with easy access to the portals, and that’s a limited number of Sídhe. Anyhow. Connect the dots to the fucktwat for me.”
Siobhan crooked her thumb toward him. “He’s been receiving goods from Deanie, and I suspect Deanie was the one who tipped us off about him.”
“To what end?”
“Stay with me, this gets screwier. It seems this guy was just a distraction. It got us off Deanie’s flat rear end for a bit, but also put you and Simone in a convenient location for these two.” She pointed to the queen’s guards. “They guessed you’d go fetch Fucktwat and that you’d probably take your wife with you, but likely didn’t anticipate Simone would fight back.”
“You’re saying Fucktwat was a lure?”
“I have a name,” he muttered.
“Shut your hole.” Siobhan gave him another head knock. “Aye. Poor him. He’s just a gobshite of a pawn. That’s why I didn’t kill him.”