by Allison Pang
I nipped at his lip, sucking it hard. “Watch me care.”
He pulled away. “I’m serious. You’re different. Coming back from the Dreaming this time? You’re like . . .”
“I’m acting like you, you mean?”
I eyed the set of his jaw and wondered what it would be like to kiss it, a dark hunger filling my belly with a burning roil. I straddled him, pushing his shoulders so the chair tipped to the floor.
The breath rushed out of him with a whoosh. Not that he was protesting, exactly, but I’d taken him by surprise. Still, a moment later and my shirt was stripped from my body as my tongue plunged deep into the velvet contours of his mouth.
He let out a grunt, his fingers biting into my shoulders as he nipped my breasts through my bra. The electric tingle shot through the tips of my nipples and planted firmly in my groin. I arched against him, his hands fumbling with the clasp.
A moment later and I was free, grinding into him with a fierceness that surprised even me. I sucked in a deep breath, but I was helpless to stop it. Somehow I staggered to my feet, tugging at his arms until he stood.
I wasn’t quite ready to take him right on the kitchen floor. Not when there was a perfectly serviceable bed in the other room.
A flicker of masculine desire shone on his face, and if there was anything hesitant about it, he hid it well.
We stared at each other, the scenario playing out between us. Stupid to do it. Stupid to even think on it. But here we were.
Abruptly he scooped me up, my legs locking behind him as he launched us toward my bedroom, his mouth firmly on mine. At least we’d be stupid together. For some reason the thought was strangely comforting.
He didn’t bother asking me if I was sure, shucking off the remainder of his clothes with a quick twist before tumbling me backward into the bed. A moment later and he’d yanked off my jeans, hesitating for the briefest of moments before burying his face in my neck. The awkwardness of earlier fled, and it was just the two of us, stretched out and wonderfully naked.
There were no words between us. Time was slipping away by the second, and even if we both knew this wasn’t the wisest course, we were committed to it. When he sprawled on top of me, my legs parted to receive him without hesitation. He placed his hand over my eyes to shut them.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
My head tipped back as I did what he asked, my body thrumming with need. The bells in my hair chimed enthusiastically and I chuckled. “Is this the part where you say, ‘You complete me’?”
“Mmmph. Closer to say I complete you, I think.” He found the sweet spot at the base of my throat and I hummed my approval. “But really, at this point we’re kind of stuck with each other, wouldn’t you say? It’s not a TouchStone bond, but you’re obviously carrying some part of me in you, anyway.”
“Not as much as I could be. You still talk too damn much, Ion.” He smiled against my mouth and let me roll him over, content to have me take the lead.
“Only when it comes to you.”
And then there was no more time for words. Everything was soft touches and warmth as our fingers found each other with bold strokes. This is mine . . . and this . . . and this. My body knew it to be true and opened beneath it.
“Missed this,” he sighed.
“It hasn’t been that long, has it?”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “Now who’s talking too much?” His mouth curved up with a hint of his old arrogance. “Guess I’m not working hard enough.”
Before I could respond, he pulled me down, capturing the sound as his hand wandered between my thighs, chuckling when he found me wet.
“Exactly as I remember.”
He nipped me hard, tilting my hips up to play there.
I writhed on top of him, crying out as his mouth found a nipple, working in tandem to the rhythmic stroking of my clit until my arms could barely hold me up from trembling.
“That’s more like it.” His smile grew wider.
With a grunt, I lifted onto my knees, squirming when his cock brushed over my sex. I hung there for a moment, rocking my hips until his eyes narrowed.
“Tease,” he growled, snatching me down and thrusting his way deep.
There was nothing left except the blood pounding in my ears as we moved together. He was surprisingly vocal. More so than I remembered, but maybe that was his newfound mortality coming through.
“Deliciously noisy thing,” I purred at him. He rumbled his agreement, twisting so that I was now beneath him, my legs wrapped around him as he thrust in earnest. My hands fisted in his hair as the headboard slammed into the wall again and again.
He stiffened, shouting out his pleasure, and I reveled in it, the sound tipping me over the heady wall of my own release. I pulsed around him, the bells in my hair chiming wildly as my thighs clamped his hips.
“Fuck, Abby,” he sighed, sliding off to curl around me. I shivered beneath the damp of my sweat and he tucked the scattered blanket around us. “My first time as a mortal.”
“Gee, if I’d known I’d be popping your cherry I would have attempted to make it more memorable.”
He gave me a dry smile. “I think you did well enough.” His mouth found mine for a long, drawn-out kiss. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“Indeed,” Talivar said coolly from the doorway. “Maybe next time you’ll invite me to the party.” The King strode in wearing dark jeans and a plaid button-down, his hair hanging loose. His gaze hardened as it fell on me and a hot flush rushed over my face.
“I’d say I’m sorry,” Brystion drawled, his hand running over my shoulder possessively. “But I’m not.”
I pulled away from him, shame biting at my belly. “You’re not helping,” I snapped, pressing my palm to my forehead. “I’m sorry, Talivar. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Right.” Pain flashed in Talivar’s face. “Get dressed and meet me out there. We have news to discuss.”
He whirled out of the bedroom, anger clinging to him like a shadow.
“Fuck.” I punched my pillow. “Fuck!”
“He doesn’t get to be upset, Abby. Your marriage is a sham, and he knows it.” Ion slid off the other side of the bed.
“That doesn’t mean what we did was right,” I said bitterly. “Your essence inside me or not . . . it was a dick move.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault. Me and my daemonic essence.” He bristled, throwing on his shirt with a savage tug.
“That’s not what I said . . .”
“But it’s what you meant.” He shuffled into his pants. “Maybe instead of blaming everyone else for your issues you should look at yourself.” He thrust a finger at me. “I know damn well what it’s like to feel that hunger, but there’s an element of responsibility that rests on your shoulders.” His dark eyes fixed on me, something sad flashing in their depths. “You were looking for an excuse. Glad I could provide you with that.”
I drew myself up, finding my own jeans with whatever bit of dignity I had left. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”
He snorted and headed for the door. “Life’s not fair, princess. I would have thought you knew that by now.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and slipped into the hallway.
I scowled at the door as it clicked shut behind him, shame and anger at war within me, before digging through my dresser for new underwear. I was done with bouts of self-wallowing pity, however. What else could I really say to either of them? Brystion was right. I had no excuse.
Sighing, I did a quick brush of my hair and hit the bathroom to wash up. Staring at my face in the mirror, I studied my blue eyes. Not a hint of gold anywhere, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Even now, something inside me ached to be set free.
Something that wasn’t mine.
I threw on a sweatshirt and some boots and headed out into the kitchen. The two men were seated on the couch, their gazes stony. Phineas sat between them, all three heads turni
ng in my direction as I strode past.
I took the wooden rocking chair beside the TV, trying not to flinch away from their stares. “Are we having an intervention?” I tapped the edge of the chair.
“Do we need to?” Talivar cocked a brow at me. “I only came to give you an update and to find out how you were doing here. Should I not have bothered?”
“What do you want me to say? Weren’t you the one who once said you couldn’t trust your wife to be faithful?” The words were brittle in my mouth.
But he had. Something about how the family structure in Faerie families meant that he technically was closer to his nephew than to his own potential children . . . simply because they couldn’t trust that their own children really belonged to them.
Given that, I would have thought the Fae could have figured out the equivalent of DNA testing by now. On the other hand, the system had worked for thousands of years. What would be the point of gorking it up? And given what I’d seen of how the monarchy and succession worked, maybe it was better this way.
“Is this really how you want to have this happen?” His nostrils flared. “I would grant you an annulment upon your request—rather than see your contempt for this obviously loathsome situation you find yourself in.”
“No,” I said finally, my voice small. “I just thought we were going to wait until all this was over to figure it out.”
“You made that stipulation, Abby.” He crossed the room to tip my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “And as much sense as that suggestion seems to make . . . I cannot help but wonder if it’s merely your way of putting off that which you don’t want to decide.”
A snort of agreement echoed from Brystion’s side of the couch and I flinched. The urge to crawl out of my own skin and flee shivered within me, but Talivar refused to glance away.
“What if I don’t?” I pulled away from him, focusing on the floor. “What if I don’t want to decide? What if I want you both?”
“But you don’t.” Talivar retreated to look out the bay window. “You never did.”
“And you’re assuming we can actually share that long,” Brystion rumbled. “Waiting until things are normal will most likely never happen.” His mouth curved up in a self-mocking smile. “Not with you, anyway.”
“You sure you even want to stick around?” I mumbled. “There’s a refrigerator in the kitchen I can be conveniently stuffed into if you need some motivational angst.”
Phineas trotted over to me, his nubbed horn looking even smaller than before. “Maybe you two shouldn’t tag-team her into making a decision right this moment.” His blue eyes stared us down. “That goes for all of you. However fucked up your relationships are? That’s your business. When it starts affecting the things that need to get done? That’s mine.”
He stomped a cloven hoof. “And right now, deciding who’s knocking boots with who needs to get back-burnered.”
“Easy for you to say,” Brystion retorted.
“I don’t want to die,” the unicorn said softly. “And without the Tree to keep us safe, we all will. We’ll fade at the least, and KeyStone or no, there won’t be any stopping it.” His upper lips curled. “Maybe not you—now that you’re pretending to be mortal—but the rest of us?”
He shivered. “So what’s your news? We’ve got some of our own.”
“Maurice, of course. Seems he’s been stirring up trouble all over the CrossRoads. So many of us have been in shock with the decimation of the Tree, he’s been able to come and go as he pleases.” Talivar shook his head. “He uses that damned necklace to pop in, steal supplies, move his mercenaries, and then he’s gone again before any of us can manage to react.”
“And there’s no way of following him, I assume?” I tried to keep the despair from my voice.
“Even when we do manage to scout him out on the CrossRoads, he disappears pretty quick somewhere else.” The elf frowned, shifting away to pace toward the door, his boots clicking on the hardwood. “If I had to guess, he’s got some sort of spot hidden away, only accessible by the Key.”
Brystion and I exchanged a look. “Shadow Realm?” I asked.
“It’s possible,” Ion agreed. “Though it shows a lack of imagination on his part if that’s the case.”
Talivar’s gaze blanked for a moment. “Ah, you mean that disgusting little trick he played on my sister before. And you. Our trackers have indicated his ‘signature’ cannot be found after he disappears. I supposed it is possible.”
“All well and good,” I muttered. “But we need to find Melanie.” I glanced up at the two of them. “She’s dying. We know is she’s in the hospital . . . but not which one.” I retrieved the violin from the bedroom. “Nobu found this.”
The elf frowned at the mention of Nobu. He ran his finger over the chin rest. “She would not have left it willingly.”
“No. And I don’t think her family understands its importance.” I waved my hand at them. “I was about to start calling hospitals again. Hell, for all I know her family put her under something else . . . or moved her out of New York or . . . who knows.”
Talivar’s jaw tightened. “There may be another way.”
“Do tell,” Brystion drawled. “Swooping in to be the noble prince after all?”
“It’s King,” Talivar said shortly. “And I meant the Wild Hunt.”
Phineas snorted. “Been a while since that’s been used.”
“Not since the Unseelie Court was in full swing,” Talivar agreed. “And I’ll admit it’s risky to consider it . . . but if not now, when?”
Brystion nodded, his mouth pursing. “If the world is going to end anyway? I suppose it doesn’t make much difference.”
My gazed darted between the two of them. “Anyone care to clue me in here? We talking horses and dogs and running around the CrossRoads?”
“Calling the Hunt mere horses and dogs is like comparing a chicken to a harpy,” Phineas interjected. “Both have feathers, but one is going to disembowel you and eat your liver.”
I stared at him blankly and he sighed. “It’s one of the most powerful weapons the Fae possess—a host of lost souls and damned Fae, traveling the CrossRoads until they find their quarry.”
“Not just the CrossRoads,” Talivar corrected him. “The Hunt has its own pathways that override the need for TouchStones or Doors, though it can certainly use them.” His gaze became distant. “I only ever remember seeing it once, as a child. To hunt a hapless mortal. I don’t even remember what offense he’d given, but I remember the horses. Black ones, made of smoke and fire.” He gave me a wry smile. “Or so it seemed through the filter of a child’s vision.”
My eyes narrowed. “And he was captured.”
“Torn to pieces, actually.” He shook his head. “The Hunt isn’t always about finding things so much as retribution.”
“And if you don’t find what you’re looking for?”
“Then the Hunt rides on.” He shrugged. “It’s a death sentence for the Huntsman, really. An endless search, night upon night of riding and hunting without cease.”
“And there’s nothing that can undo it?”
“Only the capture of what is sought. But Abby . . . being a Hunter changes you forever. Even after a successful hunt, there is always a part of the Riders that crave it. It translates into restlessness at first, perhaps, but . . .”
“Eventually they go mad,” Phineas pointed out helpfully. “All of them.”
“Well, that sounds lovely.” I slumped. “So you’re basically talking about unleashing the Nazgûl to what? Find Melanie? Or Maurice?” I blinked up at him. “Because I think we ought to continue to try via mortal means for a while longer. Perhaps Nobu will have a way . . .” I glanced at Brystion. “When we were TouchStoned, you claimed to always know where I was. Melanie has—”
“The mark, yes.” Brystion frowned. “But that’s more of a direct connection to . . . Him.”
“I know. Surely we could at least ask.”
“All options m
ust be explored,” Talivar agreed with a sigh. “But we’re running out of time.”
“How long before—” My words cut off as a hissing rumble slammed into the window, sending shattered glass across the room. “What the hell?”
Immediately the edge of the sofa began to smolder.
“Get down!” Brystion hurled himself at me, rolling us onto the floor so the breath rushed out of my chest. I lay there gasping like a half-dead fish, his body covering mine as an eruption of heat exploded past us.
Fifteen
My apartment was on fire.
“The violin!” I scrabbled out from underneath Brystion, a tremor running through me when I realized he wasn’t moving.
The elf was already on it, snatching up Melanie’s violin. Above me, flame licked the ceiling, the heat burning my face. Talivar thrust the instrument into my hands. He coughed. “It’s a trap.”
Behind me, Brystion moaned, getting to his feet. The back of his shirt was spattered with blood from the glass explosion. “I’ll go with you,” he muttered. “Fight them off.”
Talivar gave him a look of pity. “No.” He drew his blade and slipped out the front door.
“Never mind all that.” I clutched the violin. If it got burned . . . hell, my goddamned living room was on fire. Brystion snatched up an old quilt from the couch, attempting to suffocate the flames. Smoke billowed from beneath it, scorching the cloth, but for the moment it looked as though the immediate danger of having the place burn down around my ears was gone.
Which left what, exactly? Waiting for Talivar to play the gallant hero? For someone to toss me another Molotov cocktail?
Hell with that. “Phin?”
“Here.” The unicorn crawled out from underneath the chair. “This sucks.”
From outside the clash of steel rang up the stairwell.
“No help for it.” Brystion scooped up Phin and pulled me out the door, keeping his body flat against the wall as we slipped down the stairs to the courtyard. My hand braced on his shoulder, and the hot sting of blood wept through the holes in his shirt.