Cruel Enchantment

by Bast, Anya

  “The deal is that in order for you to get a bath, I stay in here. If you’re worried about me being overcome by your nude body and jumping you, don’t concern yourself.”

  Ouch. Though she’d expected nothing less.

  “Fine,” she replied in a measured voice. “Stay in the room, then, if you’re so worried about me escaping, but I think it’s stupid and unnecessary.”

  “Your concern is noted and disposed of.”

  Great. Just great. Had Aeric been this pigheaded when she’d known him in Ireland?

  Dumb question. Considering the candle he’d been holding for Aileen—and his thirst for revenge—pigheaded didn’t even begin to describe this man. More like relentlessly driven to get what he wanted.

  Glaring at him, she snatched the towel, washcloth, and soap and went into the frosted glass shower stall with it all. No way was she stripping in front of him. She already felt naked without her glamour; she wasn’t going to make it official.

  She tossed her clothing over the top of the shower stall door and turned on the water, yelping as she regulated it, since she had to pretty much stand in the stream while she did it. Once she had the water the right temperature, she settled into it with a sigh of pleasure, closed her eyes, and tried her best to ignore the fact that an unpredictable man who hated her stood right outside.

  HE was having a hard time hating her. That was the problem.

  He wished he could. He was trying to hate her as hard as he could, but that sliver of doubt about how Aileen had died had lodged itself in his mind and it didn’t appear to be planning to dislodge anytime soon. No matter how hard he tried to remember, or all the years he’d spent waiting for revenge, he couldn’t shake it free.

  There was something about Emmaline that called to him. He wished he could heat that intangible element up and use his hammer on it, transform it into something he could use to fuel his anger—a weapon. Instead all it did was get in his way, make him change his plans, and, Goibhniu, show her mercy.

  He hated that he saw innocence in her brown eyes no matter how hard he tried to see guilt. He hated that he couldn’t dredge up the strength to kill her for what she’d done, accident or not. He hated that by doing and thinking all of this, he was dishonoring Aileen’s memory. Most of all, he hated that he seemed unable to think or do anything else.

  No, scratch that; most of all he hated that she looked really good behind that frosted glass.

  He turned his face away and cleared his throat, regretting his bright idea to stay in the room. He only noticed her because he was a man, with the normal urges and desires of a man. Emmaline—no matter who she was or what she’d done—was a beautiful woman and his dick noticed it. That was all.

  The water shut off and Emmaline pulled the towel from where she’d draped it over the top of the shower wall. A few moments later she emerged with it wrapped around her midsection, the flap tucked in just above one breast, and stepped onto the plush bathroom rug. She’d obviously taken care in trying to cover as much of her body as possible, but she still flashed a nice amount of thigh. Aeric looked away.

  Without acknowledging his presence, she crossed to the sink, forcing him to move to the side. He looked on in silence as she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face clean. He tried not to notice the way the towel clung to her damp curves, especially her ass.

  Goibhniu strike him dead.

  “Do you have a comb?” she asked, trying to separate the long, damp skeins of her hair with her fingers and wincing.

  He fished one out and she set to work.

  “Get dressed before you do that,” he growled. “You don’t need to be standing around in a towel.”

  She glared at him and set the comb down on the counter. “Only if you turn around and give me some privacy.”

  There was a bite to her words. Clearly she was attempting to keep her temper in check, probably worried about triggering his temper, but she couldn’t quite suppress all of it. It came out in her voice and in dangerous flashes of her eyes. He suspected this was a woman who—in a normal situation—usually always made sure she had the upper hand. She had backbone and a good amount of pride. This situation had to be killing her.

  Good.

  If he couldn’t actually kill her, the very least he could do was make her uneasy. And that, he was pretty sure, was an area in which he’d been excelling.

  He smiled and she took a step back, looking suddenly worried. Apparently he needed to work on faking a reassuring smile. Of course, he had tried to strangle her; any move he made now probably seemed threatening to her.

  “I’ll turn my back,” he answered. “Okay?” It would be more for him than her, since his slight flicker of attraction for her—no matter that it was completely hormone based—disturbed the fuck out of him.

  Her lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened. “Just like that? No battle? No big argument?”

  “Just like that.” He turned to face the door and the noise of rustling clothing filled the room. It sounded like the fastest clothing change ever. He turned back when he heard the rake of the comb through her hair again.

  The clothes really didn’t fit her at all. He’d selected his smallest-sized stuff, stuff he couldn’t wear. Still, the sweatpants and T-shirt hung off her in an almost comical way.

  But at least she was well covered.

  “Back to the forge,” he barked at her, making her jump. “You can pee in that bathroom, if you need to.”

  She turned to him, comb in her hand. “Keeping me here is wrong, Aeric. If you only knew what was at stake.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this the HFF thing again?” he drawled, letting his eyelids drift halfway shut. “How you’re here undercover for the Phaendir so you can really be undercover for the HFF? How the fate of our people lies in my hands?” He made sure he infused his words with all the mocking he felt.

  Suddenly it was like all the air went out of her. “I wish you believed me.”

  “Do you have proof anything you say is true? Anything at all?”

  She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “No.”

  “Why, out of everyone in the whole world, would they send you to my door, Emmaline? Whose bloody stroke of brilliance was that?”

  “My glamour. I was the only one who could get in and out of Piefferburg with no complications.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Guess the joke is on me, huh?”

  “Guess so.”

  She made a frustrated sound and paced the small room. “When the opportunity came, I was perfectly set up to go in. I never imagined that you would have that net set up to identify me as soon as I stepped into Piefferburg. I thought—”

  “I see. You thought I would never recognize you under your glamour.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “Yes, that’s what I thought. I meant to check in at the Rose Tower with the Faemous crew and then sneak over here to share the situation with you and have you make the key. You were never supposed to know who I really was. I couldn’t let our past get in the way of the mission. There’s too much at stake, Aeric.”

  “Illusion under layer of illusion. Lies piled on lies. How I am supposed to know the truth?”

  Without warning, she walked over, put her hands on his biceps, and looked up into his eyes. Her touch made him want to run out of the room, but not for the reason he’d prefer. He straightened and pushed back against the counter as far as he could get.

  “You don’t understand how important this is,” she said, staring into his eyes as if to imprint her words on his brain. “Already the Phaendir will be getting suspicious because I haven’t checked in with them. If they start poking around deep enough and discover my identity, I’ll never be able to get the key out of here. The fae will lose their best and only shot at recovering another piece of the bosca fadbh.”

  “How did you plan to contact the Phaendir?”

  “I have a cell phone in my pack that will let me call outside of Piefferburg.”

  “Great. Go
get it. You can call your HFF buddies and let me talk to them. They’ll confirm your story, right?”

  The slight glow of hope that had infused her face disappeared, leaving her eyes flat brown. She let go of him and turned away. “No. I can’t contact them on that phone. It was only meant to be used to call the Phaendir.”

  And, conveniently, there was no other way for the fae to contact the outside world.

  “So I’m just supposed to take you on faith. You.”

  She cradled her head in her hands. “You weren’t supposed to know it was me.”

  “And that makes me trust you so much more.”

  She turned to him and held out her hands. “There are bigger things at stake here, Aeric. Bigger than you or me. Bigger than the past.” She paused. “Even bigger than Aileen—her death or her memory.”

  Wrong thing to say.

  “Back to the forge,” he yelled. “Now.”

  “Wait! I might have something that will convince you I’m telling the truth. I have the model for the key hidden in the lining of my pack. I also have the markings—”

  “We’re done here. Move.”

  SEVEN

  AERIC rifled through Emmaline’s pack until his fingers closed on the thing he sought—the mock key, presumably the model of the item he was supposed to craft from charmed iron and imbue with his magick. It was where she’d said it would be, hidden in the lining along with a paper full of writing in Old Maejian, an ancient fae language he spoke fluently.

  He pulled out the mock key and let it lie in his hand. It was large and oddly shaped—like no key he’d ever seen before. A complicated piece.

  It was here, just as she’d said it would be. So what did that mean? Why would she be carrying a model for a charmed iron key around with her? It wasn’t a common item people needed. Did that mean her far-fetched story about coming to Piefferburg to seek him out was actually true?

  And if that story was true, what else was true?

  Or was the mock key for some other purpose and she’d simply worked it into a lie to tell him in order to save her ass from the spanking he so wanted to give her?

  His hand closed over the object and he sat down against the wall. She lay about four feet away from him, her head on the pillow he’d provided her and the blanket in a knot around her waist. Emmaline constantly tossed in her sleep as if plagued by bad dreams.

  When he’d known her back in Ireland, she’d never worn her true form. Back then she’d had long red hair, green eyes, and a pale complexion. She’d been a little shorter and curvier, too. He presumed that she changed forms when she went out to kill for the Summer Queen, using her skill with glamour to get close to her marks so she could slip in her dagger . . . or her signature crossbow bolt with its blue and white fletching.

  Emmaline could take any form she wanted—no one was safe from her. That ability, along with her healing ability, had made her an incredibly effective weapon. The Shadow King had both coveted and feared Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher, and it was said that the Summer Queen had mourned the loss of her assassin for centuries when Emmaline had left Ireland.

  He watched as she shifted yet again, rolling to her back and grimacing as though in the grip of a nightmare. Her true form was much prettier than the one she’d worn when he knew her, if less perfect. In all the guises he’d ever seen her wear she’d ditched the slightly crooked two front teeth and her subtly bent nose. But, then, Aeric had always found natural beauty to be the most appealing, even if that natural beauty wasn’t perfect.

  He knew much more about her than he’d let on earlier. He always made it a point to learn as much as he could about his enemies. She’d been born to Seelie noble people, both of exceedingly pure stock. When she’d reached the age of ten, after her abilities in glamour had begun to manifest, her mother and father had died within just months of each other.

  Her mother had taken ill and died of pneumonia—the fae were, for all intents and purposes, immortal by human terms, but they still died of illness and from accidents. Her father had died from injuries sustained in a hunting accident. Oddly enough, from an arrow to the chest. Aeric had always wondered about Emmaline’s choice of weapon based on that information.

  He’d also wondered just how much of a hand the Summer Queen might have had in the deaths of her parents.

  At ten, an orphan, Emmaline had been without extended family. She’d had nowhere to go. For two years she’d fought it out on her own, scavenging for food and accepting charity from the local village while grieving the loss of her formally comfortable life—not to mention her parents.

  When Emmaline turned twelve, the Summer Queen had stepped in to help her. Of course, help from the Summer Queen never came without a price. Emmaline was right to say that she’d been groomed to be a killer. The Summer Queen had taken a young girl who had been taught she needed to make compromises to survive—and turned her into a monster.

  Aeric had assumed that the monster in Emmaline had always been there and the Summer Queen had only pulled it to the surface. But who Emmaline had been then didn’t jibe with who she seemed to be now. Maybe Emmaline had never been the monster he’d presumed.

  He swallowed hard, clutching the mock key in his hand. Her thick dark hair was spread over the pillow and her long lashes were feathered down against her cheeks. Looking at her this way, in her true form, he just couldn’t believe she’d killed Aileen in cold blood.

  He sat there until morning, conflict gnawing a hole in his stomach, until she finally woke. When she glimpsed him, her eyes opened a bit wider and her body visibly tightened. “Waking up to have you staring at me is not reassuring.”

  “When I said I wouldn’t kill you, I meant it.”

  She pushed up to a sitting position, wincing and rolling her shoulders. “Yeah, well, did anyone ever tell you that watching someone sleep is pretty much off the creepy meter? When you do that you compete with Brother Gideon for highest honors.”

  “Brother Gideon is a Phaendir, of course.”

  She nodded. “The most dangerous one around. The reason the fae need to find a way out of Piefferburg pronto.”

  He opened his hand and showed her the key mock-up.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You know, going through people’s things is pretty damn creepy, too.”

  “You gave up your right to privacy on the night you killed Aileen, accident or not.”

  “I told you I had it.”

  “And you weren’t lying.” He paused a beat. “For once.”

  “Ever. I haven’t lied to you at all, Aeric. Not once.”

  He fisted the mock key again. “Okay, Miss All-about-the-Truth, tell me exactly what happened the night Aileen was killed.”

  She paled. Licking her lips, she pulled a shaky hand through her hair. “I can’t tell you about that night, Aeric. I won’t tell you a lie and I don’t want you to know the truth.”

  Damn it. Just when he was starting to think she might not be full of shit.

  He moved toward her and she moved away. He knew what he must look like—coldly enraged. Crowding her against the wall, he took her by the upper arms and held her still. “Tell me.”

  “You won’t believe it.” Her voice trembled.

  “Okay.” He gave her a brief flash of teeth. “Then what do you have to lose?”

  She licked her lips again in a nervous gesture and he caught himself watching. Fuck. “I’m actually worried you will believe me. That’s the problem.” Her eyes shone bright, but not with tears. He wasn’t sure this woman had any tears in her. “I’m worried about what the truth will do to you.”

  He blinked, released her arms, and rocked back on his heels. “Why would you care how I feel? I meant you harm.” He paused and then growled. “Hell, I still mean you harm.”

  She let out a slow, careful breath, studying him.

  Realization dawned. “Because your crush on me never ended?” It sounded beyond arrogant, even to him. “Even after all these years? Even now? I thought you said that ende
d centuries ago.”

  She cleared her throat and looked downward. “I think crush is an unwise word to use.”

  Her words socked him in the gut. He didn’t like where this was going at all. “So what else would you call it?”

  “I’m really not sure. Back in Ireland I didn’t want you to be hurt, so I took great pains to ease your suffering as much as I could . . . where Aileen’s death was concerned. I concealed certain . . . facts.” She paused, licked her lips. “I don’t want to see you hurt now, either.”

  “I kidnapped you. I tried to kill you.” He could hear the note of amazement in his voice. This was not how he’d seen this conversation going. “Why do you care?”

  Her gaze met his, now more angry than nervous. “Yes, I’m aware that I need to see a psychiatrist. I lack good sense.”

  “An understatement.”

  “Okay, yes, I need to be medicated. Hospitalized, maybe. Rubber-roomed.” She rubbed her face as if she was tired.

  “Emmaline—”

  “Don’t make me tell you.”

  “You are going to tell me, Emmaline. You’re going to do it right now and it’s going to be the truth.”

  She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. “No.” She sounded tired, but resolute.

  He opened his palm, looking down at the model of the key. It was made of plaster, fragile and highly breakable. It was also something she professed to care a great deal about. He stood and held it out so she could see what he meant to do. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you and I keep my word. But I never said I wouldn’t hurt this.”

  She leapt to her feet. “No! Aeric, you can’t!”

  “All I have to do is drop this to the floor and stamp my boot on it once. Bye-bye, key.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Wanna bet? I’m still not convinced you’re telling me the truth about this thing. What’s to lose?” He moved his hand as if to let it go.

  “No! All right, all right! I’ll tell you!”

  He stopped, closing his fingers around the key and pulling it close to his chest.