Cruel Enchantment

by Bast, Anya

  She made a sound of frustration and sat back down. “Get comfortable. It’s a long story.”

  He listened, transported back in time to the horror of the fae wars. He listened to how the Summer Queen had commanded Emmaline to kill Driscoll Manus O’Shaughnessy before someone else could get to him, how she’d snuck into his home and into his bedroom. He listened as she told him about how she’d shot the person in the bed from behind, unwilling to make him suffer, thinking it was O’Shaughnessy—and then finding Aileen instead.

  She told him about making the decision not to leave the body there and instead transport it to the woods near his home. Then she told him how devastated she’d been at the accidental death. How frightened she’d been of his wrath. How she’d fled that part of Ireland with only the clothes on her back, even leaving her crossbow behind.

  By the time she’d finished, his chest and stomach roiled with emotion that couldn’t seem to make it up to his brain in any semblance of logical thought. It was just a big black-and-blue bloody mess. He shook his head. “No, she had a friend that was ill. She told me she was spending her nights with her.”

  It sounded lame when he said it out loud. Had he really believed that?

  Of course he had. It was Aileen.

  Emmaline didn’t say anything. She only looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.

  “It’s impossible,” he said softly. Then louder, “You’re lying.”

  She raised her head and smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. The only thing you’d believe was if I told you a story in which I happened upon her in the woods and saw my chance to take out the competition. Or perhaps that I’d just killed her out of spite, planning to run away anyway.”

  He rubbed his hand over his face. Driscoll Manus O’Shaughnessy and Aileen? No, it simply couldn’t be. That fae had been a monster. It had been written into his DNA. And he’d been Seelie to boot. Aileen had been Unseelie to the core and had never enjoyed the company of their flip side brethren.

  But the animals in the forest when Aileen was a child . . .

  His memory flashed to the horror of that—images he’d pushed out of his mind because he’d been unwilling to mate them with the woman he loved. The blood. The torture. The weapons she’d used. The joy she’d taken in their suffering. He hadn’t let his mind go that far down those paths of recollection in a long, long time.

  Was it possible? Could her behavior have gone further than animals? Had Aileen been hiding some kind of dark and awful secret from him, leading a shadowy double life of some sort? Maybe O’Shaughnessy and Aileen had found a common dark tie that helped them to foster a relationship. He forced the unpleasant link out of his head.

  There were other things, too. Times when Aileen had expressed a desire to seek relationships with other men. Aeric had taken her virginity—as she had taken his. Neither of them had ever been with anyone else. He’d been happy to make the commitment, but Aileen . . . at times he’d thought she wasn’t so content.

  No. His mind couldn’t walk those paths. Not now. Not ever.

  “I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want to destroy the idea of Aileen that you’ve been keeping so pristine all these years,” said Emmaline in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I would have to believe you for you to ruin her memory.”

  Her expression settled to stone and her chin lifted. But her eyes flashed with pain for a moment, destroying the image she was trying to project. “Then I’m glad you don’t.”

  He moved closer and her whole body stiffened. “So we’ve established that you killed Aileen and you’re lying about the circumstances to save your pretty ass. We’ve also established that I’m unable to kill you. The only question that remains is how I should make you pay.”

  His gaze raked her up and down and his body reacted. His too big clothing hid her curves, but he’d had enough of a tantalizing glimpse of them during her shower to let his imagination run wild.

  The very last thing he should be doing right now was remember the way her body looked behind that frosted glass. It was almost worse than having her naked. The image behind the shower door hinted at lush breasts—an overflowing handful—a narrow waist that flared into a generous, curvy bottom, and shapely legs.

  He wanted to find out for sure, using his hands and maybe his tongue, too.

  He’d brutally suppressed the urge before, tamping down the attraction he felt for her because it wasn’t right. Now, in the violent wake of what Emmaline had told him and his subsequent confusion over whether or not it was true—all that want came rushing back at him. It didn’t matter that it was horribly misplaced.

  And damned if he could remember why he shouldn’t give in to it.

  HE was looking at her without anger in his eyes for once.

  Okay, maybe there was a little anger in his eyes, but she had the feeling that the anger—for whatever mystical and unbelievable reason—wasn’t directed at her, but at himself. And anger wasn’t the only thing in his expression right now; there was hunger, too.

  And that was all for her.

  Her heart thudded so fast and so hard she thought it might break her ribs. What the hell? His behavior had changed so quickly she practically had whiplash.

  “Aeric?” she whispered. She wasn’t even aware his name had slipped past her lips until it was out there. She didn’t know what to do with this sudden turn of events . . . although her body sure seemed to know. Her mind was awhirl with confusion, but the rest of her was quite aware that the man she’d wanted and fantasized about for so long was inches away from her . . . and seemed to actually want her back.

  “Fuck,” he growled, bracing his hand on the wall right near her ear and moving closer to her. “This is not a good thing.”

  “No.” She licked her lips—a nervous habit she’d had since she was a kid, no matter what guise she used. “This is not a good thing for either of us.”

  His mouth almost brushed hers when he spoke. Her body flared to life, singing to almost painful arousal. Her nipples leapt to hard little points and she ached between her thighs. This man seemed to either terrify her, piss her off, or plunge her straight into animalistic heat.

  His voice was a low growl, laced with anger. “I should chain you to my bed in charmed iron and take my revenge that way.”

  She closed her eyes, her breath shuddering out of her. “I wouldn’t object.”

  His eyes narrowed like a hunter’s sighting prey—and, boy, was she ever. Wounded, limping prey at that. She had no chance. “Don’t you have any shame?” he asked in a low, harsh voice.

  “Not where you’re concerned. I never have.”

  He eased her against him and dropped his mouth to her throat. Goose bumps erupted all over her skin. He nipped her flesh and then licked the small hurt. As though he wanted to punish her, but couldn’t make himself do it. “I fucking hate that I want you.”

  She sucked in a breath. He wanted her? When the hell had that happened? “Ditto,” she replied in a shaky voice.

  “You killed someone I loved.”

  She shivered at the grief and torture in his voice and wished for the millionth time she could turn back the hands of time and change the events of that night. “Yes, I did. I wish I could go back and relive that night, not kill her.”

  Tell Driscoll I love him.

  Aeric could never know what Aileen had said that night. She would never tell him. It would serve no purpose.

  “You can’t.” He bit her again, this time hard enough to bring her to the edge of pain right before a sweet rush of pleasure. She yelped and then melted against him. “I should handcuff you and fuck you like I’ve been imagining. Satisfy this urge I have for you and then be done with it.”

  “I wouldn’t stop you.” Her cheeks burned even as she uttered the words. She was not a weak woman, never had been, but Aeric Killian Riordan O’Malley was her Achilles’ heel. He always had been and, apparently, he always would be. Her fingers found purchase in
his broad shoulders and she hung on for dear life. She wanted anything he cared to give her, any little stroke of his hand. Pathetic. She’d wanted him for so long and, it was true, she had no shame.

  She just wanted him to touch her.

  “Get up.”

  EIGHT

  SHE rose on shaky legs.

  If she’d been a smarter woman, she would be fighting him. If she were a stronger woman, she’d be screaming her head off right now. Instead, her knees went weak and her breathing went shallow and excited when he pressed her against the wall and molded his large, warm body to hers.

  He didn’t ask, he just took. Lifting the hem of the jersey she wore, he freed her breasts, baring her to him from the waist up. His gaze swept over her and her nipples tightened as if he’d stroked them. His gaze caught and held for a moment on the scars that marked her stomach and thighs, then skated over them.

  She’d forgotten the scars, forgotten she wasn’t hiding them with glamour. She tried to force the jersey down, but he wouldn’t let her.

  He covered a breast with his big hand and her nipple tightened against his palm. “Why do you have to be so fucking gorgeous?” he asked, rasping his hand over her sensitive nipple until her breath caught.

  Gorgeous? Surprise jolted through her. She wasn’t gorgeous. The Summer Queen had always called her gangly and plain. An ugly child who would never become a swan. She’d bought all that when she was a kid, though now she knew the queen had been manipulating her by tearing down her fragile adolescent self-esteem. Still, Emmaline knew her looks were average—not gorgeous.

  Lifting her hands above her head, he pinned them to the wall behind her and stared hard at her. “I want to fuck you, Emmaline. Long and hard. I want to fuck you all night just to satisfy my craving for you. Doesn’t that scare you?”

  “Scare me?” she echoed dumbly. She was having trouble breathing. The slow, sweet ache between her thighs had intensified with his words. She wanted his hand there, his cock. Every inch of her cried out to be touched by him.

  Holding her wrists in one huge hand, he used his other hand to stroke down her extended arm, over one breast, all the way to the waistband of her sweatpants, which were so big on her that they hung on her hips, threatening to fall at the slightest brush of his hand. His fingers glided over the skin of her hip bone and she shivered.

  “You love this, don’t you?” He sounded amazed.

  “You won’t hurt me.”

  His jaw locked. “Hurting you is not on my agenda.” He stroked one of her nipples until her knees went weak. “I want to watch you come. I want to touch you. I want my cock inside you.” He paused and his voice got lower, rougher. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m a good man, Emmaline.”

  He lowered his mouth to one of her nipples and sucked the rigid peak into his mouth. Her breath hissed out of her and her back arched. The effect was that she pushed into him, offering herself to him. Freeing her wrists, he cupped the other breast in his work-calloused hand and brushed his thumb back and forth across her nipple, making a moan struggle up from her throat.

  He worked the nipple in his mouth with his tongue, flicking the tip and alternately scraping his teeth over it. Pleasure coursed through her, centering between her thighs. Her clit felt huge and ultrasensitive. One stroke of his hand between her thighs and she would come. She would quake and shiver and moan his name like some silly virgin in the hands of a sexual master—and all he was doing was touching her breasts.

  God, she hated this. If she had any backbone—any pride, like he’d said—she’d push him away instead of rubbing up against him like a cat in heat, desperate for more contact from this man who hated her.

  The far-too-large-for-her sweatpants, which she constantly had to yank up, finally fell down, puddling around her ankles and leaving her totally nude and vulnerable. His breath caught as he realized what had happened and he stilled. Then he made a low, guttural sound at the back of his throat. A sound of desire and of need.

  Roughly, he forced her thighs apart and his hand between them. His fingers slicked over her, finding her hot and wet. She shuddered when he found her entrance. Two big, broad fingers pushed deep inside her, forcing her muscles to stretch and filling her up. He thrust hard and fast. No slow easing of the way. No gentleness. This was raw. This was a total possession of the most intimate part of her body.

  The cry of surprise she gave ended in a moan. Her knees weak, she clung to his shoulders, holding herself up as he rocked her against the wall with every inward thrust. The pleasure pouring into her body, along with a healthy dollop of total shock, cleared her brain of all thoughts. Soon she was nothing but animalistic sexual need.

  He buried his face in her hair, the fabric of his shirt rasping against her bare breasts and her sensitive nipples. The angle of his hand changed a little, his fingertips dragging over some spot deep inside her that felt so good it brought her right up against the threshold of an orgasm.

  “Come for me,” he murmured near her ear. “I want to feel you come, Emmaline.”

  Her climax crashed over her. Pleasure racked her body in wave after wave that made her bones feel like butter. Moans tore from her throat, making it sore. Her sex milked his thrusting fingers as it washed through her, stealing her thought and almost her ability to stand. She squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood, in part to keep her balance, in part to punish him for doing this to her.

  Panting as the last of the orgasm shivered through her, she opened her eyes and sagged back against the wall.

  He stared at her, a feral look on his already savage face. His gaze took her whole body in, his fists clenching at his sides. She knew what she must look like, nipples hard and red from his mouth, legs parted, sex swollen and needy, the fair skin of her chest, stomach, and thighs reddened from the rough brush of his clothing, her eyelids heavy with sexual satisfaction and lust. The way he looked at her, it was like he was trying to stop himself from dragging his pants down, pushing her thighs apart, and fucking her right here and now.

  It was a battle she hoped he would lose. She would take this man any way he wanted to come to her, even though a part of her hated him for doing this, for making her feel so helpless and so fucking weak. He raised his gaze to hers and saw the accusation in her eyes.

  Swearing under his breath, he turned her roughly to face the wall—maybe so he didn’t have to look at her—and pressed her against it. It was cold and rough against her bare skin and her erect nipples. She heard the sound of the zipper of his jeans being lowered, the rustle of fabric. He kicked her feet apart, angled her hips so her rear thrust out. Then he was there behind her, his body heat and the press of his cock against the vulnerable flesh of her sex.

  Nothing.

  The wide and rock-hard shaft of his cock nestled flush against her opening, the head butting up against her swollen clit.

  But he did nothing.

  A part of her thrilled, hoped he would stop, that he would have the strength to say no to this when she just simply didn’t. A part of her died, hoping he would reposition himself, sink deep inside her, and ride them both to heaven and back.

  He moved a little, hands on her hips, and then stopped. A vituperative stream of Old Maejian tore from his lips. He moved his pelvis away from hers, his hand slipping down over her abdomen, sliding between her thighs from the front.

  With a sob of pure need, she ground herself against his fingers. He petted her aching sex, stroked her clit until she came apart again. He was gone before it was over, leaving her to slump down the wall to the floor, still shuddering under the tail end of the power of her second climax.

  Fists clenched at his sides, he watched her shiver and quake on the floor, caught in the throes of the pleasure he’d given her. Breasts still bare, clothing in piles around her, she was sure she was quite a sight.

  When she finally could, she looked up at him. He’d already buttoned his jeans. What she saw on his face made he
r cover her breasts and curl into herself. Anger and lust all rolled into one, his expression was brutal.

  She pushed into a sitting position. “What are you thinking?” The words came out before she’d thought them through—typical. She wasn’t sure wanted to know the answer to that question.

  His expression darkened. “I’m thinking about all the different ways I want to fuck you and how I can stop myself from doing it.” Then he turned and left the forge.

  She watched him leave the room and then slumped down again in relief. This was crazy and out of control and it needed to end now. She could not do this.

  She needed to find her willpower where this man was concerned.

  This may have been a one-time thing, some sort of strange temporary blip in the universe. Maybe it would never happen again. After all, unpredictable and volatile were terms that Aeric owned. But if it did happen again, she had to be ready. She couldn’t give in to him like some pathetic doormat happily ready to wear the marks of his boots.

  She needed to find her self-respect and soon. She needed to make it stronger than her desire for that man.

  It was a matter of survival. Her heart couldn’t take him touching her without caring for her, too. She couldn’t endure his hands on her, his cock inside her, while he wore an expression like he’d just been wearing. She didn’t want anger and hatred from him.

  It would kill her more effectively than any of the weapons hanging around her.

  Thinking about what had just happened, she fisted her hands, her rage building to a fine trembling in her limbs. How dare he take advantage of her like that? At the moment she couldn’t decide who she disliked more—herself or him.

  “I can’t believe you’ve only been here two weeks and you’ve already hooked up with a woman. I want that kind of luck.” Calum’s huge voice boomed through the hotel suite.

  Calum, one of David’s closest friends—and Emmaline’s—had come in from the States that morning to act as another pair of eyes and ears during Emmaline’s strange absence. Calum’s arrival demonstrated that the HFF was becoming concerned, too.