by Bast, Anya
“You were ready to come to me glamoured. I guess that means you fear the Summer Queen more than me.”
She looked up at him. “Yeah, I do. She scares me witless, even now.”
“Okay, so what excuse are you going to feed the Phaendir for not showing?”
“I’m going to tell them the truth.”
“What?”
“A modified version of the truth, anyway.” She pushed buttons. “Okay. Here goes, um . . . everything.”
Aeric watched as her former glamour overcame her features. In a moment, she was Emily Millhouse, Worshipful Observer and personal assistant to the Archdirector of the Phaendir. She met his eyes once, then turned away. “Brother Maddoc?” Even her voice had changed.
Pause.
“No, no, I’m okay.” Her voice shook a little as if she were frightened but putting up a brave front. “No, really. I’m fine. I’m mean, no worse for the wear, anyway.” Shaky laugh. “I’ve had an exciting couple of weeks.”
The voice on the other end was barely audible, but Aeric heard it become more strident.
“What happened to me? Let me tell you. . . .”
She mostly did tell him the truth. In her version of the story she’d been kidnapped on the road to the city by a rogue Unseelie and taken to the Black Tower. There she’d been saved from the wretch’s evil clutches by the new Shadow Queen. Sensing her misfortune to be actually a turn in her favor, she’d lingered, exploiting her chance to get into the Shadow Queen’s graces. Her plan was working, Emmaline-as-Emily said, because she was on to some hot information about the bosca fadbh. She needed more time to mine it.
Aeric’s jaw locked as he watched her, a muscle ticking in his neck. She was good. She was really good. Using just the right voice inflections, she projected an image of a sheltered, gentle woman who was in over her head, yet committed—no, passionate—about her cause and who would risk all to accomplish her goal. Goibhniu, she almost had him convinced by the end of the phone call.
She clicked the off button and turned toward him. “That went as well as I think it could have. Brother Maddoc didn’t sound suspicious, but with him . . . well, you wouldn’t know he was suspicious until blood was oozing out your ears.” She grinned. “I have no oozing blood, so I guess everything’s okay.”
“You did that very well.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
She sighed. “This is what I do. I’m good at it, Aeric.”
“Good at lying, yeah. I see you do this and it makes me doubt everything all over again.”
She shrugged. “Okay. I don’t know what to say to that. I’m just doing my job with the best of intentions.”
He leaned forward. “Take that glamour off. I want to see you.”
She complied without argument. Amazing. He studied her—from her small, bare feet to the top of her dark head and everywhere in between.
She shifted from foot to foot and glanced around the room while she did it. “Why don’t you just take a picture?”
Only if you were naked, princess. “You look tired. It’s late and I’m tired, too. You take the bed and I’ll crash on the couch.”
“No—”
“Take the fucking bed, Emmaline. I’m a four-hundred-year-old male fae. Old habits die hard. The woman always gets the most comfortable place to sleep.”
“Hmm . . . wish you would have been clinging to that polite notion before you made me sleep on a concrete floor for two weeks.”
He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, well, that was different. Let’s start over.” The words pulled painfully from him because he still wasn’t sure about giving her this benefit-of-the-doubt thing. He also didn’t vocalize the words for now, though they were there.
They were definitely there.
TEN
SOMEONE kicked the door in at around three in the morning.
Aeric bolted from the couch with a battle roar and a readiness that he hadn’t known he still possessed. A dark figure pushed right past him and went to the bed. Emmaline screamed and the sound was abruptly cut off.
He jumped over the couch and raced to the bed, but before he got there, the intruder oofed and flew backward, dragging the nightstand with him. The lamp crashed to the floor. Emmaline leapt from the bed and kicked high and hard into the side of the man’s face, but the huge man barely seemed to feel it and he was on her again. Emmaline yelped and crashed to the mattress under the other man’s body.
Aeric yanked the fae male off her, spun him around, and caught him hard in the jaw with his fist.
The big male bellowed and tripped backward. Man, his hand hurt. Whoever he was, he had a hard face. Aeric popped him again, while the man was teetering from the first. The intruder grunted, staggered backward, and sprawled on his ass.
Aeric picked the lamp up and turned it on. It was a miracle it still worked. The intruder stared up at him with blood streaming from his nose and over his lips. “Kieran, what the fuck!”
Kieran pushed to his feet and pointed at Emmaline, who was on her feet next to the bed and in a fighting position. “Do you know who she is?”
“I know who she used to be,” spat Aeric. His blood was up, way up. “The former assassin of the Summer Queen. Our enemy.”
Kieran roared and lunged for her. Aeric bodychecked him up against the wall, making the whole apartment shake. They struggled, but Aeric held him firm, trying not to hurt him and trying to keep Emmaline from getting hurt, too.
My, how times had changed.
“She killed my brother.” Kieran’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. His brows were knit together and his lids half lowered. Murder sat in the lines of his body. “She shot him in the chest with one of her poisonous crossbow bolts.”
Fuck. How had Kieran found out about her presence here?
Aeric fisted Kieran’s shirt at his shoulders and rocked him back against the wall to reinforce the fact that he had him pinned there. “Your brother was an asshole, a murdering waste of fae flesh. How many times have you said that yourself? And how many innocent Seelie did Diarmad kill in the war? How many noncombatant troop? Record numbers. How many did Diarmad kill and enjoy it, Kieran? She was just doing her job for her side in the fight, man. Give it up. It was a long time ago and it was during a time of war.”
Kieran’s gaze fixed on him. “How can you defend her? She murdered Aileen.”
“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem,” Emmaline answered.
Kieran pointed at her. “You don’t speak. The only thing you need to do is die.”
“Whoa, Kieran. Take it down a notch,” Aeric growled. “She’s right about things not being what they seem.”
“Some things might not be, but this is.” Kieran pushed against him with a roar, trying to get past him to Emmaline. Aeric dug his heels in and pressed his elbow to Kieran’s throat. Aeric was one of the physically strongest males in the Black Tower, but Kieran was a big guy, too—maybe one of the only ones who could give Aeric a good fight. He really didn’t want to find out for sure.
“Emmaline is working for the HFF, for us. We need to leave her alone.” Aeric reached down one-handed to the side of the bed and came up with a charmed iron short sword. He set the blade to Kieran’s throat. “Let it go for the greater good. If I can let it go, you can, too.” He pushed the issue with the sharp edge of the blade a little. “Right?”
Kieran pressed against him one last time, then went still, glaring at Emmaline as though he hoped his gaze could shoot a lightning bolt across the room at her.
Emmaline said nothing and made no sudden moves. Her hand hovered at her throat as if to protect it. That was probably a subconscious, involuntary reaction to being attacked. Guilt pricked in Aeric. He’d probably created that one.
Aeric held out a hand. “Are we all good here?”
“I’m not the only one who is going to want to see her suffer.” Kieran’s gaze never moved from her.
“I’m aware,” Aeric answered. “Believe
me. I wanted the same thing at first.” He looked over at Emmaline. “But now they’re going to have to come through me to get to her. No one touches her. No one.”
No one but him, it seemed, and in a decidedly nonviolent way.
Kieran finally tore his gaze from her to look at him. “You’re asking for trouble.”
“Yeah, so what’s new?”
“You’re asking for half the Unseelie Court to come down on your head.”
Aeric could ask him to keep her presence quiet, but Kieran wouldn’t agree. Kieran’s stake in the information was too personal. “Bring ’em on. They get to her over my dead body.”
“You’re a crazy fuck. That’s exactly what might happen.”
He threw up his hands. “Again, tell me something I don’t know.”
Kieran swore under his breath and crossed to the door. “I won’t touch her because you asked me not to, Aeric, but others will want a piece of her.” He turned before he left and shot Emmaline a cold glare. “You just wasted your life for a bit of Seelie garbage.” Then he was gone.
Emmaline slumped as if fear and tension had been the only things holding her upright.
Aeric slammed the bolt home on the inside of his door. He was going to make some charmed iron pieces for it to make fucking sure no one got through.
“Are you okay?” he asked, crossing the room to her.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not okay, not at all. He was right, Aeric. I’m putting you in danger by staying here. I need to leave, go somewhere else . . . not the Rose, but I’ll find somewhere. It’ll be okay—”
“Hey.” He caught her by the upper arms and forced her to look up at him, although she only did so for about a half second. “Stop.”
“No.” She licked her lips, an action he was fast recognizing as something she did when she was nervous. “I’ve put you in danger. I knew that if my cover was blown and the Unseelie found out I was here, they’d come looking for me. The fae have long memories. I have my glamour.” She tried to push past him. “I can fend for myself.”
He tightened his grip and she stilled, refusing to look at him. “Yeah, like you fended for yourself with me? I saw right through your glamour. Forced you to give it up.”
That made her look up. “You’re the only one ever to be able to do that.”
“If I can do it, so can someone else. Remember, you’re not with the humans anymore. You’re with your own kind. We’re not as harmless.”
“I don’t really need to be reminded of that, considering.”
“You’re staying here, got it? I brought you here and I can keep you here.”
“My ass is yours?”
“You fucking better believe it.”
“I thought you wanted me out of here so bad, Aeric. What happened?”
He released her and stepped back. “I can’t discount the possibility that your story about the piece of the bosca fadbh is true. If you’re really working for the HFF it’s important you stay safe.”
“So you’ve gone from wanting to kill me to wanting to protect me.”
His lips twisted. “How’s that for a change?”
She cleared her throat and gave him a shaky smile. “Yeah.”
“You can stay here. I’ll reinforce the door with charmed iron pieces. When you leave my apartment, you’ll do it glamoured. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about me.”
“Aww, isn’t that fucking sweet. I can take care of myself, Emmaline.”
She frowned at him. “You swear a lot.”
“Yes, a recent occurrence, much like my sudden binge drinking and bouts of unpredictable violence. I developed a few bad habits when you arrived.”
“Swearing, fighting, and drinking. I’m a great influence.”
There were worse influences, like the one that made him want her so much. The one that made his dick hard when he watched her move or caught the scent of her hair and skin. Yeah, that one was a lot worse. No way was he telling her about that one.
Hell, he was having a hard enough time not showing her.
She moved away from him before he could tell her to go back to sleep, sending up a wave of the scent of the shampoo she used, whatever that wicked stuff was that she kept in her backpack. “I need a drink, myself.” She looked a little wobbly on her feet.
“Okay, let’s both have one. I don’t think either of us is getting back to sleep for a while after that interruption.”
Of course he could think of better ways to pass the time.
He went for the whiskey.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding up an ancient bottle of golden liquid that had no label.
“Aged apple liquor. You probably knew it as Amber Sip. Fae-made.”
“Amber Sip.” She uncorked it and sniffed. “Wow, I haven’t had this stuff since before the wars.”
He grabbed a couple of glasses and took the bottle from her. “Then let’s kill the bottle.”
Some time later Emmaline swirled the liquor in the bottom of her glass. She’d had more than one and apparently she’d never win any drinking contests. She glanced up at him with exhausted, heavy-lidded eyes, her dark hair framing her face in a way that made him want to brush it back, cup her cheeks in his hands, lean in, and . . .
“You think I’m gorgeous?” She drained the glass. “You said that . . . the, uh, other day. You know, in the forge.” She looked away from him.
He unlocked his jaw long enough to answer. “Yeah, I think you’re gorgeous. Don’t you ever look in a mirror when you’re not glamoured?”
She frowned and stared into her empty glass as though wondering where her drink had gone. “No, actually. That day you let me have a shower was the first time I’d seen myself in hundreds of years.”
“Wow. No offense, but that’s a little fucked up.”
She looked up at him and blinked. “Yes, it is. I guess . . . I never really liked myself all that much. You know, because of that whole assassin thing.”
He held the bottle up to her with raised eyebrows and she held out her glass for more.
“That whole assassin thing, yeah.” Every muscle in his body tightened and he forced himself to relax. “We’ve all done things in the past we’re not proud of.”
“Some more than others.” She drew a breath and then gave him a dazzling smile. “So, I’m looking okay, then?”
A corner of his mouth hitched upward. He slammed back the rest of his drink before answering, since he needed it. He was about to tell a woman who had been a sworn enemy only weeks ago that he thought she was pretty. “More than okay. Like I said, gorgeous.”
She smiled a little, but her eyes were sad. “So, tell me about Piefferburg. I read all I can about this place, but nothing’s like a firsthand account. By not living here, I’ve missed a huge chunk of fae history.”
He snorted. “It’s not history yet. Seems like current events to me.”
“With your help, soon it might be history.”
“By the fae timeline Piefferburg is just a blip. We were here long before humanity stopped swinging from the branches and we’ll be here long after they disappear.”
She swirled the rest of her drink in her glass. “And so will the Phaendir.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Those bastards are like cockroaches. Not even a nuclear blast could get rid of them.”
She finished her glass and settled back into the cushions. “So, tell me. How did they trap you here, Aeric?”
He set his glass aside and started in. He told her about how the Phaendir had hunted them down like dogs and trapped them all over the world with the help of the humans. He told her about the ship stuffed to bursting with fae who were either sick with Watt syndrome, trussed up in charmed iron—that had been created by him, originally, and commandeered for that purpose—or both. There had been hardly any food, almost no clean drinking water. Disease had been rampant. So many died on the trip that the sharks followed in their wake, waiting to be fed. Of course, the fae weren’t the
last to travel the ocean to the New World under such conditions. Hardly.
He told her about Piefferburg’s earliest days, how cold it was and how there was so little food and no shelter. He told her how they’d built the city from nothing but grass and trees and how all of them had seethed in anger over their treatment. That common bond drew all the fae races together, ending the pettiness of the wars and uniting them in a common purpose.
If any good had come out of Piefferburg, it was that.
Eventually, though, the fire of their indignation had been lost in simply surviving—maintaining an economy that could support all of Piefferburg’s inhabitants.
Now that righteous fire was back, sparked by the Phaendir and the way they’d barged into their city the previous year in an attempt to gain the Book of Bindings and kill their new Shadow Queen. These days Piefferburg seethed again. The fae wanted blood.
Hopefully they would get it.
When he was done, he looked over and found Emmaline asleep. The empty glass had rolled out of her fingers and onto the cushion. Her face rested comfortably on one of the throw pillows, her long dark hair tucked behind her ear. Her breathing came deep and easy, almost as if having someone try to kill her happened every day.
Although—he frowned—these days it sort of did.
She really was beautiful, as much as he hated to admit it. Not beautiful in the perfect, ethereal way that Aileen had been beautiful. Emmaline’s attractiveness was a different kind. Natural. Unique. Compelling. Interesting.
He eased his hand to her chin and turned her face toward his. Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher. How had she landed in his life this way? He wished she hadn’t. Wished he didn’t find her as compelling or as interesting as he did.
He wished he found her guilty.
It would have made things so much easier if he’d just been able to stick with his original plan. But reality was whatever it was, no matter if you liked it. He was a fan of seeing the truth in events and in people, no matter if the truth was complicated and the lie was a comforting old friend.
So, new plan.