Cruel Enchantment

by Bast, Anya

  Not that she wanted to.

  Annoyance sparked all the same. “Who says I want you?” Danu, the words came out heavy and just a little slurred. She was such a bad liar for an ex-assassin. “You have such a high opinion of yourself.”

  He nuzzled her throat, just under her ear, and gooseflesh rose all over her body. “If you don’t want this, tell me to stop, Emmaline. It’s simple.” He bit her gently, his teeth rasping over the skin where her shoulder met her neck. The sensation registered much farther down. “Do you want me to stop?”

  The only response she had for him was a whimper.

  He slid his knee between her thighs and forced them apart. The hard, wide length of his cock rubbed against her sex through the fabric of their clothing. Her breath hitched and her body seemed to catch fire.

  “You want me to fuck you, don’t you, Emmaline?” His teeth caught her earlobe and dragged across it, making her shiver.

  Her fingers fisted in the material of his shirt. “You want it, too.”

  He cupped her rear, pushing her against him so she could feel the evidence of his arousal. “Yeah, I want it.” He stared down at her, his mouth only inches from hers. “It’s a bad idea, considering our history.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  He dropped his head an inch lower and brushed his lips over hers. Her breath caught and her whole body went rigid, then melted past the point of no return. “You know it and I know it. Still, we can’t seem to stop wanting it anyway,” he murmured. “Maybe we should just do it.”

  Not waiting for her response, he dragged his mouth over hers. He groaned and forced her lips to part, not tempting or tasting or asking—but demanding. She opened her mouth to allow him in and his tongue slid past her lips and mated with hers, hot and addictive. His tongue stroked against hers, languorous and slow. Over and over. Warm. Wet.

  His kiss wiped all the thought from her mind and made pleasure skitter up her spine and radiate through her body. A growling sound that seemed part ecstasy, part torture curled from his throat and made her shiver.

  He’d made her come, but he’d never kissed her. And, oh, his kiss was better than any orgasm. This man kissed like other men made love, his teeth nipping occasionally at her lower lip and making her shiver, his tongue sliding into her mouth in slow, long strokes that drove all the rational thought from her mind and turned her into a melting mess.

  “I fucking need you, need to touch you,” he growled, breaking the kiss. His fingers found the hem of her shirt and had it over her head in a moment. He touched one of the long white scars on her stomach and thighs and looked up at her. “What are these from?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Don’t remember, or don’t want to remember?”

  Danu, she did not want to talk about this right now. “What’s the difference?” She pulled him down on top of her and sealed her mouth to his.

  Soon, the rest of her clothing was gone and she was bare beneath him while he was still dressed.

  That had a familiar feel, gave him all the power and made her vulnerable.

  As usual.

  “Aeric,” she breathed, her eyes coming open as she grappled for a hold on her sense of self-preservation. “Wait. I can’t do this.”

  He stopped, moving his head so he could look down at her. His hair shadowed his face and his eyelids were heavy with lust. “Why?”

  Because you’re going to break my heart.

  “Because—”

  He lowered his head and kissed her again, his tongue dipping into her mouth with long, slow, possessive sweeps that made her moan in the back of her throat and forget exactly what she’d been saying a moment ago.

  Her fingers sought his shirt and freed it from his jeans, then made quick work of the buttons. Her palms ran over the powerful expanse of his chest and his broad shoulders, running over his biceps and the flexing muscles of his back. He was a magnificent man, the kind that made a woman feel totally feminine and protected—even if they were fae ex-assassins who could take care of themselves.

  She touched the button and zipper of his jeans, undid them, and slid her hand inside. He shuddered and murmured her name as she took him in her hand and stroked. He was huge—long and wide—silk-over-iron beautiful.

  “Fuck, Emmaline.” He pulled her hand away. “I want you too much. You’re going to make me lose control.”

  “Do it. Lose control, Aeric. I want you to.”

  Not answering her, he moved down, careful of her wound, pushing the blankets aside as he went. Her nipples and skin pebbled in the cool morning air. His hand skated her abdomen, stroked the smooth skin of her inner thigh until she moaned, then touched her somewhere even more sensitive.

  His gaze held hers as he slipped his fingers between her folds and slid deep inside her. Her back arched and she closed her eyes, a low moan dragging itself up from her throat. Using her moisture as a lubricant, he petted her blossoming clit until her breath came faster. Knowing just how she liked to be touched there, he skated her right up to the edge of a climax and held her there, on the edge of ultimate pleasure.

  Then he dropped his mouth to her.

  The sight of his head between her thighs and his tongue lapping at her so lazily nearly did her in. Her fingers fisted in the blankets as he forced her thighs to part wider for him and he drank her in, his tongue and lips nibbling and licking at the most sensitive part of her body.

  Hips bucking and a guttural moan ripping its way from her throat, she came against his mouth. He held on to her, laving her clit while she orgasmed, extending it and making it stronger.

  When it stuttered to a halt, she reached for him, but he shook his head. “I can’t without hurting you.” He looked at her leg.

  She grabbed his jeans and yanked him to her. “Do it slow and gentle, if you have to. I need to feel you inside me.”

  He growled against her lips. “I can’t do it slow and gentle. I want you hard and fast. I want you up against a wall, over the side of a couch. I want your thighs spread and my cock inside you thrusting deep. I’ve been thinking about it too much. I’ve wanted you for too long.” He shook his head. “There’s no slow and gentle. Not right now.”

  She shuddered at his words, her body reigniting. Reaching into his jeans, she stroked him again from tip to base, making him swear under his breath. “Take them off,” she whispered against his lips.

  “No.” He pulled away from her. “You touch me with your hand or your mouth and it will push me too far. I’ll hurt you. I don’t want to do that.”

  “You did once. You didn’t seem to have a problem hurting me then.”

  “I know.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. Things are different now.” He stood at the side of the bed, pushed a hand through his hair. He stood there shirtless, his unbuttoned jeans hanging low and revealing the lean jut of his hips. Her fingers itched to touch him. That fantasy was not to be fulfilled.

  Perhaps it was for the better, even though it hurt.

  She pulled the blankets over herself. “You’re killing me, Aeric.”

  He lay down beside her and groaned. “Yeah, well, dealing with you is no picnic, either, sweetheart.”

  THE next morning someone knocked on the door. When Aeric answered it, Emmaline could see an entire line of the Summer Queen’s Imperial Guard in full rose-and-gold regalia glinting in the morning sunlight.

  Emmaline bolted to her feet, using her crutch. She barely noticed the pain it caused her leg. “No.” She backed up away from the door, ice-cold panic racing through her veins. “No!” She glanced around the cottage, hoping a back door would magickally appear. It didn’t.

  Aurora stood in their midst. She spread her hands. “Please forgive us. When the royals come looking for someone, we can’t deny them.”

  One of the guards stepped forward. “Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher, you are to come with us immediately, by order of Her Majesty Caoilainn Elspeth Muirgheal, the Summer Queen of the Rose Tower and ruler of the Seelie Tuatha Dé Da
nann.”

  “No.” Emmaline backed away even farther, right into the solid wall of the cottage. “No way am I going to see the Summer Queen. No.”

  The head of the guard entered the cottage, baring his teeth at her. “You don’t have a choice. Your queen has summoned you.” He jerked his head at Aeric. “Aeric Killian Riordan O’Malley. He comes along, too.”

  “Fuck, no. She’s not my queen,” Aeric growled, watching more men enter the small building. “Emmaline’s not going, either. The Summer Queen isn’t her ruler anymore.”

  Technically, Caoilainn Elspeth Muirgheal would always be her queen. No matter how much time had passed, no matter that she’d been living among the humans. Emmaline was Seelie. Her blood was of a pure line of Seelie Tuatha Dé Danann and her magick was white, harmless. Therefore, she was every inch the Summer Queen’s subject.

  That didn’t change the fact that she was not going to see her royal. Not now, not ever.

  She put one of the chairs between herself and the guard. “What does she want with me?” How does she even know I’m here? That question went unspoken.

  “The Summer Queen does not favor us with such information. She said to bring you and so we will.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy,” said Aeric a half second before chaos exploded in the cottage. He attacked the guard nearest him.

  The captain set his sights on Emmaline. Keeping her eyes on him, she moved around the chair, going into fight mode. That was going to be difficult with her injury. Even if she hadn’t been wounded, their chances weren’t great against at least twenty of the Summer Queen’s best. She threw her crutch away, forcing herself to put weight on her leg. Pain shot up her shin and thigh, but she could do it.

  On the balls of her feet, she gripped the back of the chair and readied herself for the moment the captain would make his move. The captain lunged and Emmaline yelled out of the pure agony of having to make the motion, bringing the chair up and hitting the man in the abdomen with it. He made an oofing sound and staggered backward, the weight of his rose and gold armor toppling him to the floor.

  She staggered but caught herself right before she also collapsed. Near her Aeric was kicking ass.

  But now all the guards were pouring into the cottage. There were too many. No way would she and Aeric fight their way out. Still, it was clear they were of the same mind—they were going down swinging.

  She and Aeric found themselves back-to-back in the middle of the small sitting area, both on the balls of their feet and ready to engage the guards. One of the shorter men lunged toward her and she whirled to the side, kicking up high with her good leg, catching him in the throat. He went down holding his neck, turning red, and making choking sounds. She didn’t feel her injury anymore. Adrenaline and pure terror had numbed it.

  Lars.

  Just the thought.

  Aeric met her eyes in a soundless communication—are you all right? Then two of the guards went for him and he was back in the thick of the battle again, leaving her on her own.

  Emmaline went for the soft places—the throat, eyes, and their unprotected knees. Using every bit of her training, she kicked and punched at the men who were trying to restrain her. She had an advantage because, clearly, they had orders not to hurt her. Whereas she had no problem hurting them. She knew the Imperial Guard; they were just like she’d been so long ago—if the Summer Queen had told them to kill her, she’d be dead right now.

  Aeric knocked one of the guards into the chair with a bellow of pure rage. Both guard and chair went down, the chair smashing into splintered bits and the guard going still on the floor.

  Four jumped him at once, throwing him down and leaping on top of him. Two of the guards grabbed Emmaline by the upper arms and pushed her face-first against the wall. She struggled, kicking and yelling, but they had a good grip on her. They wrenched her arms behind her, pinning her hands to the small of her back. She heard the distinctive clink of charmed iron and the cool metal closed around her wrists.

  That horrid sensation of her magick being stripped away colored over her in a wash of sickly green, tearing away her glamour and making her sag against the wall. They pulled her roughly away and pushed her toward the door. Blood gushed down her shin from her reopened wound, making her feel nauseous.

  On the floor, Aeric was motionless and silent. “What did you do to him?” she yelled.

  “He’s okay,” one of the men answered, giving her a push past Aeric’s body. “He’s just too much trouble conscious. Now move.”

  They’d ridden horses to the Boundary Lands, a wise choice considering the lack of roads. They slung Aeric’s big body over one of the mounts and put her on another. The motorcycle stayed at the cottage.

  Aurora watched with tears in her eyes as the Imperial Guard took them away. The birch ladies helped people. It was what they lived for. They especially helped women find their way. This had to be a bitter defeat for her. She looked devastated.

  Emmaline glanced at Aeric, teetering precariously on the back of the poor overburdened horse they’d inflicted his bulk upon. The partially carved key was likely in his pocket. Not the safest place for it, but there was nothing she could do about that.

  They rode for a long time, out of the woods and into what looked like suburbs, but not like human burbs. Here the houses were all different sizes and shapes to fit their respective fae families; they didn’t all look like they’d been stamped from a similar cookie cutter. There were different-shaped yards for each home, all containing different sorts of plants. This was where the troop lived, all the fae who were not a part of either court and weren’t nature fae, either.

  Eventually they hit the city again and everyone stared as they passed by. By early afternoon they reached the Rose Tower, a tall expanse of gleaming rose quartz. Outside a group of humans stood with camera equipment and microphones. She recognized them. This was the crew of Faemous she’d been supposedly going to join.

  “Do you have a statement to make about these prisoners?” Brian Bentley, one of the Faemous commentators, said, holding a mic to the captain’s face.

  The captain, who had a nice bruise blooming on his cheek from Emmaline’s fist, pushed the mic away and growled an obscenity at the reporter.

  Bentley, undaunted, thrust the mic toward her. “What’s your name? Why are you under arrest? Who is this man with you? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  The captain pushed Bentley away from her horse and hauled her down off it. For once Emmaline was grateful for the captain and for the loss of her glamour. If Brother Gideon or Brother Maddoc was watching the twenty-four-hour, never-ending Faemous show they wouldn’t recognize her. Her cover was dangerously close to being blown right now and she did not like it one bit. If her cover was blown, the fae could kiss the next piece of the bosca fadbh good-bye.

  And she’d be locked in here with the Summer Queen forever.

  They marched her through the huge double doors of the Rose Tower and down the gilt-and-rose-marble corridors to—Emmaline was certain—the throne room. Emmaline didn’t march; she limped. Dried blood caked her shin and shoe. On either side of her, richly dressed Seelie nobles, men and women, watched her pass and murmured among themselves.

  Ugh. The flashbacks were rampant.

  The Seelie never changed. They loved their clothes, balls, and shallow little lives. She would be a hero here if they found out who she was. There would be applause, smiles, shouts of approval for all the kills she’d made back during the wars. As it was, there were only sly, curious glances and whispering. Emmaline was grateful for that, grateful beyond belief for her anonymity.

  Another heavy set of double doors opened and the Imperial Guard escorted her into a huge throne room. Whereas the Shadow Queen received her guests in a small, officelike setting, this room was the polar opposite. A fresco of the Cath Maige Tuired, depicting the Sídhe taking over Ireland from the Firbolg, spread over the arched ceiling above her head and continued down the rose quartz w
alls. Pillars dotted the cavernous, echoing chamber. They were the only other things marking the space besides the large self-important throne that Caoilainn Elspeth Muirgheal’s ass currently occupied.

  The Summer Queen doesn’t hold any power over me now. Emmaline hoped that if she repeated it often enough in her head it might make it true.

  The queen’s skirts dripped over the edge of the throne and onto the stairs leading up to it like a pool of molten ruby. Diamonds glittered at her ears, around her throat, and on her carefully manicured fingers. Her long pale blond hair was twisted onto the top of her head and pinned there with even more diamonds. She was young-appearing, beautiful, timeless in her chilly, powerful elegance. She hadn’t changed at all.

  Emmaline didn’t curtsy and it wasn’t because she was injured. She stood, head held high, gaze centered on the woman on the throne. Her expression said: I will not bow to you. Not anymore.

  The Summer Queen met her eyes in cool challenge. “Kneel.”

  The queen’s voice of power washed through her, bending her knees involuntarily. Emmaline went down on her knees with a cry of pain, the throne room going icy as a result of the Summer Queen’s flash of temper.

  In that moment the last three hundred plus years washed away. Once again she was the young, unsure woman she’d been, eager for any crumb of approval from the frosty woman who was her royal . . . and the only reason Emmaline lived. The only reason Lars didn’t have dominion over her.

  Then she came back to herself, remembering that she was no longer the person she’d once been. She’d lived among the humans, made a life for herself, had gained confidence and had survived on her own, without this woman’s help.

  In the time she’d been away from the Summer Queen Emmaline had grown up, grown wise, come to understand that this woman was probably responsible for her parents’ deaths. That perhaps the queen had set her up from the start—manipulating her life to make sure the fae girl with the powerful glamour and the handy healing ability could be molded into a weapon.

  Emmaline straightened, feeling cold, slow anger pour through her body. “What do you want from me?”