Taken

by Jennifer Blackstream

  I didn’t meet her eyes again, but that one glance had been enough. Leannan sidhe were not all as sexual as Flint, though sensuality was a large part of their nature. Most of them took after their muse ancestors as opposed to the incubus lineage. But art is passion. A leannan sidhe sought an artist to inspire, someone upon whom to lavish their gifts of inspiration, someone to push to greater and greater heights. Such gifts were not free. Human artists often found themselves driven to new heights of creativity, only to burn out as their patron fed on their creative energy—and their physical energy as well, if they took them for lovers.

  More often than not, the artist got too close to the thin line between artistic brilliance and insanity. Few could tolerate the whirlwind of a leannan sidhe’s attention without being swept over that line and into the abyss.

  “So you auction the children off and their leannan sidhe masters push them to create more and more.”

  Flint nodded. “It is an attempt to return to our roots. Marilyn has been vocal about finding out what heights an artist could reach if given the full and unfiltered benefit of a leannan sidhe’s patronage, as they had in the old days before we retreated from humanity. It is her theory that becoming more involved in this way will return our people to their former glory.”

  I didn’t bother arguing that. Much of magic came from belief, and humans didn’t believe anymore. As much as some factions wanted to change that, wanted to risk war to regain the power they’d once enjoyed, the great majority understood that a war with humans may not see the Otherworld as the victor. If there was one thing humans excelled at, it was surviving. No matter what.

  At least as a species. One on one, they died fast.

  “Are any of the children from last year still alive?”

  Something in my tone must have gotten through to Flint. His flirtatious manner fell and he drew away, a new wariness in his hazel eyes. “Why are you here?”

  I laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Now you ask. You didn’t care before.”

  “You called me with an offer to undo your little prank, and give me yet another opportunity to…enjoy your company. And what with our friend Mr. Winters putting such a damper on our blossoming relationship…” Flint shrugged. “I had no reason to question your motivation.”

  He didn’t add that he hadn’t seen me as a threat. Not a real one.

  “A dead child.” I met his gaze head-on, letting him see what I thought of him and his people who were so willing to use children for something as selfish as hoarding power. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Flint turned that over in his mind, his train of thought clear in his expression. “You intend to accuse someone of murder.”

  “I intend to keep another murder from happening.” Now it was my turn to crowd his personal space, lean in to speak close to his ear. “And if you have an ounce of decency in you, you’ll help me.”

  “Would it please you for me to help you, then?” he murmured, turning his face so his breath wafted over my neck.

  Fury boiled inside me, melting whatever desire he might have risen in me. Without another word, I turned on my heel and marched up to Marilyn.

  “Armatura,” I said under my breath. I didn’t make the gestures, but rather threw my anger out in front of me, visualizing it as a shield. I pulled a smile over my mouth, sharpening it into a scythe.

  “Marilyn,” I said. “How lovely to meet you at last.”

  The leannan sidhe blinked, but the automatic smile of every hostess was already spreading over her lips. “Hello. Miss…?”

  “Shade Renard.” I gave the barely perceptible tip of my chin fondly referred to in many circles as “the witch’s curtsy.” “Mother Renard.”

  Marilyn’s smile wilted at the corners. “Mother Renard,” she repeated. She crossed her hands in front of her, her tone sliding from warm and inviting to cool and polite. “I was not expecting such an honor. May I see your invitation?”

  “She’s with me, Marilyn,” Flint said, stepping behind me.

  His arm slid around my waist and pulled me against his side. I was too angry to think about the warm press of his body, and seriously considered stomping on his foot.

  “Flint.” Marilyn’s voice didn’t warm. In fact, it dropped several degrees, until each word crackled with a hint of frost. “I’m surprised to see you here. I had a word with my social secretary about the invitations soon after I heard of your planned attendance.”

  “A lovely girl, that Rosalie,” Flint said with a smile.

  Marilyn’s expression turned brittle. “She was.”

  “Well, now I’ve had the chance to meet my hostess, I should let you get to your other guests,” I said, just to make certain I included myself as a guest. “Tell me, where are the young artists? I would love to have a word with them. Before the bidding starts.”

  Marilyn stiffened. “They are being prepared. Bathed, clothed, etc. This is their societal debut, you know.”

  “Oh, yes, I know.” I leaned closer and dropped my voice to a whisper. “I know everything.”

  “I have done nothing illegal, Mother Renard.” Marilyn bent to put her face closer to mine. “You have no authority here.”

  I unzipped my waist pouch. Without breaking eye contact with Marilyn, I dug around inside. Three minutes later, her expression clouded with confusion as I continued to dig without success. I fed my embarrassment into my temper, keeping it white hot until I pulled out the item I’d been searching for.

  I settled the pointed black witch’s hat on my head with a determined tug. Marilyn blinked. I gave her a sharp nod and pivoted on my heel.

  Flint covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. He spoke to Marilyn in a voice too low for me to hear, and then caught up with me.

  “That, my dear, was well played. Very amusing.” He paused, considering the hat. “Is that…?”

  “Part of a Halloween costume.”

  He chuckled. “Splendid.”

  I scanned the room again. Now that I knew who I was dealing with, the worst of my nerves were over. The leannan sidhe wouldn’t hurt the kids, not on purpose. It was a source of shame among their kind for an artist they adopted to die before creating something spectacular. The children Taken today were safe for now. But Grayson and Lindsay—those two were in danger. The kelpies had Grayson. I could only pray Lindsay had fared better.

  My fellow partygoers didn’t bother to hide their stares as I wove through the room. The hat was silly, yes, but it was also crystal clear. I’d found that most sidhe preferred to avoid crossing a witch’s path, whether motivated by fear or annoyance. Either way was fine with me.

  The next room was the gallery. Temporary walls hung with canvases formed a broken maze. Small golden lamps illuminating the vibrant paint were a sharp contrast to the plain grey walls. I didn’t give the paintings a second thought. I wasn’t here for art.

  Oisean stood at the corner where two of the art-bedecked walls met. He matched Pam’s picture, all long silver hair and pale skin. He wore the same long brown trench coat I’d seen him in before. Perhaps that was personal taste, and not a costume.

  The scout blinked when he saw me. “Mother Renard.” He cleared his throat. “What a nice surprise.” He gestured behind him at a canvas covered in green and gold paint. “This is one of Lindsay’s pieces. Isn’t it lovely?”

  “Where is she?”

  Flint stopped behind me. I wasn’t sure if it was a show of support, or if he was trying not to get between me and the hostess’ slave finder.

  Oisean pointed across the room, a gold ring on his finger catching enough of the lamp’s light to make it glitter like flame. My shoulders relaxed when I saw Lindsay standing next to another sidhe less than ten yards away. Her long brown hair had been brushed until it shone like silk, pulled away from her face with matching emerald barrettes. Kohl lined her brown eyes, and a hint of green eyeshadow matched her gown. Despite the beauty of her dress, pale green lined with rows of fresh cream-colored lilies, her face was ashen and s
he stood frozen to the floor, lip trembling as she stared at the crowd of fey.

  “See seems terrified, but unharmed.” I lifted my chin at Oisean. “And Grayson?”

  “He isn’t here at the moment. I believe he’s with his new family.”

  Family. The zipper to my pouch dug into my palm, the cold metal warning me that I was close to retrieving the iron shavings right there, close to throwing them in Oisean’s too-calm face. “And the children who were Taken today? Where are they?”

  “Getting ready,” Oisean said. “If I might be so bold, Mother Renard, you seem upset by the festivities around you. Might I suggest that you find somewhere else to spend your evening?”

  “She’ll be staying with me.” Flint stepped closer, standing behind me and to the side, not interfering, but making it clear I was not alone.

  “I want to see the children,” I said. “Now.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” Oisean replied.

  Frustration pulled my fingers into fists, and I took a calming breath to keep from punching him in the mouth. “Tell me, Oisean. You’re the scout, the one who finds children to bring to this slave shop.”

  Oisean’s face tightened, his green eyes darkening with moving shadow. “Art auction.”

  “Do you spend much time with them?”

  The sidhe hesitated, a hint of confusion pinching his brow. “Yes. It takes time to assess not only their skill, but their potential.”

  “How much time?”

  He shifted from foot to foot, studying me as if wary of where the conversation was leading. “It varies.”

  “Hard to wait for that birthday, right?”

  Oisean stiffened. “Those humans are all legal adults, according to their own people. They had the standing and the right to sign those contracts—and they did sign those contracts.”

  “Adults,” I repeated. “Do they really seem like adults to you?” I stepped closer, crowding his space. “Or do they seem like children? Children with no homes and no families, children desperate for security and safety?”

  Oisean looked away before I could read his expression. “They are adults.”

  “Fine. Let’s talk about art, shall we?” I grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to the painting he’d mentioned. “See how this tree has no roots, no branches? But look over here, in another part of the forest. There’s a tiny sapling, with three tender roots. And a single leaf. What does that represent to you?”

  “I—”

  “All those trees with no leaves. No leaves because someone tore them off. Ripped them away to leave the tree bare and exposed, no privacy, no security, naked for all the world to see. No roots to hold it to the ground, waiting for a strong wind to knock it over, end its existence.” I leaned in. “Did you know Lindsay was abused? Did you know she was at that center because her home was too dangerous, because the people responsible for her care and safety violated her in a way…” I pressed my lips together, holding in the sob bubbling up my throat. My eyes burned with the threat of tears, and I allowed myself a moment to breathe, to regain my cool.

  Oisean’s shoulder dipped, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

  “That sapling,” I whispered, “is hope. It was a new beginning. A sign she’d let someone into her life, let someone in and trusted them to show her a brighter future. Do you think it was you?”

  He rubbed his palms down the sides of his pants beneath his coat, and his eyes twitched as if he had to fight to maintain eye contact. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have duties to attend to.”

  I stared at the painting like a wolf mesmerized by the glow of a full moon. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t blink, couldn’t do anything to shut out the sight of that tiny tree. That tiny expression of new hope. Constellation House had given that to Lindsay. They’d put in the time and the effort to till the soil, make her feel safe. They’d shown her acceptance and support. They’d let those first little roots take hold.

  And Oisean had ruined it. He’d pretended to care, pretended to want her to grow and thrive. But then he’d pulled that little tree as if it were a weed. Something expendable.

  Magic burned my palm as a tear slid down my face. I tore my gaze from the painting to glare at Oisean’s retreating form. Power crackled as I raised my hand, the fire already burning bright in my mind’s eye…

  Chapter 14

  Flint’s hand closed over mine, forcing my fingers into a fist, trapping them in an iron grip as he bent my arm behind my back. He stepped into my personal space, pressing our bodies together and dipping his head until his breath stirred the delicate hairs at the nape of my neck. I shivered, but it was a purely physical reaction. I didn’t take my attention off Oisean’s retreating form, and kept watching him around Flint’s shoulder, my thoughts unwavering as I picked a spot on Oisean’s spine, imagining a large red-and-white target. He wasn’t yet too far away. I could still hit him if I threw my spell hard enough.

  “Careful, now,” Flint murmured. “Whatever satisfaction this would give you now, you will pay for it tenfold if you give in.”

  “It’ll be worth it,” I said. My words were thicker than they should have been, half drowned in the threat of tears. “I hate him. I hate him, and I want to make him pay.”

  “Hate him, then. But if you’re to be of any use to those children, calmer tempers must prevail. This desire for revenge, this hunger for vengeance… It must wait.” His free hand cradled my waist, tight enough that I felt the strength in his grip. “I can take your mind off him, if you like…”

  He brushed his lips over the shell of my ear, sending another rush of shivers after the first. The spell I’d been toying with flickered, magic dissipating as his power stirred my hormones, heated my blood. The scent of body-warmed sheets under the faintest hint of masculine cologne tickled my senses, made me take a deeper breath as I put my face closer to Flint’s shoulder. He smelled so good.

  “Let me take your mind off him,” he whispered.

  Before I could react, he swept me across the floor, moving as if we were in a dance. I was too surprised to move, too surprised to make my legs work, or even get them under me. Flint took my weight as if it were nothing and spun me around until my back touched the wall in the far corner of the room. The temporary partitions, heavy with painted canvases, cast shadow us as I grabbed Flint’s shoulders to steady myself, dizzy from the abrupt retreat.

  He slid a hand over my jaw, hard enough it was more a massage than a caress. “Anger will not serve you here. You risk your cause and your life. You must relax.” He drew his lips over my ear. “I can help you, if you’ll let me…”

  There was too much heat in this corner. Flint was an inferno in a tux, and my fury had heated my blood to boiling already. I couldn’t think, couldn’t hold on to a thought long enough to speak before it melted away. Neither anger nor arousal were conducive to clear thinking, and right now, I was flailing under the influence of both. I pressed my palms against Flint’s shoulder, torn between pulling him closer and shoving him away.

  I couldn’t fight the arousal and the anger at once. Best to pick one and give it my all.

  I drew my right hand down his chest, sliding it under his jacket. The thin dress shirt did nothing to hide the solid line of muscle, the tempting curve of his pectorals as I trailed my fingers down, lower and lower. Flint pressed me harder against the wall, his fingers tightening on my jaw as he leaned down to kiss me.

  I grabbed hold of the waistline of his pants. “Fire or ice?” I said. “Your choice.”

  Flint stilled. Not a muscle twitched; not a hair stirred. He didn’t even breathe. His brown eyes shone with a golden gleam reminiscent of a tiger’s eye stone, and for a split second, something dangerous peered out at me through those yes. A peek of a leannan sidhe’s true nature. A predator.

  “I’m under a great deal of stress,” I said, not bothering to hide the trembling in my voice. “I’m angry because a child is dead. I’m angry because someone has sold a child to
a race that will terrify him. And I’m angry because your people intend to sell four more children to arrogant, pathetic individuals who see these kids as a means to relive their glory days.” I sucked in a breath, choking on my temper. “I am not leaving here without those children. And if I have to spill fey blood to make that happen, then so much the better.” I slid my hand farther down and grabbed him through his expensive pants, drawing a gasp of surprise. “Use your power on me like that again, and I’ll start with you.”

  Something between amusement and anger twisted Flint’s mouth into a smirk, and a split second later, he thrust forward, pinning me between the wall and the hard planes of his body. The hand that had been a threat a second ago was now trapped between our bodies, an erotic display for anyone who looked into our corner.

  “If you don’t get hold of your emotions, you won’t leave here at all,” Flint whispered. “You are surrounded by leannan sidhe. It is our nature to inspire, to ignite passion, anger, fear, and joy. The guests here are trying to prove they are the powerful creatures they once were, and their desperation and magic weigh heavily on you. Witches are emotional creatures by nature, so I can only imagine what effect my people will have on you if you don’t pull yourself together.”

  He grabbed my chin and lifted my face to his. “You don’t want my offer of distraction, my sincere invitation to take the edge off this frustration that’s twisting you into knots? Fine. But if you won’t take my help, then save your magic for yourself. Get your shields up and swallow whatever vitriol is brewing on that sharp tongue of yours. You are my guest, and thus Marilyn’s guest, but that will not save you if you are foolish enough to attack someone. Anyone in this room could kill you, and if you think otherwise, you have overestimated yourself.”

  The room tilted around me, my mind too chaotic, too jumbled to think straight.

  Freeze his bits off.

  Scream.

  Grab the kids and run.

  Kiss him.

  Burn this house to the ground.