by Conn, Claudy
Jazz looked up at Trevor’s face for the first time as he turned to frown at her; he wore a shocked expression. Even as this became apparent to her, she felt him take a menacing step forward as his voice fiercely demanded, “Who the hell are you? You aren’t Pestale!”
The Dark Prince dropped his hands from the woman, but she held his thigh longingly as he moved away. He laughed before saying, “You know my brother? Pestale has been detained, but eventually you will have the opportunity to see him beside me once more as we storm Tir with our Dark Soldiers at our backs.”
“I don’t think so.” Fury rocked Trevor’s voice. “I will be sending you back to join him in the hell you deserve!”
“Seelie Royal, you don’t know me or what I can do, what I won’t hesitate to do,” the Dark Prince said on a light note. “We are not very alike, Pestale and I, for I am darker and full of hate, which makes me want to destroy. He wants to take over the universe and will destroy to do it. Do you see, there is a difference between us.” He inclined his head. “I am Hordly, third son of the Dark King, and I have no idea how you got here, nor do I care. I shall let your human live if you go now … on your way.” His sneer was obviously derisive, and Jazz worried that Trevor would be taunted into doing something rash.
“My way,” said Trevor, “is putting myself in your way.”
Good, good, good, she thought thankfully. He was still in control of himself. Maybe Fae didn’t do rash things—maybe that part of what she had been taught was actually correct?
“I suggest you leave, before I decide to kill you,” said the Dark Prince.
“Not leaving, so why don’t you, as humans are so fond of saying, bring it, leave the little human you have ruined, and try and kill me,” Trevor said on a sneer.
The Dark Prince ignored him and, as though goading the Fae Royal, fondled the woman’s full breast.
Trevor roared with his rage as he put up his hand and called for his Death Sword.
Ha, so much for not doing anything rash, Jazz thought as she saw the sword appear in his hand. She had been taught about death weapons. They were from Danu and were the only weapons that could kill Fae. She realized she didn’t want Trevor hurt. Well, duh, she told herself, of course you don’t. He is your way home. Yes, but it was more than that. She actually liked him.
She stepped away from him to give him room and said to him, “Look, Royal, don’t get killed and leave me here …”
He laughed and said on a low and feral hiss, “Only one getting killed here today—and it is a Dark Prince named Hordly!”
The Dark Prince jumped away from the woman he had been using and reached for something under the nearby pillow.
His face was a mask of hatred as he bellowed, “You and I,”—his finger pointed at Trevor before he touched his own chest—“you and I, Seelie Prince, another time.”
And so saying, he was gone. He had shifted away, taking with him what had looked to Jazz to be a crystal ball.
She asked, “What … what was that he took with him?”
“An orb. No doubt it was what he used to get through to this time frame. We will need it, I think, to get back.” He frowned as he tried to detach the naked woman, who had crawled to him and held him around his waist. She was trying to get into his leather pants and stroking his thigh for some attention.
He stopped her, setting her firmly but gently aside, and she stretched out on the bed and whimpered, “More … please … more …”
Trevor sighed. “I don’t really like humans, but I don’t like to see them suffer.” He shook his head. “I can’t do anything for her to make it stop. In the end, she will die, and it will be a slow death in which she will suffer an agony of need.”
“Then find a way to fix her,” Jazz said with distress. “You can’t leave her like this.”
“We don’t have that ability. What she suffers now is a form of madness. We Fae can cure many things but not madness.”
“How horrible—horrible. How can we just leave her like this?”
“Because we don’t have a choice,” he said and sighed heavily. “As I said, I don’t care to mingle with humans, but I don’t like to see the poor things suffer, either.”
“Can you ease her discomfort—can you try?” Jazz touched his arm, her voice a plea.
He looked at Jazz and said softly, “I will try.”
He went to the girl, and in the voice of many, strong and sure, he looked into her deranged eyes and used the spell of compulsion. “Be at ease, sleep, eat, live, sleep, eat, live …”
He unbent from the naked woman, turned to Jazz, and said softly, “Perhaps that will ease her discomfort … I just don’t know.”
The woman curled up on the bed and fell asleep.
“I think it is working.” Impulsively, Jazz threw her arms around Trevor. “Well done, Seelie Royal, well done!”
He ignored her praise, though she noticed a slight smile curve his lips before he said crisply, “We can’t lose anymore time. We will have to try and follow his scent.”
“Won’t he disguise it now that he knows you are here and on his heels?”
“Aye, he will blend with his surroundings, take on the scent around him, but Seelie Trackers have special abilities and can get past that.” He sighed heavily as he put up a finger to stall her. “I know, you are going to say we don’t have a Tracker, but, Jazmine Decker, you do have a Royal, and while my tracking ability is not as proficient as a Tracker’s, it is quite exceptional. We need that orb, so let us hope my tracking skills will be enough to find him.”
“Then what? We can’t just flip in, flip out with the orb.”
“Obviously,” he answered, taking her hand in his. “However, after I find him, I will use my unique ability to locate Seelie artifacts to help me retrieve the orb. It travels in his sphere, you see. Where he goes, so goes the orb.” He put her hand to his lips and said quietly, “You are a brave little Fios.”
A shiver went through her. She knew he had only taken her hand because they were about to travel, and yet the contact flustered her. And then his compliment had made her hot from her toes to her … oh yeah, hot was a good word for what she felt. She covered up the feeling by frowning and asked, “So, how do we do this?”
“We do not. I will do this—you will stay out of my way,” he answered.
“Oohh, now that was just … dismissive. Why are you so uncivil?”
“Uncivil? Am I?” He seemed surprised by the accusation. He shook his head. “You are mistaken, Jazmine Decker. What I am is a Royal Seelie Fae, and with that comes a sense of what I owe to my house and my queen. However, what I also am is, in the human vernacular, pissed, very pissed. Pestale killed my Lana, and when he did that, he made a lifelong enemy of me. I should have killed him, I had the chance, but … my queen deemed otherwise.”
“Your Lana?” She heard a possessive sound in the statement. She heard something else when he said the name—feeling, he said the name with feeling. An odd twinge traveled through her system at the realization.
“Aye, we, Lana and I, had only just met during the battle with the Unseelie. She is—was—a Milesian. It seems so long ago but in fact was not. She killed Pestale’s brother while saving me, and Pestale killed her. We tracked him, we being her brother Chance and Red—Princess Royce—and I.” He looked away as though seeing another time. “Chance and I meant to slice him apart and feed him to the demons, but the Dark King interceded and took him back to the Dark Realm.” Disgust blanketed his last words.
“Why?”
“He wanted to start over with Pestale. He told the queen that he sensed Pestale was redeemable. He said it was his fault Pestale had turned into a monster. He said if Pestale, his eldest and most favorite son, drank from the Cauldron, he could start over with him, perfect his character, help him to evolve.” Trevor sneered. “All absurd. The Dark King doesn’t know what he needs to do to be a parent, doesn’t have the inclination, or the time, but our queen decided it would be better not to in
cur his … displeasure.”
“The Cauldron?”
“Like Lethe’s Stream, it holds the purest form of water known to Fae. It is from Danu, and it is never-ending in the Cauldron, always replenished.” He sighed. “But it wipes out a Seelie Fae’s memory. Our queen cautioned the king. She advised him, reminded him, that it might not work in the same manner on a Dark Prince as it does on a Seelie, but he took Pestale away, and as far as I am concerned Pestale got away with his crimes, got away with killing my Lana.”
Again, she felt a ridiculous twinge of something she couldn’t understand when he spoke of ‘his’ Lana. What was up with that? She shrugged it off and with brows upraised said, “I see, but now what are you doing? Going rogue and tracking him on your own?”
“No. The queen has the gift of ‘sight’. She can see limited things in the future, but those things don’t necessarily come to pass. She saw Pestale escaping the Dark Realm with some of his memory intact.”
“Ah … and your mission is to find and stop him.”
“A quick study,” Trevor said, coating the sarcasm with a winning grin.
She ignored this and said, “Okay, Royal, so it wasn’t Pestale who has escaped—”
“Yet,” he stuck in.
“Right, yet, but a brother of his, Hordly, but this Hordly seems like he is more interested in playing around than taking over the world …?”
“He is amusing himself until he can find a way out, nothing more. His purpose is very clear,” Trevor answered her grimly.
The next thing she knew, his arm was around her waist. Just before he shifted them, he touched her chin with one finger and murmured, “Don’t worry, Jazmine Decker, I will allow no harm to come to you.” Then they were traveling through space so fast that as she blinked they touched ground.
This time, she found herself still in his hold as they stood in a small village tavern, surrounded by locals.
The building was constructed of hardwood, its rafters of thick, round logs. A long mahogany counter that was well worn and yet well polished ran along part of one wall. Oak logs that stretched from the low ceiling to the wood floor made serviceable partitions for the many round tables that filled the huge chamber.
Jazz stepped away from him as she looked at the crowd of men, a mixture of peasants, gentry, and farmers, seemingly all bent on forgetting the hardships of the day as they enjoyed their food and drink. She couldn’t help but marvel to herself. She was standing in the past, watching history—1816, in fact. She had always thought she would like to live in the past; now that she was there, she wasn’t so sure. Ironic.
As Hordly was not present, she looked up at the Fae hunk who had reached for and was holding her hand and said, “Now what?”
“You are forever asking that question.” He gave her a rueful smile. “It may appear to you that I am all-knowing, but the sorry fact is that I am not. Capable, aye, but not all-knowing.” He sighed. “I suppose we play this one by ear. Come—we are invisible to this crowd.”
He pulled her along and saw her seated at a table in the darkest corner of the room. He pulled her chair close to his as he sat beside her so that their backs were against the wall and they had a view of the front double doors.
Jazz again looked up at him, and as their eyes met, something happened to her. She felt it whiz through her system, a sudden ‘feeling’ she could not explain, and that feeling was a connection. She felt connected to him.
She couldn’t explain it, didn’t know how it was, but it slammed into her head and stared down all other considerations. It was as though a fully charged wire reached out of her heart and wrapped itself around him and returned to wrap itself around her. He felt it—she saw that he felt what she felt.
He bent his head in that one electric moment, and she was sure he was going to kiss her. She suddenly needed his kiss, wanted his kiss, and she waited for that kiss. She felt a tingle of anticipation, so sure he had bent to kiss her!
Regarding her as though he were looking at a madwoman, he said, “Jazmine Decker, your breathing is irregular—are you unwell?”
She realized he had bent not to kiss her ready and pursed lips but to adjust his sandals.
* * *
Okie dokie, that soaked her in frigid water. This was trouble. She had to admit she had a thing for him. She didn’t know what kind of thing, but definitely a thing. She cleared her throat and tried to make idle conversation. “If we are invisible, how come no one tries to sit at this table?”
“They don’t see the table,” he answered simply.
“Huh,” she said and digested this. He was not looking at her but seemed to be intent on studying the entrance.
She grimaced at him as she tried to recapture her sense of self, tell herself that, sure, he was the most attractive male on the planet, but what did she care? It was all in her head, she told herself. Sure, he was a hunk parading his muscular naked self without a care, sporting abs she wanted to run a hand over, and stop it!
She had to remember that he was a Royal Fae and she was a Fios.
No way could there be a link between them. Just wasn’t happening. Never could be any kind of link …
How could there be? She was just giving in to a very normal, red-blooded instinct to touch a hunk of a male. It was nothing more.
She thought of her friend Tammy whispering, urging her in her ear, Go for it, girl! Take that hunk and have your way.
This made her break out in sudden, irrepressible laughter. Nerves, she knew it was nerves. So much to absorb, too much, and it left only one thing to do: laugh until her tummy hurt. She couldn’t stop and knew he was regarding her with open concern.
She managed to talk herself steady and got it under control. She was talking to herself in her head, she knew, but when she snapped her fingers across her face with attitude, she realized how very disturbed she had become over this new problem, and how very disturbed she must appear to him.
He eyed her as though she really had lost her mind. She couldn’t blame him. She had just been laughing uncontrollably and was now snapping her fingers while she had a conversation with herself in her head. No wonder he was really convinced she was a loon.
This nearly made her burst out with mirth again, but she managed to control herself.
Perfectly understandable, she told herself. After all, she had been sucked into 1816 with a Royal Fae. She had encountered an evil, oh so hot, but evil, very evil, Dark Fae named Hordly, and her senior group would be waiting for her in the morning. This thought made the giggles return, but after a few choked sounds, she had it back under control.
She saw his gold eyes watching her as she bent over with rollicking laughter once more. She saw him patiently waiting for her to stop before he took her chin and looked into her eyes. Then he said, as though he were speaking to a child, “There, there, Jazmine Decker. I don’t mean to allow any harm to come to you.”
She had to look away because she knew he was being kind and trying to comfort her, and she didn’t want to laugh right in his face, which seemed a real possibility.
She managed to glance away and studied the men and women in the local tavern. Her mind took it all in and got control of her nerves. She had to face the fact that she had been transported to the past. Here she was in 1816, unless of course she was unconscious in a hospital, and making all this up in her mind?
She could hear men talking about one of their own not being ‘right’ after Waterloo. His body evidently had survived but not his mind. She heard another talking about purchasing a cow from a farmer having troubles down the road. These were not restoration actors; these were real people talking about real problems, real life.
She pinched Trevor, and he released a growl. “Why did you do that?”
“Wanted to see if you were real,” she answered.
He said nothing to this but shook his head, and she returned to studying the occupants of the tavern.
The men for the most part were in shirtsleeves, well-worn leather ve
sts, breeches, and boots. A few well-dressed men strolled in and joined a group of what she assumed were local gentry at a far table. She loved historical romances and had read enough to know that the superfine cutaways of dark colors and waistcoats had replaced the colorful, bright satins of the 1700s. She was really in 1816. It was a movie playing right before her eyes. Gone were the wigs, as men in 1816 wore their unpowdered hair either tied back or cut short. She watched it all unfold before her with avid interest.
Trevor spoke to her, his very fine brows drawn together. “By Danu, Fios, you are making some very odd noises.”
She realized she was oohing and aahing and felt a giggle begin to return. She suppressed it. “The style of dress … the manners … everything,” she answered. “We damn well are in the past. We really are.” She eyed his naked chest suddenly and asked, “Aren’t you cold? Shouldn’t you cover up?”
“No, we Fae regulate our temperature to accommodate the fluctuating temperatures of the day. Why, are you?”
“Yes, a little,” she said, hugging her arms around herself. Evening had descended, and they weren’t close enough to the enormous fire at the far wall for her to catch any benefit. They were invisible to everyone who came in, yes, but she was not unaffected by the conditions.
His lashes moved almost imperceptibly, and she was covered in a lovely dark knit shawl. “Better?” he asked.
“Where did that come from?” She laughed. “That was quick knitting.”
He seemed pleased with himself. “I brought it with a thought from the shop down the avenue.”
“Huh? Oh no—did you leave money in exchange for it?”
“I left a gold piece. I think that will do,” he answered blithely.
“Then, I will allow that was really well done.”
“Of course,” he said impatiently.
“Oh, you are such a … a …” She gave it up.
“Red enjoys humans, but I have yet to understand why.”