Mal’s dark brows snapped together over the Roman nose so like what Alun’s once had been. “The achubyddion cursed you? Not bloody likely. They were healers. Pacifists.”
“Even the most peaceable will call down vengeance when pressed.”
“That wasn’t your fault. The Unseelie hordes had been tracking them for months.”
“They’d never have found the camp if I’d been more careful. If I’d—”
If he hadn’t been so thrice-damned arrogant to believe Owain willing to forsake his home and family for an oh-so-exalted position as Alun’s consort.
His jaw tightened and he shut his eyes, the memory of that night crashing through him as it did every single day, every single night. The fire in his chest and belly, as if he were being gutted by his own sword. The blinding, knee-buckling pain as the bones in his face contorted and reformed. And Owain—his poor broken body abandoned on the altar stone under the lowering clouds while the carrion birds circled overhead.
How could he ever atone for that? He deserved every moment of his curse, and more.
“Alun.” Mal’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Don’t. I know you loved him. You wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him. His death was not your fault.”
Alun’s throat constricted, throttling his voice. He swallowed once, twice, and spun his chair toward the window, the reflection of his harsh, misshapen features an easier penance than any potential pity on Mal’s face. “This is what I am now. What I will likely be until the End of Days. It’s time to accept that the curse is permanent.”
“Have you accepted it? Truly? Because—”
“Yes. I have.” He swiveled back to face Mal, and his brother’s gaze shifted once again to the bookshelves. Despite his swagger, his words of support, his brother was still Seelie fae, the tenets of the Seelie Court branded on his soul. Alun’s curse—its cause and its result—violated nearly all of those. No wonder his brothers avoided him. “It’s only right. I was responsible for the slaughter of the last enclave of an entire race.”
With a muttered oath, Mal sat on the love seat. “About that. We found another enclave.”
Alun’s breath stilled in his chest. “Of achubyddion? You mean they’re not extinct? Did you— Were they—”
“I’m sorry. We were too late. Someone got there first.”
Eyes burning, Alun let his head fall against the high back of his chair. “How many?” he rasped.
“Two bodies. Completely drained. No soul, not a spark of life force left to regenerate.”
“An Unseelie attack?”
“Maybe not.”
“Oak and bloody thorn, you really think someone from the Seelie Court would do this?”
Mal shrugged. “No hard evidence one way or the other. However, there were signs that the colony may have had more members.”
“Some escaped?”
“Or were captured. For—” Mal swallowed hard, his expression darkening. “For later use.”
Alun squeezed the back of his neck. “Shite.”
“They had records. Computers. Those were gone, but we don’t know whether they were taken by the survivors or the attackers.”
“So the hunt may still be on?”
“If word of an enclave of achubyddion gets out? It’ll be worse than the last battle of the Oak Wars.”
“The Queen—”
“You know what she’s like. If it doesn’t happen in Faerie, then it doesn’t exist as far as she’s concerned, and this attack happened in Vermont.”
“Shite.” Alun moved from his desk to the wingback chair across the coffee table from Mal. “I— Thank you. For telling me.”
“I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”
“I appreciate it.”
“There’s more. There’s rumor of a power play by the Daoine Sidhe.”
“Again?”
“Fair warning—it might amount to something this time, since you’re not around to counter them.”
“I haven’t been around for two centuries.”
“Two centuries in the Outer World. Less than a year in Faerie, depending on who’s counting. At first I thought it wasn’t anything, but I’ve heard talk from more than one source, and both of them mentioned the Midsummer Revels. Something’s going down then, but I don’t know—”
A knock sounded at the door, and David entered without invitation, carrying a tray with two steaming cups.
Alun scowled, fisting his hands on his thighs. “I didn’t ask for refreshments.” Although he counted it a blessing that the dark aroma of coffee was masking the maddening scent of David’s skin.
David grinned, bright as a sunny meadow. “No, but your brother did, and he doesn’t look the sort to be rude enough to indulge when you don’t.”
Mal rose and took the cup David offered him, standing a little too close, damn him. “Don’t know me very well, do you, boyo? Want to change that?”
“Mal.” Alun let his voice dip in warning. His brother grinned wryly, but he retreated to the love seat, cradling the mug in his hands.
David flipped a woven coaster in eye-watering yellow onto the low table and set an oversized orange cup on it. Alun’s mouth watered at the smell of the coffee. Or maybe it was the proximity of David’s arse.
Oak and bloody thorn, he needed this human out of his sight, out of his office, out of his life. The fae were notoriously susceptible to human charm, and it never ended well—not for the fae, but especially not for the human.
“I didn’t tell you how I like my coffee.”
David cast him a sidelong glance from under his lashes. “Black. No sugar.”
Mal laughed and raised his cup in a toast. “You are so very right, boy bach. Gods forbid he should indulge himself, even in something as trivial as sugar and cream.”
Alun’s gut tightened, and he clenched his teeth, waiting for the inevitable smile and melting body language that his brother never failed to invoke in fae, supe, or human, but it didn’t come. Instead, David turned his back on Mal and faced Alun, swinging the tray at his side.
“Your first appointment should be here in twenty, Doctor. I’ll buzz you when he arrives.”
“I told you—”
David exhaled on a barely perceptible sigh. “Yes, you told me to go. But I doubt you could run the office by yourself, so why not let me do my job? I’ll be at my desk.”
He left, Mal ogling his backside until the door snicked closed.
When Mal turned around, he burst out laughing. “Goddess bless, Alun. Upgrade your bleeding wardrobe. Hair shirts went out of fashion in the Middle Ages.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You and your self-immolation fetish. Why are you trying to get rid of this man? He’s cute, past the age of consent, and seems competent.”
Alun’s scowl would have sent anyone but his brother scurrying for the nearest exit. “He’s human.”
“So you said. Get that stick out of your arse about consorting with humans or you’ll never get laid.”
“Setting aside the ethics of fae/human pairings—”
“Nobody cares about the ethics except you, brother.”
Alun lowered his heavy eyebrows and glared at Mal. “Ask the families of the humans whom randy Sidhe lords co-opted for their pleasure. Ask those humans, after they were expelled from Faerie when those same lords grew bored, only to find a year had passed for every day, the world changed, and them with no place in it. Ask Gareth.”
Mal fidgeted with his cup, pivoting it in precise quarter-circles on a lopsided knot in the burled oak coffee table. “I’m not advocating that whole changeling shite, or old-school flitting, or spiriting unwilling humans from their beds and into Faerie. I’m talking a couple of drinks at a bar and some consensual Outer World good times. Nothing wrong with that.”
“What of the unfair advantage? No human can resist fae glamourie. None could ever say no.”
Mal grinned. “Why would they want to?”
&nbs
p; “Are you saying you’d be happy with love based on compulsion?”
“Who’s talking about love?” He leaned back, cradling his cup in his hands. “Attraction of any sort is its own compulsion anyway. I don’t see the problem.”
“The problem is that they deserve a choice. A true choice. If you’re using glamourie to pull men in your infernal clubs—”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Of course I don’t.”
“Other than your ridiculous facial hair.”
“That’s nothing but a minor decoration. For fun. I don’t need it. You, now—”
“Out of the question. Even if I could reconcile it with my conscience, high-level glamourie is lost to me under the curse.” And without it, no one could want me anyway.
Mal shrugged and sipped his coffee. His eyes widened, and he took another sip, then a gulp. “Gwydion’s bollocks. If nothing else, keep the lad for his brew skills. Have you tasted this?” He pointed to Alun’s untouched cup. “Better than anything on the Queen’s table.”
Alun crossed his arms and grunted. Like all the Sidhe of the Seelie Court, Mal was a hedonist. Alun preferred Unseelie fae psychopaths. Those, he could treat.
Mal took another sip, and the look of bliss on his face robbed it of its usual cynical smirk. Alun glanced at the steam rising from the cup, beckoning him to taste, to yield.
“Drink the damn coffee, Alun.” Mal took another gulp of his own and chased it with a contented sigh. “You know you want to.”
Tempted as he was to dump the whole thing in the ficus pot in the corner for spite, he rose to the challenge of Mal’s lifted eyebrow. He took a sip, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Smooth. Dark. Secret. The coffee wasn’t just a flavor—it was a seductive whisper, a stroke of sin down his throat to his belly.
“Goddess strike me—” He took another gulp. “Gaaah.”
“I’m saying. You’ve got to keep this lad. If you don’t make a grab for his balls, at least find out where he buys his beans.”
David hummed as he settled back in his chair with his own cup of coffee and punched up the schedule on the computer. He still couldn’t access the patient records, dang it. Their names, period. Nothing else, not even their age or gender. If he had a clue about the patients, he could do a much better job anticipating their needs.
In his sparse transcription work for the doctor, the patients had been adults, victims of some form of relationship trauma. Standard beverage choices and waiting room reading material would do for them—not that Dr. Kendrick had so much as an outdated People magazine in sight. But what if he treated children? There were no toys, no children’s publications, no amusements of any kind to keep kids entertained while they waited to have the doctor poke around in their little psyches.
He’d have to discuss that with Dr. Kendrick when he was in a better mood. Assuming the man was ever in a better mood.
But to be here for that discussion, he needed to solidify his position. Time to make double damn sure he couldn’t be replaced.
He grabbed his iPhone and keyed the speed dial for Fischer Temps.
“Hello?” Multiple phone lines jangled in the background. “I mean, thank you for calling Fischer Temps, Portland’s best choice for all your staffing needs. This is Tracy. How may I help you?”
“Tracy, it’s David Evans.”
“God, David. Please tell me you’re still on the Kendrick assignment.”
“No worries, sweetie. I’ve got it covered. More important, how are you doing?” She sounded twice as frazzled as yesterday, poor boo-boo. “Tough morning?”
“It’s awful.” Tracy lowered her voice to a rough whisper. “It’s like half of Portland is down with the same flu Sandra’s got, including two of our other employment specialists and three-quarters of our associates.”
“That’s why I’m calling.” David doodled a spiderweb on the pad of Post-it notes next to his keyboard. “I suspect Dr. Kendrick may have a tendency to be . . . shall we say . . . difficult?” He added a spider in the center of the web. “He seemed to take issue with me at first meeting.”
“Don’t tell me he’s one of those assholes who objects to men in support positions. Or, God, is he a homophobe? Because if he is, we’ll terminate our agreement with him, David, I swear.”
“Nothing so dire.” He gave the spider a fetching polka-dot bow tie. “But if he should call, I hope you’ll encourage him to stick it out with me?”
“All our other qualified health care support associates are out sick. He doesn’t have a choice.”
Dr. Pissy might not have a choice, but he’d have no cause for complaint either, dang it. “Then have no fear, my dearie-dear.” He drew a giant grin on the spider. With fangs. “I won’t let the team down.” An irritated voice demanding attention joined the phone racket. “Sounds like you have your hands full. I won’t keep you. Thanks, sweetie.”
“You can count on me, David. I’m behind you, one hundred percent. That is, if I’m still alive by the end of the day.”
David disconnected the call. He sat back in the (gray) Aeron chair, tapping his lower lip with his steepled fingers. Hmmm. Good news and bad news. At least Dr. Kendrick didn’t have a Fischer Temps option, but there were dozens of other agencies in town.
Don’t screw this one up, Davey. Technically, he hadn’t screwed the others up. Exactly. But for some reason, no matter how soothing and helpful he tried to be, he ended up in the middle of a standoff. Literally. In the middle, with a pissed-off guy on one side and a second—sometimes third and fourth—guy on the other.
When items started flying—magazines, coffee mugs, the odd piece of furniture—the collateral damage to expensive office equipment was inevitable, as was the pink slip that followed. David mentally hefted the extra-wide (gray) waiting room chairs. He darted over to the nearest one and gave it an experimental nudge. Ooof. The brushed-metal frames were solid, not hollow tubing.
Another good news/bad news thing. The good—harder for agitated not-so-gentlemen to pick up. The bad? “They’ll pack one hell of a wallop when they land.”
“Talking to furniture?”
David spun around, his heart tripping over itself. Mal was standing in the office doorway, empty coffee cup in his hand, with Dr. Kendrick glaring over his shoulder as if he wished he could incinerate David with his gaze.
“A little desperate, don’t you think, love? I’m much more entertaining.”
David squared his shoulders and fought the urge to back up a step. Five ten was a perfectly respectable height, but given the size of the Kendrick brothers, he felt like a hobbit on the set of LOTR. Mal would be one of the battle elves, or maybe one of the buff human warriors, a little disheveled by living rough, but tres hot nonetheless. Dr. Kendrick? A ringer for Aragorn, transmogrified into an Uruk-hai who’d had the advantage of a Gandalf nose job and the finest orthodontist Middle Earth had to offer.
He ignored Mal’s come-on, which seemed a reflex, a goad to his brother more than real interest in David, and retreated behind his desk. “If you’re looking for company, Mr. Kendrick, I can provide you with the names of several bars and clubs in the area. I, however,” he smiled and settled into his chair, fingers poised over his keyboard, “am working.”
Mal laughed and ambled over to David’s desk, nothing but ease and confidence in the way he held his shoulders and the angle of his perfect jaw. Dr. Kendrick hovered in the doorway at the precise spot where the doorjamb cut a shadow across his face, his body so rigid he could be mistaken for a gargoyle escaped from the nearest Gothic cathedral.
Jeez. Brotherhood must be a real bitch. David was suddenly grateful that he was an only child.
“Any chance for more of your extraordinary coffee?” Mal extended his empty cup.
“Will you be staying, then? Dr. Kendrick’s first appointment should arrive momentarily.”
“No.” Mal shook his head, his dark hair flopping over his forehead, just exactly shy of his eyes. You practice that in the mirror,
Mister Sir? “On my way out.”
“No worries.” He took the ceramic mug and pointed to the side table where he’d set up coffee and tea service for the patients. “To-go cups are over there. You’ll excuse me if I don’t get it for you? Dr. Kendrick and I need to review his schedule for the day.”
“If you’re trying to keep me from ogling your backside, it’s too late.” His smile glinted behind perfect lips. David glanced between the two brothers and noticed that despite the obvious other differences in facial structure, their mouths were identical. “Thanks for the coffee.” He shot David one last grin set on kill. “Later, Alun.”
Dr. Kendrick grunted, his fulminating glare following his brother out of the room.
“So.” As soon as the door closed behind Mal’s world-class butt, David folded his hands on his desktop and met Dr. Grim’s evil-eye glower with one of his own. “We have a few things to discuss.”
Alun retreated farther into the shadows of his office in the face of David’s unrelenting stare. Oak and thorn, the man had just been exposed to a Sidhe lord who was in full possession of his abilities and not shy about using them. Mal, damn him, was the acknowledged epitome of Seelie Court male beauty, even without the coercive spell of glamourie.
How could David bear to look at Alun now? Yet his spine was as straight as a birch sapling, and he never glanced away.
Shite. The tenacity of the human will. How could he have forgotten? Dragon shifters in the throes of gold lust had nothing on the single-mindedness of a human with an agenda.
“I’d like to clarify a few things about the job so I can best serve you and your patients.”
“Clients.”
David lifted his gull-wing brows. “Beg pardon?”
“The people I treat. I call them clients, not patients.”
“Duly noted.” He gestured to the computer screen on the short arm of the L-shaped desk. “I think I’d be more effective if I had broader access to the client charts. Since I can only see their names and—”
“No.”
David’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth, his eyes narrowing.
Cutie and the Beast Page 3