by Dani Harper
George sat back on his heels to study the tire rim for any more offending grunge, and a thrill zinged through him like electricity as he heard the sultry stride of Felicia’s high heels on the pavement. He remained where he was, perfectly still until her long legs brushed his back and her fingertips played with his cropped mohawk.
“Hey, lover, are you ready to rumble?” She laughed as she said it. It was a unique sound, sort of like a cascade of little bells or something, and he’d heard it often in the middle of last night’s passion. In an instant he was on his feet, clutching her amazing ass as he kissed her hard.
“You know it,” he murmured.
“Then how about a little romp before we go?”
Hell yeah. It was going to be the best damn weekend of his life.
TWENTY
Celynnen had not been at Court since the day he’d sent her there without her fine clothes.
While it was possible that she’d experienced a certain amount of humiliation and might avoid the place for a time, Lurien found it difficult to believe that she would stay away this long. It was also exceedingly strange that she had made no attempt to visit some sort of revenge upon him. Perhaps she had, and he was simply unaware of it yet. More likely, the spoiled tywysoges was merely biding her time, waiting for precisely the right moment in order to gain maximum effect. She adored playing games, and plotting revenge for real or imagined slights was one of her favorite pastimes.
No matter. He did not fear her in the least. But the discovery of the Draigddynion scale in her clothing made it imperative that he find her and get some answers to his questions. Yet try as he might, he could not locate her in any of the Nine Realms—at least not by ordinary means. Neither could he draw too much attention to the fact that he was looking for her, in case he alerted whoever had given Celynnen that ill-starred scale.
He already knew she wasn’t in her chambers, but her servant, the orange-eyed crymbil, was always there. Lurien watched as the stubby-winged creature in baggy robes labored to scrub the glittering mosaic floor. A mote of dust hadn’t fallen in the realm in years (and if it had, a simple word of magic would eliminate it instantly), but Celynnen enjoyed giving impossible commands. It allowed her the opportunity to reward and punish—and from the look of the welts on its wings, the unfortunate crymbil—a female, as males could not fly—had been punished a great deal recently.
Lurien tried to soften his voice. “What is your name?” he asked gently, wincing as the creature jolted and cowered.
“N-Nyx.”
“Where is your mistress, Nyx?”
“I cannot say. I-I am very sorry.”
A crymbil couldn’t lie, but she was unlikely to offer the truth if she’d been instructed otherwise. Lurien considered carefully. “Nyx, I see plainly that you are not being treated well here. The queen would not want this for you. In her name, I have the authority to free you if you wish. Tell me where your mistress is.”
Her orange eyes widened, and for a moment, hope made her face almost beautiful. Then the light faded and she bowed low to the floor, shaking like a poplar leaf in a storm. “I cannot tell you. I cannot say.”
“Why? What will Celynnen do to you?”
“My children…”
Lurien was sickened. The Tylwyth Teg had once been honorable and just in their dealings with both fae and mortal. Are we nothing but bullies now?
“Give me your hand, Nyx.” He held out his to receive it. Trembling, she finally reached up and placed her long-fingered hand in his palm. It was clear she was expecting to be punished, and she was baffled as he carefully helped her to her feet. Still clasping her hand, he murmured an incantation. Immediately, a thin silver band became visible around the crymbil’s slender neck, and he shook his head. Like too many in the Court, Celynnen liked to use collars and slave rings and anything else that reminded the wearer that they were not only beneath her but owned by her. He touched the ring with his finger and it shattered like glass, its shards tumbling to the floor. Automatically the crymbil made a move as if to catch them, but Lurien’s grip on her hand kept her from doing so.
“You are not in the service of Celynnen anymore,” he said. “I know you cannot tell me where she is, Nyx, and I will not pressure you further. Go get your children and return to your lands.” He released her then. As an afterthought, he handed her a silver token. “This is my seal. Show it to anyone who questions what you are doing; use it to acquire anything you need for your journey. It should give you safe passage—I will know at once if anyone troubles you in any way. I will deal with Celynnen myself.”
Nyx put both of her hands over her face and wept copiously as she stammered her thanks.
“Thank me by going as quickly as you can,” Lurien whispered. He watched as she ran from the room, then left it himself at a more thoughtful pace.
The poor crymbil hadn’t told him where the princess was, and yet she’d given him the answer. The tywysoges liked to torment her servants? Then she’d be certain to be searching for the one that got away, the one she’d never had the chance to enjoy in the way she had planned.
Lurien didn’t need to look for Celynnen at all. He needed to find Aidan ap Llanfor.
Dios, he was over an hour late. Brooke would have words to say to him about that—although George could count on her to save them until they were alone.
He pulled up to the curb in front of the Handcastings shop and looked over at Felicia. She beamed at him, then made a little kissy moue in his direction. He couldn’t get around his truck fast enough to open the door for her, and she stepped out like a queen alighting from a carriage. Holding hands, they crossed the treed boulevard and sidewalk…
Until Felicia yanked her hand away and took a couple of fast steps backward.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There’s something here…I’m…well, I think I must be allergic to something, George. Can’t you smell it?”
George sniffed the air and caught nothing but the usual pleasant scent that emanated from Handcastings. “I guess maybe there’s some dried flowers and herbs in here. Is it bothering you?”
“The doctor says it’s a mild allergy. I’m a little afraid it might trigger a headache if I go in there; you know how those things can be. I never go inside flower shops either. Why don’t I just wait in the truck while you get your friends?”
“Sure thing, if you think that would be better. I want you to feel good for our trip.” Kissing her long and deep, he whispered, “So I can make you feel even better later.” He waggled his brows, which won him a little peal of that delightful chiming laugh, and then he helped her back in the truck. “I’ll just be a minute.”
George jogged to the shop and pushed open the old oak-framed door. He immediately scratched his upper arm on something, just where the sleeve of his T-shirt ended. A goddamn nail, of all things, protruded slightly from the doorframe. As he tried to remember when his last tetanus shot had been, he was glad that he hadn’t tried to talk Felicia into coming inside. What if she’d hurt herself? “Hey, Brooke!” he yelled out. “You got a hammer or something? You got something here that needs fixing.”
“We’re in the back room, G,” she called.
He followed her voice to the former kitchen that she’d turned into an office. Aidan was holding open a small leather bag as Brooke spooned in herbs from an assortment of jars. Last, she dropped several tiny stones into the bag and softly recited a spell, one he’d heard his mom use over him when he was little and going away to summer camp. A spell of protection. He waited respectfully until she was finished before speaking.
“Hey guys, I’m really sorry I’m so late,” he said. “I just got behind, that’s all. I should have set our meet-up time for later.”
“No problem, G. It worked out well in fact. It gave us more time to put some final touches on our magical defenses,” said Brooke. “Last night I thought of a few more precautions we could take.” She drew the little bag shut, then threaded it onto a long le
ather thong.
“Is that what the sachet’s for?”
“It’s not a sachet. It’s a medicine bag. And I have a couple more for you and Felicia if you want them. I already charmed my SUV—I can spell Carmelita too if you like.”
George held up both hands in front of him. “No juju around Carmelita, thanks. She has her own special magic. And I don’t want to bring up charms and spells and all that shit in front of Felicia. I grew up with it, but what if she thinks it’s weird? Or downright crazy? No way am I risking my weekend in Seattle, hermanita.”
Aidan stooped a little so Brooke could hang the bag around his neck. He picked it up and examined it, then tucked it beneath his shirt out of sight. He thanked her, and she turned her full attention to George. “Are you sure, G? I know you’re probably not on the fae’s radar anyway, but better safe than sorry.”
For about three seconds, he considered it—he really did. While he didn’t practice magic himself, between his mother and grandmother he’d seen plenty of woo-woo stuff his whole life and knew it to be real. But the thought of offering the little leather pouch to the goddess in his truck just seemed wrong. Felicia should have diamonds laid at her feet, not rocks in a bag. “Naw, we’re good, thanks.”
“Well, then, Aidan and I are ready to go when you are,” said Brooke. She shouldered a bright yellow tote bag the size of Rhode Island. “Where is your new girlfriend?”
“She wanted to wait in the truck. I thought the four of us could have breakfast together, but I’ve kind of blown it now that I’ve made us all late. I told Morgan we’d be there by noon, so she’s expecting us for lunch.”
“That’ll work. We can save the visiting till we get there. Let me at least say hi to Felicia, though, since we’re taking separate vehicles.”
George led the way outside and briefly introduced Aidan and Brooke. Though she didn’t offer her hand, Felicia beamed at them, and even from the interior of the black-on-black truck, she seemed to glow with all the vitality of a beach volleyball champion. He was so effin’ proud to be seen with her that he almost puffed out his chest. Maybe he did, just a little.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she said to his friends with enthusiasm. “George talks about you all the time.” Felicia assured them both that she was looking forward to getting to know them.
That was pretty far from a sexual comment, but damn, he found himself looking forward to getting to know some parts of her again. They’d only just engaged in some pretty wild sex, yet his jeans instantly got tight all over again. I’ll never even last till we get to Morgan’s at this rate.
Everyone finished making nice, and then his friends headed off to Brooke’s little white SUV that was parked down the street. Strangely, George was glad they were gone. It felt like an honest-to-god relief to be alone with his gorgeous goddess again. He couldn’t recall any girl ever making him feel like that before—his friends had always come first.
“I told you you’d like them,” he said to Felicia. “Brooke’s been my best friend since grade school. Kind of like another sister, you know? Aidan’s only been on the scene recently, but he seems like a stand-up kind of guy.”
“They make such a cute couple,” she said sweetly. “I hope we see more of them.”
“As soon as we get to Morgan’s place, we can all hang out for a while.”
For a fragment of a second he thought he saw a green flash in her eyes, like a feral cat’s eyes in the dark when you shone a flashlight on it. Just as quickly, though, it was gone.
Weird, George thought, but he chalked it up to the sun reflecting off the hood of the truck. It was promising to be a bright and clear day weather-wise.
A great start to a memorable weekend.
Celynnen rearranged herself on the passenger seat. Riding in the truck was fascinating, although being this close to so much iron was disconcerting. The iron was in its purer form of steel, making it particularly toxic to fae beings, and though she touched nothing made from metal, her skin tingled from the proximity of it. Any sensation, even unpleasant, possessed great novelty. Nevertheless, she would like a rest from its intensity for a short time.
She would also like more sex from her newest human toy before she tired of him. George Santiago-Callahan not only had much stamina but also was quite a bit more fun than many of her previous conquests. He didn’t know what she was, of course, but he was powerfully attracted to the appearance she’d assumed; other than that glamor, she didn’t have to use magic to draw him to her. That was a highly enjoyable part of the game, the luring and the enticement, the utter and complete deception. Later would come the best part of all—
The reveal.
Celynnen had just received a stunning revelation of her own. Aidan ap Llanfor was no longer a dog. Small wonder she’d had little success in searching for him. Of course, it had to be the fault of the silver collar; the chain-link torc had inexplicably come loose from his neck, affecting his return to mortal form. Fortunately, George Santiago-Callahan had succumbed to the siren call of the beautiful fae artifact—and had unwittingly led her directly to her true quarry.
Her quarry was blissfully unaware of who she was of course. Aidan ap Llanfor had not been able to see past or sense her disguise. Of course, neither he nor the woman he was with had looked upon the mask of extraordinary human perfection she displayed so radiantly to George. No, no, she’d shown them a far more ordinary face and form, one less likely to draw suspicion.
She was very good at playing games.
Aidan ap Llanfor had paid little attention to Felicia at all, just enough to greet her politely as he stood back on the sidewalk. His companion, Brooke Halloran, was friendly enough, but she was a puzzle. Celynnen had sensed at once that she possessed a deep wellspring of magic within her, highly unusual for a human. While it was almost impossible that she’d been the cause of the silver collar’s failure, the little mortal was most definitely responsible for the protective warding that now surrounded the building. That it was able to repel even a member of the royal family was astonishing—and quite annoying.
But the woman wasn’t inside her bespelled building now, and neither was Aidan ap Llanfor. Celynnen could feel that they were both wearing charms, of a type she hadn’t encountered before, but she doubted the protective magic was potent enough to keep her from doing as she pleased. The most delightful part, however, was trying to choose what it was that pleased her most. How should she advance the game? Much could depend on what the woman meant to Aidan ap Llanfor. It was unlikely the witch was more than a simple acquaintance to him. He who had spurned the advances of a flawless tywysoges, a princess of the Fair Ones, surely could not prefer the company of a mere mortal. Although he had placed an unexpected amount of value on a lost love—
Ah.
That was why Brooke Halloran looked so familiar. She bore more than a passing resemblance to the much-mourned Annwyl. Perhaps there was more between her and the blacksmith than first appeared. Celynnen smiled with the sudden abundance of delicious possibilities. The game had just become much more interesting. Was there a way in which Aidan ap Llanfor might finally surrender to her? Of course she could threaten his little witch to win his cooperation, but where was the fun in that? He’d give in, no doubt, but she still wouldn’t have what she really wanted: Aidan ap Llanfor as a willing lover. She needed a strategy that would put his strong arms around her and his pulsing cock inside her because he found her irresistibly beautiful, because he worshipped her perfection as George Santiago-Callahan did. As if he’d sensed she was thinking about him, her newest pet looked over at her and grinned. He was very handsome for a human. For now, perhaps she would simply go along with him to the city of Seattle that he spoke so glowingly of. Why shouldn’t she have just a little more fun and enjoy what other novelties he could show her? There would be time enough later to pursue her agenda with the blacksmith. Right now, her agenda called for more sex with George Santiago-Callahan.
Immediately.
It wasn�
��t difficult to persuade George to elude his friends, who were following on the highway somewhere behind them, and drive onto a side road. As she left it to him to search out a suitable stand of trees in which to sequester themselves, she amused herself with thoughts of all the things she might do with Aidan ap Llanfor when she finally got him into her bed.
TWENTY-ONE
Morgan’s veterinary practice was in Spokane Valley, but she owned a farm several miles north of the city. It was a long daily commute to her clinic and back, but every time Brooke saw the countryside surrounding her friend’s home, she understood why Morgan lived there. She loved the dry grassy hills dotted with clusters of long-needled pines. Denser stands of trees surrounded farmyards and homes or gathered along riverbanks. There were vast orchards too, where apple trees appeared to march in tidy rows up and down the rises.
Aidan had been silent through most of the drive, appearing to be deep in thought. She knew he was tired. Perhaps he would sleep better at the farm? Brooke tried again at conversation. “I guess this landscape is a lot different from Wales.”
He nodded. “The land here is wide and open; the fields very large. Cymru is greener, though.”
“Kumree?”
“Very close. Cymru,” he corrected. “The name of Wales to the Welsh in these times.”
“Do you miss it?”
“You ask hard questions, cariad.” He favored her with the first smile she’d seen in a couple of hours. “I’ve seen the country change and grow over ten centuries. What I remember from when I lived as a man there, that’s what I miss. Family and friends and neighbors—I miss them most, much more than the place. I do miss my forge. I like to be working with metal, making things with my hands. But the country itself—Wales, now? It’s not mine anymore, not the place and not the people.”
A man outside of time. Where had she heard that saying before? Perhaps a movie or something…
A series of crab-apple trees lined a mile of rail fence along the gravel road they were traveling, and Brooke knew they’d reached their destination. She turned her SUV into the long winding laneway of the Celtic Renaissance Training Center. Flanked by freshly planted catalpa trees, the large green sign on Morgan’s farm was brand new and cleverly framed in welded iron horseshoes.