“You have everything you need?” Shaw sounded as doubtful as I felt.
“Your father picked agrimony for you from the Halls of Summer.” He set off toward the pit. “It must be hung to dry out in the sunlight. Given the situation, he felt it best I handle the preparations.”
That explained the plants Mac had shoved into his pants while I was working my mojo on the tether.
“I had forgotten about that,” I admitted, not having understood their significance.
Trailing after the Huntsman, I dropped down on the wooden stool he indicated with a jerk of his chin while he put a kettle on to boil over the fire. He crossed to a set of open shelves and grabbed bandages and a stone basin. He swung open a tree trunk like a cupboard and removed a clear jar filled with silver flowers.
The Huntsman grunted. “I understand you are to thank for our new consul.”
Deciding he didn’t sound angry, I owned up to it. “I might have encouraged him, yes.”
“His ideas are modern,” the Huntsman groused. “I don’t care for them.”
“Faerie wanted change.” I grinned. “They got it.”
Besides that, modern was generous when it came to Rook and his sentiments.
“So it seems.” He sighed. “The High Court is meeting again.”
My thoughts shot to Mac. “You mean Liosliath and Rook?”
His nod shook more leaves fluttering from his hair. “It seems the foundation for the new era was laid while your father slept.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that is for the best. He has other concerns now.”
“Mom,” I said.
“And you,” he replied.
Warmth spread through my chest. “Do you think he’ll come back with us?”
“Faerie isn’t ready to let him go yet.” He smiled as my shoulders drooped. “Perhaps a compromise could be struck?”
Six months spent in the fae realm and six months in the mortal realm?
The possibility of such a compromise blew my mind.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” Shaw said softly. “They’ll figure it out.”
When his hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed, I twined my fingers with his.
“There have been rumors of another half-blood queen rising.” The Huntsman eyed us curiously. “I heard it said she is Unseelie but that she has Seelie alliances, that she herself was once wed to a selkie chieftain.”
Turning my face into my shoulder, I masked my shock by kissing Shaw’s knuckles.
Branwen?
Queen?
“That’s, ah, interesting.” I tried for smooth, but my tongue kept getting tangled. “Really?”
He nodded. “The High Court is considering the benefits of such a union.”
I had to ask, “Is that what you meant by modern?”
“Putting a half-blood on the throne is an ambitious undertaking, but you set a precedent. Though you never wore the crown, you were given the blessing to ascend.” He rose to fetch the whistling kettle. “If you ask me, and no one has, the cooperation of both Seelie and Unseelie House has been bought with the whispers of a half-blood army.”
I blinked. “A half-blood— What?”
Not two hours ago I left Branwen with fair warning she had to decide if she was coming home with me or staying with Rook, and neither had mentioned these developments to me.
“Seems half-bloods are taking notice of one of their own being named as consul and are wanting to serve Rook to further his cause.” The Huntsman filled the stone basin with steaming water. “Some say he rallied them. Others say they rallied themselves. Me? I think he didn’t lift one feathery digit. I don’t think he had to.”
“Will this make the fighting worse?” I wondered.
“Aye, it will.” The Huntsman shook a liberal amount of flowers into the water. “Don’t frown so hard, girl. This is a good thing. Now the houses have a common enemy. Their fighting won’t last half as long when there’s a direction to aim all that fury. Besides, rumors aren’t yet fact. Remember that.”
After what Branwen had endured at her mother and Balamohan’s hands, I didn’t want to see her get hurt again. God, I hoped Rook wasn’t sweet-talking his sister into one of his half-baked schemes.
I worried my top lip between my teeth. “What if the queen and the army are more than gossip?”
Shaw’s fingers tapped mine. “Worst-case scenario, Rook and Branwen use the tether and seek asylum in our realm.”
I tipped my head back. “You wouldn’t have a problem with that?”
His lips smashed into a bloodless line. “No.”
“Liar.” I screwed my thumb into his side. “It would drive you nuts.”
Shaw grabbed at my hand, and I twisted aside, tumbling off the stool and landing on the ground. He covered me, his weight pressing me into the loamy earth, and my breath caught for reasons that had nothing to do with the fall knocking the breath out of me and everything to do with the punch of citrus tingling through my nose while Shaw restrained me. Good as it felt under him, I didn’t struggle.
“I was going to suggest you hold her still.” The Huntsman towered over me. “This works too.”
I wiggled as he knelt by my head. “Wait—why are we holding me still?”
“So you don’t run.”
He spoke the Word to rip the skin from my palm.
Blinding pain ricocheted through me, engulfing my hand, and I dug my heels into the soft dirt so I wouldn’t scream. Warmth encased my throbbing palm. Jagged spikes of agony shot from the edges of the never-blade wound. Hissing and shaking like a coiled rattler, I waited out the worst pain.
Shaw expertly adjusted his hold on my wrists, pinning them over my head while the Huntsman’s poultice made my fingers twitch and curl and burn like he had set fire to them. I actually twisted so I could make certain I hadn’t fallen into the freaking fire pit. No such luck. That I could have escaped.
This…not so much.
Slowly bleeding to death would suck worse than what I was enduring now. Right? Right?
An eternity of swear words later, I remembered how to breathe. “I can’t feel my hand.”
Shaw shifted his weight and brought my hand with him as he sat upright. He examined my palm for signs it wasn’t done bleeding. Satisfied no leak was impending, he pressed his lips to my lifeline.
His husky voice whispered over my skin. “Can you feel that?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
His mouth traveled down to my wrist. “What about this?”
The skin stung where he had kept me pinned. “It’s hard to tell.”
His lips moved lower, over my forearm. “This?”
“You two can take it from here,” the Huntsman said on a chuckle I barely heard.
Shaw’s gaze held mine, never flinching as my grandfather rose in my periphery and left.
“I think I felt that one,” I said softly.
Lips curving, he pressed them in an agonizingly slow procession downward, toward the bend of my elbow and lower, to where my arm met my shoulder. He pressed kisses to those places, too, and I felt the burn through the fabric of my top. The warm Autumn day had coaxed me out of the leather armor Shaw insisted I wear when we crossed realms. I kept the pants, but the top was gone. Nothing but a flimsy T-shirt separated his hot mouth from my flushed skin.
His hand found the hem of my top and yanked upward. Fingers spreading over my abdomen, he swept higher until his fingertips brushed the band of my bra. I hissed in a breath and jerked my head to the side to make sure we were alone. Mocking me with his smile, Shaw conceded to my modesty. Or not. His calluses scraped over the tender skin of my navel as he sent his hand seeking lower. I was panting by the time his index finger eased under the waistband of the leather pants I should have ditched earlier. They were skintight and suffocating me.
“Are you feeling any of this?” His teasing finger withdrew. “Or should I stop?”
Screwing up my face in consideration, I wrested control of my arms from him. I worried
the thin shirt from his pants and smoothed a hand over the bare skin of his lower back. Wearing my best butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression, I sent a pulse of magic rolling from my runes straight into his spine, and he arched above me, copper eyes rolling shut and lips parting as a groan tore from his throat.
When those molten eyes opened and fixated on me, I dug in my heels and scooted higher, but he still straddled me, and he had no intentions of letting little things like our clothes or my family, the lack of walls or the fact there were three purple-shelled garden snails (say that three times fast) with protuberant orange eyes on long blue stems ogling us like the best live pay-per-view event ever stop him from taking what he wanted.
Lucky girl that I was, the thing Shaw wanted was…me.
Stone-Cold Fox
A Black Dog Novella
Stone-Cold Fox Blurb
A Black Dog Novella
Mai’s plans for a weekend of cosplay fun and games at Fan Expo come to a screeching halt when a smokin’ hot fae with a vendetta against her father decides the best revenge is claiming her for his own.
Her father cost Ryuu everything: his home, his family…and his mate. Ryuu wants his pound of flesh, and he’s willing to take it out of Mai’s hide, bite by sensuous bite.
While she’s quick to bare her teeth and snap at Ryuu’s gentling hand, she sheathes her claws once he offers her secrets about her life and her father that rock the foundation of her world.
Caught between Ryuu’s tender persistence and her father’s iron will, Mai’s not sure who to trust, but before it’s all over this kitsune will show them both why she’s one stone-cold fox.
Chapter 1
“That is seriously the most awesome costume ever. Jareth, right? From Labyrinth? Gender-bending costumes are the best.” A cute-as-a-button tween decked out in her Harley Quinn finest goggled at me. Humans were so sweet at that age. “Would you mind…?”
“You want to take a picture?” I cocked a hip and struck a pose, fist-sized crystal balls whirling across my fingertips. A lanky boy clutching a digital camera and wearing a green T-shirt with This is my costume. Ha-ha-ha printed on it tripped over his feet to move in for the shot. I’d like to think I had astounded him with my contact juggling skills, but it might have been my liberal use of spandex and leather. Smiling, I extended a gloved hand toward the girl. “Want to join me?”
Harley’s head bobbed, and I reeled her closer, flipped the blonde hairs from my wig off my shoulder and held my crystals aloft. Six retina-singeing flashes later, she bounded over to her partner in cosplay, checked the final product and shot me a thumbs-up.
“Would you like me to send you a copy?” the boy croaked. “We could, uh, swap emails or something.”
Behind him, Harley rolled her eyes and thumped his ear. “Don’t be a creeper.”
“I’m not creeping.” His cheeks flamed. “I’m networking.”
As they erupted into a pinch fight, I noticed their irises were the same mossy-green shade. Siblings. Can’t live with them. Can’t sell them into intergalactic slavery.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass.” I shot him a wink and tapped the side of my nose. “What happens at Fan Expo stays at Fan Expo.” Harley’s victory “Told ya so” was cut short by an ear-piercing whistle that made my teeth grind. I tracked the origin to a pearl-studded poof of white satin waving at me from across the lobby. “This Goblin King’s late for a contest. Bye, kiddos. Enjoy your weekend.”
Another shrill warning and I winced, shoulders ratcheting up around my ears. Gods that girl’s whistle could shatter the crystals in my hand. I wasn’t the only one recoiling. A gorgeous hunk of man grimaced at her from beside a dagger-and-whip display. Hard jaw. Deep-set eyes the rich color of burnished cherry wood. Black hair pulled tight in a queue draped over his shoulder. He wore jeans, mud-caked boots and a black T-shirt with a slate-blue button-down rolled up to expose his corded forearms. A ring of keys looped his index finger, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn one fit the ignition of a black 1967 Chevy Impala. A Japanese Dean Winchester maybe?
Our gazes clashed, and I broke out in tingles. One side of his mouth hooked in a lopsided smile that set my pulse racing. I was walking toward him, pulled to his side as if magnetized, when a third even shriller whistle broke the spell. A shiver rippled over my skin, and I muttered, “Down, girl” under my breath.
Sample the man candy later. First I had a contest to win.
Rolling my hips as I sashayed toward the aforementioned poof and past the aforementioned dreamboat, I drank in the sight of my very best friend doing me the favor of a lifetime. I knew it was the favor of a lifetime, because she’d told me as much every five minutes since agreeing to be my partner for the costume contest after I got dumped twelve hours before the Expo.
I should have seen it coming. Wargs had their own fated mate garbage to deal with. Heaping mine on top of his had been a deal-breaker, and we both knew it. I just wish he could have waited seventy-two more hours before splitting. I’d spent ten months sewing that damn Sarah dress. Ten months. My fingers were like Swiss cheese, my hot glue burn was still fading, and now—now I didn’t even get to wear it. Thierry got that honor.
There had been no time to cobble together a Jareth outfit for her and no point in wasting the time when I already owned one in my size.
As I neared my bestie, a frown crinkled her forehead, and her emerald gaze narrowed on a point behind my shoulder.
“Mai, oh Mai.”
I froze stiffer than Han Solo trapped in carbonite at the once familiar greeting. “Katsuo?” The name came out whisper soft, disbelieving. I spun, recognizing him in a heartbeat, and I threw myself into his arms. He caught me with an awkward hmph and a laugh that swelled my heart. “It really is you. It’s been so long. How have you been? What are you doing here? Duh.” I smacked my forehead with my palm. “Competing.”
“You know how it is.” He soaked up the spandex-clad crowd with a fond smile. “I can’t stay away from the scene for long.”
It didn’t slip my notice that he ignored my other questions, but I hadn’t seen him in years, and I cared more that he was here now than what had kept him away all this time.
“Have you gone on yet?” I tweaked one of the fuzzy ears sticking out of his snow-colored wig. Factor in the red haori jacket worn over an off-white inner robe, the matching hakama pants, and the Kotodama no Nenju. Yeah. I wasn’t the only sucker for classics. “Your Inuyasha is better than it was the last time I saw you.”
Inuyasha was the titular character in a manga series and its anime adaptation, a half-demon with doglike traits inherited from his father, and he was a favorite of Katsuo’s.
“It’s been eight years.” He spread out his fingers, exposing thick callouses. “I’ve mastered the art of the needle.”
“I’m impressed.” A throat cleared behind me. “Oh.” I snagged Thierry’s arm. “This is Thierry Thackeray, best friend extraordinaire.” I picked at one of her puffy sleeves. “She’s been cast in the role of Sarah Williams for the evening.” I gestured toward the kitsune decked out in his anime-inspired getup. “Tee, this is Katsuo Tanabe. Our dads were friends back in the day.” At Katsuo’s wounded-puppy look, I amended, “We were too.”
Right up until the night he and his family vanished without saying goodbye.
“Nice to meet you.” Thierry glanced between Katsuo and me with one eyebrow arched, easily reading the weird vibe between us. “We’re running late. We should move this reunion to the hotel bar after the contest.” Her gaze narrowed on me. “Where there will be no pictures, no evidence this ever happened.”
“Spoilsport.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. “The mental picture of your beauty is all I need to remember this auspicious occasion.”
That and the all-access pass Expo video I pre-ordered last night at check-in…
“Or we could move this outside now,” a voice rumbled from beside my ear.
I glanced right and found m
yself face-to-face with Dean, who was holding a wicked-looking knife to Thierry’s left kidney. That same potent connectivity crackled between us, and my breaths came a little faster. “Nice prop.” I ran my finger along the underside of the blade suggestively then hissed when it sliced me open. My meter shot from interested to infuriated in three seconds flat. “What the hell is going on?” The creeping suspicion he wasn’t in costume, wasn’t here for the con, slithered through my mind. “Real weapons aren’t allowed.”
“Those rules are meant for humans.” His slow visual caress staked claim on me. “Not for us.”
A few of the humans in question noticed our gathering and drifted closer as they puzzled over what fandom mashup we might represent. As far as they knew, fae didn’t exist, which meant Dean had put careful thought into his choice of venue. He picked a location for this confrontation that backed Thierry and me into a corner without him lifting a finger.
Emerald light spilled from Thierry’s left palm. “Point that thing somewhere else or we’re going to have a problem,” she warned him.
“You won’t risk more than a light show in front of all these humans.” He angled the knife until my blood glinted on the blade. “They’re slow, but even they’ll figure out you’re the real deal if you leave husks from your kills behind.”
“When we’re around humans,” I insisted, “we play by their rules.” It kept us all safe.
“Then let’s remove humans from the equation.” He jerked his head toward the illuminated exit sign. “The parking lot is this way.”
“We’re not going anywhere with you.” I looked at him like he was crazy.
“You need to listen to him, Mai,” Katsuo murmured.
My old friend shifted in my periphery, and alarm bells clanged in my head. “Katsuo?” He stared at his feet but stood his ground. Katsuo was part of this? Was there no honor among cosplayers?
Dean’s blade parted the silky fabric covering Thierry’s bodice, and my gut tightened. “Don’t hurt her.”
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