Knight in Leather

by Holley Trent

  Dasha hovered her thumbs over the screen and gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she thought. There was nothing left for him to do in the game for the time being. He’d drift away and go to bed, probably, and she’d be up and wired still. She didn’t want to be awake alone.

  dotdotdotdash: How are you with word games? You can tell me no. Simone doesn’t want to play with me anymore, either.

  EthanGotchA: Why not? Do you cheat?

  dotdotdotdash: Do you?

  EthanGotchA: I don’t cheat in games, fights, or relationships.

  Dasha narrowed her eyes at the screen.

  dotdotdotdash: I thought your people don’t date much before

  She stilled her thumbs, gnawed her lip.

  He likely didn’t need for her to finish the thought. The implication was perfectly obvious, or at least she hoped so. If she had to spell out her skepticism, they’d likely end up having a discussion about things she didn’t particularly want to talk about. She certainly wasn’t going to get any sleep if the conversation devolved to that place.

  EthanGotchA: What is your phone number?

  dotdotdotdash: Why?

  That had become her automatic response in the past few years when any man asked her that question. The reply was confrontational, sure, but she wanted them to put into words why they needed to contact her. She needed them to make their intentions clear so she could cut them off at the pass.

  EthanGotchA: This is an awkward interface. I can’t see more than a few words I’ve typed at a time.

  “Oh.” He was right. The game had some issues, but the designers probably hadn’t developed the layout with chat in mind, beyond what people would need to heckle their player peers. A gamer didn’t take many words to communicate something along the lines of “Got you, sucka.”

  Slowly, she typed in the number, trying to dissuade herself from giving it up between every digit. She couldn’t think of a good enough reason to deny him. Even if she wasn’t on board with the fated mate thing, he was in tight with Simone and Heath. They trusted him, so there was no reason Dasha shouldn’t.

  “It’s just a phone number,” she told herself.

  She hit send.

  A moment later, her text-messaging app popped to the forefront with a comment from a number she didn’t recognize.

  As I was saying…

  “Ethan,” she mused. She added him to her contacts and pondered what country code his phone number had and whether texting him would get her slapped with a stroke-inducing phone bill.

  She scoffed. “If I do, he’s paying it. He probably has the money.”

  Maybe he didn’t fall into the Filthy Stinking Rich category like Heath and Siobhan, but he’d certainly been alive long enough to acquire some wealth or to have inherited some. She had to assume. There was no tact way of getting that information beyond asking, and she’d been so careful not to ask any questions about him. It wouldn’t do for people to know she was actually curious.

  ETHAN GOTCH: No, Sídhe don’t tend to do relationships before we take mates, at least in the way you think of them. We do frequently make arrangements, however.

  Arrangements. What does that mean? she asked.

  ETHAN GOTCH: Hard to explain without knowing what you know.

  Dasha let her eyes cross.

  How much has Simone told you about our…openness? he asked.

  DASHA MAURICE: She discusses pretty much everything about y’all in vague terms. I get the impression that you’re all equal-opportunity players.

  They’d fuck anyone who suited them, more or less. That certainly opened up the dating pool, not that the fairy dating pool was all that large to start with. There were probably twenty thousand of them, at the most. That was Heath’s last estimate of all the Sídhe inside the realm and those living in secluded communities like Simone’s father’s tribe. Heath didn’t trust his mother’s figures. She had a tendency to exaggerate her influence.

  ETHAN GOTCH: That’s about right. Anyhow, that makes the potential for jealousy twice as high. We’re very protective of our mates, that’s true, but very rarely do we want to share our lovers with people we don’t like.

  DASHA MAURICE: Oh, I understand. You don’t want to do a booty call with someone who you know is fucking some guy you’ve beat the shit out of before.

  ETHAN GOTCH: Basically. We’re very practical about getting our needs met. Sex certainly qualifies as a need to most fairies, but we have to be careful about who we source it from. Otherwise we’d all be fighting all the bloody time.

  DASHA MAURICE: So you make agreements to…what? Not fuck anyone else? You’re not dating, but just exclusively screwing?

  ETHAN GOTCH: Seems crass when put into those terms, but that’s the gist.

  DASHA MAURICE: Sorry. I’ve always had a tendency to not beat around the bush. Simone would tell you that.

  ETHAN GOTCH: I’m not saying that tendency is a bad one. Determining how much I can say so I don’t get in trouble is hard.

  DASHA MAURICE: In trouble with whom?

  ETHAN GOTCH: Princess Simone. Prince Heath.

  Dasha was about to ask why his candor would land him in hot water, but before she could tap out the question, he texted, You.

  She furrowed her brow. Me? Why?

  ETHAN GOTCH: We’re not like normal people. Sídhe, I mean.

  “That’s for damn sure.” She settled lower in her burrow of covers and slowly texted one-handed, You’re practical, you say. What does that mean when you’re in a crew like yours?

  ETHAN GOTCH: I’m not sure what you’re asking.

  She had said she wasn’t going to beat around the bush, so she figured she should spit out the words. Electronically, at least. Have you been with any of the ladies in the crew in the past?

  If Siobhan, Caryl, or Daryn had been with Ethan at some point, Dasha certainly couldn’t tell. All the crew members had a sibling-like camaraderie, but she wasn’t so naive to think that good friends couldn’t have gotten down and dirty long ago. Sometimes, good friends fucked and were able to remain friends afterward, though that had never been her experience. Her guy friends didn’t like being pushed back into the friend zone, so she’d stopped turning to them for intimate comfort. Strangers were easier to get rid of, and they rarely showed any hard feelings when she asked them to go home.

  No, Ethan responded. Have you?

  Dasha couldn’t get her hand over her mouth before the laughter came out. His question would have been completely ridiculous if he hadn’t been a fairy. There wouldn’t have been anything unusual about her saying yes. Fairies didn’t make assumptions about people’s preferences.

  Siobhan poked her head out of her room and rubbed her eyes.

  “Sorry,” Dasha whispered.

  “What happened?”

  “Just silly stuff on my phone. Go back to sleep.”

  The princess let out a ragged exhalation. “Who can sleep? I’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour trying to figure out how I’m going to track a guy down.”

  “What guy?”

  Siobhan flinched, shook her head, and said, “No one important. ’Night again.” She closed the door.

  “No, that’s not suspicious at all.” Dasha was getting used to fairies and their mysterious ways, though, and knew that pressing Siobhan on the issue probably wasn’t going to get her anywhere fast. Turning her attention back to the phone, Dasha texted, No.

  ETHAN GOTCH: Good to know. The three you’re lodging with are generally trustworthy. They probably wouldn’t make a pass at you except to provoke me.

  DASHA MAURICE: I doubt they would. I’m pretty good at knowing not to forge friendships with those kind of folks. There are always signs that people aren’t who they say they are.

  The problem was that people sometimes didn’t know how to interpret the signs, or in Dasha’s case, she’d ignored them even when her gut had told her not to.

  She’d wanted to believe that her ex was redeemable. She’d wanted to give Ben a chanc
e to show that he was the decent person he’d made himself out to be when they’d first met—that he was that sweet, charming guy who’d thought she was funny and creative—who’d wanted to see her climb up the executive ladder.

  But talk was cheap, and he hadn’t meant a single word. She’d been a possession to him, plain and simple. Now the idea of belonging to anyone chafed her.

  She draped her scarf over her neck to protect her skin from the chill of the nearby air conditioning vent, and hovered her thumb over the phone screen. She intended to tell Ethan “Well, goodnight” or “See ya” or something along those lines, but the letters her thumb glided over instead formed the words, Why are you awake?

  ETHAN GOTCH: Used to erratic scheduling from when we lived on the road.

  DASHA MAURICE: You don’t sleep normal hours?

  ETHAN GOTCH: I could, but sleeping off-schedule every so often when I have to be up late doing things doesn’t hurt.

  DASHA MAURICE: What are you doing?

  Ethan wasn’t one of the crew members who sometimes ran the office for Simone. Most at the guys were either too clumsy at customer service or too impatient. Mostly-human Matt seemed to do okay in the office because he got to watch television while he worked. Perry wasn’t so bad at being nice, either, but Perry was also more even-tempered than the rest of the crew. His disposition had something to do with his lineage, Simone had once insinuated, and Dasha hadn’t asked her to clarify.

  Thinking about fairy lineages got Dasha wondering about Ethan’s. She couldn’t stop herself from being curious. There was no reason she couldn’t learn about him. Interest didn’t mean she had to touch him.

  Just pacing the lot, he responded. Burning off a little energy. May go down to the beach instead.

  DASHA MAURICE: Pacing at three a.m.?

  ETHAN GOTCH: Gotta let the energy out one way or another. Can’t shift, so I may as well walk.

  DASHA MAURICE: What do you mean by shift?

  Curious, Dasha sat up straight and awaited the response, but it didn’t come.

  She held her phone up trying to catch a better signal, thinking that perhaps two bars wasn’t a strong enough 4G connection. But, she’d been at two bars all night.

  She shrugged, tucked her phone into the sofa gap, and settled down to sleep. Seemed as good a time as any.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ethan opened his eyes and his vision slowly focused on Princess Siobhan crouching in front of him.

  She squinted at him and propped her forearms atop her knees. “The hell are you doing, Ethan?”

  He rubbed his eyes and rolled his head to get the kink out of his neck. “What time is it?”

  “Seven. Did you sleep out here?”

  He pushed off the ground and stood, stretching his arms over his head. He had to tamp down his yawn before he could give her an acceptable response. “Not the whole night.”

  Princess Siobhan scratched her head and shifted her weight. “Okay, two questions, then. How much of the night? And why didn’t you sleep in your own bed?”

  “Just the last couple of hours, I guess. Needed to burn off some energy, so I was running around for a while. Ended up crashing here so I didn’t miss anything. Can’t see your door from the office.”

  She nodded slowly and leaned against the doorframe. “Well, hate to break the news to you, but this is exactly the kind of behavior that has your mate so entirely un-geeked about relationships right now.”

  “But given the circumstances—”

  “Right. Given the circumstances, you want to keep a closer eye on her. I get that, and I’d probably consider doing the same if I were in your shoes, but you’ve got to be a little more discreet about your movements. Scram before she gets out of the shower.”

  Grunting, he stepped away from the door and dragged a hand through his messy hair. “How’d you and Prince Heath do on your hunt last night? Didn’t see you before you went to bed.”

  She rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand at him. “We’ll get Quinton. He’s eluded us thus far, but he doesn’t have the cunning to keep up for so long. We have a good idea of where to look. We’re going to go out after breakfast to have another crack at it.”

  “I should go with you.”

  The princess shrugged. “Probably not a bad idea. Caryl and Daryn will be here to keep an eye on Dash.”

  Ethan walked to the suite he shared with Sully and found the other man sprawled on the sofa thumbing through cell phone pictures of a certain waitress on his phone. He’d probably taken them with a close zoom. They were certainly blurry enough to lend evidence to that theory.

  Shit, I hope no one thinks I’m that unbalanced.

  Ethan leaned onto the back of the sofa and waited for Sully to meet his gaze.

  “Aye?” Sully asked.

  “Gonna tell you what Princess Siobhan might tell you,” Ethan said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t be weird.”

  Sully let his lips sputter, a bit of a comical effect given all the piercings in his face. He looked like a frustrated bull with that ring through his septum. “I reckon the ship’s sailed on that, mate.”

  Ethan shrugged, and then pulled his shirt over his head. He needed a shower, and possibly a nap after they dragged that mer-fairy off their list of problems.

  “Can’t keep going on like this, E,” Sully called after him. “It’s not right.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir. You think I’m doing so great?” Ethan squinted into the dirty bathroom mirror and groaned at his pallor and the heavy bags that hung beneath his eyes. He hadn’t been moving energy around well enough or often enough, and the magic that he needed to expend hung out in his body like waste he couldn’t excrete. He could get rid of the excess by shifting, but he hadn’t had a good reason or opportunity to lately. He could, theoretically, shift at any time, but with his various forms of inherited magic commingling within him, if he shifted, the other kinds of magic would be unavailable for a while afterward. They’d be tapped, too, and he never wanted to find himself in a situation where he needed those lesser forms of magic and couldn’t access them.

  Sully crowded the bathroom doorway. “You look like you’re doing all right to me.”

  “I think I’m probably just better at faking it than you are. I mean, fuckin’ hell, Sully. She’s right there.” Ethan pointed in the general direction of Princess Siobhan’s suite. “I feel like a damned magnet being dragged across a surface toward some metal thing, and all I can do is dig my heels into the floor and try to stay put.”

  “You’ve got some of your mother’s magic—that ability to resist temptation as much as you’re able to is probably from her. If you didn’t have that, you’d be fucking deranged.”

  “I think that probably has a lot to do with my restraint. Don’t know how much longer that’ll be enough, though. Even with my father, Mother relents and lets him go wild sometimes. I have both of them in me—the two parts trying to balance each other out—but the animal part is almost always going to overpower the fairy part. Fortunately, the animal part is very tolerant of the fairy part. The animal coddles the magic bits and compensates for them. But when the animal wants out, I’ve got to let him out.” He grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed some mint paste onto the bristles.

  “Do your parents know?” Sully asked.

  “What, about Dasha?”

  “Aye.”

  Ethan grunted and said around the toothbrush, “Haven’t told them. I don’t want anyone in the realm to know that I have a mate until I’m certain I can keep her safe if she happens to leave this warded area. Besides, I haven’t seen them in a while.”

  “I told my parents before easy access to the realm got squashed. About Zenia, I mean.”

  “And what’d they say?”

  “About what you’d expect. They’d like to meet her, of course, and they’re wondering with her being human if there’s a greater chance of me having more than one child.”

  Ethan spit, then sc
offed. “Your folks don’t pull their punches, huh?”

  “What do you expect of farmers? Have you ever met any that didn’t have a house full of kids, or who weren’t doing everything they could to conceive one?”

  “Your parents only managed to have the one.”

  “Not for lack of trying. I’m certain they’re still trying. They’re young enough.”

  Ethan grunted again, and then rinsed his mouth. Sully’s parents were younger than most parents of the crew members, but that wasn’t saying much given that Sully’s “young” mother was over five hundred. “You should probably feel Zenia out and see what she thinks of being perpetually pregnant.”

  “Oh, I see. You want her to refuse me, then. Cruel of you. I thought we were better pals than that.”

  Grinning, Ethan cranked on the water in the shower and turned set the temperature to cool. He was hoping a bit of cold water to certain body parts would make him stand down for the day. “Do you actually want a dozen kids?”

  “Of course.”

  Ethan looked over his shoulder at the guy to see if he were speaking in jest, but Sully’s expression was as inscrutable and neutral as always. “Sull.”

  “What?”

  “You pulling my leg?”

  “No.”

  “Gods.” Ethan pushed him out of the doorway and went on about the business of showering.

  Ethan thought he had a long row to hoe with Dasha, but at least he wasn’t going to spring the threat of unceasing pregnancy on her. He had enough strikes against him already.

  ___

  Dasha carried her laptop into the motel office and plopped the open computer atop the desk in front of Simone.

  Simone was apparently on hold with her commercial detergent distributor, yet again, trying to find out what the hold up with her laundry soap order was. She set the phone on the cradle and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I’ll call them back. I swear, they’re trying to drive me nuts. Mine is a recurring order and they charge me automatically every month. You’d think they’d have far fewer issues with actually delivering the stuff.”

  “You want me to call them? I’m good at talking people into things.”