Storm Crossed

by Dani Harper

  Pharmacies always seemed to have a certain aroma to them, like sniffing a bottle of aspirin. This one seemed to have a fruity potpourri mixed in. There were the businesslike aisles of cold and stomach remedies, vitamins and ointments, diapers and tissues, plus an entire section of feminine-hygiene products. Definitely not going to browse there. Glass shelves ran along the east wall, however, with pretty giftware. A candle and scented-wax display was probably the source of the potpourri smell. And facing it was a colorful bank of greeting cards. Relieved, Lissy decided to do some real shopping and pick up something for Tina’s birthday.

  She had just selected a card with a wiener dog on it that looked a lot like Jake when a voice near her made her jump.

  “Melissa, bonita! I was just telling your beautiful mother the other day that I hadn’t seen you in years.” It was Vincente, but not the quiet, gangly youth he’d been in senior high. He’d filled out—and maybe even worked out—and his confident smile displayed even, movie-star-white teeth. Contacts had replaced the wire-framed glasses she remembered, and his wavy hair was slicked back into a carefree GQ style. “And here you are in my very own farmacia!”

  “I-I just ran in to get this.” Lissy held up the wiener dog card almost defensively. “So, this place is yours?” she asked, deciding to feign ignorance.

  “Bought it last year, lock, stock, and barrel.” He waved an arm to encompass his surroundings, and she wondered if he were flashing his expensive-looking watch on purpose. Nope, he was aiming to put the other arm around her . . . She danced just out of reach, pretending to select another card, and if the man noticed, he didn’t let on. In fact, he continued without missing a beat. “Great location, huh? We do as much business here as any of the local chain stores, yet we remain completely independent. Plus, I’ve converted the entire upstairs into a high-end office space. Not a single vacancy—in fact, we have a waiting list of prospective tenants!”

  She smiled weakly. Talk about trying too hard to make an impression. Maybe he just needed to show her how much he wasn’t that shy boy in twelfth grade anymore. Still, something about this exchange made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Could her own awkwardness be causing such uncomfortable vibes? “That’s wonderful,” she managed. “It must keep you very busy.”

  “Of course it does, but I can always make a little time here and there. That’s the advantage of being the owner.” His smile broadened as he suddenly seized her hand in both of his. “For instance, I could take you to lunch right now, florecita, and we could get reacquainted. I’m thinking we could start with some Manzanilla sherry and raw oysters at this great little place I know.”

  Oysters? You gotta be kidding me. He can’t possibly be unaware of how that sounds. She tried to ease her hand out of his grip without seeming rude. “That’s really kind of you, Vincente, but I’m on my way to an appointment in a few minutes.”

  If anything, he looked more hopeful, and he gripped her hand tighter. “Is it medical? Because a trained pharmacist can often give you great advice. Doctors don’t always have the time to really listen to you and administer to your true needs.”

  Ugh! My true needs are to get my hand back and leave, she thought. “Look, Vincente, I—”

  “Ah, there you are, Lissy. It is imperative that I speak with you.” The new voice came from close behind her and must have startled Vincente as well, since her imprisoned hand fell free. She turned—and found herself completely speechless.

  Tall, dark, and handsome did not do justice to the man standing in front of her. An upscale executive suit had been admirably dressed down with a smooth-fitting T-shirt, the gray jacket left open as if to tease her with the hard definition of his chest and abdomen. His thick sable hair fell carelessly to his collar, and expensive sunglasses softened the angles of his lightly bearded face. Esquire’s photographers would probably walk a mile on their knees just to put him on their next magazine cover . . .

  She wasn’t fooled, however. Surprised and possibly drooling a little, but not fooled by the elegant facade. Trahern!

  At your pleasure.

  There was no mistaking the fae’s voice in Lissy’s head, self-assured yet intimate. How had he managed to disguise—no, humanize—his appearance so dramatically? More important, why?

  What the hell are you doing here? She directed her thoughts squarely at Trahern, confident now that he could hear her.

  I came to speak with you about your son.

  Her heart missed a beat. Where’s Fox? Is he all right?

  Your son is well, and precisely where you left him. But it is needful that we speak privately.

  “Where—where did you come from?” Behind her, Vincente’s protest sounded high and thin. He cleared his throat twice, then seemed to recover himself. “Sir, my tech behind the counter will be happy to assist you. At present, I am engaged in serving this fine woman.”

  “Truly? You appear to be doing her no service at all.”

  The pharmacist’s face darkened. “It is impolite to interrupt.”

  “Then please cease to do so. My matter is urgent.”

  “Melissa, do you know this, this maleducado?” He seized her upper arm possessively—and won himself a solid punch in the shoulder as she pried her limb free.

  “For your information, he is not a rude man.” Although we are so going to have a chat about the finer points of human customs. “And I know him very well.” Walking up to Trahern, she tucked herself neatly under the tall fae’s shoulder as if she did it all the time. “Vincente, this is my dear friend Tristan. He’s with an international law enforcement agency and—and he’s on a case right now.” Work with me here, will you?

  Trahern looked down at her. His unusual eyes weren’t visible through the dark glasses, but one eyebrow arched high above them for a long moment. Then he slipped long, strong fingers around her waist, carefully drawing her closer as he regarded her former schoolmate with feigned interest. “In my haste to perform my official duties, I appear to have forgotten my manners. Vincente, is it?” He did not offer a hand.

  Neither did the pharmacist. “How could I not know you are an officer of the law? Of course you are. Look at you! I didn’t see you come in here, and it startled me, that’s all. Forgive me, we get so many shoplifters who try to hide behind the displays.” The man’s confidence was nowhere to be seen now, and a droplet of sweat trailed down his temple.

  “Plainly, the loveliness of our mutual friend has enchanted your senses,” said Trahern. “I entered the front door directly behind those women over there.” He pointed to a trio of seniors in workout gear appraising exercise drinks in the cooler. Vincente turned to look.

  Lissy looked, too, until Trahern tipped her chin up with a finger and kissed her.

  It should have been a simple kiss, a friendly kiss, at the very most a frivolous mistletoe kiss. Yet the warm press of his lips seemed to speak to something within her, awoke something long-buried . . . and that something raged to be set free. Every intense sensation from her dream came back to her, and a deliciously icy shiver ran from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. His mouth smiled against hers—did he know?—before traveling on to softly skim her cheekbones, her brow, her eyelids.

  He smells like the air after a thunderstorm . . .

  Lissy reached for him then, twisting her fingers in his hair as she tasted the wild sky on his elegant mouth and the faint tingle of lightning on his skin. She breathed him in, and a cool, clean breeze seemed to waft right through her, carrying away all the little gray bits from the dark, dusty corners of her soul. How had she not noticed them before? She felt light, lifted, on the verge of taking flight herself. And with her, heartbeat for heartbeat, was Trahern. Her fingers outlined his shoulders, traced their way around his body, feeling the surprisingly hard muscle beneath the glovelike leather—

  Leather? It surprised her just enough that she opened her eyes, and whatever pleasurable zone she’d been floating in dissipated like morning mist. Trahern’s disguise—th
e glasses, the suit, the dark hair, the styled beard—had indeed disappeared entirely in favor of his own striking features, and her heart beat even faster at the sight. Surely it wasn’t fair for anyone, human or otherwise, to be that good-looking! His snowy mane fell long and loose, feather-soft as it brushed over her bare arms. Lissy bit back the sigh that the sensation drew from her and shoved away the memories it triggered, but she couldn’t keep her skin from quivering. What just happened?

  It is difficult enough to maintain a glamour when someone has already seen my true form. Impossible to do so when you touch me. I cannot hide from you.

  She hadn’t been asking about the sudden reversion to his natural appearance. Lissy had seen enough magic in her life to be unfazed by something so minor. But . . . he hadn’t exactly been talking about his appearance, either, had he? Trahern’s gaze on hers was unfathomable at first. She still couldn’t tell what color those incredible eyes were, but as before, the longer she looked into them, the more she could see. He was . . . shaken? Fair enough—she felt a little shaken up herself. Lissy hoped like crazy that he hadn’t sensed that strange, wild part of her that even she hadn’t known existed. What the hell was that anyway? Who was that? Not her, surely.

  Yet here she was, still in his arms and making no effort to leave. She may have broken off the kiss, but her body was still firmly fitted to his—and most surprising of all was how easy it was, how natural it seemed to be so close to him. As if they had danced to this song before and would again . . .

  You did not give him my name.

  Names have power, right? Why would I want to hand over your power to someone like Vincente?

  Trahern smiled with genuine warmth and brushed back a curl from her face. I see that Fox has acquired his considerate nature from his mother.

  In the back of her mind, Lissy was vaguely aware that Vincente was wide-eyed and indignant, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t find any words. It was of no importance to her. All that mattered in this moment was trying to figure out this strange new connection with Trahern. He leaned his forehead to hers, and part of her hoped that he might kiss her again. He didn’t. Instead, she became aware of a strange sensation in the back of her head, something between the fizzing of a soda and the buzz of electricity—

  And found herself standing on the sidewalk on another street entirely.

  “What the hell did you just do to me?” Lissy wriggled out from under his arm but immediately stumbled. If he hadn’t caught her elbow, she might have fallen.

  “Stand still!” ordered Trahern, and frowned when she pulled away anyway. “You are not accustomed to magic.”

  “Ya think?” She put a hand to the back of her head as if it hurt. “You can’t—you can’t just go poofing people from place to place!”

  “I just did. And it is called translation, not poofing. It is efficient. It is how one travels in haste.”

  “It is how one pisses off people in a hurry,” she retorted. “And to think I defended you to Vincente! I take it back. It’s rude enough when you zap yourself inside my house without being invited, but you don’t get to move me from place to place like mindless luggage.”

  Rude? He didn’t understand all the nuances of the human language, but this word was plain. Rudeness was something to be avoided at all costs. The entire language of the Royal Court was one continuous dance of courtesy, the rituals of which served to veil the less savory thoughts and machinations that almost always lurked beneath the hauntingly beautiful exteriors. Although he, Trahern, heir apparent of the House of Oak, had witnessed rude behavior many times in many parts of the fae realms, he’d certainly never been accused of it! Even as a Hunter—for the Hunt cared not how they were viewed by others—he did not stoop to discourtesy.

  Yet clearly he had done so with Lissy. I am not in my world; I am in hers. If I am to secure Lissy’s permission to train her child, then I must observe the rules of behavior that apply here. He suspected it was going to make a challenging task all the more difficult, however. So was the attraction that all but sparked in the air between them. By the Seven Sisters, this cannot be the product of mere novelty. Something else, something much more powerful, was surely at play here. And he had no idea what it was.

  “It has never been my intention to give offense,” he said at last. “What is it you would have me do instead?”

  Lissy eyed him suspiciously, as if he might be mocking her. “Right now? For starters, you should have asked permission before you beamed me out like that. At the very least you could have warned me. And what about Vincente? He’s going to be traumatized for life after seeing us vanish like that.”

  “The man remembers nothing,” said Trahern. “I cast a mild spell so he would forget the incident.” Including that you were ever in his shop.

  “I guess that’s for the best. Now about my house . . . ”

  “Your house?”

  “Yeah. Most people come to the goddamn door and wait outside to be welcomed in. Even Claire knows that much, and her manners wouldn’t fill a teaspoon.”

  Wait? Outside? Trahern was long accustomed to going where and when he pleased. In his former life, his presence might be formally announced as he entered either house or palace, but he would never be required to wait. As a trader, there was nowhere in the Nine Realms that he could not enter at his own pleasure. And as a Hunter? He need not beg entry from anyone, anywhere. And not long ago, he would never, ever have done so for a mere human.

  But Melissa Santiago-Callahan was no ordinary human . . .

  My brother would surely laugh if he knew how acutely my perception has been altered. He shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or another. “I will linger at the door in the future,” he said at last. The concession should have grated on him—but strangely, it didn’t.

  “Thank you. And no more poofing me without warning.”

  “That I will not promise. You pretended to have an intimate connection to me in order to divest yourself of that man’s unwanted attentions,” he said. “I am not all that familiar with human culture, but if we were truly paired, then surely I would remove you from a situation you did not wish to be in.”

  “Remove me? Who on earth talks like that?” She paced in front of him, then stopped suddenly and put her hands up. “Nope, this one’s squarely on me. Although I can see that we’ve got some serious cultural differences to work out, this time it’s my fault. I put you on the spot, and I’m sorry.”

  “How can any fault be yours?”

  “Because I shouldn’t have involved you. I didn’t need to be rescued—I’m not helpless! If you hadn’t surprised me, I would have finished telling Vincente I wasn’t interested and simply left on my own.”

  Trahern folded his arms and studied Lissy, more for pleasure than anything: he already knew she was right. “What you say is true. But surely it was far more gratifying to see the man gaping like a fish when we kissed.”

  She blushed suddenly, a warm wash of color from throat to cheek that fascinated him. Fae women could not blush unless aided by a glamour. And none had ever favored him with such a conspiratorial grin. “Okay, I have to admit that was pretty good,” she said. “And he won’t ask to see me again because he doesn’t know he saw me in the first place, so that’s good, too.”

  Very good indeed. He hid his thoughts from Lissy but could not hide them from himself. Nor could he understand them. Why was it so pleasing to imagine turning that pompous, self-important human male into a fat, toothless afanc? His sorcerer’s code prohibited such action against a human who was merely annoying rather than guilty of a crime. The law of the Hunt precluded it as well (although a temporary prank would likely be considered). Yet the most powerful deterrent was the fact that Lissy herself would not approve. She prided herself on self-reliance, and to interfere in her affairs would be insulting to her. He grasped that now. I was a fool to think that a woman who would defend her child from a grim with only her bare hands would require protection from a mere shopkeeper
.

  And am I also a fool for wanting her back in my arms? He needed to talk to Braith—if only his brother could respond! Trahern was so focused on his own thoughts that he missed most of what Lissy said.

  “. . . and of course, we won’t be doing any more kissing.”

  The words were like the sudden rap to the head that old Heddwen occasionally gave him when he didn’t pay attention as a child. It wasn’t the child in him that reacted now, however. “You did not like it?” he blurted.

  “You know full well that I liked it very much. But that certainly doesn’t mean we’re going to do more of it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look, I’m sorry I may have given you the wrong signals. I don’t know how things work in your world, but in mine—at least in my own life—I usually don’t kiss men unless I have some sort of relationship with them.”

  “You told Vincente we were dear friends.”

  “I exaggerated. You and I are barely even acquaintances. And then your faery magic overcame my better judgment.”

  It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “You believe I used magic to coerce you?” Many of the Tylwyth Teg would have done exactly that, yet he found the idea distasteful and more than a little offensive.

  “Well, of course I do! That wasn’t like any kiss I’ve ever experienced.”

  Trahern shook his head slowly. “Nor have I experienced such. Shall I accuse you of ensorcelling me?”

  Her sable eyes grew very wide. Twice she started to say something, and both times she stopped. “Just—just don’t do it again,” she managed at last, and walked away without looking back.