To Stir a Fae's Passion_A Novel of Love and Magic

by Nadine Mutas

  The smile taking over her face was an echo of the one he loved to see on Merle, similar, and yet different. The fire in her amber-gray eyes, however, flared with a ferocity born of ancient times, far beyond anything he’d ever witnessed in Merle.

  “Thank you,” Maeve said emphatically. “Thank you, Rhun.”

  “You’re welcome.” His throat felt thick and raspy.

  When she blinked, that age-old glint left her eyes, and she was again the little sister of the witch he loved, reminding him so much of his own baby sister…the one he hadn’t been able to save.

  “I’m doing a lot better now,” Maeve said, her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

  “I’m glad.”

  And he was. He’d watched her make tremendous strides in her recovery, especially recently. She was able to go out more with her friends, could even stand to be in crowds despite her disfigurement—hell, he knew it couldn’t be easy for her to brave the looks and reactions of strangers.

  And yet she did, every single day.

  She’d come so far since the night they pulled her out of that hellhole, and it was amazing to watch her take charge of her life again—and the realization was like a hot blade to his heart. Gods fucking dammit.

  It had been so much easier to insist on sending her to Arawn when she’d been a distant concept, more present in his mind as the leverage they needed to use than as a real person. He’d barely seen her over the past months, much less spoken to her. And now here she was, come to thank him, while he was planning to hand her over to the monster who wanted to enslave her—

  Hell, it made him feel like the shittiest person on earth.

  He had trouble breathing past the ache in his chest.

  After all the progress she made in her recovery, he could only imagine what surrendering her to Arawn now would do to the ember of spirit that had just begun to rekindle. If she had to leave at this point, it might very well send her straight back into a tailspin of despair and misery. And while she’d offered to go with Arawn when he first came to claim her—in order to prevent Merle from making that deal with him to keep her safe from him a bit longer—would she still be willing to surrender herself, now she’d just begun to piece herself back together?

  “I was wondering,” Maeve interrupted his dismal thoughts, “now I’m…better, would you mind if I move back in with you guys?”

  Well, fuck. This couldn’t be real. This was too cruel even for those fucked-up, sadistic Powers That Be.

  “I think,” Maeve went on, unaware of his inner turmoil, “I’ve reached the point where I can handle my anxiety and be around you without freaking out. I…miss home. I miss having Merle around. And…I’d love to get to know my…brother-in-law.”

  Eyes of fire and smoke met his own, and the sincerity in them slayed him. Inwardly, he cursed so hard it wouldn’t have surprised him if his guts turned blue.

  Don’t show, don’t show, don’t show. He felt like fucking Elsa, what with how much he had to keep stuffed down right now, and it took everything he had not to smash something in front of Maeve.

  He must have failed, however, because her face reddened and she took a step back. “I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t want to impose—if it makes you uncomfortable—”

  “No!” He flinched, gentled his tone. “No. It’s all right. I don’t—” He closed his eyes, dragged every last bit of his species’ masterful ability to lie and deceive to the surface, smiled, and said, “I’d be happy to welcome you back home. I’ll tell Merle, okay?”

  She let out a breath, a small smile lighting up her face. “Okay.” She turned to go inside, stopped, faced him again. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Rhun.”

  Her words clawed him bloody.

  Chapter 19

  Isa had passed the point of being sick to death of Calâr’s voice several hours ago.

  They’d been on the road all day, hiking toward Nornûn, and Basil had begun a subtle interrogation of the suspicious fae. Calâr was forthcoming with information, glossing over the truth and possible holes in his knowledge with a skill that could have been admirable in another person.

  She’d been forced to listen to his explanations and tall tales, all the while restraining herself from choking him. At some point she started whetting one of her blades while they walked, relishing the fantasy of driving it through his lying guts.

  Thankfully, Basil seemed to keep her warning in mind. His attitude toward Calâr hadn’t warmed much, and knowing what she did about him by now, she could clearly see his reserve in his interactions with Calâr.

  With her, however, Basil displayed a wholly different side. He never mentioned what happened in the bathroom last night—and she’d been all too happy to avoid the subject, her body flushing with a potent mix of embarrassment and lust every time she remembered—but there was a deeper level of sensuality in the way he treated her. The looks he sent her way heated her insides, he regularly slowed down to walk beside her, his shoulder warm against hers, his fingers oh-so-accidentally brushing her hand, and he used just about any excuse to touch her.

  And, despite her emotional turmoil, she couldn’t scrounge up the will to tell him to stop. She knew she should. It would be the right thing. But by the Fates, she couldn’t.

  They were resting beside a lake, Calâr having wandered off to relieve himself, her hawk floating idly on air currents above, when it happened.

  She was sitting on a boulder, face turned up toward the sun, as she heard Kîna’s keen cry—indicating danger. Jerking her head up, she looked over at Basil—who’d taken off his boots, rolled up his pants to his knees, and was wading into the shallows. Her eyes widened. Her heart skipped a beat. What was he doing? Didn’t he know—well, damn, of course he wouldn’t.

  “Basil!” she yelled.

  He glanced up, his brows drawing together—and then he slipped and slid into the water.

  No, he was dragged.

  She’d grabbed her bow, had an arrow ready to shoot within a second, and jumped up.

  Swish.

  Her arrow flew, rammed into the body of the water fae who tried to pull Basil under. The beast was strong, had yanked him almost completely under the surface despite Basil’s valiant struggle. The fae thrashed, bucked, its scaled body bobbing up and down. Basil’s head broke the surface, and he hauled in air.

  Isa fired another arrow, and another, both diving through the water to find their target, giving Basil cover as he hauled himself toward the shore. She kept another arrow nocked and pointed at the lake just in case.

  It hit her when Basil heaved himself on the pebbled beach on all fours, breathing heavily. Magic tingled over her skin, grabbed her heart, her soul—and let go. Her arms began to tremble. Her lips parted. She shivered all over.

  She’d just saved his life.

  Turning, she looked at him, dripping wet and trembling, and time slowed to a crawl. My debt is paid. She was free to kill him now, to break her curse.

  Involuntarily, as if drawn by an invisible force, her arms moved, her stance shifted, until the arrow she’d nocked pointed at Basil’s head while he let it hang down, his eyes closed, his breathing choppy. Easy. It would be so easy. A clear shot.

  The fingertips of her right hand brushed the feathers on the arrow’s fletching as she pulled it back on the bowstring.

  Clear…shot.

  I don’t want to kill him.

  Her hands shook, made the bow and arrow quiver.

  Survive.

  Just one shot. That was all it would take. Straight to his head. Quick and painless. And her curse would break.

  Her heart stumbled on its too-rapid rhythm, her head going dizzy.

  Images flashed before her eyes, and sensory memories prickled along her nerves. Basil’s blinding smile. The sparkle in his eyes when he looked at her. The warmth of his hand when he cupped her cheek. His lips on hers, hot, demanding, giving. His laughter, his humor, his love.

  I can’t. Ye Fates, I cannot take his life.
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  With a sob, she lowered the bow, let the arrow relax on the string.

  Basil looked up at that second, smiled at her, and scrambled to his feet. Blond hair dripping water on his face, shoulders and chest, his clothes drenched, he came up to her, his eyes holding only half the knowledge of what had just transpired.

  “Well,” he said, oblivious to the raging storm inside her, “you did it, right? You saved my life.”

  She nodded, her throat making it impossible to reply.

  He bowed, took her hand and kissed the back of it. “You paid your debt. That means you can now leave me and go on with your life. I bet you’re glad you can finally get rid of me, hm?” The humor of his words was undermined by the hint of sadness in his smile.

  Get rid of him… The pain in her chest was instantaneous, consuming, flaring out into all the parts of her heart, her soul. I could never get rid of you. She knew it then, knew she’d rather die than snuff out his light.

  My life for yours, my love in death.

  She closed her eyes, shook her head. “I think I’ll stick around a bit longer.”

  The hope lighting his eyes speared her heart, yet poured love into her soul. “Oh, yeah?”

  She nodded, swallowed. “You’ve…grown on me.”

  “Hopefully not like some cancerous wart,” Basil quipped.

  She choked out a laugh, wiped at her eyes. “No,” she rasped, gathered herself to struggle through the maelstrom of bittersweet pain. “More like one of those stray chin hairs that keeps coming back no matter how many times I pluck it.” She gestured at her face, her voice cracking. “Or this one abnormally long eyelash of mine. At some point I just give up and live with it, you know?”

  Basil grinned from ear to ear, stepped closer to her. Putting his hands on her waist, he pulled her to him. “You’ve got a creepy long eyelash? Where? I’ve never noticed.”

  “Here,” she croaked, pointing to her right eye.

  Squinting, he tilted his head. “Hm. This one?” He grazed his finger over the one lash that extended past the others.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her heartbeat thunder in her ears.

  “It’s white, too,” Basil murmured, his voice intimately low.

  His gaze locked onto hers, so full of warmth and everything good in this world, and—by the Fates, being at the receiving end of that look, being the person who made him glow like this, was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her.

  Her heart broke with the knowledge that she wouldn’t get to enjoy this beauty for long. Because soon she would meet her own death…so he could live.

  She quenched the sob that wanted to break loose, and met his kiss instead. Hot, his lips burned hot, despite the chill water clinging to his skin, and she sank into his heat, his passion, his love. She cupped his face while she rose on her toes to kiss him with all the need and desperation she’d repeatedly beaten into submission.

  No reason to deny herself this pleasure anymore. She would drink him in, become intoxicated from his sunshine, so she could tumble into death’s arms later, buzzing with the bliss of how Basil made her feel.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Calâr’s voice scratched over her nerves like a knife over a plate. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

  They broke apart, and Isa shot a dark look at the deceptive bastard. Oh, she’d take him down now, would make sure to reveal to Basil what a mendacious rat he was. Not right this moment, though. No, she’d have to play her cards right, needed to first find out what the fae’s true agenda was. An idea brewed in her mind, but she needed more time to work it out.

  Until then, she’d watch him like a cat staking out a mouse hole.

  “I really think we should keep going,” Calâr said. “The Nornûn oracle is not much farther. We might even reach it tonight.”

  Before Basil could reply, Isa spoke up.

  “And I think we should stop for a good night’s sleep. In this inn.” She peered at Basil from underneath half-lowered lids, and, now he knew, he always spotted that one extra-long, white lash. “In a nice, comfortable bed.”

  Her voice dropped to a sinfully low level on the last word, sparking an immediate response in him. He shifted to make room for his growing erection, and cleared his throat.

  “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a terrific idea. I’m tired. Exhausted, actually. Let’s spend the night here.”

  As much as he craved connecting with his magic, when weighed against the look Isa sent his way just now, the insinuation in her tone? If she wanted to do what he thought she wanted to do… To hell with his powers. The oracle could wait.

  Whatever had gotten into her after she saved him from that water fae, it had smashed to smithereens any reservations she had about giving in to her attraction. She’d been stealing kisses and touches from him ever since, and now this. Maybe it had something to do with paying her life debt to him? Who knew…perhaps there was some arcane rule about not hooking up with someone when you owed them a life debt?

  Well, whatever the reason, he could explore it later—and he did plan to ask her about it—but first things first. He’d grab this chance with both hands and gorge himself on her. His mind already played a vivid selection of all the things he wanted to do to her, so he only half heard Calâr’s protest, his gaze still on the temptation of the fine female in front of him.

  “…less than two hours away. You must be eager to claim your magic. Why wait when you can unleash your powers tonight?”

  Oh, he planned on unleashing something tonight. Did he ever.

  Isa must have read his look correctly, because she snickered. Snickered. His serious Isa of Stone, giggling like a schoolgirl. Over him.

  He cleared his throat, and still his voice came out husky. “I want to be well rested when I tap my powers. We’ve been on the road all day, and we need to catch some sleep.” Not that he actually expected to get a lot of shut-eye…

  He turned to meet Calâr’s irate look, and he made sure the other male understood he wouldn’t budge on this. “We rest here.”

  “As you wish,” Calâr muttered, and stalked toward the inn.

  Isa winked at Basil and followed the other fae toward the earth dwelling, which was charmingly reminiscent of a hobbit hole.

  With most of his blood already happily rushing south, and his thoughts focused on one thing only, he waited for Isa to secure rooms—one for Calâr, one for Basil and her—and barely spared a glance at the bustle around him, or the kind of architecture he would have geeked out over at any other time.

  They wished Calâr a good night, and then Basil followed Isa toward the second room.

  “Basil?” she asked as she walked down the hall.

  “Hm?”

  “You’re prowling behind me like an unfed lion.”

  “I am unfed.”

  “Right.” She halted abruptly a few feet from the door, turned to him. “We haven’t had dinner. Do you want to—”

  He snatched the key from her, grabbed her around the waist, dragged her to the door, unlocked it, and shoved her inside. He slammed the door shut again, turned the key, stripped her of her bow, quiver, and pack within seconds, and then pushed her back against the wood, his hands on her waist, his mouth hot and hungry on hers.

  “Priorities,” he murmured against her mouth.

  Isa gasped, caught her breath. “For once you do not want to eat? I can’t believe it.”

  He kissed her jaw, trailed his lips down her throat, while he worked on the fastening of her pants. “Oh, I have every intention of eating.”

  He jerked the front of her pants open, hooked his fingers in the waistband, and dragged them down past her hips. With a few quick moves, he took off his bow, sling backpack, and quiver, and dropped them all on the floor, before he went on his knees in front of her, devouring the erotic sight of the dark curls between her thighs. The scent of her arousal slammed into him this close to its source, and a desperate, hungry sound broke from his throat.

  “In fact,
” he said, running his hands up her muscled legs toward the vee of her core, “I plan to feast tonight.”

  Isa shuddered, her breathing ragged, and her hips shifted toward him. And yet, when he went to kiss those curls glistening with her desire for him, she pushed him back with her hands on his shoulders.

  He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “Maybe I should wash up first,” she said, her voice shaking.

  His fingers dug into her hips as he held her in place. “If you make me wait for even five more minutes, I will spontaneously combust into a thousand pieces of blood and gore. You don’t want that. I heard cleaning up the remains of an exploded person is quite revolting.”

  That earned him a choked-off giggle. “Yes, that sounds horrible.” That glint in her eyes almost did him in. “It’s not the kind of explosion I want from you.”

  He gave her a half-grin. “Good.”

  And with that, he yanked her pants down farther, pulled the boot off her right foot, freed that leg from her pants, and then propped it over his shoulder. All within less than five seconds. His eagerness coaxed another laugh from her—which turned into a gasp when he dove in and put his mouth right where he yearned to be.

  He flicked his tongue along her folds, lapped up her wetness, groaning at the heady taste of her. With his fingers stroking her intimate skin, teasing her clit, he thrust his tongue inside her.

  “Ba…sil…” Isa’s voice turned his name into a husky moan, an erotic prayer.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her hips bucked forward, met his touch. Pushing her right leg further to the side, he opened her even more, switched the action between his tongue and his hand. His fingers now slid down to her entrance, pumped into her while he licked up toward her tight bundle of nerves and circled it, before using the flat of his tongue to stroke directly over it.

  Isa’s breathing became erratic, her thigh muscles tensed.

  He repeated the move, added a third finger to thrust into her, closed his mouth over her clit—and sucked hard.

  With a keening moan, she came, her hands tangled in his hair, causing a delicious sting on his scalp. Her inner muscles contracted around his fingers, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to feel her squeeze his cock like that.