“Bonjour, Jean-Pierre,” she said, that slow smile colouring her words like a caress. “I’m afraid Jéhenne isn’t here.”
Jean-Pierre swallowed his disappointment, and his fear, and hoped it didn’t show on his face. “Actually, Inés, it’s you I’ve come to see.”
Her eyes glittered with amusement and he tried to dismiss the idea that she could smell his fear as she yanked open the door, wincing as it screeched along the stone tiles. Standing back a little, she gestured for him to come in.
The kitchen was as warm and cosy as it had always seemed to him before, redolent with the smells of cooking, and herbs, and something else which he always associated with this house but could never put his finger on.
Inés lifted a pot of coffee in his direction and he nodded, wondering if she’d offer him anything stronger to settle his nerves. He watched as she put the mug on the table with a sugar bowl and a plate of biscuits, gesturing for him to sit and help himself. Sitting herself opposite him, she watched him with apparent interest as he curled his fingers around the mug, grateful for the warmth after the chill of the day outside. Now he was actually here, he wondered how the hell he was going to begin this conversation as the green eyes rested on him, waiting for him to explain.
He ran a hand through his hair, cleared his throat, and turned his mug around as he tried to come up with something, only to see the amusement glittering in her eyes as he fidgeted. “Is it true you are a ... healer?” he asked, his eyes lifting to hers to see her reaction.
There was a flicker of a smile at that wide mouth and she tilted her head a little. “Oui,” she said, sitting back in her chair and giving him a direct look that made his skin prickle again. “That is true, but not really what you’ve come here to ask, I think.”
Jean-Pierre swallowed, wondering if witches were psychic, too. “What do you think it is I’m asking, then?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant as he avoided her piercing gaze and took a sip of his coffee.
There was a chuckle, a rich, warm sound that made his heart beat a little quicker. There was definitely something about this woman that had his nerves on edge, how had he never noticed it before?
“Oh, non, chéri,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk and so filled with confidence it made him feel gauche and childish. “It is so much more amusing to have you figure out a way to ask me.” He felt his mouth grow dry and watched her in silence as she got to her feet, walking over to a hideous old dresser in the corner of the kitchen. His eyes took in the tiny waist and the generous curve of her behind as she bent to open the cupboard doors and took a bottle from the gloomy depths of the interior. He flushed as she turned, catching his eyes, and gave him a knowing smile, clearly well aware he’d been watching her.
She leaned towards him over the table and poured a slug of strong smelling alcohol into his coffee mug. “Perhaps this will make you bolder,” she said with a wicked curve to her mouth.
Jean-Pierre looked into his mug with an anxious expression. “What is it?” he asked, his voice sounding unnervingly anxious. He took a cautious sip, deciding he’d best not be rude, as Inés shrugged.
“Oh, you know, eye of newt, bat’s wings, the usual ...”
Jean-Pierre choked in alarm as the alcohol seared the back of his throat, and Inés roared with laughter.
“Oh, gods, too funny!” She threw back her head, looking delighted at her joke before shaking her head at him. “It’s just eau-de-vie, you silly boy.”
Jean-Pierre scowled, his cheeks burning with humiliation. “Not funny,” he muttered.
He watched as she tried to rearrange her features into something less than hysteria. “I apologise,” she said, biting her lip hard.
Jean-Pierre dared to meet her eyes this time. “It’s true, then?”
She raised her eyebrows in question and he sighed, knowing she was going to make him say it out loud.
“You’re a witch.”
She pursed her lips and poured herself a glass of eau-de-vie, knocking it back in one go. “It is true that I have been accused of being a witch.”
Inés looked at him, those green eyes full of secrets and power and he knew, knew she was the real deal.
“I …” he began, before taking a deep breath. “We need your help.”
There was perhaps a flicker of interest in her eyes and she tilted her head a little, considering him. “Who is we, and can you afford me?” she asked, pouring another glass and taking a tiny sip this time.
“A friend of mine,” he said, trying to remember exactly what Bram had told him. “He’s injured and he says ... he says he will owe you a favour, in return for your services.”
She sat up in her seat, eyes intent now as she stared at him. “Who is this friend who thinks a favour is enough to pay for my help?”
Jean-Pierre sat up straighter himself and took a deep breath, hoping Bram was right that his name would carry enough weight to make her come with him. “Lord Tullius Aelfric Fafner Beltran the Third … of Alfheim.”
That slow smile dawned over her mouth like a sunrise and her green eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Well,” she said, looking very pleased indeed. “Why didn’t you say so before? I’ll get my things.”
***
Ameena rubbed at the dusty mirror she’d found and scowled harder. The results had been better through a layer of grime. Sighing, she continued with her work and applied thick black eye-liner with a skilful hand, tidying up her hair as best she could. What she wouldn’t give for a hot shower, and a decent cooked meal. She gave a longing sigh at the very idea. If that wasn’t bad enough, Jean- Pierre had gone off into the woods on some ridiculous errand while she was stuck here with the most irritating man in this world and, she suspected, the Fae Lands, too.
Reminding herself he was in a lot of pain, she tried to be fair to him. She doubted the ibuprofen she’d given him were doing much to ease the pain, if they even worked on elves. For all she knew, he had green blood and two hearts. Giving up on her appearance as she seemed to be fighting a losing battle, she went into the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee and some scrambled eggs. She didn’t know why she even cared what she looked like. Bram clearly didn’t fancy her. He’d made his opinion of her appearance only too clear, and she was damned if she was going to change anything for a bloody man. Sod that. She just wished she could look at him without the swell of longing under her skin that made her want to reach out and touch him. The desire to do so only grew in his company and it was maddening.
She carried the plate of eggs into him. Trying to ignore the wash of guilt as he cast her a wary look, she sat down beside him on the mattress.
“I thought you must be hungry,” she said, holding up the plate of eggs.
“Thank you,” he said, giving her a cautious smile. He had the kind of expression that made her believe he was determined to get through a conversation with her without making her turn on him like a wildcat. She took a breath and decided to try her best and play nice, too.
“Can you manage or shall I help?” she asked, knowing how he hated to be fed. No doubt being so helpless wasn’t improving his temper.
“I think I can manage,” he said, taking the plate from her.
She put the fork in his good hand and watched as he carefully ate a mouthful. “Is it OK?” she asked, hating the anxiety in her voice. From the look in his eyes, he’d heard it, too. “A frozen pizza is usually my limit,” she admitted with a crooked smile. “Scrambled eggs are really stretching my abilities as far as they go.”
He made an amused noise, his brown eyes warmer all at once. “They’re good, thank you.” She let out a breath and she saw a troubled look cross his face. He paused, fork halfway between the plate and his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said, such regret in his eyes that Ameena frowned, wondering what came next.
“What for?” she asked.
“For the trouble I have caused you,” he said, and she was struck by the sincerity of his words. For once, she didn’t doubt that the m
an in front of her really was a good guy. “I really am most grateful for everything you have done for me.”
Ameena shrugged, uncomfortable with both his thanks and the warmth behind the words. “Anyone would have done the same,” she said, dismissing his thanks.
He looked at her and she fought to hold his gaze as those deep brown eyes seemed to make her chest feel tight. “I don’t think that is true,” he said, that direct look making her wonder just what he saw when he looked at her. But then he’d told her that already, she thought with a sigh. “One day I will repay my debt to you, you have my word.”
Shaking her head, Ameena frowned at him and wondered how much longer she had before he left for good. There was something solid and trustworthy and decent about this man that made all of her old hopes and dreams flicker to life. But she had squashed those a long, long time ago. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said, aware that she sounded ungrateful herself, careless of his gratitude, but wary of saying anything to give herself away. “I’m a nurse, it’s what I do.”
He put down the fork and reached out his hand, taking hers. Ameena caught her breath, her skin springing to life as his larger hand enveloped hers, holding it like he actually cared. “I owe you my life,” he said, his voice soft and caressing. “Which is something to me, I assure you. I won’t forget it.”
Devil in a Sunday hat, devil in a Sunday hat ...
He wasn’t as good as he looked, no man was. It wasn’t possible. No man could be as good and decent and honest and as knee-quiveringly handsome as he was. Nope. Not possible. Yet no matter how many times she chanted that phrase in her head, the feel of his hand on hers was doing strange and dreadful things to her pulse. It made her long for things that she could not have, for safety and security and happiness … love. Ameena cleared her throat and removed her hand from his before her foolish imagination made her believe in fairy tales. Except …
“Eat your eggs, they’re getting cold,” she said, before hurrying from the room.
Chapter 9
Jean-Pierre tramped back through the woods, feeling even more creeped out than he had previously. He glanced at the beautiful witch walking beside him and felt a shiver run down his spine. Every hair on the back of his neck seemed to be standing on end, and when she brushed up against him as they got to a narrow section of track, he couldn’t help but flinch.
Inés chuckled, her green eyes flashing, bright as emeralds in the dull light of the afternoon. “Don’t panic, boy, I won’t turn you into a toad. Not unless you vex me,” she added with a grin.
He glared at her, torn between fear at wondering if she could really do it and indignation at being called a boy. “Come off it, Inés,” he muttered, injured male pride giving him the guts to talk back to the witch. “You’re not much older than me.” As the words left his mouth he remembered what Bram had said, about her really being Jéhenne’s grandmother, and he stopped in his tracks. “Are you?”
She turned, a strange look in her eyes as she walked towards him, hips swaying as she moved slowly closer. She stopped with her face close enough to kiss him, eyes fixed on his. “Boo!”
Jean-Pierre jumped and then swore as his cheeks burned. Inés just chuckled, looking thoroughly unrepentant.
“Désolée, mon chéri, but you are just too sweet. I couldn’t resist.” She gave him a thoughtful glance before adding, “It’s rude to ask a lady her age, you know, but as it happens, I am almost six hundred years old.” She smiled as his mouth dropped open. “So, boy you are, and boy you will remain, chéri.”
She turned her back on him and walked deeper into the woodland, leaving him feeling more anxious than ever about the monster under his bed. He hurried after her as she moved among the trees, watching her. She really was incredibly beautiful and, he felt instinctively, very dangerous. Bram had said that when Corin spoke of her, he had said she wasn’t to be trusted, so what the hell were they doing getting her involved in this? It was too late now, however, as the tiny cottage became apparent through the thinning edges of the woodland.
***
Inés glanced around the cottage. She remembered the English family who had lived here for a few years. They’d steered clear of her, some instinct telling them to keep away. Her eyes settled on a young woman, short black hair with a longer fringe dyed blue and eyes that were full of hostility and mistrust for the world. They warmed as the landed on Jean-Pierre.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “I was beginning to worry.” Then she saw Inés.
Inés gave a snort of amusement, turning to Jean-Pierre. “Alors, where’s the patient?”
“Through there.” He pointed towards the bedroom and went to follow her, but was stopped by Ameena grabbing hold of his arm.
“Who the bloody hell is that?” Inés heard the girl hiss.
“Inés Corbeaux,” he said. “I did tell you,” he added, sounding far too smug, which made Inés smile nonetheless. “She’s a witch.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of Sheba, pleased to meet you,” the girl shot back.
Inés left them to their bickering and headed into the bedroom. Elves were undoubtedly her favourite flavour, their golden prince being the jewel in the crown. She smiled at the memory of her last encounter with him, contented, as she looked at the male body asleep on the grubby mattress. He was certainly easy on the eye. Not the prince, no, he was one of a kind, after all, but still extremely fine.
The covers stopped at his hips, giving her a view of a hard body, a broad chest scattered with dark hair - unusual for the Fae - and a chiselled, handsome face. She pouted a little as she noted his lack of power, no magical powerhouse, this one. A pity. Still, it didn’t mean to say he wouldn’t be amusing to play with, not to mention being useful. She sighed, realising that she was, in fact, a little disappointed. He may be pretty, but without the kind of power that made Corin such a dreadful and dangerous temptation. The last time she’d seen him, the prince had needed her help desperately, enough to agree to pay her price for it. Just as well, as his powers were beyond that which would allow her to keep him captive, as she had once in his younger years. She smiled as she remembered his fury at being trapped by her all those years ago. Yes, that had been a great deal of fun.
Oh well, it would have been a lot to ask, and, after all, a handsome elf in her debt was better than no elf at all.
She stepped further into the bedroom and the figure stirred, dark eyes flicking open and widening in alarm as they fell upon her.
“Bonjour.” She sat beside him on the mattress and bit back a grin as she noticed the way he moved further from her. Oh yes, this could be amusing. “Mind if I take a look?” She gestured at his injured shoulder and she saw him grit his teeth, his eyes full of mistrust.
“Go ahead,” he said, sounding as though he’d rather stick pins in his eyes than let her touch him.
She gave him her sweetest smile, which seemed to alarm him further, and then reached across to remove his dressings. Once they were gone, she leaned over him as the wound was on his opposite shoulder, taking care to rest a hand on that impressive chest as she peered closer. “Nasty,” she said, her voice low and intimate as she shook her head.
He swallowed, looking like he’d run if he possibly could. From the way what little magic he had flickered under hand, she doubted he had strength enough to even stand. A noise at the bedroom door had her looking around as she met the furious grey eyes of the girl with the blue fringe. There was a possessive look there that didn’t escape her. Better and better.
“This your work?” Inés demanded with an imperious lift of one eyebrow, designed to make the girl defensive.
“Yes,” she snapped, reacting as Inés knew she would. “What of it?”
Inés snorted, looking away. “Nothing,” she replied, indicating with ease that she thought it botched at best.
“Really? I suppose you’d have made a better job of it.” The girl sounded really damned angry now and she felt the dark eyes of the man beside her flick betwe
en the two of them with anxiety.
“Well, I could hardly have done worse,” she said, her voice sweet and just loud enough that Bram alone could hear her. “She’s stopped the bleeding and kept it clean, but there must still be lead in your system, which explains the fever and why you are so weak. How is it you’re not dead, by the way?” she asked, curious as to how he’d even survived a bullet wound.
“I have human blood.”
“Ah.” She nodded, pulling a face. “Well, that explains a lot.”
Bram scowled, looking insulted by her reaction. “Really?” he replied, terse and annoyed for obvious reasons.
She laughed and patted his arm. “Well, for a lord, your powers are pretty limited ... Tullius, was it?”
Bram’s jaw tightened a little and he smiled at her, a wicked glint in his eyes. “It was … but you may call me Bram.”
Inés stilled, suddenly feeling a deal more interested. “You’re Bram? Well, well,” she said, giving a happy little sigh. “My day is looking up.” She glanced at Ameena, wanting the girl gone now. “Fetch me some hot water.”
Ameena’s mouth dropped open, which was amusing at least. “What did your last slave die of?” she demanded, glaring at Inés with undisguised loathing.
Inés didn’t bother to turn, but smiled at Bram instead and raised one hand to show blue flames flickering at her fingertips. “Heat exhaustion,” she said with a chuckle. “Now, girl, do as I ask while I endeavour to fix the mess you’ve made.” That was really a little unfair on a human girl who likely knew nothing about the Fae, but Inés had a finite store of patience for anyone who had no power to impress her.
Ameena crossed her arms and glared at her, which Inés admired her for. She wasn’t easily bullied, that was something. “Well, excuse me if I was unable to hop on my broomstick and help myself to the local pharmacy. I had well water, his shirt, and a bottle of Jack Daniels. It was the best I could do.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Inés gave her a sweet smile and shooed her away. Looking back, she saw Bram pinching the bridge of his nose and no doubt ruing his offer to owe her a favour. She smiled inwardly. It was far too late now for regrets.
The Darkest Night Page 10