The very fact that he was losing his control did not bode well for the conference. The last time Robin had failed to rein in his anger…well. Scientists were still arguing over the cause of the 1908 explosion over the Tunguska region of Russia. They believed a meteor or comet fragment exploded roughly three miles above the spot that had been decimated.
They were wrong.
Robin hid his wince. What had happened at Tunguska had been unfortunate. He and Oberon had argued, and the result had the impact of roughly ten to fifteen megatons of TNT. Nothing had survived intact, something he mourned to this day. The fallout from that explosion had been seen around the world, causing strange lights that could be seen as far away as England. People there reported that it was bright enough to read the newspaper by. When an expedition was finally sent by the Russians in 1927, the pictures of the devastation had been humbling, even to one such as him. Oberon and Robin were usually careful to not allow their tempers to get the best of them. Tunguska was a vivid reminder of why.
The topic of a queen for his king was officially closed. Oberon would not budge, and Robin would no longer nudge, no matter how badly his king needed to get laid.
“At least the Seeming will take care of any curiosity about him.”
Robin growled. As if he cared that the gift of the gods would protect a redcap. While human medicine had advanced in leaps and bounds, it had not yet penetrated the Seeming. Fae, in their human form, appeared fully human even to the most advanced human instruments. Robin wasn’t certain how the gods had accomplished that feat, but not even he was brave enough to ask. He’d lived far too long, seen far too much to question the miracle that had been granted to the fae.
Robin took a deep breath to calm himself. He peered around, gratified to see no one had noticed his lapse. “Who is representing Gloriana?”
Kael pulled out his cell phone. “Lord Rudolph Adair, Lady Annabelle Beauchene, Lord Wesley Martel and Prince Gregory Yates, Evan’s older brother.”
“So the Adairs have sent one of their minor lords, but the Beauchene clan sent their Lady. Interesting.” Robin rubbed his chin. “I’m unfamiliar with the Martel clan representative.” Something that would soon be remedied. Robin quietly noted that each of the White Court delegates, other than Prince Gregory, was Sidhe, an oversight on Gloriana’s part. She relied too heavily on the children of the Tuatha Dè at times, a habit that would eventually cost her.
“He’s the youngest of the delegates on either side, a newcomer who has his uncle’s favor.”
And with the power vacuum left behind by the turn of the Malmaynes to the Black, the Adair, Beauchene and Martel Clans were poised to gain more prominence in the White. Interesting. Perhaps Gloriana was testing their mettle. “And the Black delegation?”
Kael frowned and scrolled down. “It looks like Lord Aaron Wyght, Lady Cecelia Malmayne—” and didn’t that name give Robin a start, “—Lawrence McNeil and…” Kael paused, then began cursing under his breath.
“Who?” Robin was curious. Facing a redcap hadn’t unsettled the pooka, but a name on his cell phone had him pale and swearing.
“Lord Raven MacSweeney.”
Robin gritted his teeth to keep his own curses from escaping. He’d had Blades who’d run afoul of Lord Raven MacSweeney, the Fear Dearc, though he himself had yet to meet the reclusive fae. It was said the man bore a striking resemblance to Titannia’s dark beauty and that his powers rivaled Robin’s. He held the power to summon ravens at will, using them to blind his enemies, thus earning the nickname the Raven Lord. Indeed, none knew for certain if Raven was truly his first name, or the name he’d chosen for himself.
No doubt the comparison to Robin was a result of the Dark Queen’s wish to mock him, but Robin had no choice but to take the reports of his Blades as truth.
“If he’s here, we’ve got problems.” Kael looked worried for the first time since Robin had met him. “He’ll use any perceived weakness against us.”
“Meaning Michaela.” Robin understood Kael’s unspoken message, but it was already too late. Robin’s actions had already marked the female, rendering her vulnerable. Too many had seen him save Michaela, a woman who had no power over him, from the redcaps. He wasn’t certain how many may have been Black Court, slipping away when the ambulance arrived.
Robin should have left her to her fate, saving his cover rather than her life, an act he’d been forced into countless times over the long centuries. This time he’d found himself unable to stand aside. He could not allow his bondmate to come to harm, not even on Oberon’s orders.
Michaela had needed him, and Robin had responded.
He’d have to see to it that she was protected at all costs. He could not afford to be distracted now, not with Evan’s life on the line.
Balls. This is going to get complicated. And when Oberon finds out… He shuddered. It did not bear thinking about.
“What do we do with her?” Kael smiled at the woman behind the registration desk.
“Name?” The tired-looking female smiled up at Kael. The boy was attractive. More than one female had turned her eye to him, and not a few males as well. If he wished, he could have his pick of the available and, possibly, the less than available.
“Kael Capall.”
Robin also gave his fake name. The two men were handed their passes and maps of the convention, passing numerous fake (and a surprising number of real) fae on their way to the room where the negotiations were to take place. “We place a guard on her.”
Akane might be tired of life in Nebraska with her mate. Perhaps he would call for her. She was one of his best Blades, and her unique clairvoyant powers would allow her to keep an eye on Michaela without having to be in the room with her. However, the young dragon was pregnant with her first child, and Robin was loathe to take her from her mate’s side. Akane would begin nesting soon, and Robin wished Shane joy in dealing with that.
Etienne would balk at guarding a human, even with direct orders from Robin. The Sidhe was becoming problematic, attempting to pick and choose his partners rather than work with the ones Robin gave him. Robin was going to have to deal with him soon, before he placed a “lesser” Blade in danger due to his prejudice. Too bad the Sidhe was a slick manipulator, one of the best at slipping into a subject’s mind and ferreting out his secrets without being caught.
Hell. Perhaps Robin should have taken him on this mission to keep an eye on the delegates. He was picky, but he was good.
That left Jaden, who was busy with his new clan and the repercussions of Duncan’s loss of the Malmaynes. The rest of his top agents were currently out on assignment and pulling undercover agents out of the Black or White Courts was not an option. “A Blade guard might attract more attention than we want to deal with.”
“But if the rumors are true, only a Blade can deal with MacSweeney.”
“Then a Blade shall deal with him.” Even if Robin had to guard her himself.
Michaela adjusted her wings and stepped up to the registration desk. She was so excited she could barely stop herself from bouncing.
“Name?”
“Michaela Exton.”
The woman handed over her badge with a smile and waved to the next person in line. Michaela started to move out of the way, eager to begin her day. She flipped through the convention booklet, scanning the list of workshops eagerly. She had tons of workshops she wanted to attend, especially that one with the author who wrote about—
Papers flew everywhere as Michaela ran into someone. “Oof.” Michaela stepped back and rubbed her nose. The dude had a seriously hard chest. “Owie.”
“Watch where you’re going.”
The angry male voice reminded her of someone. The tone, the cadence of the words was familiar somehow.
“I’m so sorry.” Michaela shot the man her best apologetic smile. Wow, another hottie. The dark-haired man, even with the scowl gracing his face, was dazzling. “Here, let me help you with that.” She got down on her knees and began g
athering pages, stunned at the beautiful drawings. “Oh, wow. These are really good.” The subject matter was a little macabre for her taste, but the pictures themselves were absolutely gorgeous. In one, a dark vampiress wept blood tears over her victim. In another, an army of fairies with black-on-black wings hovered over fields of blood red roses, bright silver swords shining in their hands. “Crap. You’re one of the fantasy artists for the con, aren’t you?”
The man blinked, looking shocked. “Uh—”
“An aspiring artist, then?” Michaela handled the papers with even more care. If the dark-haired man with the gorgeous blue eyes were truly a starving artist then she held not just his livelihood but all his hopes and dreams in her hands. “You shouldn’t have any trouble getting an agent with these. I mean, they’re some of the best I’ve ever seen.”
The man knelt, his expression still wary, but something dangerous glittered in those bright blue eyes. “You think so?”
“Yes, I do.” She picked up one of a hauntingly beautiful male, long silver hair nearly hiding his features. Mist rose around him in an icy aura that sent shivers down her spine. He looked both pissed and mournful at the same time. She got the feeling just looking at it that someone was about to get his or her ass seriously kicked. She held it up, careful not to crinkle the corners. “I could so see this on the cover of a fantasy book. Show this to an author and I bet they’ll have a story idea in their head in two seconds flat.”
The man smiled and Michaela shivered. Something wasn’t quite right with him, some deeply hidden…sadness? Anger? She couldn’t tell, but the gentle way he touched her hand as he took the pictures calmed her fears. Whoever he was, he meant her no harm. Michaela was certain of it, that odd sixth sense she relied on kicking in. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She frowned. Those long, slender artist’s fingers were damaged. She noticed some bruising on his knuckles, some dried blood. The wound was recent too, still oozing. She took hold of his hand and flexed his fingers, ignoring his attempts to pull his hand away. “Is there any pain when I do this?”
“It’s fine.” He tried once more to pull his hand away but Michaela wasn’t having any of it.
“I’m a nurse, so let me be the judge of that.” She tsk’d as she realized how he’d more than likely gotten those wounds. The knuckles were obviously swollen. “You shouldn’t be fighting. What if you permanently damaged your hands? What would you do if you couldn’t draw anymore? That would be a shame.” She stood and, still holding on to him, tugged him to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s get that cleaned up and make sure there’s no other damage.”
He was staring at her as if she were the strangest creature to ever walk the earth. “You’re not afraid of me.”
She glanced up at him in surprise. She tilted her head and studied him intently. None of the wariness she’d had when that big goon had assaulted her yesterday triggered with this man. If there had been even a hint of it she would have handed him his artwork and lost herself in the crowd. “Are you a psycho axe murderer?”
His lips curled with sardonic amusement. “Would I tell you if I was?”
Michaela laughed. Really, if Stella and Amanda could see her now they’d have a fucking conniption. Bad enough she’d trusted Ringo and Kael, and those two were neighbors. Neighbors who’d saved her from possible, no, probable, rape and murder. This man had a vibe similar to Ringo’s, so Michaela was going to trust her instincts and take care of him. “True. This is sort of the way Ted Bundy met women, isn’t it?”
The man shook his head. “You are far too trusting.”
“Funny, you’re not the only one to say that to me recently.”
“Oh?” His hand cupped her elbow and steered her out of the crush of people to a quiet corner. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m sorry. I’m Michaela.”
His eyes widened just a fraction before the pleasant smile returned. “Michaela. My name is Raven MacSweeney.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips delicately over the back. “It’s my pleasure to meet you.”
Oddly enough, the touch of Raven’s lips, while pleasant, didn’t send nearly the rush of want through her that the feel of Ringo’s lips had. Now there was a man who could kiss any part of her he wanted.
And he was real, unlike her dreams of Robin. She’d eventually have to give up her dream-man and find a real one, and Ringo was a delicious place to start. “A pleasure to meet you too.” She pulled her hand free and took hold of his once more. “Now, let’s see about those wounds of yours.”
“As you wish.”
From the sensuous smile on his face, Michaela bet he was willing to show her other places that hurt too. It was a shame, really. If Ringo had flirted with her the way Raven was, she’d already be in his room, checking out his etchings.
Ah, well. At least she’d made a new friend today. That was something, at least. As far as Michaela was concerned, you could never have too many friends.
Robin damn near tripped over Kael as the pooka stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to see what Kael was staring at and nearly growled out loud.
It was Michaela, her dark head bent over a strange fae’s hand. There was something about the dark-haired man with the vivid blue eyes that had Robin studying him closely. The aura of carefully banked danger was familiar to him. Robin took a deep breath, attempting to scent the male’s essence.
Before he could, Michaela moved, sending her essence his way. The sweetness of the human female nearly overwhelmed him. Somewhere in her deepest past, Michaela’s ancestors had played with the fae, borne children for them. What species of fae they might have been had been lost to time, as not even Robin could discern it beneath the overwhelming scent of her humanity. Perhaps Oberon could, given time. Even Robin did not know the full extent of his lord’s power, but he doubted such was beyond him.
The woman became more and more intriguing the closer he came to her.
However, her taste left something to be desired. Her strap-on wings were truly hideous. Where had the woman had found that particular shade of rotted pumpkin?
“Holy fuck.”
“Kael?”
Kael was pale, his breathing erratic. “That man holding hands with Michaela? That’s Raven MacSweeney.”
Robin’s head swiveled so fast his neck popped. “That’s the Fear Dearc?” Gods save me. The woman will be the death of me.
“How?”
Robin nodded, his gaze glued to Michaela. He understood what had gone unsaid. The woman had an uncanny knack for finding trouble. MacSweeney bent his head, listening intently to something Michaela said, a gentle expression on his face at odds with his ruthless reputation.
Robin blinked, nonplussed. If asked a question at that moment, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to give a coherent answer. She’d literally shocked him speechless.
Somehow, once again, she’d tamed a beast to her palm.
Intriguing.
“How does she do that?” Kael gasped like a landed fish. “It’s a wonder she’s survived this long.”
Robin growled as Michaela gifted the Fear Dearc with one of her sweet smiles. Amazingly, the Fear Dearc merely smiled back, speaking too softly to be heard over the crowd. Whatever he said caused Michaela to laugh, and that Robin did hear. The sound slithered through him, took up residence in his balls, hardened his cock.
Robin had never met anyone who had such an instant effect on him. And if the Fear Dearc didn’t get his slimy, Black Court hands off of her this instant Robin was going to explode.
Literally.
Fortunately for the Marriott, Michaela took a step back from the man. Perhaps she finally sensed the danger she was in. If so, he…
No. Robin was not that fortunate, was he? When she reached up and patted Raven’s cheek, every light bulb on the convention floor exploded in a shower of glittering, smoky glass. Gasps arose around him as the room went dark.
Well. If the Black Court delegates were unaware of his prese
nce before, they certainly knew of it now.
Kael sighed. “So much for a quiet entrance.”
“Come. We must get you to the conference room before the delegates arrive.” Robin hoped Kael would hear something, anything, from either side that would indicate Prince Evan’s whereabouts. That was the true mission.
Michaela was, may the gods help her, on her own.
For now.
Chapter Six
Lady Cecelia Malmayne sat, not a blonde hair out of place, between the Fear Dearc and Lord Wyght. McNeil, a grimace on his face at odds with his handsome, easygoing appearance, sat next to MacSweeney, their dark heads close as they conferred. Robin was surprised that an each uisge was part of the Black Court’s delegation. Their appetite was legendary. Placing them in close proximity to so many humans could lead to one hell of an incident.
The only saving grace was the lack of water. If this hotel had been on the waterfront, there would have been a bloodbath. Each uisges always took their prey to water, devouring them there and leaving nothing behind, not even bones. While the Delaware River was not that far away, he doubted the each uisge would put itself out, especially in a city as large as Philadelphia. To do so would to risk exposing them to the mortals that surrounded them. Not even the Black Court bitch would condone that.
Robin pulled back from the door before any of the delegates could see him. He might be wearing the guise of Ringo, but he was wary that some might still sense his power. Kael was already in place, once again disguised as a chair. The pert bottom of Lady Beauchene was currently gracing him, surely giving the fellow a thrill.
So far none of the delegates had indicated that they were aware of Robin’s or Kael’s presence, but he hardly expected them to do so. Each delegation chatted amongst themselves with false amity, patiently awaiting the arrival of the arbiter Oberon had sent.
He was not long in coming. Robin watched in shock as Lord Duncan Malmayne-Blackthorn sauntered toward the conference room, his golden good looks nearly eclipsing the red-haired female at his side. “I still think you should have remained in the room.”
The Hob (The Gray Court 4) Page 5