If he kept this shit up she was going to kill him and take matters into her own hands.
He laughed as if he read the threat and was amused by it. “Do you want to come, my dear?”
She whimpered, incapable of speech.
“Then say you are mine.”
“Robin…” How could he even ask that? She’d been his since she was a child.
“Say it, Michaela.”
Ecstasy beckoned, blurring her vision. She licked her lips, wanting another taste of him. “Yours. I’m yours, Robin.”
“Yes.” The hissed word seemed to release something inside him. Now the pounding she’d expected earlier began as Robin thrust into her over and over. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was so loud she was surprised it didn’t wake the neighbors.
“Yours, all yours, fuck me, please, God.” She was babbling, begging, so ready to explode she was near tears.
“Now, my dear. Fall. I will catch you, always.”
Michaela lost breath, sight, all sensation but the one rocketing through her as Robin brought her to one of the most explosive orgasms she’d ever had in her life. His muttered curse, in a language she didn’t recognize, barely registered.
“Robin.”
She wanted to cradle him close, feel slick, wet skin against her own, breathe in the perfume of his hair. She’d waited so long for this moment, for him to come to her, claim her. Make her his in every way that counted.
She’d waited all her life for him, and he’d finally come.
What she got was an armful of pillow, and a body throbbing from a dream of an orgasm that destroyed any sensation she’d ever experienced while awake.
Fuck. If just the dream of Robin could do that…
Shit. She rubbed her thighs together, relishing the ache. No real man could live up to the dreams she had of Robin Goodfellow, not even the beautiful Ringo. The moment Ringo morphed into Robin, she should have realized what was really going on.
She giggled into the pillow she cradled it close. Still, that had been one hell of a ride, hadn’t it?
Robin Goodfellow sat straight up in bed, his silk sheets soaked in sweat and come. He bent over, still painfully aroused by the perfect dream he’d had of Michaela. The urge to go to her, to claim what was so obviously his, nearly overwhelmed his common sense.
He slid out of bed and headed for the shower, too excited to sleep any further. In a matter of hours he would be with his truebond again. He ran his fingers over the crescent marks and grinned. He stared at his disheveled reflection in the mirror, his eyes flashing from blue and green. The red crescents of her nails still marked his skin, and Robin willed them not to heal. She’d marked him in her human way, and he relished it.
Let the Fear Dearc try to lay his false claim. Michaela had declared that she was his, and Robin was holding her to it.
Make no mistake. Michaela will be mine.
It couldn’t be soon enough.
Chapter Twelve
“Mm. Pancakes.” Michaela licked syrup off her fork and Robin suppressed a shudder. He wanted to feel that tongue on his flesh, tasting him as she did the sweet treat. “These are so good. I don’t get to eat them often enough.”
Robin titled his head. “Why not?”
“Too damn busy.” She grinned. “The con is a semi-vacation for me. Between working at the hospital, volunteering at the soup kitchen, and my weekend hobbies, I don’t have time to indulge in leisurely breakfasts.”
Robin’s brows rose practically into his hairline. “Soup kitchen?”
Her fork paused. “I didn’t tell you about that?
“No. You did not.” Yet another sign of his bondmate’s generous spirit…and desire for an early grave. Did she not know how dangerous such places were?
“Oh.” She shrugged as if it was nothing, but her tense posture gave her away. She was worried how he would react, and well she should be. “I volunteer at the soup kitchen twice a week.”
He bit back his natural reaction, the one that said he should simply spirit her away, deposit her on Oberon’s doorstep and leave her there until the Christian’s second coming. The woman’s disregard for her own safety was going to give him gray hairs. “Have there been any incidents there?” If so, Robin would send someone in her stead.
He admired her desire to help, he truly did. But there were other ways to handle it that wouldn’t send him to an early grave.
“Not really.” She giggled. “We did have one guy, though, that smelled kind of like Taco Bell and the city dump had an illegitimate child. Does that count?”
Robin smiled. Michaela had a certain way with words. “I’ve smelled worse.”
“What could be worse than that?” Michaela rested her chin on her hand, gazing at him as if he held all the answers in the universe, and all of them were put there to amuse the two of them.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Aw, c’mon. That’s not fair. You brought it up.”
“Do you truly wish to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I? So? Tell me.”
Robin tsk’d. “Paris during high summer.”
She pouted. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“Have you ever been to Paris when it’s exceptionally hot? They love their dogs, take them everywhere. And those pretty poodles need to go, as it were. So they do. Everywhere.” He shuddered in disgust. He’d tossed out more than one pair of boots thanks to Parisian dogs, unable to bring himself to clean the mess up. “I don’t think there’s a curb law in Paris. If there is, the Parisians ignore it.”
She bit her lip.
“Then there is the overwhelming stench of body odor. Climb onto any train or bus, and you are certain to catch a good, strong whiff of eau de Parisian. Yet they make some of the best soaps in the world. It’s like visiting a farmer who refuses to eat produce. And the public restrooms not only charge you for use but are rarely clean. Some are downright hazardous.”
“But you always hear about how beautiful Paris is.” Her moue of disappointment was adorable.
“It is one of the most glorious cities in the world, have no doubt of that. Someday I may take you there, show you the Eiffel Tower at night, glittering against the dark backdrop of the sky. Or the Arc de Triomphe, where you can look out and see the glittering La Grande Arche de la Défense. You would love the Musée du Louvre, with its rich history and fantastic sculpture.”
“I’ve always wanted to see the Winged Victory of Samothrace.”
She spoke so wistfully he would see to it that she got her wish. “And so you shall, some day.”
“So, you speak French?”
He picked up her free hand and kissed her palm, his gaze never leaving her. The faint hint of maple syrup on her skin nearly overcame her intoxicating scent. “Vous êtes ma belle dame.”
She swallowed so hard it was visible. Her cheeks flushed beautifully. His truebond liked to hear him speak in French.
“Je vais te poser tu sur un lit de pétales de roses et de faire l'amour avec tu toute la nuit.”
She squeaked.
Dear gods, she really would be the death of him. Lust and affection were riding him hard, demanding he leave this house of pancakes and end both their misery in his bed. “Did you understand what I just said?”
“Not one single word. But it sounded wonderful.” She sighed and batted her lashes at him, the little minx. “Tell me more about my eyes.”
He laughed wickedly, delighted when she shivered. “Ton regard a volé mon âme.”
She licked her lips. “Bad, bad man. I knew it the moment I met you.”
It wasn’t her eyes he was interested in. “Je voudrais avoir ta cœur, ma chère.”
She wagged her finger at him. The expression of wanton delight had him gesturing for the waitress. “You’re evil.”
He cocked one brow. She had no idea.
She threw back her head and laughed. “I knew it! Be nice, Ringo.”
That name jolted him. He wanted
to hear Robin drip from her lips, to hear her moaning it, screaming it, as she had in their dream. Ringo was the lie. He wanted her to have the truth. All of it. And wasn’t that a frightening thing to contemplate? The only ones who knew the whole truth of the Hob were Oberon, his father, brother, king and friend; and Ruby Dunne, who’d shown him that maybe he could show himself for who he truly was yet still be loved.
Anyone else who saw him in his true form died. He prayed to the gods that Michaela would be like Ruby, loving him despite what he was.
“Hey. Is everything all right?”
“Why do you ask?” He didn’t think his expression had slipped.
“You spaced out on me, and your eyes went from brown to blue, but your expression was pretty sad.”
He smiled, hiding his shock. When had his eyes slipped completely to blue? That was unacceptable. His disguise would keep them both alive. “I’m fine, my dear, but I fear our pancakes are not.” He looked down at the soggy–sweet mess on his plate. “Alas, there is no resurrecting them from syrupy death.”
She cupped her hands in front of her mouth and tooted “Taps”. “Good-bye, pancakes. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten. At least your death was a delicious one.”
When she saluted her plate he grinned, letting go of his fear. She would either accept him, or not. Either way, he would court her until he had her in his home, his bed. His life. “Indeed.”
When it was time to return to the con for the day, Robin found himself strangely reluctant. He did not want to let Michaela out of his sight even for a moment. The thought of her wandering around a hotel filled with Black Court fae had his heart in his throat. “You will be careful.”
The command came out before he could censor it, but he doubted he would have in any event. She needed to take better care for herself.
She shot him a look, but nodded. “Aye aye, captain.” She saluted him the way she had the soggy pancakes, crisply but with an edge of laughter.
“Hmph.” Robin took her precious face between his hands. She was so delicate, so fragile. What was he to do? Her life was measured in seconds compared to his. Would his immortality become hers when he claimed her?
Could he claim her? He was no Sidhe, nor dragon. Yet the bond worked even for vampires, fae created from humans, so perhaps there was a way he could—
“Earth to Ringo, come in, Ringo.”
Yes. He could get Jaden to convert her. That would work. Then, if he couldn’t bind her himself, her vampiric bond would work, making them one.
“Screw it. I’m just going to be late.”
Soft, sweet lips touched his, licked the seams of his closed mouth, demanding entrance.
Robin took over the kiss, closing his eyes and savoring the sweetness of his bondmate mixed with maple syrup and early morning. He took his time, tasting her thoroughly, in no rush to release her into the convention without him at her side, keeping her safe.
He’d never met a woman he wanted to kiss for the rest of eternity. He’d happily keep their lips bound together. The world, the Court, not even Oberon meant a fraction to him of what Michaela did.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close, and Robin vowed to do everything in his power to keep her there.
“You summoned me, my lord?”
Oberon sipped his wine, refusing to turn from the window to greet her. More than once she’d managed to catch him off guard. How she snuck past his guards, his Blades and his Majordomo, Harold, he had no idea. The house sprite should have detected her presence immediately, but she’d scared Harold on more than one occasion by greeting the brownie from behind.
He would never tell the brownie this, but it was funny as hell.
“Indeed.” Oberon placed the glass down on the table and turned to greet the only woman who still had the power to unnerve him.
The Seer.
She looked as fragile as she always did. Her Japanese heritage was all over her. With her almond–shaped eyes and small nose, she looked like an anime doll brought to life. She was barely five feet tall, and so dainty, a stiff breeze could knock her over. She shared the same full lips and golden skin as her daughter, but where Akane’s unusual eyes held a golden star in the center of the left one, the Seer’s eyes were a pale jade green, with a silver star in the center of each.
Those stars were the sign of a true Seer, marking both mother and daughter as having the Sight. But where Akane could only see events that were currently occurring, the Seer could peer into the past, present or future with impunity. And unlike Shane Dunne, her predictions always came true. They weren’t possibilities.
They were definites.
Hence why, more than once, Oberon had offered her the protection of the Gray Court. Both Gloriana and Titannia would kill to have the Seer under their thumb, but the Seer avoided all of that by declaring herself completely neutral. She would dispense prophecy to all three Courts equally, without regard for good or evil.
It would, eventually, get her killed, but as she liked to tell him when he expressed his concern, “It will not be today.”
Oberon had never seen the Seer when her Seeming was wrapped around her. Those glittering, gem–colored eyes were front and center, her dark haired, golden beauty framed by the white, hooded dress she always wore. Mystic topaz jewelry, set in silver, was the only other color on her.
“I need you to tell me if what Robin is hiding from me is a danger to either myself or the Court.”
“Which Court, my liege?”
Oberon frowned. The silver stars had widened, a sign she was using her power. Did that mean Robin’s secret could threaten one of the other Courts? “The Gray.”
She took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, cleansing exhale. The silver stars nearly swallowed the green, leaving only a strange accent around them, like the center of a Christmas ornament. “Heart and soul return to thee when Oberon goes into the sea.”
Oberon blinked. Maybe he should have called Shane Dunne. “I…see.”
She bowed. “My liege.”
“Wait. I understand you can’t tell me exactly what that means, but—”
“Shane Dunne has some of the answers you seek. I am truly sorry, but the rest must be revealed in time. But know this…” The green disappeared completely, leaving behind pure metallic silver. “If you do not find the loop in the hole, and your destiny escapes your grasp, the Gray Court will fall.” She smiled, and Oberon’s eyes narrowed. It was never a good thing when the Seer smiled. “On a side note, Robin has found his truebond. And she is human.”
Oberon shivered as fear filled him. If Robin had found his truebond, then not only would the mission be abandoned but the woman would be in danger. She would be seen as a weakness by every Black Court fae at the conference.
She would be eaten alive, and Robin, in his grief, would destroy the world.
The Seer bowed to him. “Pleasant dreams, my king.”
Oberon barely nodded as the Seer left the room. He picked up the phone and dialed Harold. “Get me Shane Dunne. I want him in my office five minutes ago.” Wait. “Pleasant dreams?” What was that supposed to mean?
“You rang?” Shane Dunne grunted as his mate elbowed him in the side. “Your Majesty?” He hauled his tiny bondmate close. “Was that supposed to hurt?”
Akane Russo rolled her eyes as her bondmate dragged her into the room. “Behave, Jethro.”
Shane gave her the biggest, stupidest grin Oberon had ever seen. “Sure thang, Miz Akane.”
Oberon sighed. It was going to be one of those days. “I need to talk to you about some things the Seer told me.”
Both Akane and Shane sprang to attention, each in their own way. While Shane still lounged about, his mate close to his side, those blue eyes sharpened, became more focused. The star in Akane’s eye twitched, and her shoulders straightened. Robin’s Blade was ready for action.
“First things first. The Seer had some words for me that I need clarifying, and she told me you could do so.”
/> “Hit me.”
Oberon was tempted to do so. “Heart and soul return to thee when Oberon goes into the sea. Also, if I do not find the loop in the hole, and destiny escapes my grasp, the Gray Court will fall.”
The two exchanged an enigmatic glance. “I’m not sure you want the answer.”
“Why is that?”
Shane gave him a look more direct than any had dared since Robin. “Tunguska.”
“That is not an option.” Never again would he trust a woman with his heart.
Shane shrugged. “Like I said. Next question.”
Oberon took a deep, cleansing breath. “And if I ignore the warning?”
Shane whistled, and Harold wheeled in a cart. On top was something covered in dark velvet cloth. “Want to see?”
“Do you have both outcomes?”
Shane nodded. “Which one do you want to see first?”
“If I let destiny slip.”
Shane pulled away one of the velvet cloths. There, done in nearly black glass, was Oberon’s face. His fanged face. “She wins.”
Shane nodded. No one needed to spell out who she was. Titannia would somehow get to Oberon, change him into a dark, loathsome creature who would destroy the world on her command. And Robin would follow where he led, or die trying to stop him.
“Show me the other.” The outcome he wanted least of all, but might stop Titannia in her tracks.
“As you wish.” Shane lifted the second cloth.
It was magnificent, but whereas the last sculpture sent shivers down his spine this one evoked a sense of loss and loneliness. A lone figure stood in shining silver, head bowed, shoulders bent. Flowing down its back, a long sweep of metal he presumed to be the figure’s hair crossed over the figure until the tips blended into glass and metal waves. The “foam” of the broken waves brushed the feet of the figure, and how Shane had gotten that effect he had no idea. The figure’s features were blurred, but even without them was obvious something dear had been lost, maybe never to be found again. One glistening hand reached toward the waves, either tossing something away or summoning something back.
The Hob (The Gray Court 4) Page 11