by Anya Bast
The merry sound of Niall’s laughter filled the air.
With a sharp shake of his head, he flipped his hair back and tried to get the animosity out of his eyes. It was hard, considering who her father was. She’d been raised to hate the fae, to want to keep them imprisoned. It was difficult not to feel anger toward her, even though he’d essentially enslaved her.
Guilt flickered.
After all, he’d pulled her from her life, dragged her all the way across the country, and eradicated most of her free will.
His tongue snaked out to taste blood on his lip. “I guess I deserved that.”
She raised her chin, though fear lit her eyes. Some people cowered when they were terrified, other people punched. He was pleased to find that Charlotte was a puncher. She would need strength for what was to come. She cradled her fist in her opposite hand. “You sure did. A whole lot more, too.” She dropped her hand to her side and adopted a challenging body posture, looking ready to leap at him and tear him limb from limb.
He grinned, and it cost him. Pain shot through his mouth and he winced. He took her in from head to toe. Black hair, small, curvy. Glasses on the bridge of her narrow nose and black slashes of eyebrows above them. Freckles across her cheeks. She wore little makeup, but she had beautiful skin and didn’t need it. Pretty hazel eyes. Nice mouth. A seriously dowdy dresser—as though afraid someone might notice her, or, heaven forbid, find her attractive. From the way she dressed he guessed that humans must completely underestimate her, but there was steel in her. Not many in this world dared to hit him.
Of course, that just proved she didn’t know him very well.
She hadn’t looked like an undersexed multiple cat owner in their shared dream. That was typical, of course. Humans in dreams tended to appear as they saw themselves in their heads, or as they wished they were, or sometimes as a representation of their innermost selves. In her case, he presumed her dream self was the latter, considering the hellcat way she was acting right now. Maybe extreme anger and fear had brought it out of her. This behavior was incongruous with her appearance and everything he knew about her.
Interesting.
In the binding dream he’d initiated with her, her hair had been loose and a little longer. She hadn’t worn her glasses and her eyes had been a beautiful hazel that had alternately looked green or brown, flecked with amber. She’d worn light makeup that had made the most of her lovely skin and full lips. The clothes she’d worn—for the short amount of time she’d been wearing them—had been far less drab than the ones she had on now. His mouth went dry at the memory.
He wiped away the last bit of blood. “Nice to meet you, Charlie.”
She frowned at him. “Who said you could call me Charlie?”
“You did. In the dream.” He paused, blinked slowly, and smiled. “Remember?”
She turned an interesting shade of red.
“We got close enough for nicknames.” His grin widened. It hurt, but it was worth it. “If you recall.”
“You bastard. You . . . you seduced me and then hijacked my will.” She stalked toward him. “You used my body and then bound me by some magick”—she said magick like someone might say vomit—“that may have cost me my career.” She poked her finger into his chest. “Not to mention you made me lie to the Phaendir and enter the one place in the world I never wanted to go.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up.” He grabbed her finger and used it to push away from her. “Except I never used your body. I’ve never even touched your body until now. All that was only in your head. It wasn’t real.”
“Semantics.”
“By the way, you were pretty willing to be seduced.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “It was only a dream!”
He stared at her for a pregnant moment, then winked and walked away. “Exactly.”
“The magick that binds me seems pretty real.”
He turned toward her and pointed. “That’s real as death and you can’t break it.”
Her jaw worked and her eyes snapped. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Opening his arms, he gave her a mocking half bow. “It’s my magick. I’m a dream wraith, among other things. I can enter people’s dreams, influence them, make the pretty into a nightmare or nightmares into the pretty.” He grinned. “But where’s the fun in that? I can even steal dreams if I choose.”
She paled. Her voice shook. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What did you mean, love?”
She stared at him, looking as though on the verge of tears. Even though he knew how much she hated him and his kind, he felt like an asshole for taunting her. What he’d done to her hadn’t been right.
But it had been the only option.
He hadn’t wanted to do it. He’d had magick enough to bind one person to him through a dream, only one. He’d been saving that magick for centuries, hoping to never have to use it. He had a right to feel grouchy, too.
Just then Niall cleared his throat. Kieran had forgotten he was even there. He set her suitcase down in the foyer. “The queen is going to want to see her.”
Kieran met Charlotte’s eyes with a small amount of satisfaction. No sense in cutting short the agony. She could wait a little longer to discover her purpose in being here. “All right. Let’s head up there.”
Charlotte’s eyes bulged and he could hear her breath catch from way across the room. “I haven’t slept in close to twenty-four hours. I need to rest, maybe take a shower—”
“Worried about your appearance before our queen?” Kieran lifted a brow. “I thought you hated the fae. Why would you feel the need to show respect to our monarch?”
Her hands twisted in front of her. “I don’t . . . hate the fae.”
“Really?” That was from Niall. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“We know about your father, Charlotte.” Kieran gave a slow blink of satisfaction. “We know you were raised with certain prejudices. Come on, admit it, you’re a bigot.”
“That’s such an ugly word.”
“An ugly word for an ugly thing, yes.”
“You’re not being fair. You don’t even know me.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a bigot. Just because my father is head of the HCIF doesn’t mean I hate the fae. I have a mind of my own.”
It was true that she was not active in the HCIF, but, by all accounts, she never seemed to turn down a fund-raiser when her father asked her to attend. “You don’t love them either.”
She gestured in frustration. “Well . . . should I? Look at the situation I’m in!”
Niall broke in. “I saw the way you froze when you were confronted with the red cap at the gate and the goblin at the Black Tower. We scare the snot out of you.”
She put her hand on her hip and glared at Niall. “Is there any particular reason you shouldn’t?”
Kieran shifted, growing impatient. “Don’t worry; we’re not going to feed you to Queen Aislinn.” He winked at her. “She’s a vegetarian.”
“That’s so comforting.”
He pushed past her and walked out into the corridor after Niall. “Stop acting like a two-year-old and follow me. Maybe Queen Aislinn will tell you why you’re here.”
She hesitated a moment, then, leaving her suitcase in the foyer of his apartment, followed them.
CHARLOTTE told herself not to be intimidated by these fae or their pretend queen, but it was much harder than she’d anticipated. Especially when she entered the royal receiving room and met Queen Aislinn.
It wasn’t that the queen was imposing. In fact, aside from her formal attire, she seemed very accessible, with a pretty face and warm smile. She sat in a well-to-do rose and white living room with a cozy fire burning in an enormous creek stone fireplace that stretched all the way into the vaulted ceiling of the room.
The queen sat in a comfortable-looking white chair, her husband, Gabriel Mac Braire, sitting next to her in a similar one. She smiled warmly as Charlotte, N
iall, and Kieran entered the room, though her handsome husband’s face remained stony.
Charlotte prided herself on not watching Faemous or being privy to much of the fanatical information about the fae royalty. However, it was impossible not to know a little of it. It filtered through human culture and was imbibed almost through osmosis. So she knew the queen’s story and it was, admittedly, a compelling one. Queen Aislinn had spent her life in the Seelie Court, keeping the fact she was Unseelie a secret in order to spare her mother embarrassment. Her biological father had been the Shadow King himself.
When the Shadow King had discovered Aislinn was his daughter, he’d feared her, knowing she was the rightful heir to his throne. So he’d had an incubus—the man who was now her husband—seduce her to the dark side. The Shadow King had intended to kill her, in fact had planned to eradicate her very soul, but his plan had backfired when the incubus had fallen in love with her. Together they’d defeated the Shadow King and Aislinn had taken the Unseelie Throne. Something, of course, she’d had no intention of ever doing.
In the end, the Shadow King had brought upon himself the very thing he’d meant to avoid. The story was almost poetic.
“Come in.” Queen Aislinn motioned to her. “You don’t need to be afraid of us.”
Yeah, right. Charlotte lingered in the small foyer for a little longer, then stepped into the room and took a seat—the chair farthest from Kieran. She did not bow to Aislinn. After all, she wasn’t her queen.
Charlotte’s gaze rested on the tattoo of the Shadow Amulet around Aislinn’s throat. She knew that the amulet was an actual physical object, becoming solid at the wearer’s death. When passed to the new recipient, it sank into the body, leaving the tattoo behind. It imbued the wearer with powerful magicks, making the royal the strongest fae in the court.
The queen looked pointedly at Kieran’s split lip. “What happened?”
Kieran’s jaw locked and his gaze flicked to Charlotte.
The queen’s silver blond brows rose. “Ah.”
Charlotte folded her hands in her lap and shot a poisonous look at Kieran. “I would appreciate it if someone would tell me why I’m in this godforsaken place with you people.”
The entire room went silent and an icy sensation stole over her. For a moment she imagined the windows had actually rimed with frost. She glanced at the queen, who wore a frigid little smile.
Magick? She shuddered.
She knew that the Summer Queen, ruler of the Seelie Tuatha Dé Danann, possessed magick that sometimes spilled through her emotions. Perhaps that was the way it worked with the Shadow Queen, too.
The queen drew a slow breath, as though trying to gather her patience. “You know what the bosca fadbh is, I presume?”
“A puzzle box consisting of three pieces. Once joined, it acts as a key to open the back of the Book of Bindings and gives the fae access to magick that could possibly break the warding around Piefferburg and set you all free. You’d have to live in a cave not to know what it is.”
She nodded. “Your family has quite the history with the fae, Miss Bennett. A history with the bosca fadbh as well.” She paused. “Did you know that?”
Charlotte frowned. She was aware of her family’s twisted past with the fae. It was a source of great shame for them. “The bosca fadbh? No.”
“You haven’t heard any family stories? Something passed down from generation to generation? It would have been on your mother’s side.”
“My mother’s side?” Way to hit a sore spot with her. She shifted impatiently. “There are plenty of family stories, but nothing about the bosca fadbh. I’ve been told the fae systematically targeted my father’s genetic line almost to extinction before Piefferburg was created. Please, can someone tell me what I have to do with any of this? I’m an accounting executive from Portland, Oregon. I’m not fae-struck. Hell, I never even watch Faemous. I never asked for any of this, never wanted it. My life should have nothing to do with yours. Just let me go.”
The queen smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen.”
Icy fingers of dread clenched around her spine. For a moment her anger faded to despair and she let her gaze drop into her lap.
“You’re our only hope, Charlotte Lillian Bennett,” she continued. “You’re going to have to stay here with us until we can figure out a way to unlock the memories of your ancestors.”
“Memories of my ancestors?” Her head jerked up. “What do you mean?”
The queen pursed her lips, her brow knitting. “I mean that you carry memories in your bloodline, in your maternal memory. Somewhere in the depths of your genetic material is the key, possibly, to the location of the third and final piece of the bosca fadbh.”
“That’s impossible,” she breathed, her hands curling around the armrests of the chair.
The king’s sensual lips curled in a mirthless smile. “You’re in Piefferburg now. Under the faery mound. In the hollow hills.” His smile widened. “Anything is possible.”
“How long is this expected to take?” She crossed her arms over her chest, tapped her foot, and tried desperately not to ask will it hurt and will I survive it? She was not going to roll over and show these people her tender parts.
“We don’t know.” The queen smiled gently. “Perhaps you can take this opportunity to open your eyes to us. Maybe you’ll see we’re not that bad.”
She snorted. Not that it was funny—none of this was even remotely funny. Still, it was either laugh or dart across the room and attempt regicide or queenicide or whatever the term was for killing a queen. She gave Aislinn a withering look. “Please. How can you even say that after what you’ve done to me?”
“We are truly sorry it has to be this way and will find a way to compensate you for it.”
“You can never make this up to me.”
“We’ve already helped arrange things with your employer. The Piefferburg Business Council is aware of what we’ve done and has called your boss, telling him they’ve summoned you. In fact, it should be great for your career, since the business council is making it very clear that no one but you will do for the job.” The queen nodded her head at Charlotte’s enemy. “You’ll be staying with Kieran until we can get the details figured out.”
She sucked in a breath and bolted to her feet. “No. No way.” She pointed at Kieran. “There’s no way on this planet that I’m staying anywhere near that man, let alone in the same apartment. You can pull me out of my life, force me to come here, endanger my career, but you’re not making me spend any more time with him.”
The room erupted into verbal chaos, but she wasn’t listening to any of them. She worked her jaw, feeling for the tight tether she’d had around her mind for the last twenty-four hours. What was it that Niall had said? Once she came face-to-face with Kieran the compulsion part of the bond would go poof? Seems it had, since she’d been able to punch him.
“In fact,” she announced. “I’m not staying here another minute. I’m out of here and you”—she glared at Kieran—“can’t stop me.” She whirled and went for the door.
Niall immediately shot up from his place and tried to block her way, but she pushed past him.
“Let her go,” she heard Kieran say lazily. “She won’t get far.”
FIVE
HER steps were light, almost euphoric, on the slick, polished marble floors of the Black Tower. Remembering where Kieran’s apartment was because of those creepy markings on the door, she ducked in and retrieved her suitcase. Apparently no one bothered to lock their homes here. She didn’t want to leave anything of herself behind—not even quickly purchased clothing and toiletries from Walmart.
She saw no one as she sped along the corridor toward a door at the end, hopefully one that would lead her out of this madhouse. If she could find her way back to the gates, she could make it to the Phaendir and be saved.
The door opened into what appeared to be a tall, spiraling staircase. Statues of men, women, and . . . well, creature
s stood in dimly lit alcoves. In fact, the whole staircase was dark. Her foot hesitated on the first step, but she couldn’t retreat now. Kieran’s words rang in her head, She won’t get far.
Oh, yeah? Watch this. She started down the stairs, suitcase in hand. Her footsteps echoed as she pounded her way into the semidarkness. The suitcase got heavier with every step, but her resolve remained strong.
It was an educated guess that she would find a way out of the Black Tower when she reached the bottom, since she’d seen the four corner towers when she’d pulled up to the massive building. Indeed, judging by the view from a small window near a heavy wooden door many flights down, she’d guessed right. An exit. Thank God.
Pausing with her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the handle, she peered up the staircase, brow crinkling. Why hadn’t they come after her? Apparently she was pretty important to their plans, so it seemed unlikely they’d just let her walk away. Yet, here she was, walking away.
With a shrug, she opened the door.
“Oh, good, a dark alley,” she muttered. It was still afternoon, but, as she peered up into the sky, she saw that the storm that had been threatening all morning was just starting to get revved up. “And rain. Fabulous.”
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. She was going to make Kieran eat his words. She stepped into the alley, letting the door close behind her. She stood for a moment in the cloud-shaded murk. The alley nestled at the foot of the Black Tower. The tower’s heavy, smooth quartz walls rose on her right and a brick wall rose on the left, Dumpsters, doors, and barred windows scattered the stretch to the street.
Something made a low scratching sound and she froze. A thin cry went up from somewhere close and she whirled, her hands finding and yanking down on the door handle to go back into the tower. Locked.
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Just fine. Nothing to be afraid of.” Then she headed down the alley. Fast. There was only one direction to go, the alley dead-ending at the foot of the Black Tower. The wheels of her suitcase made a comfortingly mundane sound on the pavement. A sound like they would make anywhere—Portland, Chicago, New York . . . Piefferburg City.