Hearts & Wishes

by Shiloh Walker

  Ease it on her sleek, sexy body. Ease it between her warm thighs, in the strength of her arms.

  Happy…he’d seen her happy once in all the time they’d spent together. Even the second time he’d made love to her, he couldn’t really say she’d been happy. Oh, she’d loved it. He’d seen to that. But sex didn’t dispel misery.

  A cool wind whistled through the air, whipping his hair back from his face and washing away the stink of civilization. Lifting his face to it, he breathed it in, closed his eyes. Reached out—searching, hoping.

  But there was nothing.

  Slowly, he turned back and studied the lavish hotel room. He’d been at the Peabody for two days and it had been a waste of those two days. Two miserable days.

  The mortal holiday of Valentine’s Day was just a few days away and the hotel was damn near packed with couples sneaking in a romantic little getaway.

  Rhys wasn’t the kind of man to shy away from romance. He loved wining and dining a woman, coaxing her into bed and spending hours wrapped in soft, strong arms.

  Mortal or elf, he’d never cared because the woman wouldn’t matter to him once he left her. Romancing a woman made her softer, made her so much more receptive and eager.

  But now all those romantic gestures that he’d once used so casually dug at him. He saw men giving flowers and gifts and he realized that Holly hadn’t ever had that. Women got that soft, misty look in their eyes and pressed up against their lovers, with kisses and promises of more to come. He hadn’t given Holly a damn bit of romance.

  What had come so easily to him had escaped him with Holly, with the one woman who really mattered to him beyond the bedding.

  “That will change,” he promised himself quietly, crossing the room to drop down on the bed. When he found Holly, he’d show her all the romance she deserved, shower her with the kind of gifts a man gave his lover and he’d use soft touches and kisses instead of harsh, demanding greed.

  His mouth twisted in a grimace and he knew that he might well be fooling himself. He still hadn’t decided what he was going to do, whether he’d return her to the Reach or shelter her from whatever her father planned to do.

  None of it would happen here, though. It was time to leave.

  Come morning, he would let his magic carry him somewhere else and perhaps, with a hope and a prayer, he would find her.

  But deep inside, Rhys was losing hope. He wouldn’t acknowledge it yet but when it was dark and still and quiet and the loneliness and worry wrapped him in their grip, he couldn’t completely hide from it.

  As he lay down on the bed, dread filled him.

  He needed sleep. Needed to rest his body and his senses so he’d be better able to face another day of searching. But he dreaded closing his eyes, because that was when the fear, the worry and the need was the strongest.

  “Where are you, precious?” he whispered to the empty room.

  But there was no answer and as he slid into sleep, fear chased him.

  * * * * *

  True fear was cold.

  Holly, though she wasn’t as indifferent to the temperatures as the full-blooded elves were, rarely got cold unless she ventured out of the environome.

  Even then, provided she dressed adequately, the harsh polar temperatures weren’t anything she couldn’t handle. At least for a little while.

  But this was a different kind of cold—this fear.

  Shortly after she’d drifted to sleep, something had brought her to wakefulness, some deep-seated knowledge of a predator’s presence. Holly had come awake just as the searcher began to search again.

  Searching for what, Holly really did not know—or perhaps she did, on some level. She just didn’t want to acknowledge it. She hadn’t slipped away from home to fall prey to somebody who felt as dirty, as ugly and twisted, as this searcher did. Like a foul smell, when he reached out and searched, the blackness of his soul fouled the air, warning anybody with a hint of power inside them.

  Her instincts whispered an ugly tune and she tried unsuccessfully to block the knowledge that danced at the back of her mind.

  You know what he’s looking for.

  Yeah. She did.

  He was looking for her—or more specifically, her magic. Whoever it was, his touch was unfamiliar to her, which meant he likely didn’t know her either. But something kept pulling his focus back to her and she suspected it was her magic.

  But stubborn pride wouldn’t let her admit it. Of course, that admission would be tantamount to admitting that she’d been wrong to leave the safety of the Reach.

  Being wrong meant that she’d have to swallow her pride and ask for help before she landed her butt in hot water. Asking for help… Not until I have no choice.

  But as the watcher’s stained presence drew closer and closer, darkening and fouling the air, Holly huddled back in her chair with her knees pressed to her chest and fear thick in her throat. If she hadn’t been afraid she’d alert the watcher’s presence to her own, she would have screamed out for help.

  Screamed for Rhys.

  Rhys. Even the thought of him settled her erratic heartbeat. Just a little. Just enough that she could take a deep breath and just enough that she could manage to breathe around the knot choking her.

  It edged closer and panic threatened to overwhelm her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she thought of Rhys. His hair, all the rich, dark gold silk of it. When it was freed from his queue, it hung down his back. His hands, so gentle, so strong, so very wicked, doing things to her body she’d read about but hadn’t tried. The power as he covered her and the sweet sensation of his lean body moving against hers, within hers. His eyes—that dark, vibrant green rimmed with gold. The deep rumble of his voice. She loved the sound of his voice. The memory of the past four years and those hours she’d spent training with him each day were the one thing she looked forward to.

  Summoning up the memory of him, she focused on Rhys and tried to ignore that eerie, crawling evil. As would a child who hid under the covers for fear of monsters under the bed, she tried to think about anything but the monster, though that threat and that fear lurked behind every thought.

  By the time it disappeared again, it was inching up on dawn and she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  There, dreams of Rhys waited.

  * * * * *

  He dreamed of her. It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt of Holly since she had left but this dream seemed different somehow. More real.

  She sat curled up in a chair by a huge window. Though the window was closed, he could hear the strains of loud music as he walked to her, and through the thin walls, he heard other people. One couple in the throes of sex, another in the midst of an argument. Faintly, the wail of a baby.

  Though his focus was on Holly, his mind ticked off the details of the room. It was second nature, cataloging every sight, every sound, every scent. There were roses in the room, their fragrance soft and delicate, almost overpowered by the stronger scents of food, people and the city. Loud music pounded and pulsed, mingling with loud, boisterous voices and laughter. As he passed by the window, he caught sight of a street that seemed vaguely familiar. It was near dawn, yet down in the streets, the party was still going strong. Some mortals looked to be just coming out to start their day, while others had to yet to finish up their night.

  And Holly slept on. Oblivious to him, to the noise, to the coming day. Brooding, he stood over the ridiculously ugly chair and stared down at her, hardly able to believe that she could be oblivious to him, even in dreams, when she had consumed his every waking and sleeping moment for the past month. No…longer.

  Behind him there was a narrow, rather uncomfortable-looking bed and he could smell the scent of her skin on the sheets, see bits and pieces of things she liked all over the room—a sign that she was settling in. Stacks of books, most of them new, were scattered throughout the room and on the back of the chair where she slept were several pieces of clothing, the tags still attached. The small dresser had a jumble of chang
e, loose bills, lipstick and brightly colored ropes of beads. Plastic, metallic-tinted beads. The sight of them tickled a memory at the back of his mind.

  Crouching by the chair, he reached out, half afraid to touch her for fear that the dream would shatter around him. Brushing his fingers down her cheek, he murmured, “Holly.”

  “Hmmm.” She turned her face into his hand, rubbed her cheek against his palm. But her eyes remained closed, her breathing soft and steady.

  Leaning in, he put his lips on level with her ear and whispered, “Holly.”

  “Hmm?” Shifting around, her lips brushed against his.

  Rhys swore.

  Her eyes flew wide as he wrapped his arms around her and jerked her out of the chair, pulling her in close against his body as he straightened. “Look at me, Holly,” he demanded, covering her mouth with his, forcing her to yield to him.

  So very real…he thought, a little dazed as she squirmed and wiggled against him until she could hook her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles at the small of his back. She wore nothing more than a T-shirt and a scrap of lace and silk, not much of a barrier at all. Separated by those thin barriers, he could feel the heated, wet silk of her pussy and he groaned into her mouth.

  Through the thin cotton of her T-shirt, he felt the soft weight of her breasts and the hard points of her nipples. Greedy for more, he tore his mouth away from hers and grabbed the neck of her shirt, splitting it down the middle. Holly blinked owlishly, staring at him with stunned, dark eyes. “Are you really here?”

  “No,” he muttered. “But I will be. I’m coming for you, Holly.” He took in the small, cluttered room with one quick glance. A few short steps had him standing behind the chair where Holly had been sleeping. Reaching behind him, he unhooked her ankles and ordered gruffly, “Stand up.”

  When her feet hit the floor, she swayed. Steadying her with his hands on her waist, he guided her body around and urged her torso down until she was bent over the chair, the high back supporting her weight. She wore a lacy black thong and Rhys found himself staring at the narrow strip of lace between the cheeks of her ass. Stroking a hand down the curve of her rump, he wedged a knee between her thighs, forcing her legs to widen. Cupping her wet heat in his hand, he bent over her, his hair falling down around them both.

  “Tell me where to find you, Holly,” he ordered. Tugging the lace aside, he pushed a finger inside her pussy.

  She moaned and jerked against his touch, her hips starting a quick, demanding little rhythm. Bracing his free hand on her lower back, he said, “Be still, Holly.” Pulling back, he circled the entrance of her sex with his fingertip and asked again, “Where are you?”

  No answer. Bending low over her, he caught her hair in his hand, tugged her head around until she met his gaze over her shoulder. She stared at him with wide, almost glassy eyes and when he repeated his question, all she did was blink—slowly, languidly and then she shoved her ass back against him.

  In a voice gone low and tight with need, he muttered, “Witch.” Without letting go of her hair, he pulled his fingers from her drenched pussy and tore at the button of his jeans, fighting to lower the zipper over his swollen dick. The cool touch of air on his cock was sweet agony. He closed the few scant inches that separated them, cuddled his cock against the soft curves of her ass. Her lids drifted low and she tried to roll her head back around.

  Tightening his hand in her hair, he tugged sharply. “Look at me,” he demanded. The thick, golden-tipped fringe of her lashes lifted and she stared up at him. Their gazes held as he grabbed his cock, angled his hips and then pressed against her.

  She resisted him. Swollen, slick and wet, the soft tissues of her pussy yielded almost reluctantly as he pushed inside, one slow inch at a time. Holly clenched down around him, moaned. As her lids started to droop low, he stilled. Bent down over her and growled into her ear, “Look at me, damn it. I want you to watch me while I fuck you…I want you to see what you do to me.”

  A soft, sexy whimper escaped her lips and involuntarily, she rocked her hips.

  But she opened her eyes and stared up at him, her head craned around, his hand still fisted in her hair. With that hand wrapped in her hair, the other low on her back and holding her hips steady, Holly felt totally surrounded by him, totally invaded and totally helpless. The thought of being helpless before Rhys was teasingly erotic, tauntingly seductive. She had so little control in her life, yet the thought of giving it up to Rhys had her burning hotter and hotter.

  A sharp stab of hunger pierced her and she clenched her muscles around his cock, trying to hold him inside her. But he withdrew slowly, pulling away one inch at a time until only the thick, fat head of his cock remained inside her. Under the fringe of her lashes, she stared at his face, his faintly golden skin gone ruddy, the green of his eyes darkened to near black. His lips parted as he started the slow, teasing possession of her body and the hungry, harsh sound he made left her dazed.

  He wanted her that much. He wanted her the same way she wanted him. Whimpering, she wiggled her hips and tried to ride his thick length, tried to take him deeper, faster.

  “You’re enough to try a saint,” Rhys swore. The hand in her hair tightened and the one on her spine shifted around to cup her hip, his fingers clenching down with bruising force. And then…he slammed into her.

  Deep and hard. Over and over, until she was crying out his name, over and over while he was growled hers with each demanding thrust. It started down deep in her belly, expanding until the need to come had overtaken her body, stretching her, possessing her…destroying her.

  His eyes burned into hers, a sexy, possessive snarl on his face as he stared at her.

  “Come for me, Holly,” he ordered harshly. “Come now.”

  The last word was harsh and he punctuated it with another near-brutal thrust of his hips. It should have hurt, the force with which he battered her, but instead pleasure went ricocheting through her, detonating within her.

  She started to scream—harsh, wordless screams—as the climax tore through her, hard and merciless. Above her, she heard him roar her name, and within her pussy she felt the hard, rhythmic pulsing of his cock as he came. Convulsively, she rocked and pumped and circled, riding her orgasm through to the very end. Briefly, she drifted off.

  And then she jerked awake and she was sitting in the hard, uncomfortable chair, still wearing her clothes, still alone, the aftershocks of climax still rippling through her.

  Chapter Five

  The whisper-soft touch of magic was so faint, Lain wasn’t sure if he’d truly felt it or not. The past four weeks, he’d been operating on a level so far beneath him, living as one of these sorry humans, unable to find the magic he needed to make his move.

  It couldn’t be his own magic. They’d use it to track him. But he would need a strong source and an expendable one. Well, whatever he found within the mortal world was expendable as far as Lain was concerned. Mortals weren’t worth the amount of oxygen their pitiful lungs required. If he could find a strong enough source among them, then he wouldn’t blink an eye over what he had to do.

  What he needed would most likely be fatal to any human, to most elves. As far as Lain was concerned, the fewer humans who inhabited this world the better. He had plans to eradicate the whole damn lot of them. It would take time but he was elvish. He had plenty of time.

  Lain would be patient and he would wait and try again.

  Damn the North Council. Nik and Rhys had moved too quickly and most of Lain’s resources were out of his reach. His men had been executed so swiftly, they hadn’t even been given the chance to bid their families goodbye. His holdings had been destroyed. Not claimed by the Council but destroyed.

  Elvin justice was swift and merciless. Lain and his men had undertaken their mission with their eyes open and their resolve firm. Knowing each day could be their last, they had faced the risks willingly. But willing or not, Lain was still furious.

  Executed like dogs, not allowed to bid th
eir families farewell, not even allowed to leave messages for their loved ones. Treated as the worst criminals, instead of devoted men and women who sought to do what was best for their race.

  All the years they had put into the mission, all the money, all the lives… He had no idea what his next step should be but until he managed to get Rhys and the Council’s men off his ass, he couldn’t even begin to formulate a new plan.

  And there would be a new plan. He hadn’t come this far to give up now. Getting the bloodhounds off his trail was going to take some doing though. Magic was too damn scarce in the mortal world but if he could find a source, he had a plan.

  One that would rattle them enough to get them off his trail long enough for him to regroup. He’d spent the past six weeks searching for a strong enough source with no luck.

  Until recently.

  Where she was, he didn’t know. Who she was, he didn’t know. But there was a woman out there with enough elvish blood, enough magic, that she would serve quite well.

  He just had to find her. She was close, bloody hell, she was so close that his skin practically crawled from the proximity of her power. But all his searching hadn’t shown him a damn thing. The girl had her power lashed down tight and no amount of searching had brought him any closer.

  Prowling the streets of the French Quarter, searching high and low, Lain examined every face, every aura and explored every last bit of energy. A few mortals with a bit of elvish blood but not enough to do him any good. None of them were her.

  None of them had strong enough blood in them and not a one of them was even aware of their ancestry, aware that they had descended from a divine race.