Seducing the Sun Fae

by Rebecca Rivard

  He stepped forward to take her hand. Electricity shot up her arm and she jerked but he firmed his grip. Not hurting her. Just letting her know he’d release her when he decided. Their eyes met, clashed. His nostrils flared.

  “Cleia?” Artan started forward, Grady on his heels.

  “I’m all right,” she snapped without taking her gaze from the man before her. Stars, the two of them acted as if she were a defenseless little girl, not the most powerful woman in the clan.

  The guards halted but remained where they were, midway between their bikes and her.

  The river man stared at her lips. It was as if he were tasting them; they tingled and ached for more. She moistened her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. He followed the motion with his gaze, then met her eyes again, his mouth curved in a knowing smile.

  A fine tremor fluttered up her spine. She had the eerie feeling that he saw through her glamour to the woman beneath. The real woman, the one she never allowed outsiders to see.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. She swallowed and repeated the question more forcefully. “Who are you?”

  He turned her hand in his. After that first jolt, his fingers were cool; his touch, like all the river people, as soothing as rain.

  “Dion,” he said in a low voice that slid over her skin like rich, raw silk. “Dion do Rio.”

  She tugged at her hand and this time he let it go.

  Shoving her hands in her pockets, she regarded the big, barefooted man, wondering if she were about to make a huge mistake. Certainly, Artan and Grady were glowering at him suspiciously, but they were from a family who’d guarded hers for centuries and, frankly, trusted almost no one.

  It had been a long time since a man’s touch had affected her so strongly…a very, very long time.

  She drew in a breath. “Well, Dion of the River, will you come with me? Of your own free will, you agree?”

  “Sim.”

  “Say it. Say you come of your own free will.”

  “Yes.” She watched as those firm lips spoke the words. “I come with you of my own free will.”

  Now Cleia moodily regarded the man at her feet. Outside there was a flash of lightning and the crash of thunder as the storm drew closer, but inside, the fada—Dion—seemed somehow diminished. What had changed? He’d seemed to have such potential, there on the narrow path, but now he seemed like just another of the many men who’d passed through her life.

  Ah, well. She’d enjoy him for a time anyway.

  She stifled a sigh and took another sip of wine.

  * * *

  Dion settled onto the bike’s pillion and placed his hands on the taut indent of Cleia’s waist.

  She was clever, he’d give her that.

  She lured a man with that seductive glamour—he’d sensed her turn up the power and had had to draw on his own strength to resist falling under her spell—and then she drew promises from the unlucky bastard’s own lips, binding him more tightly than if she’d had her surly blond guards wrap him in iron chains.

  But Dion, a powerful lord and alpha in his own right, wasn’t so easily bespelled. And wise to the tricks of the purebloods, he’d been careful to promise nothing but the truth. He was going with her of his own free will. What he planned to do with her once they were alone was something else altogether.

  She set her helmet on her head. This close he could see her bright hair was made up of strands of gold, platinum and copper, braided into a single gleaming plait. He nudged it out of the way and set his lips to the downy skin beneath. She stilled and then with a low laugh, put the bike in gear and roared off.

  They zoomed up a hill and he tightened his clasp on her, intensely aware of the lithe body between his thighs. The sun fae had a hot, fast metabolism; he could feel her heat through his jeans as if it were a physical touch. His muscles tightened and his cock, already half-hard, lengthened a bit more.

  He gritted his teeth and leaned into a curve as she accelerated into it with a dizzying nonchalance. He’d been surprised to see a fae on a motorcycle, but the metal frame was encased in plastic and she wore leather pants and gloves to further protect her skin from iron’s poisonous effects.

  She took another sharp curve and for a heart-stopping second they hung on the edge of a ravine with nothing before them but blue sky and a steep drop to the algae-covered boulders below.

  She tossed him a taunting glance. “Having fun?”

  He grinned back, enjoying himself more than he cared to admit. Like her, he preferred motorcycles to cars, and he could tell she was in complete control of the speeding machine. He placed his mouth against her velvety nape. This time he nipped it.

  “Faster,” he growled.

  She let out a delighted gurgle and opened up the throttle. “You asked for it.”

  His mouth took a feral curve. “I did, didn’t I?”

  They crossed the bridge over the Susquehanna and a short while later entered the Rising Sun clan’s territory. The very atmosphere changed, growing brighter, more airy. They drove through a patchwork of rolling hills, green forests and broad fields before turning up a smooth dirt road flanked on either side by fruit trees. To the left he could see a cornfield with the plants already knee high and to his right marched rows of plump red strawberries. Everything reeked of fertility, promising a bountiful harvest.

  The contrast to Rock Run’s struggling lands left an acrid taste in his mouth. He had to fight not to wrap his hands around his hostess’s pretty neck and demand she cease whatever she was doing to his people immediately. But her big blond guards were right behind them and even though he was pretty sure he could take them, they’d be enough of a distraction that she’d escape and then he’d never again get within a mile of her.

  “This is it,” she said, driving up the hill to the compound of buildings he’d seen the other day and halting before a large mansion built of cream-colored granite. As he dismounted the bike, Dion looked up—and up. Set on a circular foundation, the building rose four stories, each level a circle smaller than the one below it and set with rows of windows crowned by gilded arches. From a pole at the top, a flag fluttered: a bright gold sun spreading its rays across a midnight blue field.

  He mentally shook his head as he took in each round, cream-colored layer. It figured. The woman didn’t live in a sensible, easily defended cave or bunker, she lived in a damned wedding cake.

  To his surprise, after letting him off she parked the sport bike herself in the garage; he’d have figured she’d leave it for a servant to handle. When she returned, they walked together up the mansion’s wide marble steps and into a huge circular foyer. Large windows let in abundant sunshine and there was a door at each of the four cardinal directions.

  Presiding over the foyer was an enormous gold and crystal chandelier. The thing had to weigh several hundred pounds. Sunlight sifted through the dancing crystals, casting rainbow shards across the walls and the floors. He followed the show with his eyes, entranced, even as he curled his lip at yet another example of sun fae excess.

  Two women crossed the foyer toward them, Cleia’s housekeeper and the copper-haired woman she’d been with two weeks ago, whom she introduced as her cousin, Lady Olivia.

  The lady favored him with a curt nod before pulling Cleia to one side. “What are you doing?” she demanded in a low voice. “He’s not what he seems; the man reeks of power. You can’t mean to take him to your apartment. Especially tonight. Have you forgotten what time of month it is?”

  Dion tensed, but Cleia just retorted, “Of course not.”

  The two engaged in a whispered argument. With his animal-enhanced hearing, he could hear every word. They had to know that, but apparently didn’t care. Fools.

  “This one’s even more dangerous than that one a couple of years ago—that do Mar man. Damn it, Cleia. You’re playing with fire.”

  Dion came alert. Rui do Mar had been his second-in-command before he’d fallen prey to the fae queen’s glamour. The man had been Rock Run’s
best hunter and tracker. Now he was fit for little but wine and women.

  “But you’re forgetting one thing,” was Cleia’s flippant retort. “I’m a sun fae. I like the heat.”

  “You’re going to regret this—”

  “Enough.” Cleia’s power flared, turning her face blindingly beautiful—and as cold as a marble statue. Dion blinked. And then as quickly it subsided and she was patting her cousin’s arm reassuringly. “I know what I’m doing. Do you really think he’s stronger than me—even at this time of month?”

  Olivia shook her head but she ceased arguing. “As you wish.”

  “We’ll have dinner in my apartment,” Cleia told the housekeeper while Dion scrutinized her surreptitiously, unsure if that flare had been as powerful—and dangerous—as it appeared. But it didn’t matter; he would complete his mission even if it killed him. “Don’t disturb us unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Very good,” the housekeeper replied.

  Lady Olivia’s mouth firmed but she remained silent.

  Cleia reached for Dion’s hand. Once again, there was that light shock as their skin touched. Her expression didn’t change but he scented her jolt of arousal. It acted on him like an aphrodisiac. His grip tightened on her fingers but he kept his face as blank as hers.

  “This way,” she said, guiding him toward a spiral staircase that ascended gracefully through the mansion’s center. Together, they mounted to the fourth floor, her bodyguards close behind.

  Cleia’s apartment took up the entire top floor. Built on an open plan with only a few low partitions between sections, it was large and airy with pale yellow walls, billowing white curtains and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the cave-dwelling fada in him uneasy. The furniture was a warm-colored oak with curving legs and carved designs of flowers and trees. One end of the apartment held a large bed, its headboard carved with a rising sun picked out in gold leaf.

  He was aware of Cleia’s gaze on him but he released her hand to walk out onto the balcony. This high up, the view was dizzying. He instinctively looked to the southwest. He could see all the way to the pewter ribbon of water that was the Susquehanna River, a distance of seven or eight miles, to where Rock Run’s territory began.

  He gazed at the river for a long moment. The view steadied him, brought home what was at stake here—and it was not this constant, inconvenient hum of attraction between the two of them.

  When he came back in, Cleia was telling her guards to go have dinner.

  “We’ll station someone outside the door,” one of the men returned with a warning look at Dion.

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. They bowed and left, closing the door behind them. A wave of her hand locked it.

  She turned to Dion. “Welcome to my home, Dion do Rio.”

  He inclined his head, having decided that the best way to get her to let down her guard was to appear harmless, if lust-crazed. He was a hard, calculating bastard—you didn’t remain a fada alpha long if you weren’t—but for now he wanted Cleia to think of him as just another adoring slave. “Thank you, my queen.”

  To his surprise and puzzlement, disappointment flitted across her face. Then she dragged a hand down her braid. “Erika will bring dinner in a few minutes. Would you like to clean up in the meantime?”

  “I would, thanks.” He was dusty from the ride and besides, a river fada rarely turned down a chance to get into the water. He stepped closer to trace a finger down her cheek. “Why don’t you join me?”

  Her eyes drifted shut. Her lashes were a dark brown tipped with gold, as if dipped in fairy dust. Unable to help himself, he cupped her nape and pressed a kiss to each soft, delicate eyelid. “Por favor, minha bonita?”

  Her pulse thrummed under his thumb, but she shook her head and stepped back. “You go ahead. I’ll wash up and see to your dinner.”

  He inclined his head and stepped back, his own heart beating jaggedly.

  Careful, he told himself. Remember what she is.

  The bathing room could have been designed by a water fada. The windows were a tinted glass that cast a calm blue-green light. The bathtub was the size of a small pool, and the walk-in shower was composed of earth-toned tiles set with multiple shower heads that rained water over him from every direction.

  Dion took his time showering. There was no hurry, he reasoned. It was best to wait until full dark, when the queen would be at her weakest.

  By the time he rejoined her, twilight had fallen and the apartment was lit by golden balls of fae light floating near the ceiling. To his left, a table had been set with a heaping platter of fresh fish, a basket of crusty bread, a large green salad, fruit, a cheese board, and several bottles of Rock Run’s own vinho verde.

  His stomach contracted—he was always hungry these days, since whatever extra food there was went to the women and children first, with the men foraging in the river as much as possible. He glanced at Cleia but she was on the balcony, gazing out over the fields. Going to the table, he helped himself to a large chunk of bread and an equally large chunk of cheese and washed them down with a glass of wine. More slowly, he ate a healthy portion of fish as well.

  His hunger assuaged, he refilled his glass and after pouring a second for Cleia, moved to where she stood on the balcony. She’d undone her braid and changed into a sleeveless dress the intense blue of a summer sky. A storm was coming. She gripped the rail and raised her face to the wind, hair streaming behind her in a gleaming flag. Her round bottom faced him, the flimsy skirt whipping about her thighs to expose tantalizing glimpses of smooth golden skin.

  Dark talons of lust sliced at him as he realized she was naked under the dress. His eyes went night-glow, his animal rising to the surface. He fought the desire to simply bend her over the rail and take her, hard and furious as the coming storm.

  And if her people saw, well, it would only demonstrate that her unchecked reign was at an end.

  He drew in a breath, took that single step forward. Then he halted, hands tightening around the wine glasses. The press of the glass under his fingers reminded him to rein himself in, that it was not yet night.

  Cleia glanced over her shoulder at him, a tiny line between her brows. He shuttered his eyes and offered her the wine. She accepted it with a smile, but he sensed her wariness.

  He moved back into the apartment and took a seat on the floor, pretending to be calm, but inside his mind was working overtime. If she called for her guards, he could grab her and escape down the wall. But it would be a hell of climb, four stories down and with a woman over one shoulder—not to mention the fact that she had her own powers to call on.

  She had that faint frown on her face again. He gave her a weak smile that was only partly feigned. She returned it with a half-hearted curve of the lips and turned away again.

  Outside, the wind blew harder and the sweet scent of rain filled the air. Inside, his heart rapped in hard, slow beats against his rib cage as he waited to see what she would do.

  She glanced around one last time and then came back inside. “It’s going to storm soon.”

  He released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Sim.”

  She settled onto a nearby chair, her arm resting on the back and her leg slung over one of its arms in a pose so casual it bordered on insulting. “Did you eat, Dion?”

  “A little. But food can wait—unless you’re hungry?”

  “I had something while you were in the shower.”

  She took a sip of her wine, and then propped her head on one hand, regarding him as if he were a tasty young fillet to be served to her on a platter. He deliberately tamped down his power even more, sending it instead into the gathering storm, which also served the purpose of increasing the cover for the two Rock Run warriors waiting just outside the compound. Sun fae hated getting wet. Everyone but the guards would’ve taken cover by now.

  Cleia sighed and suddenly he understood what was wrong. She didn’t want harmless. She wanted danger.

  The lady w
as bored with men who danced to her tune.

  Ah. He’d be happy to provide the queen with a little…excitement.

  He crouched on his haunches in front of her and put out his hand. “Give me your foot.”

  She hesitated and he waited, unmoving. In this dance, she would learn that he was the leader, she the follower.

  She slanted him a look from under her lashes and then, setting her wine on the floor, placed a slender foot in his palm. It was clad in a jewel-encrusted sandal: rubies, emeralds, diamonds. The fae loved bright, glittering things. He concealed a sneer. A good-sized family could live on the proceeds of just a few of those jewels for a year.

  It was yet another weakness, something he could use against the shallow, party-girl queen.

  Right now she wasn’t thinking about jewels, though. Her gaze was all for him. Her hands clenched on her lap, but she held herself still, waiting to see what he’d do next.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he undid the sandal strap and slid his finger under her arch, tracing a slow path down the sensitive skin. Her breath hitched.

  He removed the sandal and pressed a kiss to her instep, then placed her foot on the chair seat so that her knee was bent, opening her to him.

  “Keep it there.”

  Her throat worked but she obeyed.

  He removed her other sandal with the same slow care. He pressed a kiss to that instep as well and it was only then that she released her breath in an audible whoosh.

  His lips curved against her soft, citrus-scented skin. “You like that.”

  Their eyes met and his own breath caught. Deus, her eyes were beautiful: a tawny, sun-touched brown.

  “Mm,” she murmured. “More.” Their gazes locked and when he simply stared at her unmoving, she added, “Please.”

  Triumph streaked through him. He’d won. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “As you wish, querida,” he said and sucked her big toe into his mouth.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cleia moaned and gripped the armrests.

  By the sun and all the stars, could anything be more erotic than the sight of the big man crouched at her feet, suckling her toes? He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back on after bathing, leaving him naked from the waist up. Dark hair curled over his broad, muscular chest and arrowed down the warm olive of his abdomen. His erection strained against his pants. One hand held her foot while the other caressed her calf. With each pull of his mouth, electricity arrowed straight to her womb.