Seducing the Sun Fae

by Rebecca Rivard

  “A dance is not a bacchanal,” his sister insisted, her voice muffled by the mattress.

  “No, it’s not,” Cleia agreed. “I’ll tell you what—when I go home, if your brother says it’s all right, you can come for a visit and we’ll have a ball just for you. My dressmaker will make you a dress in any color you want and you can wear some of my jewels. Would you like that?”

  “Promise?” Rosana lifted her head.

  “Promise.”

  She turned to him. “Can I? Please, Dion?”

  Over my dead body, he thought, any gratitude he’d felt toward Cleia evaporating. “When the lady leaves—if she leaves—the last thing she’ll want is a visit from my sister. Unless”—he crooked a brow at the queen—“she intends to use you to pay me back.”

  Cleia’s spine went stick straight. “How dare you?” she hissed. “Truth”—she touched her heart—“Rosana can visit Rising Sun and she will be returned unharmed whenever she wishes.”

  “Like my men were?” he shot back.

  “Damn it, that wasn’t me. And if I promise your sister will be safe, then she’ll be safe. Unlike you, I don’t sneak around and tell half-truths to get what I want.”

  He was on his feet now. “By Deus, if you were a man—”

  “What?” she taunted. “What would you do, fada?”

  Anger bloomed in his chest, hot and red. He stared down at her. If she were a man, he’d knock her across the room for such an insult.

  But she was a woman, and he ached to push her down on the mattress and show her just who was master here…and who the captive. He might have renounced the bacchas, but that didn’t mean his ancestors’ dark blood didn’t course in his veins.

  Rosana shifted uneasily. “It’s okay,” she muttered. “I didn’t really think he’d let me go.”

  But neither of them paid attention. Cleia pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. He knew damn well she sensed the danger she was in, but the woman was too proud—and stubborn—to back down. Then he noticed her fingers clamped on the mattress’s edge, knuckles white, and shame twisted his belly.

  He exhaled harshly. “Not one word I told you was a lie. And the only sneaking around I did was to protect my people. I acted in self-defense. Twenty years you’ve drained us. Twenty fucking years. I had to stop you. We have nothing left to give.”

  Cleia’s chin went up another notch. “Then release me. I swear I won’t take another of your warriors as a lover. You don’t understand. You can’t keep me here. I have to go home.”

  “Ah, but I do understand. I met with your cousin Olivia yesterday. She told me you have to return by the midsummer festival for your people’s sake.”

  “That’s what she said? That my people need me back by the midsummer festival?”

  “Yes.” Dion scrutinized her face, wishing he could see her eyes. “Why? Isn’t that true?”

  Lady Olivia had implied they required Cleia for some ceremonial purpose. All seven sun fae clans, along with much of the fae world, gathered at Rising Sun to celebrate midsummer with a huge, three-day festival, kicked off by a ritual attended only by the sun fae to mark the summer solstice. As queen, Cleia led the ritual, but surely someone else could take her place.

  Now he wondered if there was more to the ceremony than an excuse for yet another extravagant fae revel.

  “It’s true.” Cleia kept her face blank, but he was learning to read her. She was worried beneath the expressionless façade. “My cousin—Lady Olivia—she’s well? Did she have a message for me?”

  “She seemed well, sim. But there was no message. Surely you don’t think I’m so estúpido as to admit you’re here.”

  “But she knows you’re the last person to see me.”

  “She can’t prove anything. After you passed out, I sprinkled concealing dust on you.” Rare, precious stuff for a fada—only the fae could create that kind of magic, so he’d had to barter five of his best warriors as mercenaries for a month to obtain it—but it had been worth it. “I waited until everyone was asleep and then carried you out of the mansion. A couple of my men brought you back to the base while I returned to your apartment. The next morning, I was as ‘surprised’ as everyone that you’d disappeared during the night.”

  And he’d made damn sure he got the hell out of there before Lady Olivia had a chance to question him more deeply. Even so, the small lies he’d told had cost him; he’d spent the first few hours after his return curled up in a ball in his sala, wracked by pain.

  “Olivia will find me,” Cleia stated confidently. “She would’ve sensed the moment I left the compound.”

  “The storm was at its peak—and your energy was at its weakest. She didn’t come looking for you until the next morning. And one of my men laid a false trail to make it look like the Virginia night fae were involved.”

  “No one outsmarts my cousin,” Cleia returned, but she sounded less certain now. “She’s an old fae and one tough mother when someone she loves is threatened. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

  “Não? We’ll see.” He nodded curtly before he recalled she couldn’t see him, and left the apartment.

  * * *

  He spent that night in the river. He was tired of tossing and turning on the couch, knowing Cleia was in the next room, so close he could hear when she murmured in her sleep…so close that her sweet-tart scent penetrated his dreams. But he didn’t sleep any better than he had the previous three nights.

  He shifted to river dolphin, his favorite form, and dozed. To breathe, a dolphin had to keep one side of its brain awake at all times. If he’d let himself fall completely asleep, he would’ve drowned. Instead, he had to swim slowly and surface every so often for a breath.

  His drowsing mind meandered here and there. He found himself wondering if Cleia actually attended a bacchanal. There had been a note in her voice that made him think she was speaking from experience. The thought shouldn’t make him go hard—he fully agreed with his pai’s decision to ban the dark, alcohol-soaked orgies—but he couldn’t help flashing on an image of her clad in nothing but that bright mane of hair, kneeling before him and taking his cock between soft, wine-stained lips…

  He groaned and then sputtered as he took in water; he’d unconsciously changed back to man as he’d envisioned sex with her. He shifted to dolphin again and spent what remained of the night with his animal riding him.

  She wants it. The refrain beat in his brain, primitive, sly. After all, it had been Cleia who’d invited him to her bed, not the other way around.

  She’s yours to take, the animal murmured.

  Mine…mine…mine…

  With the coming of the day, he surfaced and took his human form again, trying to still that insistent refrain. He hoisted himself onto a rock in the river’s center. It had rained somewhere upriver. The water rushed by, a dark shimmer in the pre-dawn light. He propped himself on his forearms to watch the sunrise, but even the soft pink and gold rays reminded him of Cleia and her gauzy dresses, seated on a chair before him as he inched the material up her long, tanned thighs…

  He swallowed. Having her in his own apartment—in his bed, yet—was an unholy temptation. But he couldn’t take her. Not like this. Not while she was his prisoner. He might be a ruthless S.O.B. but there were some lines he refused to cross.

  His animal would have to accept that. It shifted beneath his skin, disgruntled but resigned.

  A light breeze rippled across the fast-flowing water, caressing his damp skin. To anyone but a water fada, it might seem chilly, but to him it felt…suggestive. His already partially-erect cock twitched as if a silk scarf had been drawn over it—or a woman’s long, glossy hair.

  He wrapped his fingers around the rapidly stiffening stalk and stroked up and down.

  Recalling Cleia as she’d been last night, arguing with him, her face flushed with anger.

  Then picturing her on her knees, sweetly begging his pardon, her mouth full and red, the blindfold gone so he could see her tip
-tilted eyes go hazy with arousal and those long fingers reaching for him…

  He stroked faster, visualizing her in all sorts of darkly erotic positions with him controlling her, taking her, until she was screaming with ecstasy. His heels dug into the rock and he groaned as his seed shot hotly onto his abdomen. He dropped an arm over his eyes and slumped back onto the rock, the breath jerking in and out of his chest.

  She wants it. Why don’t you take her?

  Deus. What was he going to do?

  He lay there for several minutes but was no closer to a solution when he gave up and rolled off the rock into the water.

  Back at the base, Isa was lying in wait for him outside the dining hall. She always gave him the respect due her alpha, but also managed to make sure he never forgot he’d had a part in the gray which streaked her rich brown hair.

  Now she greeted him politely, and then informed him just as courteously that he needed to allow Cleia to take her meals with everyone else.

  “I do?” he replied in dangerous tones.

  But the problem with a woman who’s known you since you were a pup is that she isn’t easily cowed. “Sim, meu senhor. She’s lonely and homesick. Last night she barely touched her dinner. I don’t care what she’s done, I’m not going to stand by and watch her starve.”

  He scraped his fingers through his wet hair. Damn Cleia anyway. He hadn’t expected her to hold out for more than a day or two. She was a sun fae. They lived for fun, parties, excitement. Take her away from her people and her pampered lifestyle, force her to do menial work, threaten her subtly as only a man could a woman—and yes, he knew he was a bastard but he was desperate—and she should be begging to give him anything he wanted.

  But it hadn’t worked. She’d proved tougher than he’d expected, stubbornly maintaining she’d done nothing wrong. Although in hindsight, he didn’t know why he was surprised. She might be a self-indulgent, party-loving fae but she was also a queen, a ruler in her own right.

  “Did she put you up to this?” he demanded.

  Isa gave him a look that told him not to be a fool. “It’s plain to see she’s unhappy.”

  “You say she’s not eating?”

  “She ate less than half of what she usually does. You know how the sun fae are—they’re not that different from us; they need their pack. What could it hurt? She can’t do anything with her powers bound.”

  He sighed, concerned in spite of himself. Yes, he knew how the sun fae were. The most gregarious of the fae, their compound was a constant stream of activity, with fae from all around the world coming and going. If they weren’t having a party, they were hosting a festival—or throwing one of their frigging balls.

  As Isa said, they needed their pack—although they’d probably turn up their aristocratic noses at any comparison to a fada. He’d known keeping Cleia isolated was cruel, but damn it, what choice did he have?

  Still, Isa was right; they couldn’t stand by and let the blasted woman starve. It was bad enough that he was keeping her underground when she was a creature of sunlight.

  “Fine,” he said. “She can eat with the clan from now on. However, inform her that if she goes anywhere other than my quarters and the dining hall without my or Luis’s permission, she’ll be immediately confined again—and this time, I’ll tie her to the damn bed.”

  Isa pursed her lips. He had the feeling she was struggling not to laugh, but all she said was, “Yes, my lord,” before heading down the hall toward his quarters.

  The dining hall was filled with people eating breakfast. Coffee scented the air and the serving tables held large platters of fried fish; the fishers had had a good catch yesterday. There were baskets of dark peasant bread and big bowls of strawberries, as well as cereal and milk for the children. When times were better, the menu might include more variety, but at least for today, he was pleased to see that no one would leave hungry.

  He gulped a double shot of espresso and then made himself a hefty fish sandwich before taking a seat at a table with some of the other unmated warriors.

  He knew the instant Cleia entered the hall. A shock went through the crowded room. Whispers fluttered from person to person and the kids stared at her with open-mouthed curiosity. Several of the women flashed her looks of pure dislike, and even the friendlier ones were frowning.

  Cleia couldn’t see them, of course, but she must have sensed the stares. She faltered and then lifted her chin with that proud little movement he was coming to recognize. He felt an unwilling admiration: even in a casual summer dress and borrowed rope sandals, she looked every inch a queen.

  Mine.

  Isa touched her arm, guiding her to a table near the door. Rosana immediately jumped up and sat down next to her. A moment later, Tiago picked up his plate as well and made his way across the room to take seat across from the two of them.

  A few people resumed talking in soft voices, but there was a tense silence as everyone else waited to see what Dion would do. He took his time, finishing his sandwich before strolling across the room to greet the new arrival. It was a move designed to show that while Cleia’s presence in the dining hall had his approval, he was also the alpha, and her dominant as long as she was in his territory. He heard a flurry of whispers, but it worked: the clan lowered its collective hackles and resumed eating.

  While Isa went to fix a plate for herself and Cleia, he greeted his brother and sister and then took a seat next to his captive.

  “Bom dia,” he said politely. “You slept well?”

  She was sitting rigidly upright, fingers intertwined in her lap. So she’d sensed the animosity in the hall. Well, he’d never believed her a stupid woman.

  “Good morning,” she replied. “I slept well enough. And you? I wondered where you were.”

  Did you miss me? a foolish part of him wanted to ask.

  But all he said was, “I spent the night in the river. I thought it for the best.”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I see.”

  Across the table, Tiago’s gaze moved from Cleia to him, a frown creasing his brow.

  She spoke again. “I want to thank you for inviting me to share your meal. I can see that it’s not a…popular decision.”

  “They’ll do as I say.”

  She inclined her head.

  “Besides, it’s Isa you should thank, not me. She’s worried you’re not eating enough.”

  “Of course,” she murmured wryly. “You’d look bad if you let your prisoner starve.”

  He absorbed the jab in silence. It was true, after all. It just wasn’t the whole truth. “From now on you’ll eat with us. Isa will arrange it. And you can move between the dining hall and my quarters—that’s safe enough.”

  “Obrigada. It will be nice to have some exercise.”

  “I can bring her to meals,” Rosana volunteered.

  “And me,” added Tiago.

  “Take it up with Senhora Isa,” he told them. To Cleia he said, “No thanks are necessary. As you say, you’re worth more to me alive than dead.”

  Rosana gave an outraged gasp and Tiago’s frown darkened. He ignored them to rise to his feet, giving Isa, who had returned with two plates, back her seat.

  As he walked away, he happened to glance at Davi. He was staring at Cleia with unconcealed lust. In fact, half the unmated men in the room were casting surreptitious looks in her direction.

  Mine.

  His animal growled, a low but unmistakable warning.

  Startled looks swung his way. He ignored them to raise a hand for attention.

  “You”—he jabbed a finger at Luis, his five tenentes and the men and women in his top warrior squad—“meet me in the training cave in ten minutes. You other warriors, find the people in your squad and engage in training exercises in the river. The rest of you, have a good day.”

  The training cave was a large, open space with exercise equipment and several rings in which men could engage in one-on-one combat, or fight with several at a time. A stream bub
bled up at one end, providing fresh drinking water.

  He greeted his men—and two women—as they assembled, and proceeded to work them for four straight hours, starting with calisthenics and intense stretching based on a boot-camp style of yoga, then moving on to a form of marital arts, fighting both barehanded and with knives, until his hard-assed warriors were bent over and gasping for breath, muttering among themselves about crazy S.O.B. alphas.

  Dion swiped at the sweat stinging his eyes and eyed the groaning, winded group. His lip curled. “You call yourselves warriors? Don’t make me laugh. Maybe you should go home to your mamas and leave the fighting to the grownups.”

  Davi growled under his breath but when Dion swung his way, he immediately ducked his head.

  It was Rodolfo who came to his feet, brow lowered. A big bull of man, he rumbled, “Bite me. You’ve just got a wasp up your ass because of Cleia.”

  The cavern went still. Everyone knew Rodolfo had been the first Rock Run man to have the queen. Luis rose slowly from where he’d been drinking from the stream. Dion had been careful not to push him as hard as the others, but his face was taut with exhaustion. His gaze went from Rodolfo to Dion but he remained silent.

  “Maybe I do,” Dion allowed. “But I’m not the one whining for mercy.”

  “I don’t whine—and I don’t ask anyone for mercy.” Rodolfo’s lips peeled back and he met Dion’s gaze full on. “Not even you, my lord.”

  Dion’s claws sliced out. “Then show me why I should allow your fat carcass to take up space as a tenente,” he snapped.

  “Com prazer,” Rodolfo snarled.

  “No weapons. Bare hands only.” Dion retracted his claws. He didn’t want to kill the man, just teach him a lesson.

  The two of them handed their knives to Luis and squared off in one of the rings with the others forming a circle to watch. It wasn’t a ritual challenge, but if Dion lost, anyone unhappy with his place in the hierarchy would want a chance at him and he’d be fighting off challengers for the next six months.