Seducing the Sun Fae

by Rebecca Rivard

  All the men laughed knowingly, including Tiago. Then he grimaced, ashamed. He set his glass on the bar a little too hard.

  “They’re not like that,” he declared. “They’re…nice. I’m gon—going to mate with a sun fae.”

  Ric raised a disbelieving brow. “Like hell. Fae don’t mate with fada. They’re too good for us. They might like our cocks, but when it’s time to take a mate, they look to their own kind.”

  The laughter this time had a bitter edge to it.

  “Not Cl—my woman,” Tiago insisted. He blinked as Ric’s face wavered, then came back into focus, but he was determined to make his point. “She likes fada.”

  There were a couple of snickers and Tiago scowled.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Ric said mildly. The snickers instantly stopped. To Tiago he said, “We meant no disrespect to your woman.”

  “Not—mine,” he admitted. “But she will be. She tole—told me to come back in a few years. When—when I’m older.”

  “Tough luck. But she promised to wait?”

  “N—not exactly.” He thought of how she’d treated him the past couple of weeks and rubbed his nape.

  And then there was his brother. He was beginning to think Dion wanted her for himself; he watched her like a hungry wolf. “Over my dead body,” he muttered.

  “Something the matter?” Ric asked.

  “What—oh, nothing.” Tiago pressed his lips together. He wasn’t drunk enough to spill clan secrets, especially to a Baltimore earth fada.

  “You know a sun fae can’t stay underground too long. They need the sun—it boosts their life-energy.” It was the man who’d had a sun fae lover. “You’ll have to live aboveground for part of the time.”

  Tiago furrowed his brow. It was true. Sunlight was necessary to a sun fae. And Dion knew that but didn’t seem to care. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan just stood by and let it happen.

  He slid a look at Ric, who met his gaze straight on. For the first time, Tiago noticed how odd the other man’s eyes were: a strange, reflective bronze. In the dark bar, they glowed like a cat’s…flat, predatory.

  Suddenly wary, Tiago set down the shot glass. “I’d better get going.”

  “Sure,” Ric said easily. “But I get the feeling you need a friend—someone not in your clan.”

  Tiago moved a shoulder and started to turn away, but Ric pressed something in his palm.

  “Here.”

  It was a large piece of quartz. Tiago looked at the gray crystal suspiciously. It was about half the size of his palm, with a smooth flat surface on one side. “What is it?”

  “A smartphone,” Ric said with obvious pride. “You tap this”—he touched a depression on the smooth side—“and you can call me. Say, if your woman is in trouble…”

  A smartphone screen appeared as if by magic. Tiago eyed it, impressed. Rock Run owned some computers and a handful of phones, but for the most part electronics didn’t mix with a people who spent much of their time in water—they tended to short them out—so they weren’t as plugged in as most of the world.

  Ric tapped the screen a second time and it disappeared. “The best part,” he told Tiago, “is you can drop it, throw it, take it under water. It’s damn near indestructible.”

  “Thank you.” Tiago closed his fingers on the quartz, too drunk to question the gift. He pushed away from the bar only to halt as the room spun dizzily around him. He gulped and tried to find his footing, his vision blurred. He’d definitely had too much to drink.

  “You okay?” asked Ric.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “Yeah. No problem. Adeus.”

  “Adeus,” the three men chorused. He thought he heard another snicker but he was already on his way out of the bar.

  * * *

  Adric watched as the river man wove an unsteady path to the exit. He’d known immediately who he was, of course: Tiago do Rio, Lord Dion’s youngest brother. He kept a file on all Rock Run’s key members.

  He could hardly believe his luck. When he’d set his trap, he hadn’t hoped to snare such a juicy morsel.

  A smile played on his lips as Tiago lurched past a table which held several of his men along with two flirtatious human females who had no idea they were providing cover.

  The river shifter was loyal, he’d give him that. He’d been careful not to admit Rock Run was holding Cleia.

  But what a fucking break. Apparently the man was in love with her, and even better, unhappy at how she was being treated.

  From behind the bar, Claudio frowned at him. The man made it a point to steer clear of clan politics. If he found out that Adric had deliberately gotten Tiago drunk and then pumped him for information, Adric would be out on his ass, banned from the saloon for life.

  But hell, there were other bars, although only a few that catered to fada.

  He nodded easily to Claudio, but under the bar, his hand sliced in an order: Follow him. The man he’d stationed near the door waited thirty seconds, then rose and sauntered out the door after Tiago.

  Horace was one of his best trackers. The young fada would never know he was being followed, not as wasted as he was.

  He turned to his two lieutenants. “Get your bikes,” he murmured in a sub-vocal voice. Neutral or not, he didn’t trust Claudio not to warn Lord Dion that something was up. “We’ll give him a head start and then we’ll follow him.”

  A water animal couldn’t be tracked from land—unless he had a tracking device planted on him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Com licença.” Marina’s low, musical voice was edged with an unfamiliar tightness. “Excuse me, Senhora Cleia.”

  Cleia struggled groggily upright from where she was reclined on a couch in the sala. She was tired all the time now. “Marina?” she asked sleepily. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, Senhora Cleia.” Tears clogged the other woman’s voice. “Por favor. My Xavier, he’s so sick. Please say you will help him.”

  “Xavier? What’s the matter?”

  She hadn’t seen him or Marina since that afternoon in the kitchen. When she’d asked Isa about them, all she’d said was that he was sick and that Marina was keeping him in bed. Cleia had figured it was some childhood thing.

  “He—he—it started with his head two nights ago. A terrible ache that wouldn’t go away. In the morning he said his stomach hurt. He hasn’t eaten anything but a little broth for two days. He’s so weak now he can barely lift his head. And then this morning—he…didn’t wake up.”

  “No,” Cleia whispered. Not Xavier. The three-year-old had burrowed his way into her heart with his clear-eyed observations and bottomless pit of a stomach. She reached out blindly for Marina’s hand and pressed it between her own. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. I—you say you’re a healer. Luis says he saw you heal a man who was close to death. This is true?”

  “It depends on what’s wrong, but yes, I have the ability to heal—it has something to do with my being the sun fae’s Conduit. But you know I can’t draw on my magic. Not unless Lord Dion allows it.”

  “Oh.” Marina swallowed audibly. “So there’s nothing you can do?”

  “I’m not sure,” Cleia admitted. “My healing talent is something apart from my magic. It’s just inside me. I’ve always had it, even before I learned how to call on my magic—like my Gift for tongues. But I use the magic to boost it.”

  “Then you’ll try? Por favor, minha senhora. My Xavier, he’s so sick.”

  “I’ll do my best, but please don’t get your hopes up. I’ve never tried to heal someone without my magic.”

  “Sim, sim,” Marina said, tugging on Cleia’s hand. “Come with me, please. He’s in our quarters. Here, take my arm—it’ll be quicker.”

  They set out, Marina walking so fast Cleia had to trot to keep up. She clung to the other woman’s arm and trusted she wouldn’t lead her into a wall. Their route led them past the dining hall and into a section unfamiliar to Cleia.
>
  “Here we are,” Marina said a few minutes and several turns later. She opened a door and ushered Cleia across what must be the sala and through another doorway. “She came, Luis. She thinks she can help. Please let her.”

  Footsteps crossed the room. Marina’s arm was pulled roughly from Cleia’s grasp.

  “Have you lost your mind, woman?” Luis demanded. “You’d bring her here, to him?”

  Cleia pressed her lips together, hurt. Luis had been her lover for close to two years. Surely he knew she wouldn’t harm a child.

  “She’s his only chance,” Marina argued. “You said yourself she’s a healer.”

  “Her own people,” Luis grated. “Not one of us.”

  “So? We’re not so different from the fae.”

  “But it drains her own energy. She’s already weak. Why would she hurt herself to save a fada?”

  Cleia decided it was time to speak up. “I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t willing to help.”

  “Is that so?” Luis shot back. “How do I know you’re not here to finish him off?”

  Cleia flinched. “By the Goddess, Luis. You know I adore Xavier. Truth.” She touched her heart. “I’d cut off my own hand before I’d hurt him.”

  Marina grabbed Cleia’s hand and put it on her mate’s bare chest. “Feel him. Feel Luis.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Feel his ribs,” she replied. “That. Feel how thin he is. And it’s gotten worse since you’ve been here.”

  Cleia moved her hand tentatively over Luis’s torso. The skin felt dry and unhealthy, and beneath, his ribs stuck out like bony ridges. “But…what’s wrong? You’re sick?”

  “I told her it wasn’t you,” he said. “That I’d probably picked up a virus. Hell, that’s what I thought at first. But the healers can’t find the cause. I’m perfectly healthy, just losing weight and getting a little weaker each day—just like some of the other men you had. And now Xavier has the same thing.”

  “No.” Cleia snatched back her hand. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true,” Marina asserted. “Our own healers have tried everything and Xavier—he only gets worse. Then this morning, Branco went into a trance. His Gift allows him to see deep into the body. He saw Xavier’s life-energy being drawn from him, drop by drop. He couldn’t see how or why, but we all know why Lord Dion is keeping you here, that you’re somehow draining energy from our people.”

  Cleia felt for a chair and sank onto it. “No. Not Xavier. Not a child. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

  But she wasn’t completely, one-hundred-percent certain. Yes, her energy was slowly draining away, and had been since the day she’d arrived, but she’d noticed occasional, unexplained surges of energy. “By the sun and all the stars, no.”

  “Please, my lady.” Marina dropped to her knees and clasped Cleia’s legs. “Isn’t it enough you’re taking energy from Luis? Do you have to take it from Xavier, too?” Her voice broke. “He—he’s our baby. Our only child. If you need energy, take mine, not his. You can have it freely, as much as you need. Only please let him live.”

  “But I’m not—” Cleia scrubbed her hands over her face. If only she could take off this blasted scarf, use her magic, she might be able to do something. Without her magic, her healing ability was weak…too weak. She could heal a cut, perhaps—but a dying little boy?

  She dragged in a breath. “May I touch him? I’d like to see if I can sense what your healer did.”

  There was a short silence in which she sensed them looking at one another. Then Luis spoke. “De acordo. But if you try anything funny—if you even breathe wrong on him—I’ll kill you where you stand. I don’t give a frigging damn that Dion wants you alive.”

  She stiffened. This is his only child, she told herself, but she still felt lacerated by his distrust.

  “It’s your decision. I won’t touch him without your permission. But I swear I’m only here to help.”

  Marina rose to her feet. “You have our permission,” she said firmly. “Here, sit on this chair.”

  She guided Cleia to sit on a chair next to Xavier’s bed, then sat down beside her. Meanwhile, Luis took a seat on the bed’s other side.

  Cleia held her hands out, palms down. Even without touching Xavier, she could sense his own unique energy: a cheerful imp of a boy. It seemed impossible for that lively flame to be extinguished.

  She pressed her palms together and brought them over her heart, drawing deeply on her own depleted reserves, before reaching out again. Xavier was curled up in a ball, facing her. She gently stroked his soft curls back from his face.

  “It’s me, Senhora Cleia,” she murmured, knowing that in the very ill, the hearing was often the last to go. “I’m going to try and make you feel better.”

  Luis shifted. “Talking won’t help. He can’t hear you.”

  “Perhaps. But if he can, he can help heal himself. You have to stay positive. Tell him he’s going to get better as often as you can. Sim, little one?”

  She smoothed the back of her fingers over Xavier’s cheek. The skin was petal-soft and very cool; at least he didn’t have a fever. But he was too cool, even for a fada. Her fingers drifted over his closed eyes. She frowned, realizing the quiet sough she heard was the air moving in and out of his lungs.

  Her heart turned over. Goddess, his breath was light, barely enough to keep him alive.

  She continued down his neck to his shoulders. He was covered by a light sheet. Drawing it down, she rolled him onto his back and placed a palm on his bare chest. He was so small and narrow, his heartbeat a slow, weak flutter beneath her hand.

  She rubbed that narrow, fragile chest. “Now what’s the problem, meu amigo? I’ve missed you, especially at dinnertime. I don’t have anyone to share my strawberries with.”

  Xavier muttered something.

  Marina gasped. “He opened his eyes, my lady. Just for a moment. But he knows it’s you, I’m sure of it.”

  “Good.” Cleia felt a spark of hope. “That’s very good.”

  She focused on Xavier, rubbing her hand over his bird-like little chest, noting his heartbeat again before going deeper to the blood moving sluggishly through his veins. Drawing in a breath, she went deeper still, seeking his very essence, the layer that was more spiritual than physical even though it was intricately intertwined with his body.

  Her brows drew together. His energy was off somehow. A weak, pale yellow when it should have been a warm, vibrant gold.

  Instinctively she pulsed some of her own energy into him.

  “His eyes just opened,” Marina exclaimed. “Xavier? Can you hear me, querido?”

  Cleia heard a tiny movement against the pillow. “He nodded his head,” Marina reported.

  “Good,” Cleia murmured, her focus on her small patient. There was something about his energy, right at the center…a twisting ribbon of light similar to the one that connected her with her own people. But that connection ran both ways, while this one seemed only to pulse outward.

  In her direction.

  She mentally plucked at it. The twang reverberated in her own being. Beneath the scarf, her eyes widened. By the sun and all the stars, she was taking energy from him.

  Quickly, she shot energy down the connection, trying to block or even break it. She immediately felt weaker, but Xavier sighed and his energy brightened ever so slightly. She sent more energy pulsing down the ribbon connecting them, but although she was no longer taking as much energy from him, she couldn’t stop the flow completely.

  She removed her hand from his chest and sat back, shaken to the core.

  “Mama?” said a small, fretful voice. “I’m hungry. And I need a drink.”

  “Oh, Xavier,” Marina replied. “Of course, you can—” Her voice broke and Luis took over.

  “You’ve been sick, meu filho. But Papa will get you something to eat. Right away.”

  Cleia heard the two of them gather him into a hug. “It’s a miracle,” Marina said, her voice th
ick with tears. “Obrigada, my lady. Muito, muito obrigada.”

  “Start him with some broth.” Cleia automatically offered a healer’s advice, even though inside, she was reeling at what she’d discovered. “Then in a couple of hours try simple solid foods—rice, mashed fruit, a little fish. A few bites at a time. He needs food—as much as you can get into him.”

  “Sim, certo.” Luis strode from the room, leaving Marina to murmur over her son.

  “Here, querido. Have some water. There, that’s better, não? Oh, my lady, he’s drinking.”

  Cleia smiled and nodded, but she was numb with shock. Dion had been right. She was draining energy from certain members of his clan.

  And even worse, it seemed to be ones she liked. Xavier had only gotten sick after the two of them became friends.

  Dear lord. What was she going to do? If she told Dion the truth, he’d never let her leave. Either he’d keep her underground until she literally faded away, or—she bunched her fingers in her skirt uneasily—he might simply slit her throat and be done with it.

  He wouldn’t want to—it might even hurt him to—but he’d do it if it meant saving his clan.

  No, she couldn’t tell Dion. She had to be back by the summer solstice. Her people depended on her. They’d eventually sicken and die without the extra boost of energy she channeled from the sun each year.

  Just as Dion’s clan had been sickening and dying. She briefly closed her eyes.

  At Marina’s urging, Xavier said her name in a weak voice. She turned her head in his direction. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Obrigado,” he told her politely. “For fixin’ me.”

  “Ah, querido.” She reached out a hand to touch him, then thought better of it and brought the hand back to her lap. “I just want you to get well. Can you do that for me?”

  “Sure. I’m a river fada. We’re tough.”

  Cleia couldn’t help chuckling. “I know, little one. I know.”

  She remained until Luis returned with Xavier’s broth, then had to sit through another round of thanks from both him and Marina. “He’s still weak,” she cautioned, but they were too relieved to really hear her.