Tempting Ballad

by Katherine McIntyre

  And tonight, they’d been scheduled to play a show at the House of Blues, which would’ve guaranteed brought a hunter attack down on them. The twist in his gut gave him the one confirmation he needed. Renn was a hundred percent sure who called the bomb threat in.

  He and Leo Kincaid would be having some words.

  The waitress swung over to begin taking drink orders, and Renn planned on indulging. Tonight was a whisky night, chased with something as bitter as the pit in his stomach.

  “Guess it’s better our show got cancelled,” Liz muttered, even though suspicion flickered in her eyes.

  Renn resisted the urge to look away.

  “The asshole keeps cropping up everywhere,” Jett responded, glancing to his nails before he looked to Liz. “Can’t you write your brethren a strongly worded letter? Or at least get us a free pass from this nonsense? Your hunter lineage has to come with some perks.”

  Liz lifted her middle finger.

  Ky had begun rocking forth in his seat, buzzing with energy like he might storm the makeshift stage nearby or sling a punch at the first person to stroll by. Depending on how much JD he tipped back, probably the latter.

  The door creaked open, and Renn’s gaze strayed to the newcomers.

  He didn’t bother restraining his groan.

  The satyr swaggered in with three other guys in tow, all wearing faces made to be punched. Clyde Cantrell was a sanctimonious asshole on a good day, and even worse, his cousin. Which meant more often than not, the guy took it upon himself to give Renn shit about his lack of allegiance, his disappointment to the family name, or the worst, for holding out hope with his sister.

  “What’s with the grimace? Did one of your one-night-stands show up or something?” Liz asked, peering over to the entrance.

  Renn snorted. “I wish.” Before he could turn away, Clyde locked eyes with him, and his stupid hooves clopped in their direction.

  “Looks like he’s already sending you heart eyes,” Danica commented with a wry grin.

  The waitress intercepted with the drinks, placing each down with a clink.

  Renn’s fingers curled around his glass like a fist. His veins buzzed. He downed the glass of JD like a shot, the honey-sweet whisky scorching his throat. Not like the liquor quelled the roar in the back of his mind that had been threatening to break free.

  “Clyde Cantrell’s gotten himself into quite the scrape recently,” Jett murmured, sipping at his gin and tonic while he wore a patented judging stare. “He got caught making deals with some higher tier Unseelie families, and the King’s pissed.”

  Not like Renn had been informed. His family preferred to forget about him, just like they forgot about Belle.

  “Thanks, Fae-MZ,” Kieran shot back. “We can always count on you to have the latest gossip.”

  Jett rolled his eyes. “At least one of us needs to keep abreast of what’s going on in the Courts.”

  And, Clyde Cantrell had begun walking over.

  One night. He just wanted one more night with his bandmates. Except, like always, his shithead family members arrived to cause trouble.

  The energy buzzed through him like he’d upped the voltage, a relentless current that had him tapping his foot on the ground. Ky met his eyes, and a grin spread on the lead singer’s face. Their outlet clopped his way over on cloven hooves.

  Renn placed his drink on the tabletop and then flexed his fingers. His knuckles cracked. Ky grinned broad enough that his fangs protruded. Liz glanced between the two of them and heaved a weary sigh, hiding her smile.

  His cousin’s lips curled with a sneer as he walked over. He’d say they looked similar with their angular jaws, ink black hair, and straight noses, but his cousin went and got douchebag all over his face.

  “Renn, what are you doing back in your old hometown?” Clyde’s voice boomed over the murmur of the other bar patrons. “Thought this was the last place an unaligned reject would be crawling around.” The bastard’s smile twisted upon approach, and he sauntered right in front of their table.

  Renn didn’t say a word, even though his jaw clenched and his fingers itched.

  “Come on, Conspiracy Kid, don’t you have anything to say?” Clyde continued. “Any new theories to share?”

  Oh hell no.

  He’d endured years of the taunts from his cousins, the nickname Conspiracy Kid crowed at him over and over again. Years of sitting in what used to be Belle’s room, essentially abandoned, just like she’d been. Years of their dismissals lobbed at him like weapons until he’d built up defenses so high that not another soul could scale.

  “Didn’t take you for a masochist,” Renn said, his fingers tapping on the tabletop. “That’s more my thing. Yet here you are begging for a beating.”

  The irritation had been simmering through his veins from the moment they hit the East Coast until it reached a slow, undulating boil. This place and that ugly mug brought those memories rushing to the fore.

  Renn stood from his seat. When he turned to face Clyde, he led with his knuckles first.

  Renn’s fist sped toward Clyde’s jaw and landed with a resounding crack that reverberated up his arm. Chairs squeaked on the linoleum beside him, but he didn’t need to look to know his bandmates would back him up.

  Clyde staggered back, but the asshole had always been a scrapper. His fist winged out, yet Renn expected retaliation. He dipped beneath the swing and charged forward, the points of his horns aimed.

  He crashed into the barrel chest of the fucker headfirst, the tips of his horns ripping past fabric. Clyde let out a curse and quickstepped to the side. A second later, a punch swung toward Renn’s jaw. Too close to dodge.

  The impact reverberated through his skull as his head whipped to the side. Renn was swinging around to slam his fist into Clyde’s gut even as the iron tang of blood welled in his mouth.

  Ky let out a whoop beside him as he clotheslined Clyde’s buddy, and Trevor and Jett closed the distance on the other guy in a few short strides.

  A click sounded behind him. Liz, of course.

  “The fucking gun, again?” Ky shouted to her.

  “Instincts, babe,” Liz called. “Got to be prepared.”

  At this point, the entire bar watched their fight, but not a soul stepped up to interfere.

  Danica sat at the table picking her nails.

  Renn whirled around, ducking to avoid Clyde’s fist overhead.

  Ky rammed his guy against the bar, and a couple of patrons darted out of the way while the bartender strode to the far end of the bar. Already, the guy passed an intent look to the burly dude at the door.

  Renn slammed into Clyde’s chest headfirst again, the stupid fucker still not protecting his vitals. This time, his horns sank in with a squish. A stream of curses flew from Clyde’s lips, and he shoved him away.

  Footsteps pounded through the place as three security guards stepped in. “Break it up, break it up,” they called, as if their words might have some magical sway. Bullshit.

  Ky took the moment to smash his guy’s head into the bar with a resounding crack. Jett and Trevor took the easy way out. Trevor pinned the guy’s arms back while Jett shifted his full weight down to press his foot on the idiot’s spine. Which left him with Clyde, who stumbled toward the security guards. Renn glanced to Trev, to Ky, to Jett, and then to the stupid cousin who’d interrupted his last meal with them.

  Rage bubbled, but the sight of his bandmates hit like a roundhouse kick. Time was more important right now.

  Renn lifted his hands over his head. “Go run home, Clyde.”

  The security stepped between them all at this point, and with loud shouts and clear gestures indicated they’d best get the fuck out. Danica stepped up to join them on their walk of shame, and Liz covertly slipped her gun back into her holster while the security attended to Clyde and his merry band of idiots.

  The second he stepped into the crisp air of a Boston night, the slight bite of salt and the hint of oyster soup wafted his way. It smell
ed like too many memories. He spat on the pavement, blood mingling with his spit.

  “So, I guess we’re finding a new bar,” Renn said, sharing a grin with Ky whose shoulders shook with silent laughter. Trev’s wan smile contained his amusement, and Jett shook his head.

  “It’s a wonder we get anywhere with the amount of fights you two start,” Jett muttered.

  Liz shrugged. “At least you kids keep things entertaining.”

  Ky took the lead down the narrow street as they wandered toward the next bar to stake their claim.

  Renn shivered at the soft sigh of the wind, the cold moon glaring down on him. In the aftermath of the fight, the pulse in the back of his head hadn’t weakened in the slightest, but for this moment, he allowed himself to feel it all—the hollowness, the empty cavern he teetered toward, and the grief that pounded louder and louder ever since he lost Belle.

  Then he swallowed those emotions back and offered a grin. “Who’s up for round two?”

  Chapter Four

  Leo wasn’t watching the clock.

  And by wasn’t, he meant absolutely was but would never admit it aloud.

  Leo leaned back in the bed of his suite which was immaculately undisturbed. If his gamble worked out, that might be changing sooner rather than later. He’d slipped off his pair of Clark’s but kept on his slacks even though he’d ditched the belt and shrugged down to the untucked, half-buttoned version of his slate dress shirt. He’d been in a revolving door of meetings with different families all day, to the point his head spun.

  He’d been paying attention to the venue Discord’s Desire planned on playing at, and his anonymous call had worked. Show cancelled, which meant the hunters would have to find somewhere else to deliver their unmarked brand of destruction tonight.

  When the hunters had first declared war on the fae, Leo had been interested in the shake-up, but Darren Andrews had fast become more of a curse than a blessing. Leo tilted his head to the side. Out the big window on the far side of the room stretched Boston Harbor, distant twinkling lights framed by a velvet sky and the choppy seas below.

  This city was gorgeous, but like everything else, transitory.

  Kincaid only ever had two constants: his sister and his goals. The plan had been struck at a far too young time to make sensible decisions, yet it had become the flickering campfire he returned to every single night.

  He’d begun to wish he set a specific time. Although that wouldn’t have mattered to Renn Cantrell. The man whipped around like a whirlwind everywhere he went, leaving flipped barstools and broken glasses in his wake.

  Kincaid rolled off the bed and strode over to the window. He took a big chance on Renn with this, but the man had proved his ability to keep his mouth shut. None of the members of Discord’s Desire said a peep about the coup he pulled on Alberich, pinning his ex-business partner with the destruction of the Accords.

  All part of the plan.

  What wasn’t a part of the plan was this … the pacing in socks across the floor, not in anxiousness but anticipation. He stared out at the ocean before him, the immensity crashing down on him like that day. Ever since then, he’d been focusing on one step ahead, sifting gravel from straw to keep moving forward.

  The door to his suite clicked, the electronic whirr of a swiped keycard echoing through the room. Kincaid didn’t bother turning around, because he needed a second to control his grin. Relief rushed in like a tidal wave as he heard the familiar clop of Renn’s hooves.

  “Going to keep standing there brooding over Gotham?” his sarcastic voice sliced through the air.

  Kincaid’s smile tilted in amusement as he faced Renn.

  The satyr stood with a duffel bag over his shoulder in front of the door. His arms were crossed, and a storm cloud scowl lingered on his face. Renn’s wild tangle of black hair gleamed with amber notes from the muted lighting in the room. The scuffed-up jeans and skintight tank top highlighted the slender body that Kincaid had been fantasizing about ever since their night together.

  “What the fuck, Leo,” Renn said, not budging from his spot. “The cancelled show?”

  Leo shrugged as he approached. “I heard from a reliable source that Darren Andrews was targeting your show.” Renn’s scowl deepened, and his hooves planted into the carpet, but Leo continued. “I figured I’d protect all those poor, innocent fae attending your show from perishing in a sizzling death.”

  Renn seemed allergic to anything resembling commitment, so there was a high chance the rage parade had to do with Leo’s slight bit of protectiveness. He needed to tone down those tendencies—though, with the way the man had already left a mark, it’d be tough.

  Renn let out a sigh, the shaken soda explosion dying to a small hiss. “Very funny,” he shot back, still not moving. “The overthrower of fae society just looking out for the little guys.”

  Leo took one step forward. Then another. The sound reverberated through the room, and Renn’s gaze revved like a truck’s engine. With this man he played with fire. However, Leo Kincaid had been setting blazes from an early age.

  Renn’s hungry eyes roved everywhere, but Leo maintained his steady forward stare as step by prolonged step he came closer, closer. The air between them hummed like equipment during a mic check, and hunger curled in his gut, a desperate, familiar thing. He’d slept with some unforgettable men through the years, but his encounter with Renn had been eye-opening.

  It was witnessing the ocean for the first time, the swell and crash of the waves and the undulating blue so much more powerful than imagined. Almost as powerful as revenge.

  “What can I say? I’m an enigma wrapped in a tailored suit,” Leo drawled.

  Mere feet separated them at this point, but Renn hadn’t budged. Unstoppable force met immovable boulder and all that jazz. Renn buzzed like a live grenade but with a gleam in his eyes Leo had memorized. One night—that’s all they spent together, yet their collision had felt right in a way little else did these days.

  Renn crooked an eyebrow. “Be an enigma all you want, but I better be unwrapping you out of your suit in the next five minutes.” The ‘or I’ll implode’ glowed in his eyes, an inferno that built and built and built.

  Leo closed the space between them.

  His mouth collided with Renn’s at a bruising force. His fingers threaded through Renn’s hair, and he tugged, tightening his grip. His other hand slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt to feel those washboard abs. Renn tasted like whiskey and blood, and Leo couldn’t get enough. He trailed his fingers down his chest to cup Renn’s cock, the sizeable erection straining the seams of his jeans. Leo got hard once this man walked through the door.

  Renn kissed like an attack, with teeth, with force, and with an inherent wildness that was utterly real.

  Leo countered with deliberation. With the grip on his hair, Leo yanked Renn’s head to the side and sank his fangs into Renn’s shoulder.

  The satyr’s entire body shivered in response, and his tongue traced his lips. Renn watched him with a ravenous look in his eyes.

  Leo pulled back. “Don’t you have some more you want to lecture me about?”

  Renn’s eyes flared. “Fuck you.”

  “Funny, I was thinking the reverse.” Leo’s grin widened as the amusement shone in Renn’s eyes. That sort of power drew him in like Icarus to the sun every time, the tenuous tug of war for control. And he’d never found a partner like this before, an endless, challenging puzzle.

  He continued to bite and suck at Renn’s shoulder and his neck, the quickened breaths in his ear making him grow even harder.

  Renn’s hands didn’t stay idle, his fingers trailing over Leo’s hips and circling around to stroke his cock which twitched beneath the fabric.

  Leo’s hand drifted down Renn’s back, the other still fisted around his hair. His palm circled around the perfect curve of that ass, and he gripped tight. Leo drew in a deep inhale of Renn’s scent, sweat and allspice. Otherworld be damned, he didn’t want to waste any more ti
me.

  He’d been fantasizing about Renn Cantrell from the moment they met.

  Leo walked forward, dragging Renn along, his fist around his hair and his other hand gripping his ass. Renn staggered back with him, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. He tasted like whiskey, and Leo couldn’t stop kissing him.

  Renn backed against the bed, and Leo’s hands slid down to his hips to press him onto the mattress. Renn’s mouth clashed with his hard enough to bruise, and Leo savored every swipe against those plush, swollen lips.

  Leo leaned overtop Renn, pressing him into the bed. His palms sank into the mattress on either side of him, and Renn’s erection strained against the confines of his jeans. Every time his leg brushed against it, a delicious shudder rolled down his spine.

  Renn’s dark strands formed a wild halo around his head against the glaringly white comforter. He lunged up to meet Leo’s mouth again and again, until Leo shoved him against the bed. That earned a wicked grin from Renn, who threw his hands overhead in surrender.

  Leo’s mouth dried with want as his hand drifted to Renn’s belt, the buckle clinking as he tugged it off. He worked the button to Renn’s jeans open and in seconds had yanked his pants and boxers down his thighs. Renn’s calves dangled off the edge of the bed, and Leo slid down until his feet settled on the ground.

  Renn’s erection lay stark between them, and hunger glazed the satyr’s eyes. Leo licked his lips. He wanted Renn undone. He wanted him dazed and begging when he fucked him.

  Leo leaned down, his elbows digging into the mattress as he licked the tip of Renn’s cock. A sharp breath came from the man’s lips, and Leo slid his mouth around the hard shaft. The man tasted fucking delicious.

  Renn moaned, his enthusiasm turning Leo on even more. Leo gripped Renn’s hips, his thumbs pressing into the hollows as he took Renn’s entire length in his mouth.

  Renn thrust his hips forward, eager to meet each descent of Leo’s mouth as his cock hit the back of his throat. The salt of his pre-cum spread in his mouth, and Leo drew each stroke out, the tip of his tongue trailing along the way. The sight of Renn splayed out got Kincaid harder than ever, the man spread like a fucking buffet. He wanted to taste every inch of him.