Property of the Fae

by Laxmi Hariharan

  My telekinetic energy rolls under my skin, and my spine curves so that my chest thrusts forward. All my senses are attuned to her.

  I can sense her on the psychic plane, and really, it shouldn’t be like this. How can someone be so sensitive to the presence of another person? She’s behind a solid door, that is closed, more than fifteen feet away, and yet I feel her, sense her discomfort. There’s a charge in the air that seems to stretch out from her all the way to me. A connection that had forged when I had shared my essence with her to save her life when she’d been shot. One that had only deepened with our energies coming together to take down that fucker, Boris.

  “Chef? You need to go to her.”

  I narrow my gaze on the doc. “And take advantage of the fact that she’s out of her head, not quite sure of what she wants or where she is, so I should what, mate her so she hates me when she comes out of the heat cycle?”

  “Funny.” He frowns at me. “You didn’t have those compunctions when you bodily carried her from the gathering, shoving aside Hawke and me”—he raises his hand— “I may point out, just so you could teach her a lesson.”

  “That was before.” My scalp prickles, and I rub my jaw. I hate these heart-to-heart talks. Emotions and me? Nope, we are not bedfellows. We are nothing to each other.

  Except…since meeting her, I’d dived straight into a storm of sensations that are so new, so different that they’ve burrowed under my skin and lodged there like a burr that won’t come out no matter how much I dig away at them.

  “Before?” Doc’s voice is bland.

  Bet the man’s laughing at me inside. Storing up a firsthand account of how the man who’d single-handedly assassinated targets in cold blood had been taken down by a group of females. My girls. My family.

  Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Before I realized she was the one, and not just in the physical sense, okay?” I crack my eyes open. “I fucking feel her here.” I pound my fist into my chest. “I hurt for them, okay? I could die for them happily, and it’s a relief, a revelation to know I can feel so much. But it scares the living daylights out of me, is that what you wanted hear?”

  “It’s a start,” a new voice replies.

  I whip my head around and spot Charley.

  The door to the bedroom shuts behind her. She ambles over to me.

  I spring up, and am halfway across the floor to her before I stop. Doc's at my heels.

  “How’s she…you? You and Sweta doing good?” I raise my arm toward Charley then drop it to my side.

  What’s the etiquette when you’re faced with an almost grown woman, who you consider your almost-daughter, when her mother is in heat not too far away? And Charley had seen us all but crawl under each other’s skin earlier before I’d teleported them here and handed them over to Doc and Alice. Fuck me.

  “Sweta’s playing with the other children. She knows Jess is here and so am I, so she’s moved on already in her head. Kids, ya know. They are more resilient than you’d imagine.”

  Charley looks at me with those big dark eyes. There’s hurt in them, and wariness. Who hurt you, little one? is what I want to ask. Instead, for once my ego takes a back seat. “I’ll take your word. You obviously know more about kids than I ever will.”

  She tosses her poker-straight hair and sniffs. “I also know she needs you.” She tosses a thumb over her shoulder at Jess.

  Every muscle in my body tenses. I close the distance between us and squat in front of her. “Fire…I mean Jess, is okay, right? She’s not wounded or anything? Is she in pain, is she—?”

  Charley giggles. It’s such a girlish sound, something I should hear from her more often, but which feels so strange coming from her serious face—one whose features are all lit up now that she’s laughing.

  “Relax, she’s fine. Just a bit restless...you know?" She raises her shoulders then lets them drop. "

  “I am sorry you guys had to see us that way earlier." I shuffle my feet. "It didn’t mean anything… I mean, it did mean something, a lot actually, ah!” The words stick in my throat.

  Jeez, for a guy who can bring a roomful of rough, alpha Fae males to heel, I sure have completely lost my balls. It’s official now. I am just a man in love. One who’ll do anything to take care of his mate and his family. I hang my head.

  “If you are asking for my permission to be with Jess, you have it.”

  I stiffen. When I look up, Charley’s already sauntering past me. She nods to Doc. “I’ll head down to the courtyard and wait for Alice. She promised to show me around.” She ambles up the corridor and turns onto the landing leading to the staircase. Her steps fade away.

  I rise to my feet and scratch my chin. “Did what I think happened, actually happen?”

  “And that was her mini-me.” Doc whistles soundlessly. “I hate to think how her ma’s gonna take you down a peg or two when she’s back to full strength. I’ll be buying front-row seats for the entertainment.”

  “Knock yourself out, asswipe.” I run my finger around the sleeve of my shirt, the one still half torn and bearing the brunt of that last encounter with our esteemed ex-commander.

  “You can go in now, Chef.”

  I swivel around to see Alice shut the door of the bedroom behind her.

  She walks up to me, her hair shining around her head. “I gave her something to help her sleep.”

  “Right.” I glance past her at the door.

  “You know she loves you?” Alice’s voice is soft.

  “Hmm.” How am I supposed to respond to that, eh?

  I roll my shoulders, and my heart thuds in my chest. It's just like going on a mission—no, it’s worse. I am about to face the biggest test of my life and if I fail...I lose everything.

  “I’ve never done this before.” The words are out before I can stop them.

  “It’s a huge responsibility, seeing a shifter through her first heat cycle.” Her tone is serious.

  “First?” I frown at her. "But the girls? She has two kids, so how can that be possible?” My heart begins to hammer. A dull pain squeezes my chest.

  This is only the second time that Alice has met Fire, and already she knows more about her than I do. How is that possible? Have I been so selfish? Have I only focused on what I want to the exclusion of everything else? Not listened to her, not given her a chance to tell me more about herself? Face it, I haven’t been attentive to her needs at all.

  My mind…and ah! Okay, my body, my senses, all of me has been so taken in by Fire, having a conversation has been the furthest thing from my mind.

  "The children," I swallow, "they are not hers, are they?" Even as I say it I know it's true.

  Alice's gaze narrows. "That's up to Jess to tell you," she tilts her head. "Talk to her Chef, give her a chance to share everything with you.”

  My guts churn. Fuck, I have been a selfish prick. Have been too engrossed in only what I want. I’ve hurt Fire. I know it. I'll never forgive myself for this.

  Alice raises a hand as if to touch me, and there’s a growl from Doc. She frowns but drops to her hand. “See you on the other side.”

  She walks past me, giving Doc a wide berth, and keeps going. Doc’s features darken. He turns and stomps after her.

  I stalk toward the closed door of the bedroom then pause. Once again only thinking of yourself, eh? You want the answers, you want to know more about the relationship between Fire and her Firelets. What about her?

  Her needs. Her state of mind?

  I shove my fingers through my hair.

  She's been through helluva lot. I need to give her time to recover before I hurl questions at her.

  So I am not great with putting my emotions into words and shit, but I am good with my hands and not just in the way you think.

  I can cook for her, nourish her body and her spirit, show her how much I care. I can do that much. It won't make up for my being selfish all this while, but it's a start.

  Pivoting on my heels I head for the kitchen.

  3
9

  Jess

  The scent of something tangy teases my nostrils. I sniff at it. The smell of garlic frying, layered with juicy tomatoes, all laced with that more evocative essence of pinewood. Of him. My mate. I sit up with a gasp.

  My mouth is so dry, my tongue seems to be stuck to the roof. I try to swallow and the back of my throat stings.

  I fling aside the covers twisted around my hips, then swing my legs over the bed. My knees tremble. My head whirls. I grab the mattress for support then drop my head down between my knees. I stay that way for a few seconds. When I open my eyes next, the floor has stopped moving. I straighten and find I can look around without being dizzy. I push up to a standing position, and my legs seem to support me.

  It’s dim in the room. There’s a bed, a table pushed up against the wall, and at the far end a mirror. I hadn’t noticed the other bits of furniture before. My cheeks redden. Probably because my mind has been too full with thoughts of the owner of this room, the one to whom the bed belongs. I am back in Tristan’s bedroom, there’s no doubt about it.

  The light streams in from where the door stands half open. I take in another breath, and the scent of pinewood laced with smoky incense fills my senses. Him. He’s here. My pussy clenches. Heat flushes my skin. I hear the sounds of someone moving around, then the sound of vessels clanking reaches me. I walk to the door and peek into the corridor. The aroma of spices, the sound of sizzling, all of it teases me. All my senses seem to implode at once. Hot, heady, intense…and just this side of bitter.

  The mixture of smells envelops me, calling to me.

  It feels like I am rolling in his essence. My stomach grumbles. My thighs spasm and moisture pools between my legs. I grab the frame of the door to steady myself, and my palms slide right off.

  I look down to find I am wearing a shift—not mine, I do not own anything in this horrendous green. The dress is wet and clings to me like I am running a fever. I raise my hand to my nose and sniff. The scent of sweat, of lust, of me needing him. My sweeter spoor intermingled with that lighter pinewood of his fills me. My head whirls. Where is he?

  Heat slithers down my spine. Every part of my skin hurts. I yank off the shift and fling it aside.

  It doesn’t help. The air hits my sensitive skin, and I groan. My thighs quiver. The ache between my legs intensifies. I feel empty, so empty. My stomach rumbles again. When did I last eat? I can’t remember.

  The crash of something breaking reaches me. I hear him curse. I walk toward the sounds. Toward him. He’s here. I race out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen so fast my feet don’t seem to touch the floor.

  I burst in and come to a stop.

  His back is to me. His wide shoulders block out the sight of the range. He has an apron tied around his waist. That lean waist, which tucks in before flaring to meet those powerful flanks. The corded muscles of the back of his thighs flex as he moves. His jeans cling to his legs like a second skin, outlining every single nuance of his powerful body. His feet are bare. A tingle of awareness ripples down my spine. There’s something so sexy about a man with naked feet. I want to crawl over and lick his toes. Umm…where did that thought come from? I didn’t realize I had a foot fetish, not until now. And I already know that the other parts of him live up to the promise of his big feet. This entire relationship seems to be going in reverse.

  He picks up a wooden spoon from the side, and the breath I’d been holding whooshes out.

  He hunches his shoulders as if to sample what he’s cooking, and his spine curves, the muscles of his butt flex, and my nails slide out of my fingers.

  I take a step forward, and another. Don’t take my eyes off his tight glutes. Since when did I become so obsessed with his butt, the arch of his hips, the way his biceps fold as he slides the food onto one plate, then another?

  He scoops up both plates then turns. “Hungry?”

  Yeah, just not for food. I snicker under my breath. Clearly, I am in the throes of a full-blown heat cycle, only the man hasn’t realized it yet. Or if he has, he’s ignoring it, and his sense of smell is better than any shifter’s, so there’s no way he’d have missed the pheromones that are all but oozing out of me. “What’s your game?”

  He angles his head, then walks to the table, which is already set with placemats, cutlery, a candle, and... flowers? I blink and the sexual haze in my head fades.

  “Expecting company?”

  He sets one plate down, then pulls out a chair. “You.”

  “Why are you being so gallant?” I frown.

  “I am making up for lost time.”

  My heart begins to thud.

  He sounds quiet, serious. Not like the Tristan I know. I mean, the alpha-hole who had thrown me over his shoulder and carried me out of the arena was primal, lethal, one who’d not hesitate to dominate me and get what he wants… This man, he is all that, but tempered. He is delicious. My mouth waters.

  He jerks his chin to the chair. “Let me feed you, Fire.”

  You can do more than that. The words tumble around in my head, but I don’t say it aloud.

  The scent of fresh basil and ripe tomatoes, deepens. My stomach rumbles.

  A smile tugs at his lips. “Food’s getting cold.”

  I stumble across the floor and plop into the chair.

  He scoots the chair forward, so I am able to reach my fork without stretching. My stomach literally goes into spasms, and I don’t stop myself. I fork up the food and bring it to my mouth. Zesty, fiery, piquant, all the tastes come to life all at once. My taste buds go into overdrive. I almost drool all over the plate.

  I eat another forkful. More tastes, scents, and heat explodes on my tongue. It’s like I am swallowing up his essence with each bite. My thighs squeeze together, and moisture flows out between my legs. He seems to be setting every part of me fire. On me, in me. My mouth is on fire with his food. My insides are on fire for him. Goosebumps flare on my skin. Is it possible to orgasm by just eating? Umm! Ask me again in a few seconds.

  I duck my head and keep my gaze trained on the food. My cheeks flush, and I dip my neck forward so my hair falls over my face. I shovel more food into my mouth. Taste, salivate, chew, swallow. My fork hits the now-wiped-clean plate with a clatter. I rest my back against the chair, then flick my hair back.

  Only then do I lift my head and meet his gaze. His features are hooded. His face is partially in shadow. I angle my head to see his eyes. He lowers his eyelids then slides his plate across to me.

  “Eat more.” His voice is soft and…it’s not a command. Or a demand. Huh?

  I peer up at him, my brow furrowed.

  “You’re still hungry.” His voice is matter-of-fact. Not taunting, not teasing. “I like to feed you.”

  “Oh.” My lips part in surprise, because, this gentle side of him is not what I anticipated. He’s being gentlemanly, too well-behaved, and something uncertain creeps down my back.

  “What’s wrong?” I inch my chair closer to the table, and not only so it’s easier for me to reach the food, but because I want to read his features, which are still shadowed.

  “Nothing.” His voice lowers a notch. His jaw firms.

  “Liar.” I snicker.

  “What’s funny?” He drums his fingers on the table.

  “Just it seems we’ve changed dialogue. You were the one who used to accuse me of lying to you, now here you are, not able to look me in the eye.”

  I dig my fork into the lasagna and eat another mouthful.

  “That’s not true, Fire, and you know it.” He rubs the back of his neck.

  It’s such an uncertain gesture and so out of character, my throat closes. I place my fork next to the plate, then fold my arms in my lap.

  “I want to see your face.”

  He angles his head so the rays from the lights above slant over his features, throwing his eyes into relief. Blue, turquoise, flecks of amber fire. I blink.

  “You’ve changed.”

  “You haven’t.”
/>
  “No shit.” I giggle again. And I am not drunk. The heat from his body seems to roll over me. I wring my hands in my lap, then look around the room. At the oven, the windows, the chairs. Anywhere but at him. Another flash of heat streaks over me, and I gasp.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I wriggle around in my seat. “Uh, I…need something.”

  “What?”

  “If I tell you, you’ll be angry.” My voice comes out all whiny, and I don’t know what’s gotten into me.

  The more he seems in control, the more I want to do something to get under his skin. The more he seems at ease, the more I want to rip into his composure. The more polite he gets, the more I want to break through whatever barrier he’s created and reveal the beast I know which lurks just under the surface.

  “Try me.” His voice is soft.

  I drag my gaze to his face, over his features. Those gorgeous eyes, that cruel upper lip, that full lower lip which I want to dig my teeth into. I hear the chair crash back and realize I have sprung up to my feet. I push the empty plate to the side, then place one knee on the table.

  His shoulders go solid. “I think we should talk first, Fire.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I had in mind.” I chuckle. The sound is harsh and bitter. And I am not sure why these emotions are pouring out of me. Lust, rage…all of it mixed into some kind of potent combination that I cannot quite name. I heave myself on the table. Both my knees hit it. I place my palms face down on the surface then crawl toward him.

  He doesn’t move. His features don’t change expression. He watches me and his blue eyes flare with those strange amber lights that confuse me. I glide toward him and stop when I am almost nose to nose with him.

  “What did you want to ask me?”

  40

  Tristan

  She stares at me from under hooded eyelids. Her amber eyes gleam. Specks of blue light up the edges. I blink, and they are gone. I must have been mistaken. It’s not possible that I can see myself in her gaze. My heart squeezes. I bring up my hand and rub the skin over my rib cage.