“Nope. I’m its caretaker. The owner is a sweet young human woman who is a little bit witchy and mated with a Shifter. No accounting for taste, I guess.”
“Shifter?”
“You know. Tall, crazy eyes, change into animals whenever they want. Some humans think they need a full moon or something, but no.”
“I know what they are.” Rhianne’s touch of impatience made her sound like the Tuil Erdannan she was. “I’ve never met one. I hear they are very dangerous.”
“Very. I mean, seriously, seriously dangerous. Make great friends and drinking buddies, but I never forget how savage they can be.”
“Why are you a caretaker? Where is your fortress?”
They’d reached the top of the stairs. Ben huffed a laugh. “Gone. I’m in exile here, have been for a long, long, long time. I can go back to Faerie now, thanks to your mum, but there’s nothing for me there. I thought that once I could return I’d find some closure, but …” A knot tightened in his chest. “Everything has changed, and my people are gone …” Ben trailed off, realizing he’d said too much.
Rhianne gazed at him with her black-brown eyes, framed with thick black lashes. Red-haired Shifters or human women usually had light-colored eyelashes, but not Rhianne. But then, she was a super-all-magical Tuil Erdannan. Maybe they could have eyelashes whatever color they wanted.
“If you’ve lived in the human world for so much time, you could have built a fortress,” Rhianne pointed out. “Or a house like this. Which is clearly not a fortress. Too many windows.” She glanced through the one on the landing, which looked out onto the thick trees behind the house. Sunlight glistened on her hair, despite its dirty tangles.
Ben shrugged. “I like to move around, meet new people. Plus, humans in general live less than a hundred years. If I stay in one place longer than, say, fifty, they get suspicious. I remember when they burned people who were odd recluses, blaming perfectly innocent, magic-less souls for all kinds of troubles.”
Rhianne’s eyes widened. “Seriously? And you want me to hide out here?”
“Don’t worry,” Ben said cheerfully. “They stopped burning people a few hundred years ago. Mostly.”
Rhianne shook her head. “Not reassuring.”
“Anyway.” Ben continued resolutely along the upstairs hall. “Bathroom.” He opened a door to a large room with a full tub and a shower stall. “Lots of towels. Hot water. I’ll show you how to work the taps.”
Rhianne watched in cautious curiosity as Ben demonstrated hot and cold water in the tub and then the shower. He showed her the sink for good measure.
He tried to stop himself picturing her peeling off her clothes and stepping delicately into the tub, steam rising around her lithe body, but it was tough.
Ben hurriedly opened the cabinet beside the sink. “Hairbrushes and things in here. Towels, like I said. Lots of soap. Jasmine knows how to stock the place for guests.”
“Jasmine.” Rhianne smiled, and once again Ben’s imagination went places it shouldn’t. “Pretty name.”
“Yeah, she’s great. Her mate, Mason, is really into her.”
Rhianne stood very close to Ben. As he’d observed, she topped him by about an inch. Interesting, because Tuil Erdannan were mostly tall. But again, maybe, like Ben, they could choose how they appeared.
Their similar height let him gaze into her eyes. Behind the dirt on her face was a beauty Ben wanted to touch.
Nope, no touching. Not the daughter of Lady Aisling mac Aodha. He wanted his guts to remain on the inside where they belonged. Ben was a powerful being on his own, more so than he usually let on, but Lady Aisling ... pinky …
“I’ll find clothes and leave them outside the door,” Ben said rapidly. “I won’t be anywhere near when you open it.”
Rhianne’s next smile held amusement. “Okay.” Her nose wrinkled fetchingly. “I like that word.”
“It’s kind of universal. Nowadays, that is. Only been around for about the last sixty or so years.”
Now he truly was babbling. Ben gave Rhianne a tight grin then forced himself to move past her and out the door.
She watched him go—Ben felt her gaze on him. He pretty much ran the last few steps then shut the door firmly behind him, leaning against it to catch his breath.
The house whispered, and Ben heard faint laughter. He opened his eyes and pointed at the ceiling.
“That’s enough from you.”
Swallowing, he walked away from the door, telling himself to go hunt through Jasmine’s closet for clothes. He tried to ignore the sound of water gushing into the tub, tried not to imagine the garments falling from Rhianne’s limbs, and failed miserably.
* * *
Rhianne lay back in the hot water after she’d washed and rinsed her hair and body, and started to shiver. All the soap in the world—whichever one she was in—couldn’t wash off the stink of Walther’s cell or the touch of his lackey’s hands. They hadn’t found her bare flesh, fortunately, but the imprint of their palms on her made her sick.
Ben had burst into her cell in a flare of light like a god, but he hadn’t looked like the solidly muscular man with the black hair and eyes he did now. She wasn’t certain what she’d seen—a massive creature, a nightmare beast that had torn off the cell door like it was paper.
What was Ben? And why, by the Goddess, had her mother decided he should take her away to the human world?
Lady Aisling indulged herself with trips to this world, but she’d always emphasized that though she liked to visit, she wouldn’t want to live there. Too dirty, she’d say, fastidiously brushing off whatever human clothing she’d returned in. But I had the loveliest time.
Why hadn’t Lady Aisling simply taken Rhianne on a shopping trip to Paris? Letting Walther cool down and get over his disappointment?
Even if Rhianne’s father was involved—terrifying thought—his powers would be limited in the human world … Wouldn’t they?
Rhianne shivered again. She had no idea and did not want to find out.
She grabbed the soap, which had a rich, floral scent, and rubbed it all over herself once more. Her wrists were already healing—burns from her own magical fire always faded quickly. Her stomach growled as she lathered her skin. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.
A bottle of bath oil stood on a shelf beside the tub. Rhianne was happy her mother had taught her English, so she could read the words on the label, though it was also in French. Rhianne opened the bottle and dribbled the oil into the water. More florals overlaid with spice, not too heavy, drifted to her. The lady of the house, Jasmine, had good taste.
Rhianne closed her eyes, but too many images flashed behind her eyelids, so she opened them again. More shivering, though the water was plenty warm.
She pressed her fingertips to her temples, massaging the skin. “Get over it, Rhianne,” she said in her own language. “Shake it off. It’s just Walther the slug. He can’t help being slimy.”
Soft whispers answered her words, or maybe it was the breeze outside the window. Warm air touched her, bringing with it the fragrance of roses.
She didn’t remember opening the window. Or had it already been open when she’d come in? She couldn’t recall.
Letting out a long breath, Rhianne hoisted herself out of the tub and reached for one of the large, soft towels on a nearby rod. She dried her skin, wrapped herself in the biggest towel, and made her careful way to the door. The oil made her feet slick on the tile floor.
She opened the door a crack. Ben was nowhere in sight, but a pile of clothing lay outside on the carpet, folded neatly. Rhianne snatched up the garments and slammed the door.
The clothes were odd but fairly simple. Leggings, a tunic with printing on it, and a short coat of the same cloth as the leggings. The printing on the thin tunic said: Ç’est chaud. Rhianne understood the French words but had no idea why someone would print them on a piece of clothing.
There was also a smaller garment, pink and lacy, that was
meant to go on under the leggings. Such a pretty thing to be hidden under the clothing, but she knew what lingerie was.
The shoes Ben had left were interesting. Three different pairs, presumably so she’d find a size that fit her. Rhianne chose ones made of cloth with highly cushioned soles. They had no lacings, only tabs that stuck to the shoe and made a tearing sound when she pulled them off.
Once Rhianne had dressed, she braided and tied her damp hair with a stretchy band she found in the cupboard. Her stomach rumbled again. She needed food.
She padded out of the bathroom to the long upstairs hall. The staircase lay to her right, but many other doors lined the hall to her left.
The cooking smells coming from the left clinched it. Rhianne followed her nose to an open doorway, beyond which was a large, sunny room. A dining table filled a niche in a bay window, with benches on the window side and chairs on the table’s opposite end.
Ben stood at what she guessed was a stove. It had a flat surface and no fire she could see, but a pot on it bubbled, and something in a frying pan sizzled. The rest of the room was taken up with long rows of cabinets, counters equally as long, and a worktable filled with dishes and foodstuffs.
“Feeling better?” Ben asked. “At least cleaner?”
“Cleaner, yes. Please thank Mistress Jasmine for her hospitality.”
Ben grunted something that sounded like a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Hungry?”
“Yes. Very. Do you have golden bread?”
“I don’t know what that is, but you’re welcome to look around.” Ben indicated the counter full of food and another tall cabinet with metal doors. The cabinet hummed.
Rhianne moved to the counter. “Golden bread has honey and seeds in it. Sometimes raisins if the chef has plump ones.”
“Sounds good, but I guarantee we don’t have anything like that.”
Rhianne found a transparent bag with what appeared to be bread inside it, but it was pure white and smelled unpleasant. Also very squishy, she realized when she squeezed it too hard.
She shoved the bread behind a large jar of some substance with a bright label and approached the stove. “Perhaps I will have whatever you are cooking. Is that the flesh of a hunted beast?”
Ben poked at the bits of meat sizzling in the pan. “Sort of. It’s bacon, anyway.”
“Bacon?”
“Comes from pigs. From their stomachs.”
Rhianne gazed at Ben in surprise. “You eat this?”
“It’s good. Especially with eggs.”
“Eggs. I can eat those.”
“I scrambled up a mess.” Ben moved his flat stirring implement to another frying pan on the back of the stove. Inside this lay yellow blobs flecked with black.
Rhianne eyed the concoction dubiously. “Well, I am hungry.”
Ben’s laugh echoed in the room. “Are you saying you don’t like my cooking? You haven’t even tasted it.”
“I do not wish to be rude, but …” Rhianne looked over the pans. The one with boiling water had sausages floating in it. “I can have those.”
“Oh, you can, can you? Tell you what. I’ll fix you up a plate. Check the refrigerator—might be something else in there you’d like.”
He indicated the humming cabinet. Curious, Rhianne approached it. The door’s handle was cool, and she had to yank at it several times before the ponderous door swung open.
A wave of very cold air wafted out, as though she’d walked into a deep root cellar. More surprising were the shelves filled with a curious array of food.
Peppers, carrots, and onions she knew from her mother’s garden at home, as well as market stalls, but she’d never seen the variety of packages, all with the same colorful labels as the jar on the table. She didn’t recognize the words—salsa, ketchup, tabasco, soy sauce—or if she did know the words, she didn’t understand the food—hot sauce, curry paste, honey mustard.
Apples. Those she understood. She pulled one from a bowl, wiped it on her shirt, and took a big bite.
Crisp. The iciness of the cabinet made the apple pleasantly crunchy and cold. Rhianne wiped a droplet of apple juice from her chin.
Ben had filled two plates with all the things on the stove. He took browned slices of the squishy bread from a device with slots on the top and added them to the plates.
“Breakfast is up.” He carried the plates to the dining table.
“How is that done?” Rhianne, apple in hand, approached the stove. Its top was smooth and black. No fire anywhere or any sign of smoke. “Magic?”
She touched the surface.
Ben slammed the plates to the table and was leaping back to her at the same time Rhianne shrieked and jumped. “Shelarank!”
Arm around her shoulders, Ben dragged her to a basin. He touched a tap similar to those in the bathroom and shoved her hand under a cold stream of water.
“Your mum should have given you a manual to the human world,” he grumbled.
Rhianne wriggled her singed fingers, which felt better under the chilly stream. Ben’s hand engulfed her wrist as he held her steady, but his touch was gentle on her healing skin. His other arm was still around her, his support solid.
Rhianne recalled the gargantuan creature that had ripped the bars from her cell, setting her free. The hands that held her now were much smaller, but she felt the same strength in them, saw battle scars on his skin that a change of form couldn’t hide.
She peered at him as she let the cool water soothe her fingers. “What are you?” she whispered.
Ben’s cheeks grew red, but he shrugged. “Ghallareknoiksnlealous. Don’t try to say it. Goblin is fine.”
Rhianne stared at him. “Goblin? But you’re extinct.”
A hardness flickered in his eyes. “That’s me. Extinct.” He released Rhianne’s hand and tossed a towel at her, turning away for the table.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly.
“I know. Come and eat before it’s cold.”
Rhianne somehow still had hold of the apple. She dried her hand and moved to the table. Ben dragged out a chair for her, and Rhianne sat.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said. “Not after you rescued me so kindly.”
Ben grunted. “Goblins are gone from your world. They were never very important to Tuil Erdannan anyway.”
Rhianne realized his gruff tones masked a pain so deep she would never understand it. She suddenly wanted to. This creature had braved a hoch alfar lord’s fortress, with only one companion, and had whisked her to safety. Relative safety, that is. Rhianne wasn’t certain if she was out of danger here.
“You’re important to me.” Rhianne set down the apple and picked up a fork—at least humans knew about eating implements—and scooped a hunk of what he’d called scramble. “You took me out of that shithole.”
Ben’s hardness remained as he nonchalantly crumbled his toast. “That place literally was one. So how the hell did you get into that shithole? I can’t believe a plain old hoch alfar took down a Tuil Erdannan.”
Rhianne grimaced. “Well, he did.”
“Give me the whole, sad story, sweetheart. I need to know what we’re up against.”
He said we’re as though he were part of this fight.
Rhianne made herself take a mouthful of the eggs and paused in amazement. They were good, rich, and peppery, cooked to perfection. She revised her opinion of egg-scramble.
“I was taking a walk on a cliff path above the ocean,” she said after she swallowed. “I live in a village on the coast—I’m a scholar. I research the heavens and write papers and books about it, and I also teach children about it, not just the Tuil Erdannan aristocrats, but the servant-class children as well. Some of them are quite bright, and I help them study to go to university and become scholars too. I take that walk during the evening before I set up to stargaze. It’s beautiful. Soothing. I guess Walther knew I liked it too. He had his toadies surround me.”
“You didn’t see them coming?�
� Ben stared at her in amazement. “All that Tuil Erdannan magic couldn’t let you get past a circle of dumbass hoch alfar?”
“It should have.” Rhianne’s forehead grew tight as she remembered. “I didn’t realize my danger—I was ready to hurl them out of my way and continue my walk. Then one of them poked a tiny barb into my arm. It didn’t hurt, but suddenly, I couldn’t walk, and I fell unconscious. When I woke, I was in Walther’s keep.”
She’d been disoriented, afraid, confused. His men had searched her, pulling out and taking away all her weapons down to her hairpins. Walther had watched, and smiled.
“This is bad.” Ben’s face darkened as he stabbed at his eggs. “What kind of tranq can take out a Tuil Erdannan?”
“Exactly my thoughts. There must have been powerful magic in it.”
“If your dad’s involved, then there probably was. Why would Ivor What’shisname want Walther le Madhug to capture you?”
“And marry me.” Rhianne drew her fork across her plate. “Even if I did want to marry, Walther is not the one I’d choose.”
Ben reached to her, turning her hand over to reveal her burned wrist. “Did Walther do that?” His voice rumbled menacingly.
“No, I did.” Rhianne liked his touch, though she knew she should pull her hand away. “I used a spell to melt the chains, and it made the cuffs hot too. Do not worry—it will heal quickly.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t reach you sooner.” Ben lightly traced her wrist just outside the burn. A warmth that rivaled what the cuffs had done wound its way up her arm.
Rhianne held herself still. “It was soon enough. For which I thank you. You and your dokk alfar friend were very courageous.”
Ben’s eyes flickered and he suddenly withdrew his fingers, as though he hadn’t realized he’d touched her. “Yeah, well. When Lady Aisling says do this, you do it.”
“I owe you my life. You saved mine, at risk to yours. I do not hold that lightly.” Rhianne’s face warmed. “And it’s a little embarrassing.”
“It’s Cian you should be pleased with. He loves messing up a hoch alfar’s day. He’s one crazy dude.”
The Last Warrior: Shifters Unbound Book 13 Page 3
