by Tasha Black
“What now?” Sara asked.
“We rest,” Dorian said. “We can try again tomorrow.”
Sara nodded, looking relieved.
Tristan could see that her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in months, though he knew she had looked young and sweet this morning.
Magic came at a price, and it took a heavy toll on mortals.
He wondered why he had not seen the clockwork magic take its price from Tabitha today.
He observed her, suddenly wondering if her powers might be greater than he had suspected.
“I’m going to stick around and clean this place up,” Tabitha told Dorian quietly. “Get her home to bed. Tristan will help me.”
Tristan winced at the suggestion that he was going to clean the store like some sort of grocer’s wife.
But his brother’s expression of relief and gratitude touched him in spite of himself and he nodded, resigned.
As Dorian carried Sara out the door, Tristan turned to Tabitha.
“Ready to clean up?” she asked him, one eyebrow quirked as if she knew how little this task would please him.
“Delighted,” he teased. “Now that I know you’re looking forward to it.”
She looked surprised for a moment and then laughed.
“I guess we should start with the produce,” she said. “I’ll poke around in back and see if Donna has a broom and dustpan someplace handy. Unless there’s some kind of clean-up magic you have up your sleeve?”
There was, as a matter of fact, but he found he was even more curious about the mortal now that she was in such a playful mood. It was cheering him after his failure to defeat the banshee.
“Does that sound like something the King of Light would do?” he asked.
Fae could not lie, but they could hedge. When she got to know his kind better, Tabitha would recognize that a question answered with a question was suspicious.
But as things were, she just smiled and darted into a dark doorway in the back of the store, presumably to find a broom.
He waited for her impatiently, finding himself annoyingly pleased when she popped back out, broom and dustpan in hand.
“Which do you want?” she asked, holding up both items.
He looked at the long broom and the little pan and brush and smiled.
“The broom,” he said.
She handed it over.
For a few quiet minutes he swept blueberries into a pile.
Tristan had never done his own cleaning up, but he had seen his housekeeper Ilsar sweep many a time. He felt he was very effective at it.
“Are the fruits enchanted?” he asked, watching an especially plump berry roll into his pile.
“What do you mean?” Tabitha asked.
“They’re enormous,” he told her. “In my world blueberries are the size of… blueberries.”
“Oh,” she said. “Yes, wild blueberries here are smaller, so are the ones on family farms. But the commercial farms have selectively bred the plants to get larger fruit.”
“Why?” Tristan asked.
“They look juicier,” Tabitha said.
“Are they juicier?” he asked.
“Generally, no,” she told him. “When you breed for size you always lose flavor. But it’s the way it’s done these days.”
He wondered why that’s the way it’s done was such a common refrain for humans. To live such short lives, they were certainly fond of repetitive patterns.
He wanted to ask her about it but sensed that she would find the suggestion macabre. Mortals rarely enjoyed discussing mortality.
Soon the berries were all in one area.
“Your turn,” he said, indicating the pile.
She knelt to use the dustpan and he relished the sight of her at his feet.
Where she belongs…
She looked up at him.
Her eyes were lovely, a deep blue, like the depths of the ocean. He felt that she could see through him, though that couldn’t be true. Too soon she was disappearing with the broom and dustpan again.
He helped her retrieve the melons that had rolled away.
They were both quiet now.
He wondered if she felt it too, the solemn magnetism pulling them steadily together.
“We just have to stack up the cans and we can get out of here,” she said softly. “I’ll drop off an anonymous donation to cover the cost of what was lost.”
He bent to grab a can. When this task was done, they would go back to her home.
He did not know what would happen there. This woman was not pliant and eager-to-please like his consorts at home, but he sensed that she desired him.
For the first time in his life, he was faced with a woman who was in total control of a potentially romantic situation.
And it was delightful.
9
Tabitha
On the drive home, Tabitha suddenly remembered something that might help.
As soon as they got back to the museum, she began digging through the drawers of her big desk, certain that if she could just lay hands on the right book or file, it would come back to her.
The banshee had sparked an old memory. She was sure she’d seen it somewhere before. But all she kept finding were generic entries on banshees in useless folklore reference books.
“What exactly are you looking for again?” Tristan asked, sounding a little petulant.
She hadn’t paid him much attention since she started her frantic search, and she guessed that a king wasn’t used to being ignored, even for a few minutes.
“You can go to bed.” She glanced up at the big man, taking up the entire doorway as he watched her. “If I find anything, I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“No,” he said, frowning and stepping fully into the room. “I will stay with you.”
She had felt something building between them all night, a sort of tacit promise.
Maybe that was why she was so anxious to dig through her files, read a book, anything other than go upstairs…
“Well, I swear I read something about a woman in a black cloak with a lethal singing voice,” she said, turning back to her desk. “I know I’ve seen her before. If I could just find it maybe we’d have a little more insight into the creature.”
“You have two fae kings from her realm here with you,” Tristan pointed out. “Isn’t that better than a book or a paper?”
Tabitha straightened. “Look, I don’t mean to offend you, but yes, we had two fae kings present, and my best friend, who has some pretty badass magical powers. And we still couldn’t capture her. I think an instruction manual sounds pretty good right about now.”
“You realize I just awoke from several hundred years frozen in time,” Tristan said.
“I’m sure you’re very powerful,” she replied, feeling a little grumpy. “Is that what you want to hear?”
Of course she was supposed to respect his magic. Why couldn’t he respect her knowledge?
“Do you want me to help you look?” he asked.
She blinked up at him for a moment, shocked and a little suspicious.
“Really, Tabitha,” he said. “I’ll help if you let me.”
He meant it. Maybe being around humans was softening his edges.
“It’s fine,” she sighed. “I don’t even really know what I’m looking for. I just know that I’ll know it when I see it, if that makes any sense. But I’m getting nowhere. We can try again in the morning when my mind is fresh.”
He nodded.
That was that then. No more distractions.
They headed through the door that led between the main museum area and the turret, which led them to the door of Tabitha’s home.
She felt his presence acutely, as if her every cell had been remade as a compass and Tristan was the magnetic north.
She walked quickly through her moonlit living space and climbed the staircase at the back of the house, unable to stop noticing that even her footsteps
had fallen into rhythm with his. Or maybe his were in rhythm with hers.
In any case, she found she was filled with a sense of peace.
“Let’s look at the moon and stars from my windows,” Tristan suggested quietly. “I want to see their positions in your world.”
It was a flimsy and overly romantic excuse to get her into his room and she knew it. But she didn’t mind. She felt like she was floating.
They traversed the long hallway past her room to the turret again.
The windows that surrounded the room showed the deep blue blanket of sky between the leaves of the trees.
Tabitha walked to a window and placed her hands on the wooden frame, looking out into the winking stars.
How could they be so unchanging, when her whole life seemed to be transforming into something entirely new?
10
Tristan
Tristan joined Tabitha at the window, standing behind her, looking out into the trees over her shoulder.
He could hear the pounding of her heart and practically taste her anticipation.
He tried to temper his own excitement with patience, though that was not his usual style.
“Do they look the same?” she asked.
For a moment he forgot what they were supposed to be talking about.
“The stars,” he said, remembering. “They’re not as bright here, but they are no less beautiful.”
She turned to him and his senses were filled with her. He drank in the delicate flowery scent of her perfume, the deep blue of her eyes and the soft sound of her breath.
The light king had never wanted for a partner, every woman in his kingdom wanted him, and plenty of men, too. He was confidence embodied. The very concept of longing was foreign to him.
But he found himself pausing before leaning in to kiss Tabitha.
What if she didn’t want him?
What if she pushed him away?
Irrationally, he was sure that he would rather die than suffer such a cruel fate.
He drew the Light around them, feeling a little guilty for enhancing her sense of well-being just to give himself an edge he surely didn’t need.
But Tristan desired this woman more than he had ever wanted anything before.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” she said, smiling.
“What?” he asked, mesmerized by the movement of her lips.
“You’re making me feel happy,” she told him.
“I’m only trying to return the favor,” he said.
“Don’t be slick,” she said softly. “You like me. Just admit it.”
“I do like you, Tabitha Barnes,” he told her.
It was easier to admit than he would have thought.
He waited for her to say she liked him too.
“I don’t do relationships,” she said instead. “Just so you know.”
Something in him rose, fierce and furious. Was this jealousy? He had never experienced it in the context of a woman before.
“But I’m guessing you don’t either,” she said, oblivious to the fire she had set in his chest.
“Too much talking,” he said, cupping her cheek in his right hand.
Her expression softened, her eyes going hazy.
Yes, this was better, this was the control he was used to.
He leaned down and brushed her lips with his before he lost his tenuous hold on her.
Instantly, he was lost to sensation, awash in the warmth of her mouth, the sweetness of her breath.
He kissed her again, pressing his lips firmly to hers.
She kissed him back, sliding her hands slowly up his chest and around his neck.
A trail of starlight followed in the wake of her hands, dizzying him with pleasure.
He thumbed her jaw open and stroked her tongue with his.
Tabitha pressed herself against him, maddening him with the softness of her breasts against his chest.
This wasn’t what kissing was supposed to be like. He wasn’t supposed to be falling apart from the gentle touches of a mortal.
He pulled away slightly, gazing into her eyes.
Her expression was filled with wonder.
You know what this is, Tristan, he told himself, still not quite believing it.
He took her left hand from his shoulder, kissed her palm, then placed his against it.
She gasped at the sizzle of electricity between them.
Their hands were pale in the moonlight.
He watched as the slender silhouette of an inky black vine began to appear on his left ring finger, wrapping itself around his finger and hers, binding them.
“What’s happening?” Tabitha whispered.
But she knew what it was. After all, her best friend had the fae bond around her own finger.
Whatever Tabitha’s professed stance on relationships, she didn’t move her hand away.
He gloried at the sight of their growing bond, not allowing himself to wonder why he would be bound to a mortal. The rightness of it was too absolute.
As soon as the sizzle of magic faded, he pressed his lips to hers again, and then to her forehead and her cheeks, covering his queen with fervent kisses.
She laughed and the sound was like the cool, clear water of a sparkling brook, rushing over him, threatening to carry him away.
It was too much.
He began fumbling with her clothing.
It was nothing like the clothing he was used to. There were strange metal teeth and cruel little hooks.
“I’ll do it,” she murmured.
He stepped back and watched as she removed her garments in the soft moonlight.
She undressed slowly, as if teasing him.
And he savored every second of it, watching her reveal herself to him, bit by bit.
At last, the strange garments were pooled at her feet. He drank in the sight of her, the softness of her thighs and curve of her hips, the pale roundness of her breasts.
He knelt at her feet, loving the wonder in her eyes as she beheld her king, kneeling before her. Tristan had never fallen at a woman’s feet before, never been wholly obsessed with the idea of pleasing her.
But this was no mere woman.
This was his queen.
11
Tabitha
Tabitha looked down at Tristan’s beautiful face.
He gazed up at her with an expression of desperate hunger.
Tabitha had enjoyed plenty of physical experiences with men, but none had ever possessed a fraction of this urgency, this intimacy.
She inclined her head slightly, sensing that he needed to know she would allow his touch.
Instantly, he pressed his mouth to her breasts, licking one nipple and then the other. His jaw was rough, but his mouth was gentle.
Tabitha felt a fire rising in her, threatening to consume her whole. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe.
One of his big hands closed over her hip and she whimpered at the response in her core.
She opened her eyes and luxuriated in the sight of him ravishing her breasts.
He gazed into her eyes and trailed kisses down her belly.
“Tristan,” she moaned.
He slowed his movement to a blindingly frustrating pace, nuzzling her inner thighs, stroking her hips with both hands.
She closed her eyes again, praying for the patience to wait for what was coming.
When his lips found her sex, she cried out and clutched the window frame behind her to keep from swooning.
Tristan growled and flicked his tongue against her most sensitive place, then lapped ravenously at her opening, swirling his tongue up to tease her at intervals.
Tabitha moaned and leaned back. The cool glass of the window felt good against her feverish skin.
Tristan explored her thoroughly with his cruel mouth, nearly bringing her the satisfaction she craved again and again, and then softening his touch just before she could taste relief.
She ran a hand through his golden hair to pull him closer
, noticing the way the ebony vine wound around her finger.
The next time he had her moaning and quivering, her restraint broke.
“Please,” she cried.
Without a pause he gave her what she needed.
The room splintered away around her, and Tabitha felt as if her whole world were being unmade and then made anew as powerful waves of pleasure razed mountains of doubt in her heart, leaving behind a fertile valley, ready to be occupied by Tristan, and Tristan alone.
12
Tristan
Tristan carried Tabitha to his bed, placing her gently down before removing his own clothing.
His body was raging for relief - he could still taste the salty sweetness of his mate on his lips.
But he would not claim her tonight. He had to be sure she understood the meaning of what they had done.
He crawled into bed with her and she slid her hands up his chest again.
Like before, it awakened a shimmer of magic in him.
He pulled her close, reveling in the feel of her soft curves against his hard muscle.
She flung her thigh over his hip as if inviting him to enter.
His cock twitched frantically in response, and he nearly lost his resolve.
“Sleep now, my love,” he told her, his jaw clenched against the pleasure he yearned for. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
She relaxed against him and he ran a soothing hand through her hair.
Tristan had never experienced physical frustration before. His body burned, but he found that he could ease his agony by focusing on Tabitha’s comfort, stroking her hair and her back until she melted into sleep.
He knew his own sleep would not come, but he didn’t mind. The long and wakeful night would allow him time to ponder what their future held.
It had never occurred to him that he would remain in this dark realm once his job here was done, but he had no idea if she could survive in his.
His Light came back to him slowly, but instead of absorbing instantly to be expelled later, it seemed to linger just around him, lending him a taste of his own contentment.
