“Everyone thinks I’m dead. Instead of helping my family, I’m stuck here cleaning for you. I’m tired and dirty and there’s no shower!”
Tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes. One slid out. Then another. Suddenly, they were everywhere, rushing down in a bewildering torrent.
Logan’s breath jerked to a halt.
He could feel her pain. Every tear etched inside his heart, where he hadn’t felt anything since he was small and hiding from his father.
She was falling apart into tiny, fragmented pieces and he had to stop it before the pain in his chest took him under.
Chapter Eleven
Logan stood and pushed away from the table, rising panic constricting his chest. He had no idea what to do, but he crossed the few feet to Trina and wrapped his arms around her, hoping it would be enough to stop her tears and ease his stress.
She stiffened, but didn’t pull away. He tightened his embrace with each of her hitching breaths in an attempt to contain her misery. Still she cried. And the responding pain in his chest swelled.
Then she went limp and started wailing, huge sounds of distress that rang in his super sensitive ears, leaving him even more bewildered. Her whole body racked with emotion as he held her—afraid to hang on, but even more afraid to let go and watch her fracture.
“Whist. It’s all right.” He tucked her tiny, feminine frame under his chin and rocked her slowly, like a boat on the night sea. Her shaking misery put off his arousal and sharpened his distress to a near impossible edge.
He couldn’t remember comforting a woman before. They were for pleasure, not this terrible feeling of anxious helplessness. He cursed silently and held on as she clung to him and cried, pouring everything out onto him as he rubbed her back in the soothing circular motions he would use to calm a frightened animal. His shirt became soaked with her warm tears. Finally, he accepted that he’d have to wait for what he needed. The witch was too upset for any seduction.
TRINA’S CRYING BECAME less of a deluge and more of a sprinkle. Embarrassed, she tugged out of Logan’s hold, her tears drying on her skin, her eyes hot and sore. Behind the bewildered, out-of-his-depth expression, she thought she detected something that resembled a painful form of caring.
This man was the faerie queen’s executioner. He would have killed her had she not taken his forced bargain of near slavery. And now he smoothed the last of her drying tears from her hot cheeks, stepped behind her, and used oddly gentle hands to unfasten her hair.
He stroked it back from her face, finger-combing the ripples out and skimming the skin on the nape of her neck with light, soothing touches that soon had Trina quivering. Turning her to face him, he reached for her again, and she went into his embrace like a ship into a dock, shaking and trembling from her conflicting emotions.
They rocked from side to side, hips pressed together in a slow, easy rhythm. All the tension slid away. Against her belly, his arousal grew, and her resolve weakened.
“Feel better?”
She nodded. Afraid that speaking would shatter the moment, she kept her face pressed against his chest and listened to his heart thumping through his shirt. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud. Her heart changed its beat in response, matching his rhythm beat for beat. She inhaled the smoky, smell of leather and the scent of his skin, and she softened between her thighs, becoming slick, hot, and wet.
The smart thing to do would be to step away.
Crying had opened up a deep, emotional hole inside her, a hole she might never fill. But sex would help.
She hadn’t planned on this, but nothing in her life had turned out as planned. Screw it.
She was far from home and family and he was far from the man she might have chosen. But sex with him would be a temporary stop-gap and fill the huge void of emptiness inside her. She would take what she needed.
Now.
She slid her tongue out, licking salt from her lips, giving him the invitation he waited for. That she had waited for.
He drew back. His fall of long black hair almost hid the ferocious hunger in eyes that delved deep into hers, searching and finding her answering desire for his lips, his touch, his body. He leaned down and brushed her open mouth with an exquisite tenderness that resonated deep inside her. She sighed, and pretended it was real.
His embrace tightened and he came in faster, harder, increasing the pressure of his lips into a force that she welcomed and opened for. Small, soft uncontrolled moans rose in the back of her throat. The heat of his kiss liquefied her bones, stealing her strength and the last bits of her resolve.
She didn’t know if it was because she was lonely and scared, or if it was his magic that had her desperate for him in a way she’d never been desperate for a man’s touch before. And she didn’t care. Her skin burned. She was too hot, too needy, too hungry for him to wonder about the reasons.
Clinging to him she pressed her hips into his arousal—and lost the ability to stand. His stroking hands moved down to her ass, holding her against him in an iron grip. She moaned, his erection leveraged hard against her, and rubbed against him with her face, her breasts, her hips.
Needing his touch.
Craving his touch.
She grabbed his hand and led him to the couch, all worries and thoughts gone now she’d decided to take advantage of her situation and steal his comfort. He sat down and lifted her on his lap, her skirt riding up over her thighs. He slid a finger under the edging of lace that ran along her ass. She shuddered.
Her breath coming in fast, short, pants, she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, pulled the fabric apart, and explored his chest with feverish nips and kisses that had him shaking under her touch. His chest was smooth, just a few rough hairs providing texture under her palms, teasing her skin. He unzipped the back of her dress and undid her bra. She helped, not caring when the dress tore as she pulled it off to pool at her waist and lay her breasts bare. He tugged one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking and licking until she cried out her pleasure and rocked harder against the bulge of his hard-on.
Their clothes ended up thrown carelessly on the floor. They were naked, hot hands and fingers stroking until she burned with need. The tip of Logan’s cock pushed at her and she tried to maneuver him inside where she was ready, wet, and aching.
She’d made her decision, no waiting anymore. She wanted him to take away her fears and worries, take her into oblivion.
Hands on his shoulders, she held on while he gripped her ass and angled her down and onto him. His hands bruised, urging her to move.
He felt so good, so right, deep inside her as she moved up and down his shaft. So right she didn’t remember why this wasn’t a good idea. All her doubts and fears fell away, leaving her to enjoy the moment, the man between her thighs, and her orgasm building stronger and stronger.
She came, clenching her hands on his shoulders. His kiss swallowed her moans turning to screams. Sucking them into his mouth, he shuddered in simultaneous release.
They sat locked together, Trina’s face buried in the damp, salty skin of Logan’s neck. Heartbeats and breaths slowed together as they recovered. Trina leaned back, smiling and secure in his arms. She looked at his face and stiffened as she recognized that smug smile that men couldn’t keep to themselves when they got what they wanted from a woman.
“Maybe keeping you wasn’t a bad idea after all, Trina MacElvy.”
She sagged down.
This had been a mistake.
Logan’s grip relaxed and she took advantage, moving in a sudden tumble to the floor. She hopped up, grabbed her clothes, and aimed for the bathroom. Then she remembered there wasn’t one.
“Great, just great.”
She wrestled herself back into the torn, clingy dress, struggling behind her back with the zipper and muttering low, violent curses.
“Where are you going? Why are you getting dressed?”
“The facilities are outside, remember?” She snarled. She didn’t look at him as she grabbed the l
antern from the table and went outside, leaving him in the dark. She got three steps beyond the door before turning around and coming back in.
“I’m borrowing your boots. There’s no way I’m using an outhouse bare-foot.” She wasn’t about to tell him she’d been out there already earlier that afternoon, her feet wrapped in rags. No, she wanted his boots.
His smug smile faded.
Trina clomped out of the house in Logan’s over-large black leather boots. She shoved her way through the enormous hounds settled in sleepy piles on the front porch, so angry with herself she didn’t care about their otherworldliness. They were just dogs, he was just a man, and she was an idiot.
She found the outhouse and took her time, grateful that someone had left something so modern as toilet paper in it. And decided that the elf owed her shoes.
Back on the porch of the cottage she hesitated. Surrounded by sleeping, magical hounds she braced herself for the argument about to happen. She’d jumped the bones of the man who had been trying to kill her, and she’d had the most intensely physical sex of her life. She had no leverage now. He thought she was just an easy lay.
She’d screwed up. Again. Now she had to go in there, face him dead-on and tell him no more sex.
And the worst part, although it was bad enough, wasn’t that she would have to spend the rest of the year fighting his elven attraction. The worst part was: now that she knew what it felt like to kiss him, to touch him, to have him inside of her, now she’d be fighting her real desire to do it again.
But she couldn’t. She sagged against the door. Not unless she wanted to live the rest of her life with the betrayal of her family and the weight of her guilt.
Chapter Twelve
Haddon’s day as the queen’s right-hand man had gone from tolerable to horrendous.
It began to go wrong early in the afternoon, when the shadows from the tall trees shading the large reception area lengthened, and a small grey cavern gnome was admitted for an audience. As soon as Haddon saw the sniveling, cringing gnome make his requisite bow he knew—the day was about to go to shit.
The gnome’s master was Prince Kian, the queen’s only son and most important prisoner. Fifteen years ago, the prince had disappeared. All of his supporters had been exiled or thrown into the dungeons. No one in the court knew where he was. No one asked. No one dared.
The queen was in her more approachable Aeval aspect and Haddon witnessed the fool’s relief all over his face before he lowered it to the grass. Obviously, the gnome had something to present from the prince and he thought he stood a chance with Aeval.
Haddon knew better. It would make no difference. If the queen wanted to have a temper tantrum, she would. It pleased the queen to have the court tiptoeing around her, pacifying her. And if there was anything guaranteed to set her off, it would be a request from her son, the ungrateful sod.
At the sight of Kian’s servant, the ends of the queen’s kinked, purple-red hair lifted with electrical static. This was not a good indicator for anyone standing close to the throne, but Haddon kept his face smooth. He wouldn’t have lasted an hour with the queen had she been able to read his fear of bad hair days.
The queen frowned and lifted a delicate hand to smooth out the slight frizz. Her Majesty was already showing signs of irritation and the gnome had yet to open his wide-lipped mouth. She left the gnome grinding his face into the grass for ten excruciating minutes before allowing him to regain his feet and state his business. The shaking gnome rose but instead of speaking, he stared at the hot pink flowering vines covering the base of the thrones.
The queen rapped her fingernails on the polished wooden root forming the arm of her throne. “Well, speak up!”
For a moment, Haddon thought he’d been wrong, that the gnome was merely nervous and he didn’t have anything special to present, other than his regular quarterly report on the prince. But then the pathetic creature pulled out a worn piece of parchment, sputtered a little, and cleared his throat before proceeding to read an obviously prepared statement.
Gnomes were not very bright.
“My lord Prince Kian requests he be allowed a visitor, Your Majesty,” his nasal voice barely audible over the din of the court.
“Louder!” The queen cracked out.
His large ears quivered and the round bump in his neck bobbled as he tried to swallow.
“Prince Kian re...re...re...quests a visitor, Your Majesty,” he repeated in a somewhat louder tone, the paper in his knobbly hands visibly shaking.
“A visitor? What sort of a visitor?”
“His Majesty humbly requests someone to play chess with. He grows bored with my poor playing ability and requests someone smarter than a common cave gnome.”
“He grows bored?” The queen’s eyes rounded. “He grows bored! Did you all hear that?” The ladies in waiting nodded in unison, the tiny wings on their shoulders flapping fast, and there was a general mutter of agreement from those of the court close enough to take the risk.
The gnome quailed, the odor of his fear increasing as the queen’s volume grew. Haddon tried not to inhale too deeply and moved another step back until he was slightly behind the throne.
“Why does my son think I put him there? Maybe a little boredom will force him to think about my request.” Her fingers tapped out a nervous staccato. She looked down at the gnome, her fine, dark eyebrows pulling together. “Is that all?”
“N...n...no, Your Majesty.” The gnome swallowed again, put his thin shoulders back, and continued with his mission. “My lord, the prince, also humbly requests you allow him his freedom.” His voice trickled off into a pool of silence.
The experienced denizens of the court had started working their careful, casual, calculated way from the throne the moment they realized the visitor was the prince’s emissary. Now, a few more of the less oblivious followed suit.
The queen’s voice dropped to an almost inaudible tone. The gnome moved as close as he dared, huge pink-tipped ears flaring wide to catch every virulent word.
“You may inform my self-centered son that he may leave his ‘vacation’ when he has agreed to marry my niece, Agrona. I am tired of his constant petitioning and whining! He has been in that cave a mere fifteen years, and it is as charming as any palace in Underhill.
“Charming!” She glared at Haddon and he nodded his affirmation, wishing he dared take another step back. “My son should be thankful that he has you to attend to his every need. What more could he want?” She stared at the cringing gnome. Her purple eyes darkened and narrowed into slits. “Wait a moment, what’s your name? Beetle?”
“Beezel, Your Majesty.”
“Beezel. Don’t I have your wife and children tucked away somewhere?”
Haddon hadn’t thought it was possible for the gnome’s skin to get any paler, but it did. That was the moment—a dark mist crept out from the queen’s skin, hovering about her form and slowly obscuring it—the moment Haddon’s day fell apart.
The queen had been in her pleasure aspect of Aeval when the gnome entered the court—treacherous, lovely, and calm. Now all Haddon could see floating in the shimmering mist were her extraordinary purple eyes, like a cobra’s, ready to strike.
“I...I...I...” Beezel stammered.
The mist dissipated and Aeval was gone. Instead, she’d been replaced by the dark beauty of the Morrigan. Far older than many could remember, from the brutal time period thousands of years ago when the Tuatha had come to Earth and the queen had dominated humanity in the form of a living goddess. Stark blue veins traced under her whiter-than-white skin. Her rambunctious red hair had metamorphosed into heavy, inky ringlets with lowlights of red, dark as dried blood, the snaky tresses moving with a life of their own.
Even her jewelry morphed from golden leaves to silvery, white skulls swinging from a wide-linked chain around her neck. Huge black wings unfolded, the iridescent, six-inch razor-sharp feathers blocking out the light coming through the tall trees.
The gnome sh
rank back, his shaking teeth hitting each other like mallets, the sound echoing across the still court.
“You tell my ungrateful son that the next time he sends someone to me, it had best be about his wedding or I will come to him myself!” Her voice rose into a shriek and acidic spittle flew from a mouth contorted into a specter of rage.
Her wings beat the air faster and faster, raising a huge wind that blew the little gnome back even as he struggled in vain to make his bow. He fell. His feet flew back and he landed on his face, grasping at handfuls of the grassy floor in a vain attempt to halt his progress as he skidded across the wide empty court. The enormous doors swung open and Beezel blew through, hitting a pillar hard on his head and sliding down to lie in an unmoving pile. The doors clanged shut.
The deserted court was silent. Everyone who could flee had fled, leaving the only sound the slight brushing of the quivering leaves in the trees.
The wind blew harder. Haddon grabbed for the throne, his fingers sliding on the smooth wood, his legs sailing out behind him. He spoke in as calm a tone as he could and still be heard over the storm. “Your Majesty, please. It does you no good to get so upset about His Highness. He will come to his senses eventually.”
The queen’s wings slowed and the wind died. Haddon’s feet touched the ground. Under his breath he let out a small sigh of relief. The queen eased her wings behind her back, and subsided onto her throne, darting eyes still vivid with anger.
“If that stupid huntsman would finish his job and track down all of the MacElvys, I wouldn’t have to keep my son confined. It’s for his own safety, you know.”
“I know.” Haddon soothed, relieved to have his feet once more touching the ground and the queen thinking about covering up her true plans. “And once you have him wed to Agrona, she will keep him safe.”
“Safe, yes. I just want him safe.” She smiled slyly and winked at him. “Laila!” One of the ladies-in-waiting rushed over. “I need some plum wine.” Laila scurried off. The queen leaned in and whispered to Haddon, “Kian is causing too much trouble. Once the MacElvy’s are dead and he’s married to Agrona, he’ll be much easier to manage.”
Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 10
