Teasing Danger [Darklands Book 1]

by Autumn Dawn

  Jasmine snorted and closed her eyes, squinting a bit from the too bright glare. She shook her head. “It's not my mother."

  "I see,” he said with a touch of winter's chill. “You're content to prod her into facing her demons, but too cowardly to stand at her side?” He watched with satisfaction and a touch of admiration as her lip curled. This was a woman worthy of the prince who could tame her.

  Slowly she stood up, one hand braced against the wall as if to hold her back from kicking him. “I did this once, and by myself,” she told him defiantly, before her eyes clouded. “Wiley's an adult, and she doesn't need—"

  Not about to let her slip back into self-pity since he'd gotten her this far, he stepped into her space, startling her into stepping back against the wall, trapped. He let his eyes light with just the slightest trace of haunt gold and kept a wash of contempt in his tone. Fear would serve her better than pity, would stir up a constructive anger. “I order you to serve my cousin tonight,” he told her with soft menace. “If you doubt my authority to do so, I will gladly demonstrate why the Haunt are so feared by humans that your race felt the need to drive mine out of your world."

  Anger narrowed her eyes, and just a trace of doubt. He could see that she was thinking, considering, and that was bad. Time to up the stakes. “You don't know me, woman,” he whispered harshly in her ear, careful not to touch her, but close enough to vibrate the fine sensors on her skin. “And you don't know what I'm capable of.” He gave her a couple of seconds to dwell on that and then lied through his teeth. “It's no secret that the Haunt male is excited by the sight of his lover's blood. And Sylph blood...” he let his voice drop an octave, savoring her heady scent. “...is said to be the sweetest of them all.” Her perfume curled around him, beckoning, lulling. He lost the battle with his control and leaned in that extra fraction to touch his lips to her silky neck when she started giggling. He pulled back, indignant. “What is so amusing?"

  She caught sight of his face and clamped a hand over her mouth, attempting to muffle her laughter, but it didn't help. Instead she raised her hands, attempted to keep a straight face, and told him, “All right, O Fearsome One. Far be it from me to disobey the big scary Haunt.” Chuckling, she brushed past him and sauntered over to her armoire, presumably in search of a washcloth for her face.

  Unwittingly, she drew his eyes after her. He was still deeply submerged in her sensual scent, and it was all he could do not to follow her like a lovesick slave and stop her maddening laughter with his mouth. Let her be the one ensnared, he thought angrily, taking a step towards her. A flicker of common sense stopped him. She was doing as he had asked, no, ordered her to do. A wise man would let that be enough.

  He was beginning to fear he wasn't wise.

  Lust was clouding his thinking, he told himself, leaning against her bedpost. He knew what she was, yet he lingered in her presence, allowing her more and more sway over his will. Knightin lusted after her, too, yet he had no trouble in distancing himself from her at every opportunity. Why did he find it so difficult?

  Keilor stiffened, appalled at what he was doing. He'd given up standing around like a lovesick cadet years ago, and he wasn't going to take it up again now, over a human Sylph of all things. It was time he took another lover, someone to clear his mind and satisfy his body, giving him back control.

  Determined that this night would not be spent alone and unsatisfied, Keilor walked out.

  Wiley's eyes were slightly glazed as she stared at the mother-of-pearl door inlaid with ornate golden scroll work. “I can't do it.” She turned and gripped the slit silk sleeves of Jasmine's dark red, Grecian inspired gown. The three tiny gold clips that held the seams together winked in the late afternoon sunlight spilling in through the hall windows. Her hands trembled just a little as she said, “My mother's in there."

  Jasmine sighed and pried her friend's stiff fingers loose one by one and smoothed down her abused formal wear. Her ribs felt oddly constricted, even though the wide black sash around her waist wasn't tight. She adjusted the tasseled golden cord that was wound on top of the sash and then forced herself to stop fidgeting. She looked fine. Wiley looked fine. They could do this.

  It would have been nice to have had more warning. A day wasn't enough to prepare for something like this. Heck, Jasmine thought ruefully, I had years, and it still didn't help me.

  She stiffened her spine and pretended to study Wiley critically. “You're right. You're not ready.” She gripped Wiley's shoulders, straightening them. With the back of her hand she chucked Wiley's chin up gently and then drew the corners of her friend's lips up with her thumbs into a smile. When she took her hands away, the smile stayed, and grew. “Now you're ready."

  Two Haunt guards began to open the door and then flinched back as Wiley suddenly slammed it shut. With her hands on the door, she hurriedly told Jasmine, “I forgot to tell you, you need to pick a male dinner partner when we go in.” She backed off and the door started to open again. This time Jasmine slammed it shut. The Haunt looked at her strangely.

  "What do you mean, I have to pick a male partner? What for?” she demanded.

  Wiley shrugged her ignorance. “Custom. Just pick somebody. Anybody."

  Jasmine didn't budge. Eyes narrowed, she demanded, “This is some sort of social trap, right? I pick the wrong guy and I offend someone for life.” She shook her head. “No, way. You pick for me."

  Wiley shifted, impatient, and gestured to the guards to open the door, and they tried to obey. Jasmine braced her back against it, closing it again, and glared at them. “You won't offend anybody, just pick someone,” Wiley insisted.

  As Jasmine opened her mouth to argue further, the door was forced open from the inside, pushing her away. Keilor stood there, frowning.

  Wiley's laugh was just a little high-pitched. “Jasmine's just a little nervous. We're ready to go in now.” Jasmine glowered at her but kept her mouth shut as Keilor took Jasmine's arm and led her into the small banquet hall. She felt somewhat like the opening band at a rock concert as a small pool of three brightly robed women and one black clad man looked her over curiously and then turned their attention eagerly back to the door.

  Well, the women looked back.

  The tall stranger's emerald eyes froze on her face for a moment and then drifted down her body hungrily, retracing their path no faster than they had to. His loose trousers and gold trimmed tunic, cut in the Chinese style, made the gold of his queued hair all the more striking. Keilor's hand at the small of her back fell away as the man took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. “Fallon, sweet lady.” His intense green eyes sizzled. “Your servant, day or night."

  A little shocked, mostly because such a risqué comment from such a sexy man was directed at her, she stammered, “Uh, um, thanks.” He reluctantly parted with her hand, and she tried to turn her attention back to the door, but it was difficult, since he remained close enough for her to feel him breathe.

  Wiley stared at an older woman with braided silver hair, and the woman looked back at her with sky blue eyes alive with emotion. Wiley had a look of consternation fixed on her face, but the other woman....

  Slowly the queenly lady glided forward, entranced, until she stood blinking fiercely at Wiley. Her voice was hoarse when she whispered, “Daughter?” In a heartbeat she was hugging the stiff young woman, shaking her head over and over. “Rihlia,” she said, and her eyes were wet with tears.

  Jasmine hadn't meant to drink so much, but as she looked up and saw Wiley seated at the opposite end of the table with her family, she felt the need for more fortification.

  Something had to warm her insides.

  Wiley's family consisted of her mother, Lady Rhapsody, Rhapsody's sister Lady Portae, and two cousins. Urseya, a young woman about their own age, was a sloe eyed beauty of perfect dimensions and practiced poise, while her older brother, the handsome Fallon, looked to be in his late twenties. They were all that was left of the extended family that had existed before the deva
stating assassinations that had wiped out most of their bloodline and resulted in the loss of Wiley, as Rhapsody had explained during dinner.

  Quite a loss, if the stunning male specimens present were any indication.

  Fallon, who'd single mindedly secured her for his partner during the blessing, favored her with another one of his sexy smiles. The benediction had been spoken with a man standing protectively behind every woman, hands on shoulders, giving thanks and promising to use the strength given by the nourishment to protect and provide for their family and loved ones. Fallon's hands had settled on her shoulders with a definite sensation of promise.

  The man was gorgeous and ruthlessly charming, and at another time he would have had her falling at his feet, but tonight she felt too cold for even the fire of his sun to thaw.

  He lifted the green glass wine decanter—a work of art with its woven rush covering—and offered to pour for her in silent invitation. She covered her glass with her hand and smiled a little. “No, thank you. I think I've had too much of a very good thing."

  In a voice as smooth as molten chocolate, he countered, “Ah, but is there ever too much of a good thing?” He refilled his own glass and set the decanter aside, and she tried very hard to not to feel anything at all.

  Keeping her eyes on the pale amber liquid remaining in her glass, she answered, “In the case of wine, yes, of course."

  He sipped his wine and watched her with the lazy gaze of a hunter. “And in the case of men?"

  She squirmed. What could she say to make him stop? Men didn't play these kind of games with her. Keilor was useless as a distraction. He was deep in conversation with Urseya on his left and unconcerned with her torment. The bits and pieces she caught of the flirtatious exchange were not helping her peace of mind, either. It seemed that Keilor wasn't above playing with whatever new toys came his way, and the knowledge that she held no more interest for him than a night's diversion sent dark eddies through her. As a result, vinegar seasoned her response. “A curiosity best left ... unexplored."

  Green eyes full of amusement studied her as he swirled his wine in its crystal cup. “Hm. How do you know that the unexplored is not hiding pleasures you might find to your liking? Perhaps you might sample a little excitement and find that it's to your taste?"

  She snorted, and the wine must have rotted her brain, because she told him candidly, “The last guy that promised me a little excitement turned out to have a tongue like a slug. No thanks.” Conversations stopped, and even Keilor turned to look at her.

  Fallon's jeweled eyes widened. “A slug?"

  Perhaps she'd taken the right tact after all. At least he'd stopped flirting. “A cold, wet slug, and once was quite enough, thank you. I'm swearing off men. You're all a pack of trouble."

  Jasmine stood up, nodding at Wiley's mother. “It was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am, and congratulations on your reunion, but your wonderful wine has gone to my tongue, and you'd be better off without my ungracious company. So if you'll excuse me...” Astonished that she'd managed to make such a diplomatic speech after her embarrassing blunder, she left before the poor woman could reply.

  It seemed like the smart thing to do.

  She dreamed of her mother that night.

  Jasmine lay curled on the tile next to the commode, waiting for the next upheaval from her aching stomach and trying not to think, other than to chant the mantra, “I will never touch Haunt alcohol again. I will never...” Then the knocking began.

  "Jasmine, are you ok?” Wiley sounded a little worried. Maybe she'd noticed how much she'd been drinking the night before. Jasmine grimaced. More likely her friend thought she was suffering from acute embarrassment.

  Close enough. “Hung over. Go away,” she croaked, and she was left in peace for a little while.

  She was in stage two with a horrendous headache and a cold, soggy cloth over her eyes when Wiley tried again. “You'll feel better if you eat something,” she coaxed, sounding hopeful. Jasmine groaned something ugly and tossed a pillow at the door.

  By stage three it was late afternoon. She'd taken a bath and her body was beginning to function better, but unfortunately so was her mind. She'd just sent Wiley away again and was lying on the couch in her jeans and t-shirt, staring at nothing, when she heard Keilor's deep voice over the intercom.

  "Open the door, Jasmine."

  Immediately she got up to obey him, padding across the hardwood floor with bare, silent feet. She didn't even think of telling him to go away, not when he was using that tone.

  Without a word he entered her room, striding to the table with a covered tray in his hands. He thunked it on the table while she shut the door. “Sit down and eat."

  Her feet dragged as she moved toward him, but the moment he uncovered the steaming sweet and sour fish and snowy rice underneath, her mouth began to water. She sat without a murmur and devoured everything on her plate.

  Keilor opened the shutters and sat in the chair opposite her. He kept his eyes mostly on the view, though occasionally he glanced at her to gauge her progress. As she finished the last few bites, he stood up and walked around the table.

  She rubbed the back of her chair with her thumb. What would he say first? That she'd made a fool of herself last night? That she ought to be nicer to Wiley? Or maybe that he'd just given her the last meal before the beheading? “What if I promised you that I wouldn't cause any trouble if you agreed to take me home?"

  His eyes glinted dangerously. “I'd tell you to stop sulking.” In a lightning fast maneuver, he snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her roughly up and towards him. She pushed against him, but was no match for his large, battle-toned body.

  Giving her nowhere to run, he demanded, “Admit it,” voicing a suspicion that had budded in his mind while watching her drink more than was good for her last night. “You're jealous of Rihlia."

  She struggled, but he wouldn't give an inch. “Wiley is my friend!” She grunted, trying to twist, but his arm was a rigid restraint. “I've never been jealous of her in my life.” With a strangled shriek of rage, she aimed a bite at his shoulder, but he seized her hair and imprisoned her head.

  "Admit it!” His nostrils flared as his eyes shot sparks at her. A hot tremor shot through him, but they both ignored it. “You ... are ... jealous!” He'd spent another sleepless night alone, thinking of her, and he was not about to back down until he'd lanced some of the boils he sensed festering just below her surface. Maybe then he'd get some peace.

  Furious at her restraint and battered by emotions she no longer had the strength to contain, she shouted back, “All right! I'm jealous, ok? I've never been more jealous in my life.” At her admission, his arm relaxed a fraction and she took every inch of distance he offered. As her words registered, shame filled her. Her hands curled into fists, clutching his shirt, and her head slowly bowed. “I love her like a sister and I've never wanted to outrun her so badly in my life. God help me.” Blood pounded in her ears, and she felt lower than low. Hah! Some friend she was.

  Slowly he raised her heavy head, and in his eyes she saw understanding. “She needs you, you know."

  She nodded, trying not to let the moisture burning her eyes escape. The last thing she wanted was his pity.

  Almost reluctantly, he separated their charged bodies and led her over to the living area. He chose a velvet upholstered armchair and sat down, tugging her down to sit in front of him. With gentle hands he massaged her shoulders, melting the tension and soothing at the same time.

  She sighed, an aching kind of sigh, and let her eyelids drift shut. “Why are you being so nice to me?"

  His voice, when it finally came, was husky, and it sent little firecrackers off up and down her nerves. “I'm not being nearly as nice as I'd like to be, but I'm trying to behave.” His thumbs eased up to work the knots out of her neck. “Fallon would no doubt think me a fool."

  She grunted softly and angled her neck to give him better access. “What's he got to do with it?” His cousin was th
e last person she wanted to think about just then. If this moment was all she was going to get out of him, she didn't want to ruin it by thinking about anything else. Besides, how often was she going to see this side of him?

  "He's a determined man. Don't underestimate him. Just when you think you've driven him off, he'll come back and surprise you."

  She tensed a bit, and his fingers pressed more firmly into the bunched muscles. “I don't know why he bothers."

  "I told you—you're a Sylph.” He was matter-of-fact, as if the topic were as unremarkable as the dawn rising in the eastern sky. “He couldn't do anything else."

  She snorted, glancing backwards with a frown. “It doesn't seem to be bothering you."

  His hands tightened on her shoulders and he turned her around until she was kneeling in front of him. Taking her hand, he put it on his warm erection, holding it there when she would have jerked it back in surprise. “I'm a man of action, of discipline. The Haunt follow my orders, and sometimes lives depend on my making hard decisions and keeping a level head.” His hard length burned into her palm and her fingers curled into it subtly. “I won't be led around by a woman, or by anything else.” He pressed her hand more firmly to him and held her eyes for a moment while he got bigger, and harder.

  Then he stood up and simply walked away.

  Keilor set the empty tray down on Jayems’ table while Rihlia watched him with anxious eyes. “She ate.” Keilor smiled with affection as the lady of the most powerful lord in the Haunt realm sank down in a wing chair. A new anxiety filled her face and he shook his head wryly, guessing its source. “Give her until morning,” he advised, resting one hand on the table. “I think you'll find her in better spirits and more pleased with company."

  The unhappiness didn't leave her face as she twisted the end of a long black lock. She touched the silver hair ornament holding her hair up and off her face as if she wanted to remove it and then stopped and dropped her hand. “She never drinks so much, Keilor. Last night was hard for her."