Harlequin Nocturne May 2016 Box Set

by Susan Krinard

  Her attention was drawn back to her companion. He was regarding her with undisguised admiration. “You have the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen. I don’t suppose you’re looking for someone to show you around?”

  She shook her head, softening the gesture with another smile. “Do you know Lorcan Malone?”

  “No. Is he your boyfriend?”

  “I need him.” Tanzi looked along the bustling boulevard. Darkness was falling now and lights from the bars and coffee shops spilled out onto the mosaic tiles. Street artists played several competing musical styles and a flamenco troupe nearby danced an intricate routine. Mortals. They were a mysterious lot.

  The youth picked up his skateboard. “Then he’s a lucky guy. Be careful, senorita. Stay on the Ramblas, some of the side streets can be dangerous at night.” He waved a hand before speeding off into the crowds.

  Dangerous? In Tanzi’s experience, limited though it was, mortals were troublesome rather than hazardous. There were certainly a lot of them crowded onto this one street, but that didn’t make them a threat. Sighing, she picked up her bag. The heels were definitely her biggest mistake. She would ditch the shoes, find Lorcan... Tanzi halted her stride abruptly, much to the vocal annoyance of a girl on a bike just behind her. A frown furrowed Tanzi’s brow. What then? After she found Lorcan, what would happen next? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than the fact that she was free. Even if she didn’t find the necromancer tonight, there was no way she was going back to Otherworld to face the fate her father had in store for her.

  “Lost, querida?” One of the street entertainers called across to her. His blue-black hair was spiked so high that he resembled a cockatoo and he was dressed as a toreador. His partner was a bull.

  “I need Lorcan Malone.”

  “Lorcan?” The toreador abandoned his bullfighting routine and came over to her. She didn’t like the way his narrowed eyes wandered over her body as though he was assessing her, but she did like his next words. “I know him.”

  Relief flooded through Tanzi’s veins. “Can you take me to him?”

  “Cierto!” Although his Spanish was heavily accented, Tanzi thought she recognized the same Irish intonation that lilted through Lorcan’s voice. It reassured her. “You’re in luck. Follow me.”

  He walked quickly, dodging in and out of the crowds, and it was a struggle to keep pace with him in heels and on the uneven surface of the tiles. Tanzi was so comforted at the thought that he was taking her to Lorcan that she’d have walked across hot coals. With only the occasional glance over his shoulder to check that she was following, the man led her into a side street and then down a narrow alley. There were no lights here and the walls rose uncomfortably high on each side, closing in on her.

  “Are you taking me to the safe house?” Tanzi called out, but the man ahead of her didn’t answer. The skateboarder’s warning came back to her and she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a flash of movement. Something struck the side of her head. She felt a crushing pain and the slippery cobbles came up to meet her as she fell to her knees. Greedy hands grabbed at her bag.

  Tanzi tried to fight back. To her horror, there was no strength in her limbs and her head swam alarmingly. The bag was wrenched from her grasp. She managed to get into a sitting position with her back against the wall and was able to kick out at her assailant’s groin. A grunt of pain greeted this action. She knew a moment’s satisfaction before a fist connected with her face. Seconds later a heavy boot thudded into her ribs.

  “Stop wasting time.” Through the haze of pain, she recognized the toreador’s voice.

  “The bitch kicked me in the balls. She’ll pay for that.”

  “The clothes are expensive. Get them and the shoes and get out of here. She knows Lorcan Malone. That renegade bastard will take no prisoners if he hears about this.”

  * * *

  The resistance sidhes hauled the fishing boat ashore onto the beach. Dawn was stirring the Catalan skies above Barcelona, and Lorcan heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t have a home, but this city was as close as it got. After more than thirty hours of being thrown about in a tiny boat on the open sea, he was looking forward to some sleep. Jethro stepped ashore beside him, yawning and stretching.

  “Will you come and stay a while at the safe house?”

  Jethro shook his head. “Places to go, people to see.” It was his standard response. It meant he had some risky dealings lined up that he was not prepared to discuss with anyone. Not even Lorcan.

  “Take care, my friend. Lie low for a while. Vampires are not to be messed with.” Lorcan waved a farewell to the fishermen as they set off again.

  Jethro’s hand strayed to his bruised cheekbone. “Tell me about it. But I owe Prince Tibor.” His expression hardened and Lorcan recalled the look of anguish in Jethro’s eyes as he drove the stake into Dimitar’s heart. The two men had buried their friend’s body in a shady spot on the Tangier cliff top before setting off on their journey across the Mediterranean.

  “Why did Dimitar switch his allegiance from Prince Tibor to you? He was the prince’s human slave. You’re not a vampire. You can’t command the same sort of devotion.”

  “I don’t understand it any more than you do. As soon as Dimitar set eyes on me he was adamant about it. The gist of what he said seemed to be that I was more deserving of his servitude than Prince Tibor.” Jethro scanned the expanse of blue sea. “What was the Romanian word he used to describe me? Maiestuos. I asked him what it meant and he said the closest translation was ‘imposing’ or ‘stately.’”

  “And yet he’d met you?” Lorcan raised an incredulous eyebrow.

  Jethro grinned. “Fuck off, Irishman.”

  “Gladly.” He held out a hand and Jethro clasped it. “You know where to find me.”

  “Likewise. And thanks. For clothing me as well as saving my life.” Jethro plucked at the T-shirt that strained across his muscular chest.

  Lorcan watched him walk away before hauling his backpack onto his shoulder and making his way up the beach toward the port. The resistance safe house was within walking distance, and he drank in the early morning sights and sounds of the city as he made plans. Shower and sleep were fairly high on his list of priorities. Then he had to get to Otherworld and find out what had happened to Tanzi. If anyone could tell him what was going on within the dysfunctional sidhe royal family, it would be Cal.

  The safe house was in a decidedly seedy area close to the famous promenade known as the Ramblas. Lorcan followed a series of narrow lanes that led him behind a fish market, dodging prostitutes, drunks and rough sleepers as he went. The location of the safe house was a closely guarded secret and Cal himself had overseen the web of detailed spells that had been woven around it to ward off intruders. Lorcan was one of the few people who could walk up the steep steps and knock on the scarred panels of the door without hindrance. He was conscious of hidden eyes observing him for several minutes before the door creaked open just wide enough to allow him to slip inside.

  “Hola, Pedro.” The sidhe caretaker spoke very little and, when he did, only in Spanish. Fortunately, Lorcan had become fluent in that language over the years. Pedro had a reputation for never sleeping. During all the years he had been coming here, Lorcan had certainly never known a time, day or night, when the door was opened by anyone else. “How goes it?”

  Pedro shrugged, closing the door behind him. From the expression on his face it might reasonably be construed that the world was about to come to an end.

  “I’m going straight to my room.” Lorcan placed his foot on the first stair. Pedro and his wife, Maria, tried to keep one of the tiny attic bedrooms free for him. At times like this he was eternally grateful for their consideration.

  “No, Senor Lorcan. No es posible.” Pedro’s voice halted him before he could advance any farther.

  “Wh
y isn’t it possible?”

  “The house is full. We gave your room to the girl.”

  “What girl might this be?”

  “The one they found beaten and half-naked in an alley behind the Ramblas.” Conversing with Pedro was like wading through treacle at the best of times. Now, when he was bone tired, dirty and hungry, it was like having to wade there and back again.

  “Pedro, try to remember I haven’t been here for weeks. I know nothing about any girl.”

  Pedro’s smile was mildly triumphant. “No one does. She won’t speak. All she will say is your name.”

  “My name?”

  “Sí. ‘I need Lorcan Malone.’ Two days and this is all she will say.”

  Two days. He had left for Tangier five days ago. “I will go up and see this girl for myself.”

  Pedro returned no reply and Lorcan made his way up the familiar staircase with its worn carpet and peeling paintwork. Money was always tight and renovations were a luxury of which the resistance could only dream. How the hell did I end up in charge here? No one else wanted the job. That was the obvious answer. Being bloody good at what he did was the other. Hating Moncoya enough to want to bring down his network of evil was probably closest to the truth.

  Moncoya represented the Celtic sidhes. The opposing Iberian sidhes formed the main backbone of the resistance. Ancient animosities still burned deep. Even with Moncoya in hiding, his network of evil remained in place. The work of the resistance was more important than ever now that Moncoya’s allies had been driven underground. Every penny was needed for the fight.

  Lorcan paused with his hand on the attic room’s doorknob. He had no wish to startle this girl, whoever she might be. Most of the people who sought refuge in the safe house had traumatic stories to tell. Moncoya’s mortal residence, La Casa Oscura, was the most well-known of the dark houses. It was a portal to Otherworld, leading to the sleaziest side of the beautiful kingdom. Trafficking of substances and beings was rife, and La Casa Oscura was the conduit for much of this illegal trade. If this girl had been trafficked and used in ways Lorcan did not care to dwell upon, she would be disturbed. And rightly so. A man bursting into her room in the early hours was not going to help her recovery.

  Yet this girl was asking for him by name, and he had no idea why. He needed to discover who she was in order to solve that riddle. Perhaps he could enter the room and get a glimpse of her without waking her? Gingerly, he turned the doorknob. It was locked. He felt a proprietorial sense of pride toward the unnamed girl who had the sense to protect herself against intruders. Feeling slightly furtive, Lorcan fished his own key out of his pocket. As the unofficial leader of the resistance, he was the only person with his own room, and his own key. After a moment’s hesitation, he unlocked the door.

  There was enough early-morning light sneaking through the thin curtains to allow him to assess the scene. The girl was lying on her side, facing away from the door. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Frowning, he entered the room and closed the door behind him, leaning his shoulders against its battered panels as he gazed down at her. Two things alerted him immediately to her identity.

  It was the bright mass of wavy blond locks spilling over the pillow almost to the floor together with her unmistakable scent—a subtle floral mix of violets, lily of the valley and jasmine that smelled natural and was probably wildly expensive—that told him who she was.

  Why would the Crown Princess Tanzi—spoiled brat sidhe royal, Moncoya’s darling daughter, Valkyrie-trained warrior, Otherworld fashion icon—have turned up at this run-down resistance safe house? And why would she be asking for Lorcan when at their last encounter she had spent all her time looking down her dainty, aristocratic nose at him?

  CHAPTER 3

  Tanzi came awake slowly, blinking as she took in the shabby, vaguely familiar surroundings. Consciousness wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. She was in the safe house. Safe. That was the essential word. Her head still ached. Her knees, face and ribs were a rainbow of bruises, but at least Moncoya couldn’t get to her here.

  It must have been very early because the room was semidark and there were no noises, voices or footsteps echoing around the rambling house. She yawned, turned and stifled the startled cry that rose to her lips as her gaze took in a pair of long, denim-clad legs stretched out in the chair near the window. The lower body was all she could see. Whoever it was had fallen asleep with his upper half in shadow. It was definitely a he. She did a double check, and the larger-than-average bulge in the crotch of his jeans confirmed it. A blush burned her cheeks. When there is an unknown man in your room, does size matter?

  But I locked that door. I know I did! Carefully, she felt under the pillow for confirmation. There was the key. Next to it was the carving knife she had stolen from Maria’s kitchen drawer on her first night in the safe house. Her hand closed gratefully around the handle. Wincing as the movement triggered a sharp pain in her injured side, she slid stealthily from the bed with the knife extended in front of her. The only time in her life Tanzi had been caught unawares was in that alley two days ago. It would never happen again. This intruder was going to wish he had finished the job when he first broke in instead of taking time out for a nap. The thought jolted her. If he intended to harm her, why had he fallen asleep?

  She paused, inches from him, trying to get a look at his face. Hesitation. Bad mistake, Tanzi. She could hear the words spoken in the voice of the Valkyrie mentor her father had employed to train his daughters. The intruder’s hand snaked out and caught Tanzi by the wrist. There was a blur of movement and he was on his feet, his body colliding hard with hers. The knife went spinning across the room. With her weapon gone and her opponent so much taller than her, Tanzi resorted to street-fighting tactics. Keeping her head low, she aimed for his eyes with her nails, missed and pulled out a chunk of his hair instead. When he grunted in pain and responded by pinning her arms at her sides, she attempted to knee him in the groin.

  Within seconds, it was all over. With no very clear idea of what had happened, Tanzi was sprawled on her back on the bed with her opponent straddling her and pinning her hands above her head.

  “Considering you’ve been going around telling everyone how much you need me, this is not quite the welcome I was expecting.”

  The words, and the Irish accent, acted like a spell on Tanzi and she stopped struggling. Following his naked, muscular torso upward, her gaze encountered the very pair of smiling blue eyes she had been seeking. Lorcan studied her face, his head on one side. There was a flash of something in his eyes that she had never seen before. It drove the laughter away, replacing it with a cold, hard fury that made her shiver.

  “Christ, Tanzi, you look like shit.”

  “So do you.”

  It was true. His good looks always had a dangerous edge to them, as if he should be a bad-boy rock star or a Byronic hell-raiser. Today he was taking the cynical, world-weary look to extremes. His eyes were bloodshot, his chiseled jawline darkened with stubble. He didn’t even bother to brush away the characteristic flop of dark blond hair from his brow. Clearly deciding she was no longer a danger to him, Lorcan risked letting her go and moved to sit on the side of the bed.

  “I haven’t slept in—” he paused and clearly had to think about it “—two nights.”

  “So why did you break in here and sleep in the chair?”

  A corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “You were in my bed.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Your need was greater than mine.”

  Tanzi felt at a disadvantage lying down. She was also conscious that she was wearing nothing but her underwear and a very old, faded T-shirt that Maria had unearthed for her. She shuffled into a sitting position, wincing as the movement caused more pain in her ribs.

  “Did I hurt you?” Lorcan’
s tone was apologetic.

  “Yes. But I was going to kill you so I suppose it can be forgiven.”

  He started to laugh. “Always so literal. Why are you here, Tanzi?”

  “Pedro and Maria gave me this room.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. Tell me why I shouldn’t immediately suspect this is one of your father’s tricks to infiltrate the resistance.”

  She fiddled with a loose thread on the bottom of the T-shirt. It meant she could keep her head down and avoid looking at him. “On the battlefield that day, when you rescued me, you made me a promise. That you would be there for me if I needed you.” Suddenly the words were hard to say. Why hadn’t she anticipated this? She took a deep breath and looked up. Lorcan’s steady blue eyes gave her the confidence she sought. “I need you now.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Then you have me. I’m all yours.”

  An emotion she had never felt before tugged hard at Tanzi’s chest. Was it gratitude? Tenderness? Empathy? They were all new to her. Moncoya discouraged mortal emotion, particularly where his daughters were concerned. Tanzi and Vashti were his finely tuned weapons. Their hearts should be encased in steel. It was an odd sensation to discover that her own steel casing might have a flaw. Tanzi’s voice was husky when she spoke again. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  “If you want me to know, I expect you’ll tell me in your own time.” Lorcan stretched his arms above his head. “Right now, if I don’t shower and then get some breakfast, I’ll be no use to you or anyone.”

  * * *

  The square was crowded with students. Competing music blared from open dormitory windows and from the bars around the outer edge. Lorcan skirted around skateboarders, impromptu dancers and chattering groups, carrying beer and pizza to where Tanzi was sitting on the steps of the university building waiting for him. She wore leggings and a sweatshirt that was at least three sizes too big. Her hair was tied back and hidden under a black baseball cap, and her face was still swollen and bruised. Even so, when she looked up with a smile as he approached, he felt the full impact of the effect she had on him. It hit him somewhere just south of his abdomen. Whom was he kidding? The feeling began well south of his abdomen. He told himself it was what faeries did best. Their ability to enchant was legendary. Faerie glamor, his mother would have called it. The old-fashioned term and the memory of his mother made him smile. Moncoya’s dislike of the phrase was well-known. The faerie king preferred to believe it was his personal charm that drew others to him. Dismissing the unwelcome intrusion of Moncoya into his thoughts, Lorcan joined Tanzi on the step.