The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1)

by Jessica Aspen

  At least there were only two. Shit! Where were the hounds when he needed them? Why hadn’t he brought at least one? Or the insolent puca? He pulled Trina to a stop and held a finger to her lips to forestall the words about to tumble out.

  “Shh,” he whispered.

  She strained, listening. They both heard a small movement in the woods to their right. He moved in, close to her ear and spoke in a quiet voice. “When I tell you, run for the entrance to the pipe.” She started to open her lips. “Shh, don’t look back. Just go as fast as you can. Rinnal’s stone should open the tunnel for you.” He gripped her arm and held her gaze, tried to put as much of a command spell as he was capable of into the order.

  “Run.”

  In the dark, her eyes were glazed with fear as she struggled with his power.

  “But…”

  “No time. Run!” He gave her a push and reached into his pocket for his sword and scabbard. She stumbled, tripped, then picked herself up, running through the dark brush in earnest, but it was too late. She would never make it as far as the tunnel. He cast his senses out and chose the animal on the right, the one racing after Trina.

  He threw a quick prayer to the Goddess that the other one would be slow, then turned, drew his sword, and confronted the enemy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Five feet at the shoulder, it was one of the largest wild boars Logan had ever seen, and not one that should exist here in the human’s world. He jumped in front of it and faced it head on, sword at the ready, his tension over Trina transferring into something he knew how to deal with; the hunt. The beast slowed, giving him a good look at its maddened red eyes, slavering sharp tusks, and a good whiff of its rank stench.

  Someone must have brought the animals through a portal, because boars of this size only existed Underhill. Someone was out for blood.

  He had time enough to wish again for the hounds. They would have relished the opportunity to take down one of the beasts. And then any time for wishing was over. The boar charged.

  Logan crouched, slashing at the creature’s throat with his weapon. The blade slid on the thick skin, barely scratching the surface and skittering off the side with a whine. He whipped around as the boar rotated on its haunches, eyes rolling, and backed up for another charge.

  Even with the trampled brush, there wasn’t much room to swing a long sword on the stony slope. Logan ducked a branch and scratched his face on another. The boar, with his tough skin and small eyes, had the advantage here under the trees. Luckily, Singer was a magical blade, one of the few items he’d kept from his son-of-a-bitch father.

  He’d barely thought the request before Singer remade itself into a short-sword designed for close quarters, sharp thrusts, and boars. The beast squealed, lowered its head, and charged. Squatting down, Logan braced for impact, and shoved Singer up into the tough hide of the boar’s throat. The thrust slowed as the magical blade slid deep into the resistant flesh of the gullet.

  Blood spurted into Logan’s face and the continued charge of the boar brought the beast up and over him, pushing him to the ground. Hanging on with all of his strength to Singer’s blood soaked hilt, Logan rolled out from under the sharp, pounding hooves, pulled his weapon out, and landed hard on a sharp stone.

  He gasped for breath. Struggling to his feet, he licked the metallic taste of blood off his lips. Savoring the rush of life energy from his prey, he rolled his neck and got ready for the killing stroke.

  The boar lowered its head. Its injured lungs wheezed frothy, gurgling breaths of blood and air as it pawed the ground. It wavered, raised its head and, oblivious to its imminent death, it charged again.

  Logan weaved out of its way. It ran past, huffing blood-spraying last breaths, its cloven hooves churning up the dry grass. He raised his sword for the death blow and Trina’s scream rang out into the night.

  He missed, his blade barely nicking the tough hide and bouncing off the shoulder. The boar charged again, gushing blood and screaming its rage. Logan turned. Making a huge effort, he leapt over the beast’s wide back, his movement carrying him past it and into the dark woods. Leaving the mortally wounded boar to die, he raced toward Trina’s screams.

  Thick pine branches slapped him in the face and arms as he ran, tearing his bloody clothes and slashing his skin. He burst into a clearing lit by the last of the night’s moon. Trina hung wedged in a tree, desperation in every line of her body as each slamming impact of the boar on the trunk loosened her grip. Bark and saliva flying, the grunting beast tore into the tree, its six-inch razor-sharp tusks skimming the bottom of Trina’s high heeled boots.

  Logan waved his sword, but the beast ignored him and backed up for another lunge, intent on taking Trina and the tree down.

  The boar’s muscles bunched. It pushed off, hooves churning, dirt flying. Logan threw himself between the beast and the tree, but it came on. He braced his back against the trunk and gripped Singer in both hands. The ground shook with each pounding of the boar’s charging hooves. Logan pushed the point of the sword into one maddened red eye, piercing it with a soft gush as the boar’s charge carried it into Logan. Its tusk dug deep into his shoulder as his sword arm went numb and his blade sank deep into the resistance of the brain.

  The boar screamed, spittle and snot spraying into Logan’s face and chest. It wavered on its feet then fell to the ground, its skin twitching. Logan pulled his sword out, getting drenched in a stinking flood of blood and brains. And the other boar stumbled into the clearing.

  Blinking through the fluid, Logan crouched, exhausted, and wiped his face on his sleeve. The wounded boar slowed. Bubbles of blood and air oozed from its mouth with each wheezing breath.

  Logan yelled, raised Singer, and brought the sword slashing down in the death blow.

  The boar took a slow step, then another, before falling on its side. It sucked in one last, loud labored gasp of air and as the life drained out of its beady eyes, energy flowed into Logan.

  “Blessed Goddess, take the sacrifice of these creatures lives and thank you for a successful hunt.”

  “Damn, I can’t believe how big they grow pigs in Denver.” Trina’s whisper was hoarse. Logan closed his eyes, extending his senses as far as he could into the woods around them. Straining his Gift to the limit he tried to sense anyone or anything else. There was a faint energy buzz, as if someone nearby was cloaked in power.

  And then it was gone.

  Trina trudged after Logan into the pre-dawn shadows of the cottage and stopped. The tin tub still sat in the center of the cottage, but it had doubled in size and become a steaming bubble bath for two. She eyed the cottage’s latest attempt to push her into Logan’s bed and sank down into a chair.

  She was worn out. The earlier fight with Logan, the tension of meeting with Mariella, the encounter with nightmare hogs chasing her up a tree. But most of all, she was tired from jumping at every dark shadow on the long walk home. She tugged off a boot and massaged her aching toes.

  “Mmmmm,” she moaned, digging her fingers into the sole of her foot.

  Logan arched a bloody brow.

  “What? I’m exhausted.”

  Shaking his head he barred the door, lowering a solid wood beam into cast iron brackets. Trina’s shoulders relaxed at the heavy thunk. For the first time, she was thankful for the hedge of thorny brambles that surrounded them. If she’d had trouble getting out, other things would have trouble getting in. He circled the room and checked the windows, coating each shuttered and barred opening in the blue glow of his magic. Nothing would catch them unaware today.

  She tugged off her other high boot and wiggled her bare-feet, eyeing the steaming water in the tub. “I’m wiped. You must be, too,” she said.

  “Ready to clean up and get some sleep, no doubt,” he said, removing his cloak and placing his sword on the table within easy reach of the tub.

  He stood in front of her bare feet and took her chin in a gentle grip, tilting it until she had no choice but to look up.


  She swallowed.

  His expression was fierce, and proud, and otherworldly. Pointed ears peeked through loosened, tangled hair stiff with blood. Lantern light shone softly through the rips and tears in his bloody shirt, glinting off his muscular chest and arms. He was her enemy. Fae. A warrior covered in blood and gore, but tonight, he’d done what he said he would. Kept her safe. And despite her better judgment, she was beginning to trust him.

  “Trina,” he said. “I’m a man with few boundaries. I can go outside while you bathe and let you go up to the loft to sleep alone. Or…” His eyes glowed and she trembled.

  “Or?” she asked. She knew what he wanted. She could blame his fae magnetism, but she knew better. She’d regret it later but she wanted him now with a fierce melting desire that weakened her resolve. He’d helped her, defended her, proven himself to be more than she’d thought, and she was going to let herself have him one more time. It was inevitable.

  “Or I can stay.”

  She stroked a flake of dried blood off his cheek. “Stay.”

  He dropped her chin, raised her from the chair, and turned her around. Silent, he untied the bindings of her bustier, loosening one tight cross of laces at a time. Her freed breasts moved under the fabric and leather and her breath eased out in relief as both corset and dress dropped to the floor.

  She reached for a towel, but he gripped her wrist and held her still. “Let me look at you.”

  A deep heat flushed her skin. She moved to cover her breasts.

  “Nay.” He held firm as she tugged away. “I’ve been thinking about peeking under your bodice all night.”

  Wrestling with a mixture of pleasure, arousal, and insecurity she dropped her eyes and yielded.

  He traced his finger along the curve of her breastbone and down the fullness of her cleavage. “You’re lovely, Trina. You should be proud of your body.” He let her go and tugged his shirt off of his torso, hissing as the fabric pulled away from the dried blood.

  “You’re hurt.” She darted forward, helping him pull off the remainder of the torn and bloody shirt.

  “Ouch!”

  “Let me see.” She reached up and brushed his hair back so she could examine him. A deep red gash ran over his shoulder and down his left bicep.

  He flexed and winced. “Just a scratch.” He grinned at her frown. “Not enough to keep me from pleasuring every inch of you.” He scanned her again and her nipples tightened. “Not nearly enough.”

  He stripped off his pants and she took the opportunity to examine his strong, lean body with fresh eyes. He had a power that she hadn’t fully appreciated until she’d watched him tear into the massive brutes that had attacked them. A human would be in the hospital, but Logan was ready for more.

  As was she.

  “Come on, let’s clean you up.” She led him to a low towel-draped stool and dipped a cloth into a bucket of hot water, washing the blood off his injured shoulder.

  “Ouch, lass, be careful.” He flinched.

  “You need soap and a little healing. I wish Bryanna was here, she’d make sure it didn’t get infected.”

  His reached out and gripped her wrist. “I’m glad I have you, and not Bryanna.” His eyes glowed. “My green witch.”

  Trina dipped her cloth again, soaping his face, sliding silky, white lather over each small wound and bruise. She leaned in and brushed feather-soft kisses along his damp, warm skin, her breasts and thighs bumping against him. He rinsed his hands off in the bucket and took up his own cloth, washing her belly and hips as she skimmed her fingers along an ugly purple bruise shadowing the ivory skin below his ribs.

  He winced and sucked in air. “That one goes deep.”

  Once clean, he eased into the tub, hissing as the hot water hit his freshly exposed cuts. She stood behind him, massaging his neck muscles with the tips of her fingers. He hung his head and sighed, and she increased the pressure.

  “Let’s get this clear,” she said. “The sex tonight is because I want to, not because I owe you, or you think you own me. I’ll pay you for saving me from the boars in massage.”

  “I’ll not argue with you, lass.” Logan sighed and bowed his head forward, giving her full access to his shoulders. She leaned in and dug deep into the knots, her nipples dipping into the water as she pushed and dug along his back down to the firm muscles at the top of his ass.

  She rubbed and kneaded until her fingers were sore and his muscles became supple and relaxed.

  “There. Better?”

  “Thank you. Consider the debt paid.” He picked up her hand, brushed a soft kiss along her knuckles, and tugged her to the front of the tub. “Now come relax in the water.”

  She climbed into the tub in front of him and leaned back, resting her tired head against his chest. Her body floated in the magically clean hot water, her feet intertwined with his calves.

  “Ah lass, I’m sorry we fought earlier.”

  An ache grew deep inside the center of her chest. She sighed, and it expanded from a small irritation into an inexorable breath-stopping pain.

  She gasped. This was it. This was the opening of her heart.

  Goddess knew she hadn’t wanted to fall for this man, but it was happening just the same.

  Logan reached forward, his warm, strong arm coming around her chest. “Easy, love.” He traced a wet finger over her face, along her cheekbones, down her jaw, feathering his soft touch over her lips. She guided his finger into her mouth, sucking it in and out, savoring the taste and texture of his rough skin on her tongue.

  He groaned, flipping her over and onto his lap. She wrapped her legs around him. His erection floated under her, brushing the hair between her legs.

  Their faces were inches apart.

  She was in more danger than she’d ever been in her life and yet, for the first time since her parents had died and her world had collapsed into a life on the run, she felt safe. Here, in the arms of the enemy, Logan would let no one harm her.

  Words wouldn’t express the depth of her gratitude, nor the lightness of floating here, secure in his protection.

  Releasing his finger, she leaned forward and kissed him. A light, brushing thank you of her lips against his. He opened his mouth, tangled his lips with hers, and deepened the kiss. Roaring filled her ears, and she lost herself, drowning in a suspension of time and the heat of his lips.

  Trina leaned back and stared at Logan through the steam, at his wide eyes and starkly serious expression. She traced his eyebrows with a dripping finger, down his temple, along his jaw line, memorizing the shape of his face with her touch. His eyes closed and a sigh escaped his lips, tension easing from his face and body. She kissed his closed eyelids and they fluttered under her lips as her hardened nipples grazed his smooth chest. She worked her way down to his mouth, outlining his lips with her tongue, bracing herself on the sides of the tub as he opened his mouth and the kiss turned hot and strong.

  Logan’s arms wrapped around her and he pulled her tight into him. She couldn’t wait anymore. She reached for his hips under the water and maneuvered onto his erection, easing it deep inside her until he filled her to the deepest point. Staring into his eyes, she moved up and down in the warm lapping water. Water sloshed onto the floor as their rhythm increased faster and faster, until he clenched her to him. They cried out together, and everything in her released. Including the pain in her heart.

  Hours later, they sat down to a makeshift meal of leftovers and hot, strong tea, eating in the dark illuminated only by the flames of the fire.

  “What were those things?” Trina’s muscles ached, but despite the long night, she wasn’t sleepy. She was restless with her newfound knowledge of her vulnerability to Logan.

  He quirked a brow at her. “Would you believe those were wild boars?”

  “No. I’ve seen boars on TV. I think they have them in Florida. But they aren’t that big or that vicious. Those things were the size of horses.”

  “They grow that big Underhill. I’ve hunted them
many times before, thank the Goddess. If it had been just you...” He shook his head, his face grim.

  She wrapped her fingers tight on her hot mug, drank her tea, and tried not to think about what could have happened to her had the boars come across her unaware with no time for spells. She would be dead.

  “Do they always hunt in pairs like that?”

  “Boars don’t hunt. They have tiny brains. They’re brutal and vicious, and will attack upon the slightest provocation. Someone riled them up and brought them through a gate, likely be-spelled to attack. But why didn’t the person attack us directly? Why send creatures from Underhill?”

  “It’s a message.” Trina put her mug down and shivered despite the heat of the fire. Logan tugged a blanket over and lifted his arm up, inviting her under it.

  She hesitated. His eyebrow raised and she shrugged and ducked under the blanket. Why the hell shouldn’t she? It was too late to save her heart. She snuggled into the warm safety of his body.

  “Someone must have spotted you,” he said, wrapping his arm tight around her. “Or targeted me. Someone who wants to divert suspicion to the queen and away from the gypsies.” He frowned. “Tell me about Mariella Boyd.”

  “You can’t possibly think she would sic wild boars on us. Why? And where would she find them. Gypsies can’t open portals.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Nothing that would imply she meant me harm. She extended the protection of the meet to me. I want to hear what you discovered first,” she said, wanting to think about her encounter with Mariella and make sense of it before she had to make him understand what had happened in the RV. Logan recounted his evening, ending with the tale of Lady Aoife.

  “You mean you are going to go on the word of a drunken old man that this is the fae we are looking for? What makes you so sure?”

  “I remember her from the Gold Court.”

  “The Gold Court?”