by Michele Hauf
To be greeted directly by royalty?
Deciding he must play this properly if he were to elicit any help from Bea’s father, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, acknowledging the Faery king.
The man clapped once, scattering those in the mossy courtyard until it was quickly vacated. Kir stood and offered his hand. “I am Kirnan Sauveterre. And you must be Malrick, Beatrice’s father.”
The man stared at his offering of a goodwill handshake and reciprocated quickly. It was a firm yet reluctant grip. The man’s eyes were silver, and Kir immediately mixed silver and red to come up with pink. Where was his wife?
“This is an unmeasured surprise,” Malrick said. “I’m sure you have come for your wife. But first things first.”
With a flip of his hand, the Unseelie king commanded a crew of faeries armed with halberds from the shadows. They stepped up behind their master.
“Take the demoness in hand,” Malrick said with a bored sigh.
“Why?” Kir demanded. He stepped to the side to stop one of the guards from grabbing Sirque.
“She knew when she left Faery so long ago that if she ever returned, she must forfeit her life.”
Kir swung a look to Sirque. Lifting her head regally, the demoness nodded acknowledgment. She had known when he’d asked her to guide him into Faery she could not return? Why had she not said something to him? He would have never asked her to risk her life.
Hell. She was doing this for her daughter.
“Step aside, werewolf,” Malrick said. “This is not your concern.”
“She is my mother-in-law. Of course she is my concern.”
A halberd slashed the air before him, stopping him from getting to Sirque. The guards quickly surrounded her, and, with a glance to him, she shook her head, begging he not interfere.
“Take her away,” Malrick said.
“I won’t let them harm you!” Kir called. “You will see your daughter. I promise you that.”
“Such bold promises, wolf.” Malrick stepped around him, walking in a circle to take him in.
The king was dressed in something Kir had seen in medieval paintings in the Louvre. He guessed the silver threading in the fabric was real, or some kind of faery metal. He wore a thin band of black vines about his head, and at his fingers wrapped more black vines. To study his narrow face and dark hair, and the bright bold eyes, Kir could place him as Bea’s father. Unfortunately.
“I’ve come for Bea.”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“She wandered off. Never has liked to spend time with dear old dad.”
The man was insolent. He couldn’t imagine spending an hour with him, let alone surviving a lifetime, as Bea had.
“I love your daughter.”
Malrick looked down his nose and aside as he said, “Love is fickle.”
“Perhaps yours is, but the love Bea and I share is true and strong.”
The man assessed him in a quick stride from head to foot. Malrick nodded. “I’ll give you that. You did come to Faery, after all. That bonding mark on your hand.”
Kir lifted his hand and displayed it for the king to look upon. “It glows brightly when Bea and I hold hands.”
“True love, then. Very good. Hmm... Well, I suppose I can at least point you in the right direction.”
The Unseelie king gestured to a short servant, who scuttled away with a squeak and a giggle. Then he proceeded to give directions that sounded easy enough to follow—until he got to the part where Kir should fly over the finger of underforest.
“I’m not much of a flier,” Kir said.
“Right. A ground-lurking werewolf. Well, that’s not a problem. I may not have been the best father to Beatrice—”
“You were no father to her.”
“Ahem. Yes. But I’ve so many children. It is difficult to pay them all the attention each requires.”
“You took enough time to ensure Bea felt badly about being a half-breed. You turned her siblings against her.”
“Are we to argue semantics, or do you wish my help finding Beatrice?”
Jaw tight, Kir nodded. “I want your help.”
“Then I gift you with this fetch.”
The servant lured forward a small creature tethered to a gold chain. It had pink wings and a long, snakelike tail. Very snakelike, in fact. As if a snake with wings.
“Do not release it from the chain or it will fly off,” Malrick warned. “Keep it to hand and it will lead you directly to my wayward daughter. It is a consolation I offer you, since you freely stepped forward to take my daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“An act I will never regret,” Kir said proudly.
“Bea has found love, then.”
“She has.” He took the chain from the servant. The fetch dodged toward him, putting its long violet nose in his face.
“She needs to scent you. Learn you.”
“Has she a name?”
“No. Merely a servant.”
Malrick easily dismissed all living things. And Kir felt he must leave now or lash out at the insolent Faery king. No time for posturing. He had a wife to find.
“Your pack,” Malrick said. “They are fickle to send back my gift.”
Bea had indeed been a gift to his soul.
“The pack acted appropriately in the face of your betrayal. But they are no longer my family.”
“I can smell the wolfsbane in your wounds,” Malrick said. “I could heal that for you.”
Kir bristled and flinched when Malrick reached toward him. An offer of kindness?
“No,” he said. “I wear the scars with pride. A sign that no man or pack can tell me how to live my life. I live for Bea now. And I will find her.” He managed to execute a half bow. “I’ll be back for Sirque.”
“Don’t bother.”
“I won’t leave her behind. She is Bea’s mother.”
“Who doesn’t care a whit for her.”
“She cares too deeply. And that is her curse, as you must know. I made her a promise that she would see her daughter. If you harm her, you will have declared war against me.”
“Such a bold wolf.”
“That wasn’t a threat, Malrick. It was a promise.”
Chapter 27
Tired, hot and dirty, Bea huddled at the base of a huge tree. The moss-frosted roots formed a nest around her that was far from comforting. Her feet bled dark ichor. Now she understood why her ichor had darkened since going to the mortal realm: her demon half was rising. Her hair was a tangle that no amount of conditioner could ever manage. She had cuts and bruises from fighting with the siren. Apparently, her mother had pissed off those mermaids.
The sprites that fluttered overhead repeatedly dive-bombed her, chattering manically in tiny tones she understood as curses. She didn’t bother to bat them away because that seemed to egg them on more.
This world was no longer her home. She didn’t like it. She had no one who gave a care for her here. Yet did anyone in the mortal realm care?
“Oh, mossy misery.”
He hadn’t come for her.
“Kir,” she whispered, sending the name into the atmosphere as a prayer. He’d promised to always be there for her.
Stroking the pale lines of the bonding mark on the back of her hand, she whispered, “I love you, no matter what.”
Perhaps his pack had convinced him that sending her back was for the best. He’d agreed and hadn’t been able to face her before they’d taken her away. Or even if he had not agreed, he would have done what was right for his pack. It was his family. He’d lived with them for decades. And who was she but a woman he had known a short time? Sure, they had bonded. But could that bond survive the bond of family the pack provided Kir?
She’d been unable to carry his child. Surely she was not meant to be in his life. Perhaps she should seek the exiled Wicked and claim her true home.
“No. I love him. No matter what.”
Tracing the intricate bonding
design, she wondered if Kir was perhaps doing the same thing at this moment. Every part of her being wished that he was. She needed him to miss her as much as she missed him. Their love had been real. She would not believe anything else.
* * *
The fetch soared with such intent Kir felt sure it would break the delicate gold chain. It was on Bea’s scent. So he raced after the critter, dodging low-hanging tree limbs and jumping over mossy mounds, roots and rocks. They’d been moving steadily for hours. And despite his catalog of injuries, he wasn’t tired. Nothing could stop him from finding Bea.
They raced past a lake where mermaid tails slapped the surface and carrion birds circled overhead. Focusing on his path, Kir called to the fetch, “Faster!”
If he could shift to wolf shape, he could make this journey twice as fast, but there was no way to then hold the chain. So he pushed himself. His only thoughts were on Bea. Her bright pink eyes and coal-dark hair. That gorgeous body she had no reluctance showing him frequently. The sadness in her eyes on the evening he had found her after the miscarriage. And the glee that could fill her very being when she was content and her wings unfurled.
She was his heart, his lover, his sadness and his joy. His tiny pole dancer. His short stick. His naked ninja faery. He loved her more than anything in his realm. And he would not rest until he found her.
Suddenly the fetch cawed and the chain snapped. The useless portion he held dropped along his leg. Kir raced faster, but the fetch flew high into the sky, no longer forward but upward. The fetch dived into a grotto shaded by trees. He heard a female yelp.
Could it be? He raced forward, landing on a clearing carpeted with moss.
From around the wide tree trunk sprang a disheveled dark-haired faery, crystal blade held high above her head. She shouted a weak, rasping warrior’s cry. Not much energy left in her bedraggled body, but still she was determined to protect herself.
At the sight of him, Bea dropped her arm and the blade. “Kir?”
Joy washing through his system, he fell to his knees before her.
Bea took a wobbling step forward. “Y-you came for me?”
He held out his arms. Shaking as if frozen, she finally snapped out of the shock and ran into his arms, her body crushing hard against his and toppling them to the ground in a grateful hug. She wrapped her arms up around his head, her face buried at his neck. She smelled like the forest and, suspiciously...fishy.
His wife was back in his arms, skin against skin, heartbeats pounding against heartbeats. Nothing felt better.
She sobbed uncontrollably, and Kir couldn’t prevent his tears. It felt good to release his fears and anxiety, so he let them go with a shout of joy. He hugged her and rolled to the side, then to his back again because he didn’t want to crush her. Yet if he could crush her into his soul, he would do it. He didn’t ever want to lose her again. And he would keep his arms about her until she begged for release.
“Did you think I wouldn’t come for you?” he asked.
“I prayed that you would, but I couldn’t know if your pack convinced you to forget about me.”
“I left the pack. They didn’t want me to go after you. I’d choose you over the pack any day. Oh, Bea, I’ve found you. You feel so good.”
She reached down and clasped his hand. The bonding mark glowed and warmed their clutch.
And she kissed him. He’d gone too long without her kiss. He sat up, bringing her with him, her legs wrapping about his back and her fingers clutching in his hair. She tasted earthy and sweet. He’d missed her taste. The feel of her skin against his. The sound of her sighs against his mouth. The eddy of his heartbeats as they settled into calm.
Kir remembered what Sirque had told him about her need to feed off the vita of others. He wouldn’t take the time to explain it all to Bea right now, but he knew the best thing he could do for her was to simply hold her.
“Take all you need,” he whispered. “I am yours.”
And Bea did. She made contact with his skin, not knowing it was a visceral need as she kissed him deeply. Her palms conformed to his neck, bleeding from him the energy that would restore her. And when he thought to feel drained, weaker than any man should from his excursion through Faery, Kir only felt light and renewed in his wife’s embrace.
“Take me home,” she said.
“I will.” He pulled her up to stand and held her against his chest. Not about to let her get too far away. “First we have to return to your father’s home.”
“What? No. Kir, I just got you back. I don’t want to return to that man’s castle. It’s not my home. Home is with you, and only you. He kept me in a dungeon for three days!”
He bracketed her face and kissed her forehead, calming her worries to sniffling sobs.
Between sniffles, she whispered, “Don’t you want to get out of this crazy place?”
“I do. And we will. But your mother is back at Malrick’s castle.”
“My—my mother?” He brushed the tangled hair from her lashes. Ichor glistened on her skin and her clothing was torn. She looked as if she’d been through hell, but she was standing and had been smiling. “How did my mother get here? In Faery? How do you know her?”
Kir filled Bea in on what had transpired after she’d been returned to Malrick. He finished by telling her about finding Sirque waiting on his stoop when he finally returned home. “Word had reached her in Daemonia that her daughter was looking for her.”
Bea gaped. It was a lot to accept. And all Kir wanted to do was take her home and erase the past few days from both their memories.
“Walk with me,” he said, turning the direction he had traveled. He could scent the path he had taken now and guessed they could be back at Malrick’s demesne before nightfall. “I’ll explain it on the way. Trust me?”
She clasped his hand. “Always. But tell me why it’s so important we go back for my mother?”
“Because Malrick has ordered her execution.”
* * *
Bea listened. Kir told her everything while they raced toward her father’s home. The last place she wanted to return was Malrick’s demesne. But as she learned more about Sirque through Kir, she realized she was curious to meet the woman who had abandoned her. Sirque had only left her because, if she had kept her, she might have killed her.
Her mother’s demonic nature was that she took vita from others through skin contact. Bea’s hunger for ichor and blood wasn’t necessary for survival? Then there must be some way she could kick that habit to the curb for good. Though, even now she was thinking a sip of Kir’s blood might tide her over, renew her depleted energy.
Still, holding Kir’s hand kept her strong. Perhaps there was something to the skin contact. But really? It was that she held her husband’s hand again. He had come for her! She hadn’t doubted he would. Maybe there had been a moment when she thought all was lost, that moment when she’d been picking siren slime from her hair, but...no, she’d known he’d find her one way or another.
“We’re going to grab Sirque and run, right?” she asked.
Her father’s home was not far off. Just over the slash of trees fenced before them. The bold white sun neared the violet horizon. They had but an hour, according to mortal time. Faery time? It could change with the snap of two fingers.
“That’s my plan,” he said. “But you don’t think Malrick will allow that, do you?”
“Nope. The guy will cut her head off before my very eyes to show his authority.”
“It better not come to that.”
“Thank you.”
“For rescuing you?”
“That. And for being the one who wanted to go back for Sirque. You could have left her. Could have forgotten to tell me that detail.”
“Never. She was the one who led me to Faery and helped me find your father’s home, at her expense. I owe Sirque, Bea.”
They strolled through the tall grass at a quick pace, and it felt as though, through Kir’s touch, Bea was fortified and as if s
he could race endlessly after.
“So, from what you’ve told me,” she said, “I gather she’s a pretty nice chick for a demon.”
“You could put it that way. Neither of us will ever get on the demon bandwagon, but...yes, I think she’s one we can rally behind. She only did what was best for you, Bea. She hadn’t expected Malrick to treat you so cruelly.”
“And she knew that if she led you into Faery that she would have to face the execution order Malrick set against her when last she was here. That takes guts.”
“Or maybe love.”
She glanced up to her werewolf husband. His eyes crinkled in that gorgeous smile she’d feared to never see again. “Yeah, love.”
The bond mark glowed and Bea stroked the back of her husband’s hand. “The two of us. Always.”
“I promise you that, Bea.”
“What about your family? You left the pack?”
“Colin, my father...well, I told you.”
“He didn’t abandon you as you’d thought.”
“And I’ve had a change of heart about Sophie. Mostly. She did some bad things with vampires, but I’m willing to give her a chance once she gets clean. Jacques made sure she was able to escape the Reckoner. And I made sure Colin was there to grab her.”
“You are a fine man. I’ll be your family now.”
“You already are.”
The Unseelie courtyard loomed before them, and Bea’s skin prickled as her lover tugged her onward. She did not want to go inside. But so long as Kir did not let go of her hand, she could once again stand before her father. She’d show him she had survived on her own. There was nothing he could do to her that would bring her down. Nothing.
As they strode across the black quartz courtyard, Malrick’s lackeys scurried about them. Twisting, thorned vines followed their footsteps, never getting close enough to wrap an ankle but giving Bea good reason not to falter and to keep pace with her husband’s determined strides.
The air here was different. Cooler; remarkably so. And not so sweet as out in the Wilds. It oozed of Malrick’s control.
