“What the hell are you doing here?” Faulk strode to the area behind the bar to make sure the fiberglass safe hadn’t been tampered with, gritting his teeth to hide the pain every confident step cost him. “We’re closed, and the city has a ban on smoking in public buildings.”
Florian blew a cloud of foul smoke at him. “If the bar is closed, it is not currently a public building.”
Smartass. “I repeat: what do you want?”
“I want my consort-that-wasn’t. The more quickly she can be found and dealt with, the less time the commoners will have to gossip. It’s imperative that no one question my strength or ability to lead, and her escape might raise such questions.”
Faulk hated to tell him, but whatever Lia did or didn’t do, anyone with common sense would question Florian’s ability to lead. He had deep pockets and no morals, however, which was a dangerous combination in any society. Especially in Faerie.
“It’s been only a few hours,” he said. “Check back tomorrow afternoon and maybe we’ll have something for you.”
Something like a game plan for how to get Lia out of the snakepit into which she’d been dragged.
Florian narrowed his eyes toward the entrance and continued to smoke silently. Faulk followed his gaze and his heart sank into his boots. He’d set Lia’s basket just inside the door when they’d entered.
“Do you wish to amend your story about finding Liandra?” Florian might be the Prince of Summer, but his voice was pure ice. “Let’s start over, shall we?”
“She got away from me,” Romy said quickly, giving Faulk a small shake of his head. Damn, but Faulk hated letting his friend take the heat for his screwup. Romy was under the protection of Faulk and his brother, however, so any “punishment” would fall to them. A dispute between Florian and Faulk would go straight to the queen, and impartiality wasn’t part of her genetic makeup.
“Romany had just come off another job and she was able to elude him,” Faulk said.
“He should be publicly whipped in the main square of Faerie. I insist.” Florian issued a look of challenge to Faulk, who dished it back at him.
“That is not your decision. If he is punished, it will be decided by myself and my brother. It is a matter for the Fae Hunters and the Autumn Court.”
Florian threw the stub of his cigar on the floor and ground it out with his boot, leaving a mark on the polished oak planks.
“Twenty-four hours. Produce my wayward consort—who belongs to me, if I must remind you, as I acquired her in fair trade from her own father. Otherwise, I will have you removed for incompetence as Captain of the Fae Hunters. You’ll be thrown in the Royal Tower gallows until the queen is able to hear your case. She’s very far behind schedule in her cases.”
He sauntered toward the exit, taking the bottle of whiskey with him. At the door he turned back and pierced Faulk with a look of green fire. “Twenty-four hours, Falconer.”
8
LIA’S FACE HAD BURNED and blushed to the point of pain by the time she rushed through the hotel entrance and to the street. She had stabbed Falconer, had probably killed him. The heavy, humid air had held a touch of coolness, promising that here, too, autumn would eventually arrive, but not in time for the Autumn Prince.
“You need a ride, miss?” A man with dark skin leaned against a black and white automobile with United Cab written on the door. She didn’t know how much a taxicab would cost on human-side; in Faerie they were quite expensive since they were little more than pony traps for hire. Thanks to Kirian’s kindness, however, she could afford it. Probably.
“Could you take me to a different hotel? Somewhere far from here?”
The man frowned. “Well, you mean far like outside the French Quarter, or you mean far like in Miss-sippi or north’a the lake?”
From reading the magazine in Kirian’s room, Lia knew this area was the French Quarter. She had no idea where Miss-sippi might be, if it was different than the river, but it sounded farther and, thus, more expensive. She wanted to make sure she had enough of Kirian’s money left to rent a room for the evening. Or the day, she should say. First light would soon bring dawn to the night sky.
“Outside the French Quarter,” she said, adding uncertainly, “but not as far as Miss-sippi.”
“Yeah, okay. You wanna go downtown or uptown?”
Did it have to be so complicated? Lia got in the back of the taxi. “Which is farther?”
“I reckon that’d be uptown.”
“Then take me to a hotel in uptown.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” The driver got in the taxicab, the outside of which was made entirely of metal. A Fae Hunter could ride in a human automobile, but would need to be very careful. Then again, the Hunters must have found a means of transportation.
The farther the taxi got from the French Quarter, the more relaxed Lia felt and the more guilt set in. She didn’t think the letter opener had enough serious metal—certainly not iron—to cause permanent damage to a man as big as Falconer, or Faulk as he now called himself. But he would be hurt, and he and his Hunters would be angry.
How in the gods’ names did she still feel the same attraction to that man as when she’d developed her childish crush?
Yet, the attraction was not really the same, was it? Then, she’d imagined them riding horses side by side through the forest. Having a picnic, just the two of them, on the Autumn Palace grounds. Holding hands.
Those daydreams had nothing to do with the empty heat that rekindled between her thighs as she remembered how he’d touched her. She fidgeted on the taxi seat and, instead of his hot mouth and strong hands, tried to focus on the city around her.
The buildings near the hotel were all of a similar style, with lacy metalwork on balconies, and glimpses of lush courtyards behind more fences of what looked like iron.
Almost immediately, with the crossing of a wide street, the architecture changed into tall buildings, many that would dwarf even the Royal Tower of Faerie and some constructed with the same type of colored, reflective glass.
As the sky lightened to charcoal and the taxi turned into yet another neighborhood, soft rays of light pierced through a dense canopy of enormous trees that reminded her of the forests at home.
The driver turned across a set of metal tracks and stopped in front of a yellow building. “This here’s the Hampton. That okay?”
As if Lia had any comparison. “It’s fine. How much is your fare?”
The driver pointed to a machine near the wheel he used to navigate the automobile. “Nine dollars.” He twisted to look at her, and held out a hand.
Lia pulled the money from her pocket and remembered from her reading that American money was a simple system of tens. She pulled a bill with a 10 on it and handed it to him. He raised an eyebrow and kept his hand out, so she pulled out another bill, this one with a 5. That earned her a nod and a “have a nice stay.”
Inside the hotel, she first encountered the problem of not having a photo identification, whatever that meant. “I am new to your country,” she explained, holding out the roll of cash, hoping it would be enough. “I just wish a room for one night.”
The woman behind the hotel counter stared at the money as if it were a foreign currency. “Check-out time is at noon, so unless you want to only rent a room for six hours you’ll have to pay for two days.”
By the gods, Lia hated being stupid, but she was—at least as far as human-side was concerned. She held out the roll of money. “Is this enough?”
With a sigh, the woman took the money and raised her eyebrows as she unrolled it. “There’s plenty here. Ma’am, you shouldn’t let anyone see you with this much money. There are a lot of thieves in this town.”
The hotelier pulled four or five bills from the roll and handed the rest back to Lia, along with instructions on how to take the elevator.
Once she got into the room, Lia rinsed out her green dress and hung it in the bathroom. Kirian’s clothes were too binding.
> She stretched out on the soft bed with every intention of planning her next step, but sleep claimed her.
SIX DREAMLESS HOURS LATER, Lia woke with Faulk’s name on her lips and that still-foreign yearning on her skin where he’d touched her. He’d awakened something inside her and then left it wanting.
Probably because she’d stabbed him.
She sat up. As hard as it was for her to believe, Faulk had seemed to find her desirable last night. He’d looked at her with that dark intent she’d seen on the faces of the men of Faerie when they wanted a woman, but it had never been directed at her. Perhaps it was because he was a Hunter and she was prey, but perhaps not. He had remembered her, after all, from a time she hadn’t thought he’d noticed her. When she’d been a tall, gangly child.
Faulk’s desire, and her own, could be the answer to her dilemma. She had only a vague notion of how a woman might seduce a man, but if she could get him to take her maidenhood—and she wanted no one but him to do so—then Florian wouldn’t want her anymore. He might even let her go in order to save face.
So what if she became a social outcast? She’d practically been an outcast anyway because she didn’t look like a proper woman of Faerie. Even as an outcast, the vain fae women would still slip up to her door at night for her jewelry.
She’d support herself with her work, and she’d live off her memories of one night with the man she’d always wanted.
What had Kirian told her about the man who now called himself Faulk? He owned a place called The Hunt Club, somewhere in the French Quarter not far from the hotel. Did Lia have the nerve to walk into the Hunters’ den?
Did she have a choice?
Kirian’s money wouldn’t last forever, and she didn’t know how to make her way in this world. Faulk might tie her up and haul her across the veil to Florian, of whom he wouldn’t wish to make an enemy, especially over someone like her. Or he might take her physically and then return her to Florian as damaged goods. The prince would simply accuse her of lying about her virginity in the first place.
Yet Faulk easily could have captured and returned her last night. He could have forced himself on her. He had done neither. Despite the knife he’d clasped in his gloved hand, he’d never threatened her.
She had to take a chance.
Lia figured out how to use the shower, then slipped back into her own dress, which had dried while she slept. Her blue dress, on which she’d spent hours sewing glass beads in the hopes she’d someday have a place to wear it, would attract too much attention. She took one of Kirian’s silky chemises since its tightness wouldn’t matter. It was a rich gold, only a few shades darker than Lia’s hair. Rather than her usual braids, she decided to leave her hair down, flowing halfway down her back in thick waves.
She took a small handbag from Kirian’s things and tucked all of the money into it, leaving everything else behind except the card that opened the door to this room. If she survived, she could return for at least another night. If Faulk took her back to Florian, there was nothing here she’d need.
One needed little to die, and she’d somehow force the prince to kill her before she submitted to him and his courtiers.
Taking a deep breath, she returned to the first floor and was pleased to see a line of taxis sitting in front of the hotel. “Do you know a place in the French Quarter called The Hunt Club?” she asked the driver of the first one.
His English, if it was English, was incomprehensible. He spoke into a small telephone for a moment, then turned to her with a grin and more gibberish. She did understand the nod and the words “The Hunt Club.”
The ride back to the French Quarter during daylight hours proved interesting. Lia’s original thoughts about the distinct areas of architecture proved true, although everything looked different in sunlight. The buildings were as colorful as those in the capital of Faerie.
Around them scurried a dizzying number of automobiles and humans of all sizes, shapes, and colors. At least she assumed they were humans; from her reading, Lia understood that New Orleans had many species living among its regular citizens, who remained unaware of them.
Once in the French Quarter, the streets narrowed and, eventually, the crowds thinned. The driver turned on a street beside a sign that read Ursulines and slowed, peering left and right as he drove.
He stopped next to a narrow alleyway and pointed, jabbering with enthusiasm. Again, she heard the words “The Hunt Club.”
Glancing at the machine next to the driver’s wheel, she saw the numerals 11, so she picked fifteen dollars from the handbag and gave them to him. It earned her a smile and a string of gibberish she interpreted as thanks.
So far, so good. She was learning.
The day had turned hot, and the wet, sticky heat hit her full-force when she exited the chilled air of the taxi. Clutching Kirian’s purse with trembling hands, she picked her way over the uneven gray bricks that paved the alleyway. On either side of her, close enough to touch without fully stretching her arms, rose walls of painted stone, one a peach color, the other gray.
There were no signs, and Lia had almost reached the dead end at the rear of the alley. Convinced the taxi driver had made a mistake, she began to turn around and only then noticed an unmarked gray door almost hidden in its matching wall. There was nothing to indicate any type of business lay behind it, but then again, if Faulk catered primarily to off-duty Fae Hunters, why would he need to advertise?
The hand Lia stretched out to the knob shook badly. Her whole life, or death, would hinge on the next few minutes.
The door was locked.
She blew out a frustrated breath and looked down the alleyway, back toward the street. A man and woman stood talking, and from the end of the woman’s fingers dangled the end of leash. A dog! The canine was small, with wiry red hair. Its sharp nose and ears already pointed in her direction.
All her life, Lia had been taught to fear canines, which saw through faery glamour. Although she used no glamour now, she instinctively cringed. The beast began straining at its leash, barking, which propelled Lia to knock on the locked door, then pound against it.
Finally, the couple on the sidewalk moved out of view, dragging the noisy beast with them. Lia had gotten no response to her knocks, so she turned back toward the alley entrance. She could walk a while, then try again.
“Wait!” A male voice called out from behind her.
She turned and saw, with horror, that it was not Faulk. Judging by the high cheekbones and bright blue eyes slightly tipped at the corners, framed by shoulder-length light-brown hair, the man was definitely fae. Judging by his muscular build, he was likely a Hunter.
“We don’t officially open for a few hours but you can come in if you just want a drink.”
Lia paused, biting her lower lip. “I was hoping to speak to Falc…to Faulk.”
“Yeah, he’s here. Come on in.” The man disappeared through the doorway.
The gods help her. Lia followed him inside, pausing a moment to relish the blast of cold air. The room was masculine and not as large as she would have imagined, with dark polished wood floors, bar, and stools. A small dance floor had been wedged between the bar and tables. A long hallway stretched to the right, with doors along the sides and at the end, and a narrow stairwell stretched out of sight from a small alcove next to the front side of the bar.
The man had gone behind the bar and was drying glasses with a white cloth. He glanced around at her. “Faulk should be down in a minute. He slept a little late today. I can tell you’re fae but don’t think I know you. What can I get you to drink?”
“Do you have wine?” Lia felt in need of courage, in whatever form possible.
“Sure. White or red? Dry or sweet?” The man had walked to the far end of the bottles. “Most of the fae like it white and sweet.”
“And strong.” The stronger the better.
The man laughed, sending a chill over Lia’s skin. She’d heard that laugh before. This was the Hunter who’d taken Kir
ian. Romany, Falconer’s lieutenant.
He set a wine glass in front of her and looked up. Their eyes locked, and she saw recognition hit him. “Liandra, daughter of Caerne. Your description fits you well.” His voice grew much less friendly. “You’d dare come here after last night?”
She swallowed hard. “Please. I must speak to Falconer—to Faulk.”
He reached across the bar and grabbed her wrist, twisting it roughly. “Why, so you can stab him again? Well, fuck you, consort. I’m taking you to Florian before Faulk realizes you’re here and does something stupid.”
With a cry of frustration, Lia tried to pull away from him but Romany was strong. He kept a firm grip on her, dragging her all the way to the end of the bar so that he could get to her. He wrenched a looped length of fine fae rope from his belt and jerked her wrists behind her. Her struggles gained her no purchase.
“Let her go, Romy.”
At the sound of the deep, quiet voice, both she and Romany froze.
“Faulk, let me take her to Florian. Anything else is going to bring trouble on our heads like we can’t imagine. And I won’t see you get yourself killed over her.”
Lia’s gaze met the stern amber eyes of the man who would decide her fate. “Please, Falconer. Just let me speak with you for a few moments alone. Please.”
“Hell no.” Romany put his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place, but he’d left her wrists unbound, which told her he’d only push his captain so far. “Faulk, don’t forget the shape you were in last time you were alone with h—”
“Enough.” Faulk walked toward them. “Romy, monitor the alley to make sure we don’t get another unexpected royal visit. I got this.”
“But…” Romy clenched his jaw shut and shook his head. “Fine. I’ll look forward to saying ‘I told you so.’”
Faulk gave his friend a small smile. “I’m sure you will.”
“Thank you.” Lia waited until Romy had closed the door behind him and she and Faulk were alone. “I’m sorry about last night. Were you badly hurt?”
The Consort: A Fae Hunters Novella (The Fae Hunters Book 1) Page 6
