by Holly Bargo
“Unless they learned from Henry Ford,” she murmured as the serving wench returned with a knock on the door.
Accompanied by another servant, the two women each set down two buckets filled with steaming water.
“That’s all the hot water we’ve got unless you wish to wait. By that time the buckets will have cooled off,” she said.
“That will be sufficient.”
She bobbed another curtsey. “Good, m’lord. Then I’ll be back with soap and towels.”
He held up the gold coin for her to see. “And this shall be waiting for your kind assistance.”
She nodded, bobbed, and departed, the other woman whispering about collecting her share of that gold coin.
“I have to ask.”
“Yes, beloved?”
“Where did the money come from?”
“I pulled it from my vault.”
She shook her head, neither understanding nor quite believing him. “And the dress? And crown? Don’t tell me you’ve got a wardrobe stashed in this vault of yours.”
“I have not,” he admitted. “But I do have a store of exquisite fabrics and laces and jewels and I command them to manifest and form as I need.”
“You can do that, but you can’t fly?”
“We all have our limitations.”
Corinne laughed. She couldn’t help it. Caught by her amusement, Uberon smiled, a rare expression of joy that made the breath catch in her throat. Her laughter faded and swelled into something else, something powerful. She could not blink, could not speak. Her gaze flickered to the fall of his trousers and the bulge straining against the supple leather.
“Wash now or later?” he murmured.
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged as she felt invisible flames flicker over the surface of her skin, kissing her with heat and desire. She watched as his clothing dissolved into nothingness, leaving him fully nude for her admiration. He lifted his arms and spread them to receive her.
“Uberon,” she whispered and flung herself across the room into his embrace.
CHAPTER 13
In the darkness of the hours before dawn, Uberon propped himself up on one elbow while Corinne slept and ran his hand in light strokes over her still tangled hair. His fingertips moved from the silk of her hair to the satin of her skin, trailing over her shoulder. She sighed and snuggled in more closely to his warm body. Her soul shined so brightly. It cast its brilliance into his dark soul, imbuing him with a sense of goodness and purity that he wasn’t sure he had ever possessed. Not knowing to whom he prayed, one of the three most ancient fae in that world sent silent thanks to the heavens for the gift of his mate.
The desire to be worthy of her inspired him to be a finer version of himself.
Wouldn’t Enders have had a hearty laugh at that?
The last of his generation had succumbed to the soul-bond and turned him into a besotted nincompoop.
His hand stilled, settling over the flare of her hip, fingers aching to slide a bit further and delve into her honeyed sweetness. But the days of rigorous travel had wearied her and she needed rest. The tightness in his chest relaxed at the knowledge that he gave her what she needed. Providing for his mate meant more than simply ensuring adequate food, shelter, and clothing. It encompassed caring for her every need. Fulfillment of that imperative satisfied something deep inside him, a heretofore unrealized need, a yearning, gaping void he’d not previously understood because he’d never known there was anything different.
He spared a moment to remember Marog’s mother, whom he’d mated because doing so had been mutually advantageous to them both. Like all their kind, she was beautiful, unexceptional in a species for which beauty was as common as five fingers and five toes on each hand and foot. He remembered her as kind and cool-natured, if not particularly compassionate. The kindness resulted from a keen awareness of position and reputation and obligation. She’d bitterly resented the split from the Seelie Court and never allowed him to forget his fault in heaping the misery of exile upon her.
Uberon did not particularly miss her when she died with an iron blade in her heart, even though honor and mild affection demanded retribution which he had visited upon her murderer with swift and brutal vengeance. Centuries had passed before the djinni ventured into that corner of their territory again, and centuries more before the first intrepid souls dared to settle there once again. Legends of his curse still rose occasionally among the older djinni.
If something ripped Corinne from his life, he would decimate the world in his rage and grief.
He never knew anything could be so precious to him as this once-human female.
Uberon drew his mate closer to his body, curling around her as though to shelter her with his own flesh from all danger. He inhaled deeply of the mingled fragrance of their skin and the lingering musk of passion. He ignored the press of his eager cock between the sweet globes of her ass, though he was sure he could slide inside her body while she slept and obtain release again. Her body would receive him. However, he refused to use her like that because she meant more—so much more—to him than service as a receptacle for his libido.
He lay there and listened to the occasional thud of booted footsteps and the rasp of slippered soles against the rough planks of the balcony floor. He listened to the squeak of hinges beginning to corrode from the always salty air when a whore’s customer finished his business and departed. His keen ears heard the feigned sounds of delight from those same whores who knew being better actresses meant earning better bonuses from their customers. He heard the stifled squeal of pain as one customer used a woman too roughly. Feeling magnanimous, Uberon sent a thread of power toward that room. The whore’s vagina suddenly grew sharp teeth and the man abusing her lost his manhood with a strangled scream of horror—strangled because an invisible cord tightened around his throat until he lost consciousness.
She’d likely lose her job, but no one would believe that a woman’s body so well-used by so many men could do the damage one customer would surely accuse her of. Uberon’s own strong, white teeth gleamed in the darkness as the warm, coppery scent of blood added its odor to the miasma of smells that filled the tavern.
The whole sordid transaction gave justification to his contempt for humans. No other species so condoned ill use of an entire gender as did humanity. The superiority of the fae lay not only in their power, but in their protection of the weakest of their species. He pressed a kiss to the fragrant tangle of Corinne’s hair. Her abilities made her a goddess among insects when compared to humans, though the strength of most fae dwarfed hers. Corinne’s real power lay in her power over him.
His ears pricked at the sudden absence of sound as heavy footsteps stopped in front of the door to their room. Whispers in a rude human language he’d not bothered to learn filtered through the door. He needed no linguistic expertise to understand the hiss of steel sliding from a leather scabbard.
Stupid humans thought to rob a wealthy fae lord.
Uberon eased from the bed, careful not to disturb his slumbering mate. A flicker of thought garbed him in supple black leather. His gloved hand curled around the hilt of his favorite sword, a long, deceptively slender blade with edges so keen they sliced through steel like butter. Unfortunately, the corrosive taint of steel would pit the blade and dull the edge, but a whetstone could repair the damage.
He held his other hand up, ready to fling raw power at the other human whose greasy stench seeped under the door. He crossed the room on silent feet and positioned himself near the door.
The latch jiggled and clicked. The door opened barely the span of a hand’s breadth. Uberon aimed for the shadow lurking just beyond.
One of the men murmured something. The door opened wider. A short, stocky man sidled through, a slightly taller, and gaunt man creeped in right behind him. He grunted when he collided with the first man who stopped abruptly when Uberon’s blade kissed the skin of his neck.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you,” Ube
ron said, his tone pitched low so as not to disturb his mate’s rest.
“We don’t want no trouble, my lord,” the skinny man answered in the common trade tongue, his voice heavily accented.
“Then you shouldn’t have gone looking for it.” Uberon withdrew his sword and slid it into its scabbard. His lips peeled back to display his teeth. The two burglars mistook it for a smile.
The shoulder of the heavier of the two men shifted. Uberon read the intent in his beady eyes. He inhaled sharply, his chest expanding. The two men gasped, but could draw in no air from the vacuum that surrounded them. They clutched at their throats, the heavier man dropping his dagger which landed without a sound because sound could not travel through a vacuum. Uberon watched dispassionately as the lack of air worked its deadly effect.
Having efficiently dispatched the would-be burglars, he exhaled, releasing the air he withheld from the two intruders. A nudge of his booted toe resulted in no response from the corpses, so he unleashed his will and the bodies disintegrated into small piles of coarse, greasy ash.
Another flicker of will restored his nakedness as he padded back to the bed and rejoined his mate. He curled his body around hers and flung a light net of wards around the perimeter of the room in case some other stupid, avaricious human decided to relieve the wealthy fae lord of what belonged to him.
Corinne continued to sleep and recuperate from the exhaustion of travel and vigorous rounds of lovemaking. The wards muted the sounds filtering through the thin walls, a secondary benefit that allowed Uberon to close his eyes and indulge in some sleep himself.
He woke as weak light passed through the dirty window panes and cast the room in dull shadow. He cleaned and clothed himself and set the water in the buckets to scalding, for his mate would wish to wash the conventional way before they continued their journey. He opened the window and peered through. Below him the city began to awaken. Across the topography of rooftops, he saw sails billow as ships headed out on the morning tide to catch fish and carry cargo. A fresh salty breeze swirled through the opening, sweeping away the faintly acrid odor of death and dissolution.
Corinne stirred, absently reached for him, an unconscious gesture that warmed his cold heart, stirred his icy blood, and brightened his blackened soul. Leaving the window open, he walked back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.
Running the back of one finger down her smooth cheek, he said, “Awaken, beloved. We’ve far to travel today.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she stretched. The blanket slipped down to reveal plump, ruby-tipped breasts. Unable to resist their temptation, he leaned down and kissed one. She moaned and arched beneath him. He obeyed the inarticulate demand and suckled, working the hard tip with his tongue and reveling in the sweetness of her flesh.
“Uberon,” she sighed and twined her fingers in his hair.
Uberon decided a delay would do no harm and, naked once again, pushed the blanket down and crawled over her. Her thighs parted for him as he took his place between her legs. He relished her soft sounds of pleasure as he transferred his attention to the other breast and skimmed a hand down her body, tracing random patterns into the soft skin. She undulated beneath him, her hips tilting to welcome his invasion. Corinne sighed, then moaned, as he sank into her body, already wet and eager to be possessed.
Her mate lifted his head, his silver eyes locking with hers as his hips snapped back and forth in a ruthless rhythm that made her breasts jiggle and her blood sing. She reached up to cradle his face between her palms and his pace slowed, grew gentle, the fiery passion soothed by her mere touch. He groaned and closed his eyes, their bodies now surging and ebbing like the rolling tides, the climb to orgasm just as inevitable.
Corinne cried out, a high, thin sound as her muscles convulsed around him and her limbs could do no more than clutch at him to hold him close. Uberon groaned and ground his hips into her, burying himself as deeply as he could as his own release emptied into her body.
“Now I really need a bath,” she muttered and unclenched her hands from his upper arms.
The Quoliálfur king pressed a tender, sensual kiss to her mouth and replied as he brushed back a tendril of tangled hair, “You shall have one.”
Pulling from her body, which made her utter that little whimper that never failed to delight him, he directed his will toward the buckets of steaming water. As she pulled herself into a sitting position, Corinne gaped as the buckets reformed and expanded into a tub. The water they held swelled in volume to fill the newly fashioned vessel.
“Bathe, beloved,” he said, turning to face her as his own skin glowed fresh and clean and supple black leather wrapped around his body. “I shall ensure we have breakfast and then check on our mounts.”
Corinne tilted her head and gave him a puzzled glance as she rose from the bed and evidence of their passion trickled down her thighs. “The horses are back at the Seelie palace.”
“They’ll have arrived by now, unencumbered by riders.”
“How?” she asked, lifting a leg to climb into the tub.
“They’re not really horses.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not right now.”
She sighed. “But you will tell me? Later?”
“I will tell you,” he agreed. “After we’re on our way.”
“Uberon?”
He paused at the door. “Yes, beloved?”
“Is it possible for you to check and see whether Gus delivered the letters I wrote to my family?”
He nodded, both regretting that she missed them so much and grateful that her kind and generous heart had not forgotten them. Her concern boded well for her future as the mother of any children they might have. The image in his mind of his mate ripe and round with his child made his cock swell with renewed enthusiasm and a burning desire to fuck her well and often. Perhaps she might give him a precious daughter.
“I’ll check,” he promised and passed through the door, taking care to shield her from the view of any passersby who might look through the doorway.
Getting his body under control, he strode the length of the balcony and down the staircase. A bleary-eyed wench lifted her head to acknowledge him as he entered the common room.
“I shall return with my mate shortly. We require your best breakfast.”
She nodded and returned her attention to wiping down tables with a dirty rag. He changed direction and headed for the stable yard where their mounts waited in disdainful silence. An hostler approached the gleaming golden steed, only to dodge a striking hoof.
“You made it,” Uberon greeted them. “Good. Any troubles?”
The black horse lifted its nose and cast a cold glare at him.
“Yes, yes, our leavetaking was abrupt and rude. However, I could not tolerate any threat to my mate. I apologize for the substandard accommodations and the inconsiderate treatment.”
The golden horse snorted in grudging acceptance of his apology. The black horse turned its head aside in clear dismissal.
“Mind your manners,” Uberon warned. “Or would you prefer to forfeit your release?”
Blowing forcefully through its flared, velvety nostrils, the black horse arched its neck and lowered its head in submission.
“Good,” the fae lord said with mild satisfaction. “I’ll see that you receive an extra ration of grain and fresh water before we head out.”
He turned and walked away, the two horses following him to the utter astonishment of the two hostlers who watched. The hostlers flinched when Uberon turned to face them.
“See that my mounts receive your best grain and as much fresh water as they will drink. They have traveled long and hard to rejoin me here and deserve the reward.”
“Them’s vicious animals, my lord,” the younger of the two hostlers remarked, lip curling in a sneer.
“They’ll mind their manners now, provided you treat them gently.”
The hostler shrugged and lifted a halter to slide over an equine he
ad. The golden horse raised its head and took a step back.
“Behave,” Uberon snapped.
The golden horse lowered its head and allowed itself to be caught while the older hostler approached the black horse. That beast held still while the hostler tugged a halter over its large head. Both horses meekly followed the hostlers into the small stable where Uberon made sure they received what he promised them.
When he returned to the room at the end of the balcony, Corinne had finished her bath and sat on the bed, a towel wrapped around her body while she painstakingly struggled with combing the tangles from her hair.
“I’m ready to cut this mess off,” she muttered with frustration.
“Allow me to comb your hair. I didn’t get to do that last night,” he said and sat down beside her.
She hesitated, then handed him the comb. He repositioned her so that she sat with her back to him. He swept her wet hair aside and pressed kisses to the nape of her neck and the back of each shoulder. Goose pimples rose on her skin and she shivered as pleasure rippled through her.
“Do not cut your hair. It is your crowning glory, as though you carried the sunset within every strand,” he said as he stroked the tresses which began to loosen beneath his touch. He ran the comb through her hair, right behind his fingers. After only a couple of passes, the comb traveled freely through the long, wavy locks.
“Shall I braid it?” he inquired, setting the comb aside.
“Please.”
His fingers deftly manipulated her hair, weaving it into a complicated plait threaded through with glossy black and green ribbons that hadn’t existed until he decided he wanted to embellish her hair.
“Now, a habit to match,” he murmured as he eased the towel from Corinne’s body. The sight of her exposed flesh had its predictable effect on him, but he concentrated on other business. After all, he’d told her, he was no unreasoning animal unable to control himself. “Stand, beloved.”
