by A. S. Green
“Ainsley…Something,” Alex added reluctantly. How had he been so stupid not to get her last name? “She studies botany at St. Andrew’s College.”
“What does she look like?” Callum asked.
“Auburn hair. Blue eyes. Plump bottom lip. A slim waist and round ass.” Before Alex realized what he was doing, he’d put out his hands, palms up and gently squeezed the air. Christ. Two minutes on the dance floor and she’d put his body in a perpetual state of arousal.
Finn smiled, then slipped into the old language again. “Start at the beginning, McKee. How did you find her?”
Alex took a deep breath then stood up so he could retrieve a note from his pocket. He unfolded the four-by-six inch piece of paper while sitting back down. Then he slid it across the desk to them.
The note paper was pale pink and floral-scented. The header was engraved with the words Ye Olde Apothecary and an address. Below that was a question written in a large handwritten scrawl:
Looking for a queen?
“Who sent this?” Callum asked, his eyebrows knitting together in an inverted V.
“I don’t know.” Alex frowned at the note. “It came in with yesterday’s mail. No return address on the envelope.”
“It’s not very subtle,” Finn observed.
“No. I originally thought it must have been sent by a pooka, or some other dark fae who was into sadistic taunting.”
“But you followed the address anyway?” Finn asked.
Alex raised his eyebrows and expelled a burst of air through his nose. “If it was true, I had to know. I couldn’t leave a base untouched.”
“And that’s where she was?” Finn asked. “At an…” He looked down at the note again. “Apothecary?”
Alex nodded. “The address is for a Renaissance fair. I almost left when I realized that’s where I was headed because I thought that was the joke. Looking for a queen? And the whole place was crawling with fake royalty, all of them walking around in sweat-stained costumes.”
Callum clenched his teeth. He wasn’t one to toy with someone’s emotions, so whoever sent the note was clearly rubbing him the wrong way.
“But since I was there,” Alex continued, “I went in and found the apothecary booth.”
“And there she was,” Finn said, drawing Alex’s story to its conclusion.
“And you’re sure she’s a queen?” Callum asked, still doubting him.
Alex put one palm on the desk and leaned forward. “She put a limp flower crown on her head, and the blossoms expanded as soon as they hit her hair.”
“Christ,” Finn muttered.
“I hadn’t felt that kind of energy surge since Orla,” Alex said, invoking the name of their last queen, “but it was more than that.”
“What do you mean?” Finn asked.
“Her blood it… It called to me.” As soon as the words left Alex’s mouth, he wished he could suck them back in. Why in the hell had he confessed that, of all things? He was opening himself up for a conversation he did not want to have.
“I have to say,” Callum said, “I never envied the chieftains’ arranged marriages, but to find a queen whose blood actually sings for you? That’s rare, McKee. Congratulations.”
“I won’t be bonding her,” Alex said, his tone flat. This was not up for debate.
“What?” Callum asked. “Why the hell not?”
Alex cringed at their incredulous expressions. “Have you forgotten what happened to Orla?”
Their last queen, though fully matured, had still been incredibly young, at least in fae terms. She hadn’t been ready to be a queen, let alone a bloodwife and all that that entailed. She’d been terrified on the eve of their bonding ceremony—a day she never lived to see.
“The Black Castle Brethren,” Callum said through gritted teeth, referring to the ancient society of fae killers, humans who’d hunted their kind since the days of St. Patrick, “have been defeated. They’re gone. Over. Wiped from this earth.”
“Are you willing to stake your queen’s life on it?” Alex asked, because he sure the hell was not.
“We celebrated the BCB’s demise last spring,” Finn reminded him unnecessarily. “All the fae did.”
“Someone wrote that note,” Alex said, stabbing it with the tip of his index finger.
“Okay,” Callum said, clearly trying to be a voice of reason. “Let’s say the BCB is still around. Why would they want to help us find a queen? They’re trying to eradicate us, not save us.”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “I haven’t been able to reason it out, but something’s not right about that note.”
“McKee,” Finn said, leaning forward. “You have to bond her.”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
Callum put his fist on the desk. “I know you never wanted the job, but you’re chieftain whether you like it or not. The only way to solidify this clan is for the chieftain and the queen to bond, you know that.”
“And more importantly,” Finn added, “Knox knows that. And you know he wouldn’t hesitate if the tables were turned.”
Alex let out a low growl. Knox Boyd had also grown up the son of a chieftain. If the Campbell clan had been wiped out before the Boyds, they might now all be living under the Boyd banner with Knox in charge.
But Alex knew it wasn’t only the threat to his seat that had him provoked. It was the suggestion of another male bonding that curvaceous girl with the amazing hair and unequaled power. He curled his hands into fists, banishing his instincts. He would not succumb to them.
“She needs to be bonded in order to come into her full power,” Callum reminded him.
Alex held up a hand. This conversation was over. “She’s already incredibly powerful. She’ll be able to help, just as she is. And the chance of finding another queen is slim to none. I won’t put a target on this girl’s back like I did Orla’s.”
“McKee,” Finn said, his tone softening. “You aren’t to blame for Orla’s death.”
Alex’s chest constricted with the old guilt. “We’re going to have to disagree on that one.”
“Then what do you plan to do?” Callum asked.
“I’ll bring this new queen into the fold without marking her. She can heal us just by her presence, and without me doing anything that would identify her as a queen to any enemy.”
“You’re turning your back on tradition,” Finn said.
“And what good has tradition done us?” Alex retorted. “If that’s all there was to it, there’d be more than six of us left.”
Finn and Callum shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. They knew he had a point.
“Fine,” Callum said, clearly not thinking it was fine, but wisely knowing Alex wouldn’t be changing his mind. “What happened next?”
“When?” Alex asked.
“Go back to your story. You were at the Renaissance fair. Did you talk to her? Does she know what she is?”
Alex shook his head. “She was raised by her human mother. I followed her into the city and to a bar, where she met some of her friends. We did talk there. Some, at least. We—”
He almost said danced, but they didn’t need to hear about how perfect she’d felt in his arms. They’d be circling back on their earlier arguments, and Alex didn’t want to talk about bonding anymore.
“Then…her friends were leaving, so she left. And that’s when she crossed paths with Rory.”
“What?” Callum asked, his spine straightening.
“She saw Rory feeding,” Alex confessed, wishing he didn’t have to.
“Jesus Christ,” Callum muttered. “That had to be traumatizing for her.”
Alex pressed his lips together, because it had been worse than that. She’d also seen him with Rory.
While shepherding their blood-glutted brother down the sidewalk, Alex had caught the girl’s scent on the air. Then, when he turned his head to look, he saw the flash of her hair as she ducked around the corner of the building. His heightened sense of hearing all
owed him to make out her whispered voice on the phone, presumably with the police. She could have named and described him, but as far as he could tell, she hadn’t given him up. Why?
Callum interrupted his thoughts. “Are you going to give her some space before you try to speak to her again, or—?”
“No. Time is not on our side. I’ll approach her again today.” Alex hoped the shock of last night wouldn’t make her call in sick to work.
“But you’ve found her,” Finn said, breathing out. The relief of it finally sinking in. “Bonding, or not. We’re going to survive.”
“We’re going to survive,” Alex confirmed, though he knew there were still hurdles to cross.
These weren’t the highlands, and Ainsley was completely in the dark. It would take a lot not only to get her to listen, but for her to take him seriously. Separating someone from the norms of their human existence would be no easy task. He’d have to dole out information slowly so as not to overwhelm her.
On top of that, a queen was always good for a fight, and this was one fight Alex could not afford to lose. His primal need for survival trumped everything else. It was literally a matter of life or death.
6
Monday
Alex punched the elevator button to take him up to his offices on the fifty-second floor. It was the start of a new work week, and he was infuriated. In fact, he was on day three of one serious temper because the weekend had not gone to plan.
Yes, he’d gone back to the Renaissance fair, just as he’d told Callum and Finn. He’d sat on a bench near the apothecary booth from noon until close, endured the tedious flirtations of costumed bar wenches and ridiculous faeries with their sparkly wings and wands. But no Ainsley.
When he finally stepped up to the neighboring booth and asked the heavy-set man in the leather vest when she’d be expected back, the man grunted something about her quitting without putting in two weeks’ notice. Alex had clenched his fists so tightly in response, his knuckles cracked.
After that, he’d spent all day Sunday on the internet, but came up empty. He didn’t know if Ainsley lived on campus, or had an apartment. Maybe she lived with her mother. Why hadn’t he asked more questions when he’d had the opportunity? Oh, right. The feel of her body in his arms had distracted him from all rational thought.
Christ, the memory alone had his cock hardening. This was the exact opposite of how he wanted to feel, so when Finn and Callum asked how everything was going, he’d nearly torn their heads off, before lying and assuring them that it was “going.”
Now, it was Monday and his new plan meant going to St. Andrews College and breaking into the Admissions Office after hours to find her address.
The elevator doors opened onto his company’s lobby. Alex had designed the space himself to convey a sense of elegance and calm control—everything he currently lacked. The hardwood floor was stained so dark it was nearly black. The front desk was onyx with stainless steel accents. The seating area had cream-colored leather sofas.
The only color came from an original Rembrandt painting of a woman lounging on an embroidered settee. It was a very tasteful depiction of Alex’s first mistress and though he’d commissioned the painting from the master himself, he rarely looked at it anymore.
“Good morning, Mr. Campbell.” Caroline, the receptionist, stood from behind the desk and handed him the mail that had come in over the weekend. All of his employees were human and utterly clueless about him. He made sure there was enough turn-over that no one would notice how the years had no impact on his physical appearance.
He flipped through the envelopes, not really seeing any of it. His mind was on his afternoon plans.
“Um, excuse me, Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes?” He got to the last envelope, turned it over and ripped open the seal.
“Judy said she’ll meet you in your office to get the assignments, but she’s still finishing up the new paperwork.”
Alex glanced up. “The new—? Oh, right.” He’d received Judy’s text on Saturday, but he’d had more pressing things on his mind at the time. Like how he was going to find Ainsley Whatever-Her-Name-Was, and convince her to save the future of his race.
He made his way down the plushly carpeted hall, fighting to maintain a neutral expression. He intimidated his employees on his best days. This morning, he probably looked like a walking nightmare judging by the way two interns nearly tripped over themselves to get out of his way.
He stopped in with marketing to approve the brochures for the upcoming trade show, then hooked a left and marched down the next hallway, his chest tightening with each stride.
It was made all the worse when he stepped into his corner office and saw a strange woman bent over, facing his floor-to-ceiling bookcase, her round ass pointed right at him. She was wearing a pale pink blouse and a tight, off-white skirt that skimmed the back of her knees. Damn outside sales people. Who was he going to have to tear into for letting a stranger into his private office?
The woman didn’t hear him enter, so she continued to snoop through his things, touching each of the collector items on his shelves: an iridescent heteromorph ammonite fossil, a seventeenth century two-handed claymore with a double-edged blade, a rare first edition of Historia Plantarum…
He blindly tossed the mail onto his desk. “See anything you like?”
The young woman sucked in a breath and spun.
Alex nearly swallowed his tongue. All of his anger evaporated, though the pressure in his chest remained.
Ainsley blinked once, as if in slow motion, then all the color drained from her face. If Alex had indulged any doubts about whether she’d really seen him with Rory, her horrified expression removed them all.
She took a step back, hit her ass on the shelves, and sent his cherished Rod Carew baseball toppling onto the carpet and rolling into the corner.
“Ainsley.” Her name came out of him like a prayer, despite the maelstrom of thoughts noisily crashing through his head.
His first, and thankfully strongest thought was that she was definitely a queen; her energy sizzled through him. But not even that reality could completely shut out the dangerous thoughts about picking up where they’d left off on that dance floor and sinking his teeth into that tender neck, bonding her to him like a chieftain should.
He took one step closer, restrained power burning in his muscles. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you again.”
“Stay back.” She put her hands up in self-defense.
Alex stopped immediately, partly because she told him to, partly out of surprise. He wasn’t used to being given orders, especially not in his own domain, but the situation demanded delicacy. “Of course. Whatever you require.”
She took two steps to the side, as if she were trying to get a better shot at the door.
Alex reached back and closed it with a soft click. Was it possible fate was finally on his side? “Judith said there was a staffing change. Are you my new assistant?”
“Your—?” She blinked, and her paled cheeks suddenly flushed with vibrant color. “Thorn Enterprises is your company?”
“It is.” He was amazed by how different she looked with her hair pulled back in a chignon. The last time he’d seen her, she’d had a wild mane of curls. It was mind boggling how she could fit all that hair into such a tight little bunch.
She gave her head a shake and a long red spiral fell from the clip. “There’s been some mistake.” Then she stepped forward, clearly wanting to go.
Alex didn’t move from his position just inside the door. “Fate doesn’t make mistakes, Ainsley.”
The delicious pink flush in her cheeks faded again to a bloodless white as she apparently realized he wasn’t going to yield the exit. She stopped in the center of the floor, his desk on her left, the wall of windows on her right. There were still ten feet between them.
She pointed at the door behind him. “There are people right outside. You can’t keep me in here.”
�
��Please.” He gestured toward the ecru leather sofa against the windows. “Let’s talk.” He had so much to explain, and no idea how to go about it. Ideally, he’d have more time. Thanks to Rory, he had, at best, one more minute before she started screaming.
“This is false imprisonment,” she said, lifting her chin in defiance.
Alex bristled at her challenge. His instincts as chieftain were to throw his weight around and make her listen, but she was his queen and his goals required more finesse. “I mean you no harm.”
“If you don’t let me leave, I’ll call the police.”
Alex tipped his head to the side and studied her. That raised an interesting point and one he’d been wondering about all weekend. “You already called the police, but you didn’t give them my name. Why not?”
Ainsley froze. Then she blinked. Her voice came out as a whisper. “How did you know that?”
Alex took two steps away from the door, closing the gap between them. “I have exceptionally good hearing.”
She took a step backwards. “Are you going to kill me?”
Alex stopped abruptly and furrowed his brow. “Of course not.”
“But I’m a witness.”
A wit—? An amused smile spread across Alex’s face; he couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry, but are you trying to explain to me why I should kill you?”
Ainsley closed her eyes as if realizing her error.
“Take a deep breath.” The last thing he wanted was to scare her. “I’m not going to hurt you. And by the way, that girl in the alley…she lived.”
Ainsley opened her eyes and her shoulders relaxed. “She did?”
“Mm-hm.” Alex inched closer; there were now six feet between them. His hands flexed wanting to touch those sweet curves. His heartbeat was vicious in his chest. Then he stopped, remembering himself, and balled his hands into fists.
“But…” She glanced toward the wall of windows that looked over downtown Minneapolis. “That man, he…”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
At his words, Ainsley’s gaze jerked from the windows and her eyes flashed. “What the heck was supposed to happen?”
