Maggie had actually felt the pulse of power when the spell had been completed, so yes, she did feel safer in the house.
“And I appreciate it,” she said. “But we could have used Quinn and Culhane, too, and they’re so pissed at me, they’ll probably stay away just when we need them the most.”
“You’ve got me, don’t ya?” Bezel shouted from the kitchen, insult clear in his raspy voice.
“And how do we rid ourselves of you, you little troll?” Claire shouted back.
“Witches,” he answered. “Always being snotty,”
“Go home, Bezel,” Maggie called out.
“I would if Fontana would let me,” he insisted, shifting into the living room to glare down at them.
Since he was standing and they were sitting, Bezel was actually taller than someone for a change. Maggie looked up at him. “I didn’t mean go home to Otherworld. I meant go home to your tree.”
He scrubbed one hand across his wispy silver beard and looked away. “Uh, thought I’d just stay in the house for a few days. Just in case.”
Maggie smiled up at the ugly little pixie in his green velvet suit. He talked mean and acted all the time as if he’d rather be anywhere but around them. Yet here he was, willing to stay inside the house—which he called a “human box”—rather than his tree house. Because, she knew, he was worried about them. Though Maggie also knew he’d never admit to that.
“Aww . . . that’s so thoughtful,” Claire murmured with a smile. “You’ll be here so we can throw you to Mab just to save ourselves.”
“You know,” he said scowling, “if my wife, Fontana, knew how crazy you people really are, she’d let me come home.”
“Tell her,” Claire murmured, taking a sip of her wine. “I beg you.”
Maggie smiled. Claire and Bezel had been at each other’s throats since the moment they’d met. And Maggie was convinced they actually enjoyed trading insults.
Bezel’s silver eyebrows drew together and his icy blue eyes narrowed into slits. “Witches, always got something to say.”
“Hobgoblins, never go away.”
“Why don’t you two just make out and get rid of this sexual tension?” Maggie laughed at their horrified expressions and all at once she felt better. Things could have been worse.
Yes, the Fae Warrior she was fairly certain she was in love with had been using her as a pawn and then had disappeared as soon as she’d called him on it. And yes, there was a rabid former queen on her ass. Oh, and Christmas was like three weeks away and she had no tree, no presents and no more painting jobs until the after-Christmas sales.
But in spite of it all, she had her family. Nora. Eileen. A grandFae she wasn’t too sure about. And she also had Claire and Bezel. Friends.
“Uh, Maggie?”
She looked up at the pixie. “What?”
He pointed one long, knobby finger. “The witch don’t look so good.”
She slowly swiveled her head to look at Claire and the small hairs at the back of her neck went straight up.
Claire’s eyes were completely white. Her head was tipped back, her long hair tumbling down past her shoulders. Her mouth dropped open and the wineglass she held fell from nerveless fingers. From under the table, Sheba issued a loud, insistent whine.
“What do we do?” Bezel asked.
“Beats the hell out of me,” Maggie told him, fear rising up inside to squeeze her throat shut. She set her own glass on the table, picked up Claire’s and then moved to lean over her friend. “Claire. Claire, can you hear me?”
No response. Fear danced up and down Maggie’s spine.
“Maybe,” Bezel whispered, “you shouldn’t, you know, spook her, when she’s all spooked out.”
“I’ve seen her have a vision before and she didn’t do this,” Maggie told him, her whisper almost lost beneath Nat King Cole’s rendition of “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.”
Bezel moved closer and called out to Claire. Maggie glanced up at him and read her own worries reflected in his eyes. What was she supposed to do?
Claire was completely immobile. Sheba crawled out from under the table and, still whining, crawled on her belly into the kitchen.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Maggie asked.
‘No,” Bezel said. “And it’s givin’ me the trots.”
Claire suddenly gasped, lurched up from her sitting position and sent Bezel a hard look. “That was disgusting.”
He grinned, clearly relieved. “So were the white eyes, witchy.”
“What the hell happened, Claire?” Maggie focused only on her friend. There were beads of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip. Her breath was coming fast and shallow and her hands, as she reached for Maggie’s wineglass, were shaking.
“Holy Troll in Torea,” Bezel said and whistled long and low. “Witchy, you look like Ifreann.”
“Feel like it, too, little man.” Claire’s voice sounded raw and just as trembly as her hands looked.
“What happened?” Maggie demanded. “Was it a vision? What did you see?”
“Mab.” Claire looked first at Bezel, then locked her gaze with Maggie’s. “I saw Mab. She’s not alone, Mags. And she’s planning to steal Eileen.”
Mab sat at a table, facing three of the Sluagh. Tremors of a feeling that might have been fear rattled around in the pit of her stomach like several small balls colliding. She’d never known real fear before, so she couldn’t be sure of the sensation. But staring into the eyes of the Sluagh was enough to give even the mightiest ruler a qualm or two.
Especially in such a place. It was a tavern, she supposed. Though the rogue Fae had no access to true nectar, they had obviously devised other types of alcohol. Shouts and screams filled the air along with rough laughter and a few moans and groans from the dark corners of the poorly lit building.
Raucous music was a cacophony of sound layering over the stench and noise and Mab, who was more accustomed to the trill of pipes and the sighs of harps, realized more clearly than ever that she was out of her element. She didn’t belong on Casia. Didn’t have a place among these rowdy, dangerous Fae. She belonged in her crystal palace. On the bejeweled throne that had been her seat of power for centuries.
But getting that world back meant she had to come here.
As Queen, she never would have been seen speaking to such as the Sluagh, but times change and desperate measures must be taken. She shook her long, golden hair back from her face and forced a smile for the leader of the three.
The Sluagh were the most powerful of the rogue Fae in Casia. They were tall, and like most of the Fae, beautiful, with long, black hair, pale skin and black, glittering eyes. But their beauty was a trap. Before their imprisonment, they would draw innocent mortals to them, seduce them and steal their souls, leaving the mortal to die painfully with no hope of moving on to the next dimension.
It was rumored the Sluagh were actually fallen angels, beings who had tired of taking orders in the mortal heaven and were cast out for their disobedience. Able to travel through the dimensions, they had found the Fae realm and decided to stay. But they hadn’t followed the rules there, either. Millennia ago, they were imprisoned here on Casia for their crimes against humanity. But then, at that time, the reigning Fae Queen was doing all she could to ensure that Fae and mortals lived in harmony.
Mab couldn’t have cared less about harmony. The Fae were clearly the superior race and if the humans became too much trouble, they should be ended.
“Why do you bother us?” the beautiful man demanded.
Mab smiled at him and received no response in return. Her beauty would buy her nothing from these Fae. The Sluagh ruled this prison island through fear and intimidation and had been known to behead immortal beings for the smallest slight—even for pronouncing their name wrong.
Mab was very careful to say it right.
“Will the Sloo-ah help me or not?” she asked, keeping her gaze fixed on the merciless black eyes of the Fae in the middle
of the group.
“Why should we?” he asked, a dismissive gleam in his eyes. Sweeping out his arms, he continued. “We have all we need here. In this place we rule. In this place, you are nothing. Less than. A queen no more, you are merely another beggar, demanding notice.”
Fury spilled through Mab’s body as she forced herself to sit quietly, regally, opposite those she wouldn’t have deigned to speak to only weeks ago. And once this was over, she would never speak with them again. In fact, she assured herself silently, the Sluagh could be done away with once she’d gotten from them exactly what she needed. She smiled at the thought and the curve of her mouth was as bone-chilling as the wind battering at the walls of this tavern crowded with rogue Fae.
“You’ve been locked into this icy prison for so long, you’ve forgotten what it was that put your kind here,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that was quickly swallowed by the surrounding noise.
In this dirty hovel, the imprisoned Fae gathered to drink, to talk, to scheme of what they might do if ever they were freed. She’d once pitied them, she thought wryly. Now, she’d been reduced to becoming one of them.
Mab leaned closer, ignoring the two females who sat on either side of the leader of the Sluagh. Staring directly into his black, empty eyes, she taunted, “Do you not remember the taste of innocence? The cool glide of an untouched soul sliding through your body?”
His features tightened and Mab saw she had his attention.
“You once gave up paradise because you refused to obey,” she said softly. “Do you now willingly stay in a prison because you have the illusion of power?”
“It is no illusion, Mab,” he said, leaning toward her as well. “Here in this place, the Sluagh rule and you are an uninvited guest. Do not forget that.”
“Of course.” She gave him a majestic nod and hid her smile. “But in this place, there are no innocent souls for you to feast on. Your hunger must be great.” She tipped her head to one side, her long, golden hair swinging free of her body to hang like a bright curtain, a slash of light in the darkness of the room. “I can give you souls. I can give you a free path into the world of man where you might gorge yourselves until you’re finally sated—and then beyond.”
A flare of interest lit up the darkness in his eyes and Mab knew she had won her first battle. With the Sluagh, she could begin her return to power. And once she had regained her throne, the immortals who had dared to stand against her would see how quickly eternity could come to an end.
Chapter Eleven
Maggie left Bezel and Claire at the house to stand guard over Nora and Eileen.
It didn’t matter any longer that she was furious with Culhane. She needed the warrior’s help and she knew, deep in her heart, that no matter their private battles, he would do all he could to keep her family safe.
She drew the portal herself, focusing solely on Culhane. Maggie had had no idea where in Otherworld the warrior might be, so rather than concentrate on a destination, she made Culhane himself her focal point. When the portal had opened and the warm, floral air had poured from its center, Bezel had assured her that she’d done it correctly; then she stepped through the golden circle of light and found herself in the throne room at the palace.
Stunned, she looked across the room to see Culhane, leaning on the jewel-studded throne, holding court with five of his warriors. “What’s going on?”
Instantly, the men went silent and turned as one to look at her. None of them, including Culhane, looked happy to see her. Which was okay by Maggie, since she wasn’t real overjoyed at the moment herself.
“I repeat,” she said, walking toward them, the heels of her boots clacking on the marble floor, echoing out around her like gunshots, “what’s going on?”
“Go.” Culhane said one word and before Maggie could object, the five other warriors shifted space and were gone.
She’d come to him for help and found him holding court? Was he really trying to take over—planning a coup or something? What the hell? Was he as hungry for power as Mab? Was he building his own power base to undermine her?
God, how had she slipped into this whole intrigue thing? And why did she have to have so many doubts about Culhane now, when she needed him most? He stared at her from across the room and even with the distance between them, Maggie felt the power of those pale green eyes slamming into her.
A few hours ago, she’d been in his arms, feeling things she’d never imagined possible. Now she looked at him and knew that she loved him. She only wished she could be sure she trusted him.
Despite the mistrust simmering inside her, she was drawn to him and knew she always would be. She felt a connection with him that was more alluring than anything she’d ever known. How could she be in love with a man she wasn’t sure of? A man whose loyalties were still in question? How had this happened? And how could she keep her feelings from him? He was already overbearing and arrogant.
If he knew she loved him, wouldn’t that knowledge simply give him even more power over her?
Burying her feelings deep, she asked quietly, “What’re you doing, Culhane?”
He stepped out from behind the throne, crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet wide apart, as if preparing for battle. Which, she supposed, he was.
“My men and I are searching for Mab.”
“From the throne?”
His jaw went tight. “You insult me. I’ve stolen nothing from you, Maggie. I am only trying to defend you. Defend Otherworld from the threat Mab represents.”
“I insult you?” Maggie laughed as she walked toward him. Yes, she loved him, but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t stand up to him every chance she got. When she got to the dais, she stepped up on it, moved even closer and tapped him in the chest with the tip of her index finger. “You’re the one who’s meeting with his pals secretly.”
“My warriors.”
“My warriors,” she corrected, pushing one hand through her hair, to get it out of her eyes so she could give him a hard glare. “Isn’t that what you told me? The warriors were mine to command? That as Queen, I’m the one who calls the shots?”
“I am taking nothing from you!” His shout rang throughout the room, reverberating off the crystal walls. One hand dropped to the sculpted back of the throne and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. “You insult us both if you believe I am with you only to use you.”
“I want to believe that,” she told him, staring up into the eyes that had mesmerized her from the first.
“Then do so.” He reached for her and his hands on her upper arms were strong and sure and the heat from his body poured into hers like a salve.
Whether she completely believed in him or not, she had to trust him with this. Had to have faith that he would be the warrior hero she needed so desperately at the moment.
“Okay, Culhane. We’ll call a truce, because I really need you right now.”
“What is it?” Instantly, he was on alert.
She told him about Claire’s vision. About the wards they’d put up around her house and that she needed help in keeping Eileen safe.
“Even Mab would not hurt a child,” he whispered.
“Hope you’re right,” she said, “but I don’t want to bet on Mab having a good side.”
“No, we cannot take that risk,” he agreed, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her, nestling her head against his chest, so that she heard the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her ear. “And we won’t. Eileen will be safe, this I promise. We’ll hide her at the Conclave. No one can get in there unless invited by a warrior.”
“What if Mab’s got some fans among your clan?”
He smiled and stroked her back. “She does not. We will protect Eileen. You have my word.”
“Thank you.”
“You do not need to thank me for protecting what is important to you.” He pulled her back so that she could look up at him. “My life, my honor, are yours to command. I will stand betwe
en you and danger, Maggie. Always.”
“Oh, wow . . .” Maggie was a goner and she knew it.
What woman wouldn’t have been? Everything inside her heated, going silky and soft.
“Wait here. I will go to Quinn and send him to your house.”
He shifted, leaving her alone in the quiet, her nerves hammering, body simmering. Culhane was back an instant later, though, and when she looked at him, he said simply, “It is done. Quinn will remain with Nora and Eileen until we bring them to the Conclave.”
“I want to thank you again,” she said with a smile.
His luscious mouth curved at one corner. “If you must . . .”
Then he kissed her, his mouth taking hers with a fever of need and desperation that jangled every nerve in Maggie’s body. Wrapped in the heat of him, she forgot everything but what he could make her feel. And she gave herself up to the wonder of it.
She hadn’t come here expecting this. But she wouldn’t turn from it, either. His hands were everywhere, touching, exploring. Maggie squirmed against him and itched to get out of her clothes, feel skin on skin, heat on heat. She hungered. She needed. He was the missing part of her and only by joining with him could she feel complete again.
How had he become so important to her so quickly? How had she ever lived without the feel of him against her hands?
She scraped her palms up and under his shirt, defining every sculpted muscle on his back. He hissed in a breath and deepened the kiss, tongue plunging deep, to tangle with hers in a needy dance of desire.
Blood sizzling, heart thumping, Maggie leaned into him, offering more, taking more. She wanted all of him and couldn’t seem to get close enough.
“Now,” he murmured, tearing his mouth from hers.
“Now? Huh? What?” Shaken, stunned, she wobbled unsteadily as he smiled down at her.
Beguiled Page 16
