“I’m here.”
He turned. A rush of hot desire to lift her long skirt and reveal her smooth silky legs, inch by inch, roared through him, leaving him speechless and staring.
Her blond hair was honey-dark, damp with water from the bath. Even from across the room she smelled delicious, like the fresh, hot, sweet rolls with just a tang of rose marmalade he’d devoured as a child. She wore a large robe of blue Uplander wool, its fluffy weave nestled against the white of a long, ridiculously high-necked nightgown. Matching blue slippers peeped out beneath the curve of her skirt, that tempting barrier that would be so easy to remove.
Her wary eyes pinned his. “You said we’d talk.” She circled around him and approached the fire, standing as far away from him as she could and still reach her fingers out to the heat.
“Yes, I did. Dinner is in here.” He led the way to the double doors under the stairs where Maeve had set a feast out on the narrow sideboard and where they could sit at an intimate table for two instead of the large feasting table in the main hall. The lighting was dim and romantic, but he knew the odds of his winning her favor tonight were slim.
But Goddess, he wanted to.
He wanted her to see him, Kian, the man. Not the manipulative son-of-a-queen she obviously thought he was. And once they’d had this conversation, she’d likely think worse.
She served herself at the sideboard, and he poured the glasses full of rich, crimson wine.
“Oh no,” she said. She set her plate on the small round table. “I don’t want any wine, thank you.”
“You’d let me drink alone?”
She flushed.
All right, so he was manipulative, but he was a desperate man playing for high stakes. “Share one glass with me.” He held her glass out and she eyed it warily. “It will make this conversation easier.”
She didn’t reach for it. He placed it on the table and picked up his own glass, taking a large gulp before putting it down and heading to the sideboard. He loaded his plate without paying attention, anxious to sit down with her and have the conversation he loathed to have and didn’t know how to start.
He pulled out his chair and sat. Bryanna carried her food over and sat down looking demure, and innocent, and far too young. He picked up his glass and drank another viciously large gulp.
She sliced a piece of meat, lifting it delicately on her fork and sliding it between her lips. Her lashes fluttered closed as it hit her tongue. “Mmm,” she moaned.
He forced himself to lean back into his chair and smile, when all he wanted to do was close the small space between them, pull her into his arms, and take her down to the soft, fur rug on the floor.
“Oh, this is good. Who did you say cooked it?” Totally oblivious to his avid hunger she sliced and bit into another piece, closing her eyes again, and chewing with a slow sensual enjoyment.
He coughed, and covered his near loss of control with another sip of wine. “Maeve is a jewel. I’m lucky to have brownies here. They didn’t come with the place. When I inherited it, it was dusty and empty.” He’d never had this problem before, wanting someone so badly but knowing he had to leave her alone.
And he did. For her sake. And that was something he didn’t understand either.
“How did you get them?” she asked, her expression keen, and interested, and now totally focused on him.
He had to take a moment and remember what they were talking about.
“One day they were just here,” he said. “You fill an empty house up with good cheer, and that attracts them. It’s why you never see them at court. It’s too polished, too…cruel.”
Her eyes widened. She took her first sip of wine, the skin of her throat pulsing as she swallowed.
His cock twitched, and he savaged his knife at his meat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She set her wine down and a drop slid down the glass. She chased it with her finger, running it along the full bell of the goblet, then down the narrow stem and sucking the drop off of the tip. His hands stopped cutting and his mouth went dry.
“You knew who I was, what my name was. When I asked if you were a king, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“If I’d told you who I was, you wouldn’t have helped me.” He stopped cutting, laid his cutlery on the plate, and stared off into the dark corners of the room. “And I desperately needed your help.”
And you, he added silently, glancing back. I needed you, Bryanna MacElvy. You, with your golden skin, and green eyes, and beguiling touch.
Instead of saying it out loud he took another sip of wine. She did the same. Her tongue flashed out in a nervous lick.
“You’re right,” she said. “I wouldn’t have helped you. So you lied.”
“No.” His words were low and strained with the stress of staying in his chair, telling her the truth, and knowing that the more he told her, the further from his hold she would run. “The fae cannot lie, but we can avoid the truth.”
The fire crackled into the silence.
Bryanna lifted her fork to her mouth. Her hands shaking with an almost infinitesimal tremor, she took another bite of food and licked a drop of sauce from the corner of her lip. The room grew hot and close. Lust raged through him, and he gripped the slender stem of the wine glass tight.
She looked controlled, eating one methodical bite at a time, as if she didn’t care about their discussion. But the shaking fork rising to her mouth gave her away. The question was not if she cared, but how much she hated him.
“The queen is your mother,” she said finally. “The woman who has hunted my tribe to near extinction. And you sit across from me and still expect me to help you break this curse?”
He thought about the moon setting in the sky over the lodge and the few hours left to him in his own shape. “Not anymore.”
Acceptance was difficult for him. He’d lost the moonlight for another month, and he wouldn’t keep her prisoner to serve his selfish ends. “I’ll find another witch to end the curse. I have a month before another full moon, and you need to find what’s left of your family.”
“Why would you let me go?” She eyed him over the rim of her glass, her eyes full of suspicion.
“Why?” Because he’d like to see himself reflected in her eyes as a true prince. Someone others looked up to. Someone she could admire. “It’s been a long time since I did anything worthy. Once, I led men of strength, and we sought to win freedom from my bitch of a mother, but I let them down and she won. She took them all. She killed some and tortured others. She perverted my own Gift and left me to rot, or face giving her all my power.”
He stared into the blood of the wine and thought of the past. The lords and ladies who had once joined him here, hunted and drank and played. Long before they’d thought of taking up arms and taking on the queen. Long before their deaths.
“I know you think I used you,” he said. “And I did. I’d do it again if I thought I could win free of that blasted prison.” She flinched, but he went on, relentless in giving her what she said she’d wanted. “She’s destroyed many of the men and women whom I loved. My friends, my lovers, my brothers in arms. All for this fucking MacElvy prophecy.” He stopped talking, unable to speak further of the bloodshed and waste.
“Do you know the prophecy?” Her skin flushed, her lips parted, and for a moment, he considered bargaining with her for one last kiss.
But that would be the old Kian. The spoiled, selfish prince who’d let his men down and he didn’t want to be that Kian anymore.
“You don’t know the prophecy?” He asked, careful to keep his words neutral.
“I didn’t even know there was a prophecy for sure, until just now. All I knew—all I know—is that the queen has sought and killed every last one of us and I may be the only MacElvy left. How could she be so horrible? Why destroy our family? Our tribe?” Tears swam in her eyes. She’d had her own losses from the queen.
He couldn’t not tell her.
"One like ivy shall entwi
ne
An elven prince wilt then be bind
This downfall then the queen’s shall be
Enacted by the MacElvy"
“That’s it?” She blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “What does it mean?”
“Who knows.” His laugh was entirely without humor and he took another swallow of wine wishing he could swallow the darkness of his upbringing so easily. The alcohol slid down his throat and a blurring sense of peace slid down with it. He stared at his glass in surprise. He’d drank more than he’d thought. “The queen thinks she’s figured it out.” He took another large swallow and finished it off. “You see, she thinks I am the prince in the prophecy and she’s blamed me most of my life for her future downfall.”
“But what does it mean?”
“What does any convoluted spell mean? It foretells her doom. That’s all that matters to her.” He picked up the bottle and, despite the frown and small shake of her head, he topped off her glass. Then he filled up his own and put the bottle on the table. “The queen has spent centuries trying to figure it out. Her own fucking mirror gave her the prophecy, and even he doesn’t know what it means. So she came up with a plan. Kill all the MacElvys and eliminate the threat. But killing you witches has turned out to be more difficult than she thought. So she came up with plan B: take away my free will and tie me to Agrona so she can siphon off all that I am. And by weakening me, she would defeat the prophecy.”
“I don’t want to be rude, but why didn’t she just kill you?”
“She’s tried. I’m stronger than her, and she knows it. If she challenged me with my full powers intact, I’d win. But if she weakens me first by stealing my power, she’ll have more, and I will lose.”
“Cocky son of a bitch.” She grinned at him.
“I’m not cocky if it’s the truth.” He grinned back.
The sparkling light in her eyes drew his heart up into his throat. He needed her. He needed her light to keep him from drowning in the depths of his soul. He almost reached for her, his fingers stretched out of their own accord, but her grin faded.
His heart dropped back into the weighty place it had been since he realized he needed this woman for more than her magic.
He leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate of half-eaten food away. “We rule the courts by magic’s grace and Underhill’s rules. If she kills me by stealth, it’s an admission of weakness. The magic of Underhill won’t allow her rule, and she’ll lose the crown. But if she robs me of my Gift using Agrona, then I would be weak and she could kill me in a fair fight. I’d be gone and she could rule without the prophecy’s threat.”
“So why kill all of the MacElvys if all she has to do is take you out?”
“She’s not stupid. Attack on two fronts, and she’ll be sure of winning either way. If she finds out I’m free and in the company of a MacElvy witch, she’ll turn every stone hunting for our deaths.”
“I’m still a MacElvy, which you’ve known since the first day you met me. I guess it’s time for me to go.”
He wanted to see regret in her eyes, and he looked for far too long as the seconds turned to minutes. But all he saw was anger.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “When we first met, it didn’t seem feasible to tell you. I’m sure you don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.” She stood up, her eyes blazing.
He wanted her to blaze for him, not at him. He didn’t understand why his heart squeezed tight, and his head spun, and all he wanted to do was shake some sense into her. Make her understand him. Make her think he’d done the right thing. Make her love him.
Kian hardly heard what she said next as his heart cracked.
“I get why you didn’t tell me at first, but when we thought we’d cured your curse, and we were lying in bed spooned together……why didn’t you tell me then?”
He hadn’t realized he’d come to love her. How had it happened in such a short time? Why was it her sheer stubbornness intrigued him, and it was the one thing that would push her away forever?
She was furious and leaving and he’d never see her again. He couldn’t let her leave without trying.
“One last kiss,” he whispered, half-rising out of his chair and leaning across the table. Her lips parted, and her tongue darted out, flicking across already moist lips. His heart thundered loud in his ears, and he barely heard himself as he said, “One last kiss, to say goodbye.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bryanna feathered light fingertips over her mouth. He wanted a kiss. Deep inside her, desire fluttered its wings. She wanted this man, and she shouldn’t. No, she really shouldn’t.
Kian’s eyes locked on her fingers. He raised them to meet her gaze, and she almost gasped at how they smoldered with violet fire.
Her wine-warmed skin flushed hotter and she yanked her hand away from her mouth.
Once again, they played the game, but she was no longer the vulnerable newbie. Now she recognized the con. Kian had used her before. Lied his way into her spell, and into her bed. She knew he had his own agenda but she wished the only thing on his mind was being with her.
Touching her.
Making love to her.
“Why would you want to kiss me?” she asked. “There’s nothing between us.” She hoped her face didn’t betray the lie. There was so much between them, she couldn’t even begin to analyze it. Her scattered short romances with barely competent boys, still figuring out what it meant to be men, had left her unable to cope with this man. Lean and tough…and so sure of himself. He left her no choice but to fall back on her defensiveness.
“We’ve missed the moonlight, Bryanna. My hours in this shape are fleeting. After tonight, I’ll be a beast again and hunting another cure. Would you deny me one last touch of your lips before I’m again trapped?”
A flicker of vulnerability played hide-and-seek across his face, and she wondered what had happened to the little boy who’d grown up deep within the politics of the faery court. He’d mentioned a nanny, but having a mother who wanted to kill you when you grew up? That must have been a bizarre childhood. No wonder he took what he needed to survive. Who would Kian have been if he’d been raised by someone else—raised somewhere else?
“You don’t know if you’ll be like this tomorrow night,” she said. “It might last past the full moon.”
He barked a laugh and sat back. “Do you believe that?” His face hardened, the vulnerability gone. Picking up his wine, he gazed into the liquid, as if it held all the answers in the world. He shook his head and drained the glass.
He placed it on the table and rose. She was ensnared by his eyes, which never left hers as he stalked around the table and took her hand. He raised her from her seat and pulled her close. Suddenly, she was aware of her thin, cotton nightgown, the flimsy barrier of her robe, and the heat radiating from his suede-covered thighs.
He put his cheek next to hers. “Kiss me, Bryanna,” he said, his voice low. “Tomorrow, you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine.” The warm smell of suede mixed with Kian’s spicy blend of wood and musk. She swayed closer. “Kiss me,” he whispered. “And if you choose, tomorrow I’ll help you find your mother and your sister. I’ll let you go free. Or together we’ll take on the challenge of the queen. But whatever you decide…kiss me.”
The thundering of her heart drowned out all her smart intentions. Call it the buzz from the wine or the lure of the fae—he was smart and sexy and so close the heat of his skin radiated and touched hers, raising her temperature and luring her in.
“One last kiss,” he murmured and pulled her close.
She didn’t fight it. She leaned into his long, firm body, the outline of his arousal pressing through the thin defense of her nightclothes.
The kiss started off soft, a bare tickle of touch teasing her, calling her. She half-closed her eyes. Her world narrowed into a swirl of heat, and wine, and the brush of his lips. She raised her hands to his waist and pulled him closer, wanting more of the fire.
Ki
an made a surprised sound. Then the pressure of his lips changed, she opened her mouth, and he let loose.
Desire burned under her skin. She was falling into his trap, but she didn’t care. The wine had left her heady and wanting, and now she fulfilled her needs. It felt good. It felt right, somehow, to steal tonight with him, knowing she could never trust him. Knowing this was her last goodbye. Knowing, in the morning, she would leave her broken heart behind.
She tore her mouth from his. “Kian?”
His fingers clenched and unclenched on her arms before he let go. He stepped away with a tense, “Yes?” His ragged breathing betraying just how close he was to losing control.
“I want you to swear you’ll let me go in the morning, no matter what,” she said.
His face grew stern. His gaze caught and held hers, and she became lost in the deep, crystalline crevices. He let her go and she lost her balance, catching herself on the back of her chair. His voice dropped, echoing around the room with magical intent.
“Bryanna MacElvy—I, Kian de Dannan of the Black Court of the Tuatha, vow you are released from all obligations to me. That you may leave my presence any time you wish, under whatever circumstances you wish, and that I will help you to do so and not hinder you, whatsoever.”
The hair on her arms prickled. The silence of his vow grew into a thick, tangible thing, a wash of crimson color pushing at her Gift, urging her to open her aura…and see.
But she didn’t need to see it. His sincerity shone in his expression and rang loud in his words. She believed him.
She reached out and touched the back of his hand. Need reverberated along the skin of her fingers, up her palm, and throughout her entire body. “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered.
His pupils dilated. “Are you sure?”
“I want you, Kian de Dannan. If this is your last chance to be with a woman as a man and not a beast, I want it to be me.” She left unsaid the rest of her desires. Staying with him was an impossibility. For both of them. He was destined to be a prince, and she was destined to find her family and be a MacElvy. But she could steal one more night. When she left in the morning she’d leave her heart and take only memories with her in its place.
Prince by Blood and Bone: A Fantasy Romance of the Black Court (Tales of the Black Court) Page 17
