He didn’t want to see her hurt. And could think of no way to prevent it. In the final say, Maggie would have to win or lose on her own. Culhane had never before felt helpless, not in centuries of life. But now knowing that he couldn’t stand before her made him half wish that he’d never heard of Maggie Donovan. That the prophecies were a lie. That he could leave her here to live out a life that wasn’t filled with the promise of risk and danger.
He couldn’t stop fate, though. No one could. It was Maggie’s destiny to fight. He could only do what he might to assure that her destiny to win became reality.
“Go back,” he said, taking the time to meet his brother warriors’ gazes one by one. “We don’t want Mab getting even more suspicious. Be watchful. Be ready.”
As each of the men shifted back to Otherworld, leaving him alone, Culhane shifted, too. But he didn’t return home. He went instead to Maggie.
“What is that?” Claire repeated, her gaze fixed on Bezel.
“Just watch who you’re calling a that!”
“He’s a pixie,” Maggie said, grinning at her best friend. Claire’s long black hair was wind ruffled. Her brown slacks and soft yellow shirt were wrinkled, and that—on a usually impeccably groomed Claire—more than anything told Maggie that her friend had come directly from the airport.
Underneath the surprise at finding a hideously ugly pixie in Maggie’s backyard, there was a shine of worry in Claire’s eyes that explained why she’d rushed home. Still, Maggie asked, “What’re you doing here early? I wasn’t expecting you back for another few days, at least.”
Still staring at Bezel, who was giving her a hard stare back, Claire crossed the lawn to Maggie. Her brown heels sank into the soft grass so that every step was labored. She cleared her throat as she walked a wide berth around Bezel.
“Yeah,” she said, the roll of Scotland in her speech. “Couldn’t stay there any longer. My mother was driving me insane, and besides, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Nora and—Oh, hi, Eileen. Didn’t see you.”
“Don’t worry about Mom. She’s fine. I just talked to her.”
Relief swept across Claire’s features. “She’s here, then? No problems? Thank the goddess. I was so sure that it was going to be—”
“She’s in Otherworld,” Eileen said matter-of-factly. “But she’s okay. Quinn’s there, too, and—”
“Otherworld?”
“Long story.” Maggie hugged her friend and took a second to enjoy having at least one thread of normalcy back in her life. She’d really missed Claire, and somehow seeing her again made all the other craziness a little easier to take.
“I’ll bet,” Claire said, “and I’d love to hear the whole story at some point, but you have to know”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“I’m still getting images of Nora in danger. Of you in danger.”
“A witch?” Bezel spat out that last word, and his face scrunched up with disgust. “You let a witch in here?”
Claire whipped her head around to pin him with a glare. “What’s wrong with witches, you nasty little imp?”
“Imp?” He fired a hot look at Claire. “I’m no house imp, you eye-of-Newt eater. Do I look like I’m small enough to live in a flour bin? Do I look like I’d want to?” That glare slid to Maggie. “Nice friends you got.”
“Witch?” Maggie paid no attention to Bezel, instead staring dumbfounded at Claire. “You didn’t say you’re a witch. You said you were psychic.”
“I am,” Claire countered with a lift of her chin. “I’m also a witch.”
“Cool,” Eileen whispered.
“So why’s there a nasty little imp in your yard?” Claire fired a look at Bezel.
“What’s an imp?” Eileen asked.
“I’m no imp, you blasted cauldron stirrer!”
“Cauldron?” Claire sniffed.
Maggie had clearly lost control of the conversation.
“You think Culhane’s gonna be happy there’s a witch in the mix?” Bezel shot his question at Maggie.
That got her speaking up. “You think I care what Culhane thinks?”
“Culhane. He’s the Fae warrior?” Claire ignored Bezel and spoke to Maggie.
“Why would Culhane care about witches?” Eileen tugged at the sleeve of Bezel’s jacket.
“Yeah, he is,” Maggie said, looking at Bezel herself, and wondering. “Speaking of Culhane, where is he? Three days now . . . that’s how long in Fae time?”
Bezel stood up and shifted uneasily on his oversize feet. Rubbing one hand over his beard, he fixed a hard look on Claire before turning his gaze back to Maggie and clamping his lips together pointedly.
“How long?”
“Not in front of the witch.”
“This isn’t about Claire,” Maggie told him, stepping away from her friend to close in on Bezel. “How long?”
He finally shrugged and blew out a disgusted breath. “A few months is all.”
“Months? It’s been months and he hasn’t bothered to check in? I thought I was the Great Fae Hope or something.”
“That and five bucks’ll get you a latte,” Bezel muttered.
Behind her Claire laughed shortly, then choked off the sound. “Sorry, sorry.”
Good, because Maggie wasn’t amused. Months it had been for Culhane. He clearly wasn’t missing her. Probably hadn’t even given her a thought in all this time. That damn kiss they’d shared had set her insides into an eternal flame, keeping her hot and eager every damn minute of the day. But he could go months without even seeing her. Way to go, Maggie. You can really pick ’em.
Damn Culhane—he was always in her thoughts; asleep or awake, there he was, his image, his voice, tugging at the corners of her mind. She’d believed in his passion for his “cause,” and for her. Yet he hadn’t even bothered to look in on her in all that time.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Maggie,” Claire said, laying one hand on her arm, “it’s only been a few days.”
“For me, not for him.”
“You mean Mom’s been in Otherworld for months?” Eileen’s voice sounded a little worried. “What’s she been doing?”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Maggie said.
“Yeah, but . . .”
It was a subject Maggie really didn’t want to get into. Months alone with her Viking Faery? Maggie knew exactly what Nora had been spending her time doing. And so, she thought as Bezel started whistling, did the pixie.
The eerie, off-key sound issuing from Bezel’s ugly mouth seemed to chip away at what was left of Maggie’s control.
“Forget about Nora for a minute,” she demanded of the pixie trying to be invisible. “What’s Culhane been doing?”
“You mean who,” he muttered just loud enough for Maggie to catch it.
“What do you mean, who? Which who are you talking about, and why don’t I know about this who?”
“I don’t mean anything,” he said, clearly regretting opening his mouth.
Well, it was too late now. A few long steps ate up the distance between her and Bezel, and once she was there Maggie grabbed the lapels of his velvet jacket and lifted him right off the ground. Feet swinging, arms wheeling, he shouted, “Hey, put me down!”
“Not until you tell me where Culhane is.”
“None of my business,” he said, frantically looking down at the ground below him. “Warriors don’t tell pixies what they’re doing, you know. And I’ve been here with you, haven’t I?”
She shook him. Hard. “You know something, so spill it.”
“You rip this suit and Fontana’s not gonna kick just my ass.”
A female pixie? The least of her worries. She gave him another shake just so he understood that. “Where?”
Overhead, storm clouds scudded across the sky. The first few drops of rain pattered on the lawn, and one drop hit the pixie dead in the center of his forehead, only to roll down the length of his nose.
Bezel’s pale eyes met hers, and she felt the chill in them
even before he spoke up. She could see he didn’t want to tell her. Could see that he wished to hell they’d never started down this conversational road, but they’d gone too far along it to stop now.
“Mab, okay?” he finally blurted as Maggie gave him another shake. “Culhane’s with Mab.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Well, he is a warrior,” Eileen said. “Why wouldn’t he be with the queen?”
“Uh-oh,” Claire whispered.
“With?” Maggie dropped him, and Bezel landed with a thud.
“Oh, that’s nice!” The pixie stood up, brushed his butt off with both hands and mumbled under his breath.
“With Mab?” Maggie repeated as the edges of her vision swam with red. “With with?”
Still dusting himself off, Bezel looked up at her with disgust. “What the hell do you think I mean? Of course with with.”
“Okay, that’s our cue to go. Private conversation.” Claire grabbed Eileen’s hand, plucked her off the lawn and started for the house. “How about you and I go have a snack? I didn’t even eat on the plane.”
“But I want to hear . . .” Eileen half turned around, but Claire kept dragging her along.
Maggie spared them only a quick glance. Then she turned the full focus of her hot stare on the pixie.
“He’s with Mab,” she said, every word ground out like it was sliding across broken glass. “He’s signed me up to fight the bitch he’s sleeping with?”
“They probably don’t sleep much.”
Maggie shot him a look that should have fried his pixie ass, and Bezel automatically backed up a step.
“Hey, don’t kill the pixie messenger.” He held up both hands, long fingers wiggling as if he could ward her off.
“I don’t believe this.” Maggie couldn’t decide exactly how she was feeling—besides the fury, that is. That was really clear and, at the moment, pumping fast and thick through her veins like liquid, bubbling tar. But the undertone of that fury was betrayal.
Culhane had lied to her. Well, okay, he’d never actually said he wasn’t sleeping with the freaking queen. But he hadn’t told her the truth, which was more or less the same damn thing, she assured herself.
“It’s not like he had a lot of choice, you know.”
“Oh,” Maggie said with a sarcastic sneer, “was the poor man tied down to a bed? Was he forced to have sex with a queen? Did she take advantage of the poor Fae warrior?”
Now it was Bezel’s turn to sneer. “You’re not entirely wrong.”
“Please.” Maggie started walking, quick, short steps that took her in a tight, angry circle around the pixie keeping a wary eye on her. “How dumb do you guys think I am, anyway?”
“Well . . .”
“That was rhetorical.” The words were snapped out along with another icy glare. “He’s using me, romancing me, and all the time he’s—”
“The queen’s consort.”
“Nice name for it.” Her steps stumbled a little, but she recovered quickly enough. “Consort. Male whore. Whatever.”
“Nice mouth you got there.” Bezel only frowned when she threw him another hard look. “Culhane’s the head warrior. It’s his job to be at the queen’s beck and call, and believe me, she becks and calls a lot.”
“Oh, that’s very comforting. Thanks so much.”
“Not here to comfort,” he pointed out. “Two hundred years Culhane’s been dancing to Mab’s flute. You think it’s easy for a guy like him to do that? To take all of her trollshit on a daily damn basis?”
But Maggie had stopped listening. “Two hundred years? He’s been with Mab for two hundred years?”
“Ifreann take me,” Bezel muttered, and kicked at the ground, sending up a shower of pebbles and dirt.
Maggie didn’t notice. Her mind was too busy. Two hundred years he’d been with the queen. Hell, Maggie hadn’t been able to make a relationship work for longer than six weeks at a stretch. And the lucky winner who’d made it to six weeks had traded her in for a demon and been gulped down like a Happy Meal.
The wind whipped around her, tearing at her hair, her clothes. Above her the sky roiled with dark clouds scuttling in off the sea. The naked branches of the oak tree rattled and grumbled like a group of old men, and still she walked. She couldn’t stand still. Couldn’t get a grip on what she was feeling, thinking. Betrayal, sure. Fury, no doubt.
Jealousy . . . okay, some.
Damn it. All the time she’d been dreaming of Culhane, imagining his hands on her, what it would be like to be touched by him, wanted by him . . . he’d been giving his best to the queen he claimed to hate!
Then one completely off-the-track thought sputtered through the turmoil in her brain.
Mab had kept Culhane in her bed for two hundred years.
He must be really good.
Not the point, Maggie. So not the point.
“Look at it from his side,” Bezel said, and this time his words got through.
“I thought I was.”
“Women. Pixie, Fae, human—you’re all alike. You get stuck on one thing and we couldn’t blow you out of it with a rocket launcher.”
“He’s been lying to me!” Why she bothered to explain, she didn’t know. Bezel was bound to be on Culhane’s side. Not only were they both from Otherworld; they were both male. Right now that made them both the enemy.
“Yeah? Well, whatever he’s done is working. Take a look at your hands, you idiot human.”
She did and noticed for the first time that streaks of blue and white fire, bursts of energy, were slashing from the tips of her fingers like illuminated daggers. The jagged pieces of lightning were bigger and stronger than they’d been in Sanctuary, too. Along with her fury, her power was crackling inside her.
“You think you could have done that without him? Without Finn? Without me?”
“Maybe not.” She took a calming breath and watched as the bolts of energy slowly faded away. “But he didn’t have to lie to me. Didn’t have to make me think—”
“For the love of pixie children, think about this yourself for a troll-blasting minute!”
Maggie stared at him. As long as she’d known him, Bezel had been snide, condescending, rude and downright mean. But this was the first time she could remember him being really pissed.
“What? What should I be thinking about?”
“Culhane’s a warrior. As much as I get sick and tired of hearing him remind me that he’s an all-powerful, pain-in-my-sweet-ass Fenian, that’s the blasted truth.” His lips twisted into a grimace. “He is who he is and can’t be anything different. Not for Mab. Not for you.
“He’s old. Older than your time can understand. He’s fought more wars and battles than the history books can list, and he’s still standing.” Bezel moved in close, tipped his head back and fixed his ice-chip eyes on hers. “And here’s why: Because he’s smart—though if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it to Ifreann and back. He knows how to win. Knows how to use what he has to get what he needs.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Maggie countered. “To know he’s using me?”
“Of course he’s using you, you stupid human. Why in Ifreann wouldn’t he? Your arrival was written in the prophecies a thousand years ago. He’s been waiting for you. Is he really not going to use you when you finally show up?”
“Still not making it better.”
“You’ve used him, too,” Bezel told her flatly. “To teach you. To hand you over to those who would train you, so you’d be able to stay alive. So what’s that make you?”
Even as her rage began to fade into a hot, simmering bubble in the pit of her stomach, Maggie had to admit, grudgingly, that the damned pixie had a point.
Bezel sighed. “Culhane’s a warrior, trained to protect and defend his people any way he can. And you’re his newest, finest weapon.”
“Well, don’t I feel special?” There was the rage back again. “What am I? His shiny new dagger? How long till my blade gets dull a
nd I’m tossed aside, huh?”
“What the . . .”
She shook her head, dismissing the pixie and all he represented. Earlier she’d been missing Culhane. Now, if he popped into her yard at this moment, she knew she’d kick his Fae ass all over Castle Bay and back to Otherworld.
She had half a mind to open a portal and go face the lying Faery bastard on his turf. Let him know just how she felt about being the weapon of the month.
Bedeviled Page 24
