Mad, Bad & Dangerous

by Cat Marsters

  Her stepmother and sisters were wearing dressing gowns of such elaborate construction they were more complex than the average ball gown. Kett, in her plain shirt and boots, looked totally out of place.

  He liked that.

  Bael beamed and told them all how delighted he was to be there.

  “I ain’t got presents for any of you,” Kett muttered. “Didn’t know I was coming.”

  “Must’ve been a surprise when you turned up then,” her father said, and earned a scowl for it.

  “Your presence is the only present we need,” Nuala said, and looked like she actually meant it.

  “I’d rather have a present,” Beyla said. And when Nuala frowned at her, added, “Well, I mean, I’d rather have Kett here and a present.”

  For the next few hours, Bael’s world was choked with ribbons, candles and patterned paper. There was a living pine tree in the corner of Nuala’s private sitting room, festooned with candy canes and big satin bows, while every present was draped with ribbons and flowers.

  He watched Kett’s face as her sisters unwrapped kid gloves and pretty jewelry, and wondered if she’d be gracious in defeat when Nuala handed over similar gifts. But her gloves were heavy leather, and the nearest thing to jewelry in one of her parcels was a handsomely tooled sword belt.

  “I am so sorry, Bael,” Nuala turned to him, “we hardly got you anything.”

  He stared. “You didn’t even know I was coming.” He glanced at Kett. “Did they?”

  She shook her head. “No. No one invited you,” she said, rather pointedly.

  “Chance mentioned you might be bringing someone,” Nuala said apologetically.

  “Is that where the clothes came from?” Kett asked.

  “Yes. But we did get you this.” She passed him a small box. Bael opened it to find a flat-faced rock, a geode like the one Jarven had used when he’d spoken to Kett. What had he called it?

  “A scryer?” Kett asked, leaning over. “Where did you get that?”

  “Oh, I called Tanner, and he had a few spare at the ngardaí. I thought Bael might like it. Then next time, he can call to tell you he’s coming.”

  Kett scowled. Bael grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “And there’s this too.” Nuala handed over a large parcel, which Bael opened to find a rather beautiful suit. Ordinarily he wasn’t really one for fancy clothes, but he figured it was probably for the Yule Ball Kett had mentioned.

  “Chance tell you his sizes too?” Kett asked sourly.

  “Only vaguely. Marston made some quick alterations last night.”

  “Marston?”

  “Your father’s valet.”

  “I can’t believe you got me a whole suit of clothes.” Bael shook his head. “Two suits, in fact, including what I’m wearing. This is amazing. Thank you so much, your Highness.”

  A small silence. Tyrnan looked like he might start laughing.

  Nuala’s cheeks went pink. “Kett mentioned that, did she?”

  “The family portraits,” he said, grinning. “They looked familiar.”

  “They’re on every coin in the Realm,” Eithne said.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t mention your stepmother is the king’s sister,” Bael said to Kett, who shrugged.

  “Didn’t seem important.”

  All right, she was still mad at him.

  “You get used to it with Kett,” her father said, and Kett rounded on him.

  “Actually, never mind that,” she said. “You have a valet?”

  He immediately looked defensive. “So?”

  “You? Tyrnan of Emreland?”

  “Who is also the Earl of Nirya,” he reminded her.

  “Only because you married a princess.”

  “Tyrnan of Emreland,” Bael said. “I’ve heard it before…”

  “Last night, when I introduced him?” Kett asked sarcastically.

  “No, before that.”

  “He probably robbed you at some point.”

  “He used to be a highwayman,” Nuala explained earnestly, and Bael found himself breaking into laughter.

  “What?” Kett demanded.

  “Your father used to be a highwayman, who is now an earl with a valet, since he married the king’s sister, and they give you gauntlets for Yule? And you don’t find any of this funny?”

  Her mouth twitched, but she still said, “No.”

  Bael slung his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him, still laughing. “Liar,” he said fondly.

  * * * * *

  Kett seemed to spend a large portion of the rest of the day purposefully ignoring him. Bael, annoyed by this, ignored her when she turned up for lunch, which seemed to greatly irritate her.

  This pleased him enormously.

  Maybe he could explain a few things to her. Like why she couldn’t tell anyone he was Nasc, and why he didn’t want to go poking around looking for whoever had tried to turn them into a piñata.

  Maybe, after he’d gotten his brain in order, but to do that he’d have to get her naked again, because right now all he could think about was her hot, tight body and how damn good she’d felt in his arms last night.

  Kett glared at him surreptitiously through the entire meal, snapping her gaze away whenever it looked like Bael might see her. By the end of the meal she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

  Bael continued to talk pleasantly to Tane about Treegan scores, and then when the meal was over and Kett still hadn’t left the room, he excused himself, walked out, and waited for five seconds in the pretty blue room adjoining the green one where they’d eaten lunch.

  The door slammed and Kett glowered at him.

  “Hi,” he said, and backed her against the wall to kiss her hard.

  Damn, she had a hot mouth. He could kiss her forever. He half expected her to shove him away, but after a tense second her hand slid to the back of his neck, her fingers curled in his shirt and she melted fluidly against him.

  Having been thwarted in his attempts to get inside her this morning, Bael couldn’t stop his hands sliding down her arms, over her hips, up to her waist, feeling the lean curves under her clothes. Her shirt was loose and his fingers touched bare skin, hot and smooth, gliding up over her stomach to cup her breast. She was wearing a bra, which was extremely frustrating because he wanted to touch her bare breast, roll her nipple between his fingers, pull up her shirt and taste her.

  In fact…

  “What’re you doing?” Kett gasped as he pushed her shirt up and pulled her bra cup down.

  Bael didn’t answer, since it was pretty self-evident and besides, his mouth was engaged in other activities. She had lovely nipples, did Kett, plump and delicious. He swirled his tongue around one and her breath came out in a sharp hiss.

  Next to them, the door rattled and Bael suddenly found himself thrust away from Kett’s wonderful breast. For a second, confusion reigned, then he saw the door handle turn and Kett bolted, trying to tuck her breast back inside her bra as she ran.

  Bael followed, a little blood pounding in his head and the rest rushing elsewhere, as Kett ran for a small door half concealed in the paneling. She skidded inside just as the main door to the room opened and her father came through.

  “What—?”

  Bael didn’t wait to reply, but followed Kett through the small door and slammed it behind him. She was disappearing down a corridor, stark and plain compared to the opulence of the other rooms he’d seen. Servants’ access, Bael realized, not really caring, taking off after Kett.

  She careened down a short flight of stairs and he caught up to her in a sort of scullery. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest was heaving and all the blood in Bael’s body went south so fast he stumbled, crashing into her and falling against the big, scrubbed table in the middle of the room.

  If a part of him wondered why the scullery, adjoining kitchen and servants’ corridor were completely empty, it was soon drowned out by the waves of lust swamping him as h
is body touched Kett’s again. Adrenaline surged through him and he tugged at her shirt, bit down on her lip, scrambled to touch as much of her as he could.

  Kett shoved him away and for a second he faltered, but then he realized she was just pulling her shirt off over her head, and that meant her bra was exposed to him—it was lacy! She was wearing lace!—which meant her breasts were nearly exposed to him again.

  Wriggling backward on the table, Kett grabbed his shirt and pulled him between her thighs, kissing him hard and deep, her hands shoving his jacket away, jerking his shirt loose, reaching for the fly on his trousers. Her nipples were hard against his chest, even through the layers of clothing between them, and the skin of her back was smooth between the thick scars crisscrossing it.

  Bael bit down on her neck, ran his tongue along her collarbone, yanked the lace of her bra aside and sucked her nipple into his mouth. He wanted it all, wanted to suck her and lick her and thrust inside her.

  When his hands moved to unfasten her trousers, hers were already there. He worked his hand inside, found her slick and hot and stroked into her, making her moan.

  “Door,” Kett gasped, the first thing either of them had said since they’d fled the blue room, and Bael stared blindly at it for a second. “They’ll come down to clear lunch, close the door!”

  He did, tearing himself reluctantly away to shove it closed and turn the key in the lock. When he turned back, Kett was throwing her boots across the room and struggling to get her tight leathers off. Bael helped her, chucking them and her underwear on the floor and then looking at her, very nearly naked, her legs spread wide and her nipples peeking out over the cups of her bra. Between her legs her pussy lips were slippery wet, pink and puffy, and he stroked them with one finger, sliding it inside to feel how wet she was.

  Very wet. Her hands were busy freeing his cock, stroking him, guiding him into her and then he was there, pushing inside her, and both of them moaned. Bael withdrew then thrust again, harder, his eyes on Kett’s. They glittered, hard and bright, and her mouth found his as she wrapped her legs high around his waist and pulled him in deeper.

  He didn’t take his time. He didn’t whisper soft caresses against her skin. He didn’t do anything except fuck her, hard and fast, losing himself in her slick heat, slamming into her so hard the table rattled. She clutched at him, shoving back with each thrust, fucking his mouth with her tongue.

  With any other woman, Bael might have felt bad about being so brutal. But Kett took it all and gave it back, wild and fierce, spurring him on. He felt her orgasm rip through her, her pussy tight around him, yanking him into freefall, and he came inside her with a roar she took into her own mouth.

  The rippling aftershocks of Kett’s orgasm milked him dry, and even as he came back down to earth, holding her trembling in his arms, he felt her shudder one last time.

  * * * * *

  “I ain’t wearing that,” Kett said flatly.

  Nuala’s eyes widened a little. Her pretty lips curved upward. She even flashed her dimples. Kett recognized this look—Nuala had been using it on her since the day they met. It was her stepmother’s most charming, helpless, I-desperately-want-to-please-you look.

  “It didn’t work on me twenty years ago and it ain’t working now,” Kett said.

  “Will you at least try it on?” Nuala beseeched, holding out a slithery bundle of silver fabric.

  “Nu, I don’t do dresses. And I really don’t do silk and lace and whatever the hell else it is.”

  “You wear lace underwear,” Nuala pointed out.

  “Yeah, but that’s because it’s all you buy me. And you know I ain’t going shopping for it.”

  “Well, there’s no lace on this dress,” Nuala said. “Really. It’s very, very simple, unadorned, it’s not fussy at all. I knew you’d never wear anything fussy.”

  “Then you should’ve known I’d never wear a dress!”

  “Please, Kett.” Nuala gave her the big-eyed look again. “At least try it on.”

  Kett glared at her stepmother but she couldn’t work up any real malice. Being angry with Nuala was like kicking a puppy.

  “All right,” she snapped, and snatched the dress. Being that Nuala, like half the inhabitants of Elvryn, had seen her naked on countless occasions when she changed shape, she didn’t bother to go into the bathroom or hide behind the curtained bed as she dropped her bathrobe. Nuala, who was way sneakier than anybody so nice had a right to be, had slunk in and ambushed Kett as she was coming out of the shower. Bael, thank the gods, was off irritating someone else.

  The silk whispered over her skin, and Kett had to admit it did feel wonderful. Ridiculously impractical, but wonderful all the same.

  Still. Ball gowns weren’t meant to be practical. They were meant to be pretty. And Kett just didn’t do pretty.

  “I knew I had to make something for you from that silk the minute Madame Debusser showed me the bolt,” Nuala said as Kett fought her way through the miles of fabric.

  “Is that old trout still alive?”

  “Of course she is. People as terrifying as her don’t just fade away,” Nuala said. “It’s the exact color of your eyes, Kett. I had to have something for you or your father from it.”

  “Then why didn’t you make something for him?”

  “I did. He has a shirt of the same material,” Nuala said happily.

  “Tell me he’s not wearing it tonight,” Kett groaned. “If we matched it’d be revolting.”

  Nuala’s eyes lit up. “Then you will wear it?”

  Kett winced. “Bollocks.”

  “Oh Kett!” Nuala actually danced on the spot, beaming with delight. She rushed over to adjust the dress, which was giving Kett some trouble. She’d gotten the skirt settled around her hips but there didn’t seem to be much of the top half.

  “Here,” Nuala said, taking the two pieces of silver silk and drawing them up Kett’s body, over her breasts, and fastening them behind her neck. The arrangement left her back totally bare, and a good deal of her front too. The two wide strips of silk were attached only to the skirt, not to each other, and when she moved they revealed not only a lot of Kett’s cleavage, but a strip of her stomach, right down to her bellybutton.

  “Kett, you look wonderful!”

  Kett regarded herself dubiously in the mirror. Apart from her exposed bellybutton, she had the feeling if she moved too much the silk would slip away at the front or the sides and show everyone her breasts.

  “Doesn’t the skirt hang beautifully? I told Madame D. knife-pleats and the narrowest of waistbands. She wasn’t happy, it’s quite fiddly, but of course it wasn’t her doing the sewing, it was one of her minions…”

  Knife-pleats, were they? The folds of the skirt floated like rays of moonlight, billowing around her ankles with every movement. The silk caressed Kett’s bare legs, which was a strange sensation. And not an unpleasant one.

  “Now, shoes…” Nuala said, and Kett snapped to attention.

  “I’ll sort them out,” she said, and Nuala, who was holding a pair of tiny, strappy things that looked like they belonged in a rather specialized torture chamber, looked crestfallen.

  “But they match the dress perfectly—”

  “And I’ll go A over T within about five seconds,” Kett said.

  “Nonsense, I know you’re perfectly graceful—”

  “And I can’t wear heels, not with my leg,” Kett said in a sudden flash of inspiration. She gave a slight limp for emphasis and Nuala’s face really fell.

  “Oh…no…I suppose not. Oh it’s such a shame!”

  “Yeah,” Kett said, turning away. “I’ll—”

  “Oh my gosh!”

  Kett winced, wondering what it was now. And how the hell her stepmother could have remained married to Tyrnan of Emreland for twenty years and still have uttered something as sweet and childish as “gosh” when she was excited.

  “What?”

  “Kett, your back!”

  Kett flinched. Ah. Yes.
That was the other thing about being a shapeshifter. Covering up surface imperfections was a cinch. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of all the scars she carried, but it did cut out a lot of questions when she concealed them.

  “You’ve seen it before,” she said.

  “Yes, but…” Nuala was shaking her head in disbelief. “I’d forgotten. Does…does it still hurt?”

  Kett shrugged. “Nah. In fact, lumps of it are numb. Scar tissue.”

  “Goodness,” Nuala murmured faintly.

  “Goodness,” Kett said, “had bugger all to do with it.”

  “It’s as well you can cover them up,” Nuala said, and there was a sticky sort of silence.

  “Yeah. Funny story,” Kett said.

  Nuala looked almost fearful. “What?”

  Kett debated how much to tell her, then figured, what with the ball and the servants having the day off and the outside caterers and wasting this much time with this stupid dress anyway, Nuala really didn’t need another thing to worry about.

  “I…uh. Um. Can’t change at the moment. It’s a…uh…shapeshifter thing. Because I was…feeling a bit ill recently. I’m fine now,” she reassured her stepmother. “Five by five.”

  “Well…perhaps you ought to wear something else,” Nuala said, chewing her lip. “I’m sure Chalia…or maybe Chance…”

  She looked so disappointed. Kett had kicked the puppy.

  “No,” Kett said, looking over her shoulder at the way the dress highlighted the ugly, knotted lines crisscrossing her back. “You know what, no. These are my damn scars and I ain’t ashamed of them, and besides, look at me. It’s not like I’m gonna fit in with the rest of the crowd anyway.”

  Nuala blinked. “You’ll wear it?”

  “I’ll wear it. But not the shoes,” she added quickly.

  Nuala looked at them, sad for a moment, and nodded. “Well, I did think they might be pushing it,” she said. “Would you like to borrow some makeup?”

  Kett stared at her. Another shapeshifter advantage—or maybe it was a disadvantage now—was that she could alter her features without cosmetics. “Wouldn’t know what to do with it,” she said.