Nausea swamped her, and although she despised the way he’d treated her last night, she’d done something a million times worse. She’d deceived him from the moment they’d met, and now she suffered for it. It hurt, but she could no more deny her origins than she could stop her heart beating—and it beat for him alone. Finally she found her voice. “I might be a Witch, but I’m a really bad one.”
“Elves’ blood!” Leonidas bellowed. “There’s no such thing as a good one.”
The fury in his voice, the pain in his eyes weighed her down. One more word, one more wound, and she’d shatter. She sniffed back tears and backed away. Maybe, after all they’d been through together, he cared for her a little. She just needed to explain.
Chapter Twenty
Mordred laid his hand on Leonidas’s arm. “I’m sorry, bro. But I needed Elizbetta as much as you. Possibly more. Unlike the oh so aloof Fae, I’m not too proud to suck up to humans if it ensures my people survive. My fire opals bought food and information in the mundane world; then those fools in the People’s Defense League fell for my lies.”
“Why, Mordred? Why not tell me you’d found her? You know I’ve been searching for years.” Leonidas’s deep voice rumbled like an avalanche thundering down a mountain—ready to sweep Meena up and carry her out of his life. She was disposable, a Witch with so little magic that her best skill lay in killing plants.
How could twenty-four hours hold so many surprises? First Leonidas turned out to be King of the Fae. His brother was the Elf overlord—a man who liked to make women scream. And apparently her mother blighted Leonidas’s bloodline with a curse. Really, could things get any worse?
These two men obviously cared for each other, but Leonidas had told her how their races had skirmished on and off for years. Her mother, the kindest, most loving woman she knew, gave up everything—possibly even her true-mate—to keep Meena safe. She almost heard Leonidas’s synapses make the connection. Elizbetta vanished when her mother fled the otherworld. Elizabeth Sybil made a new life in Whitby. Meena struggled to put the words “mother” and “curse” in the same sentence.
Leonidas’s hand fell to the hilt of his dagger, and he tensed with the need for vengeance. Hekate, she’d lost her job, her chance to rescue her mother, and her lover. If he drew that blade, she’d lose her life.
Mordred pulled Leonidas back. “Not tonight, bro. Her death can serve two purposes if we do this right.”
Meena’s thoughts turned grim. Her heart ached for the pain her family had caused Leonidas—and her silence had made things a million times worse. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, and darkness engulfed her like a thick suffocating cloak. When she stepped back, the tower’s stone wall blocked her path. Damn, is that my knees buckling? And when did my body get so heavy? I should have stuck to that last diet. I failed at that just like everything else.
Her legs wobbled. She shivered, colder than ever, and her back slid slowly down the wall.
Leonidas loomed over her—his face closed down with icy disdain. “Have my other woman bathed and brought to my chamber. I need to fuck a decent woman tonight.”
The runaway? The woman she’d saved? Jealousy crackled through her. A torrent of tears flooded down her cheeks as she slumped on the floor. Oblivion beckoned, and she hurt too much to fight it. She’d never fainted in her life, but she sighed and let the darkness claim her.
* * * *
Meena woke slowly. She’d dreamed of Leonidas’s gentle touch and tender smile. His kisses tasted hot and sweet—chili and chocolate—just as delicious as his cock. Then she remembered how his frigid stare had condemned her. Her pride made her stiffen, then she realized she might never get the chance to taste him again. Complex and brilliant, he was the only thing that mattered in her life. The way he’d put aside his own concerns to help find her mother had shattered her touch-me-not barriers. He’d even protected her from that Elf commander, and all along she’d deceived him.
She hadn’t realized how much his faith in her mattered until she’d seen it splinter into a million jagged shards. His eyes had turned bottle green like seaweed left high and dry on a beach. His spine had stiffened like a spear. No wonder people called the Fae cold and unfeeling. That closed-down, don’t-come-near-me look on his face had definitely frozen her. Then when she thought of the runaway warming his bed, she wanted to empty the nearest wine goblet over his head.
Jealousy wasn’t green. It was a bloodred killing rage that lengthened her fangs and turned her fingernails into claws. What in the hell’s happening to me? Witches don’t have retractable fangs or claws. And how could my Leonidas prefer that wretched woman with her skinny body and sticky-out bones to my curves? Maybe a low-carb diet? Not that she’d stick with that either. Diets and her just didn’t mix. Just like her and Leonidas—apparently. He’d made that clear when he ordered another woman prepared for his bed.
Finally she cracked her eyes open and peered at her surroundings. Beneath her, straw from a paillasse poked between the leather straps that almost covered her breasts. A wriggle of her shoulders. A quarter turn of her hips. Anything to get comfortable, then another turn, and she rolled into the damp stones of the dungeon wall.
She squinted up at the only light source—a small grill high overhead. Iron bars caged her on three sides. That damp wall completed her tiny, cheerless small cell. Her jackass Fae—the man she didn’t want to live without—had let her enemies toss her in the dungeons. Thanks, Leo. I love you too. So much for sarcasm. She really did love him, but he viewed her as…disposable. And he wasn’t a jackass. He was a good man who her mother had cursed. No wonder he hated her now.
Her mother’s voice called from the next cell. “Are you back with us, Meena, love?”
Meena turned her head and peered through the bars. Despite her utter misery, she ran across the cell and reached out. “Mum? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, love,” her mother answered, “but your father’s not doing too well.”
Did she hear right? Her father? Not more surprises. Please. Not now when her life sucked more than ever. “My father? The scumbag who left you before I was born?”
It was probably the drug wearing off and a night of mind-blowing sex that had made her sleep so long. Nothing to do with her world falling apart…
Her mother entwined her fingers through hers. “Meena, look at me. You know I love you. Don’t you?”
People only spoke like that when they were hurt so bad they thought they were dying. “Hellfire, Mum. What have they done to you? And what the hell do you mean, my father? Everyone told me he was dead.”
A groan sounded from the depths of the third cell. An emaciated figure slumped from chains attached to the wall and his wrists. His hair hung down to his waist, and his beard fell to his hips. Damn, but he made the Elves’ drudges look plump. The poor guy looked like he’d been starved for years, but his eyes gleamed bloodred through the gloom.
Meena almost laughed. “Talk about a Star Wars moment. Is he going to breathe like an asthmatic and tell me, ‘Meena, I am your father’? Not that he ever gave a damn about me.”
Her father groaned again. Elizbetta growled an angry, “He’s a hero, holding out like he has. Don’t you dare disrespect your father. My visions showed me how, once your familiar unbound your powers, we’d end up here. Don’t worry, love, you’ll soon put everything to rights.”
Meena knew just how wrong her mother was. She hadn’t morphed into Superwitch or anything. All she did was kill plants. And what was that about her familiar? She really hoped it wasn’t the Goth shop owner’s bad-tempered Yorkshire terrier. And didn’t all the Witches who worked with familiars have blonde streaks in their hair? Something she lacked. Not that she’d looked in the mirror lately.
She’d felt stronger since she stepped back into the otherworld, but she didn’t seethe with new power. More like she boiled over with disgust at the crappy way her magic had panned out. Reluctantly, she stared down at her curls. Where the hell ha
d the blonde streaks come from? And after all that happened, did she give a damn? Not really. Only the Fae king mattered, whether he wanted her or not. “Mum? Why did you curse Leonidas?”
Elizbetta answered, her voice winter-wind bitter. “Never heard of him. I cursed that old goat Herodotus, and he deserved everything he got. Betraying me and your father like that.”
“Explanations, Mum,” Meena demanded, but almost against her will, she stole a glance at the red-eyed creature in the next cell. Her father? Goddess, no!. Red eyes. Vampire! That thing was a Vampire. That certainly explained her recent bloodlust and cravings. No wonder she wanted to rip out the runaway’s throat with her teeth and claws. And she still lusted after Leonidas’s blood.
Meena wrapped her arms round her knees as she sat and tried to take in her mixed parentage. No wonder no one ever mentioned her father. The Vampire. Think of him as the Vampire, not my dad. However much she denied it, she was a hybrid creature with the worst characteristics of each race. No magic, no turning into mist and flowing off into the night for her. Just an occasional need to taste blood—but at least that explained why her mother raised her as a vegetarian.
What had her Leo told her? “The only thing worse than a Vampire is a Witch.” And damn it, she was both. Just when she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.
Her mother clung to the prison bars and tried to explain. “I wanted to tell you everything, but the only way I could see you reunite with your father was to say nothing. I worked my way through a million scenarios, but every one of them changed my vision.”
Meena didn’t care about her mum’s shifting visions. All she wanted was another moment in Leonidas’s arms. She hated that Leonidas refused to hear her out, but earlier she’d done the same to him. And why hadn’t she explained earlier? Still, he’d kept his secrets too. Maybe it wasn’t all her mother’s fault. Slowly, sadly, she took her mother’s hand and offered her a weak smile.
Elizbetta spoke slowly as though the memories pained her. “Twenty-four years ago, the Witch Council sent me to help out the Elves and Fae with their plant problem. No one realized I was pregnant, but all those hormones screwed up my powers. I couldn’t stop that carnivorous jungle encroaching on the fields. Neither could I see any danger, but the Fae King was a womanizer before my curse. The treacherous bastard wanted me. He ambushed your father, sold him to the previous Elf overlord, and pretended to comfort me. How he expected to fool a seer is beyond me. I wouldn’t have turned to him if he’d been the last man on the planet.”
Meena curled her lip at the Vampire. Keep calling him that. Don’t ever call him Dad. “And let me guess. While you were gone, Romeo over there betrayed you. Way to go, Dad.”
There, she’d said it. A slip of the tongue, surely. She wouldn’t let herself feel anything for the Vampire who walked away before she was born.
* * * *
Leonidas’s head throbbed. His stomach churned, and his throat felt like he’d swallowed grit. Elves’ blood, he knew there was a reason he didn’t drink more than the odd glass of wine. And last night, he’d drunk until he passed out. He lifted his head off the table in the deserted Great Hall where he’d spent the night, and winced. When he tried to stand, he nearly threw up.
What the hell had possessed him? And where was Meena? Shit, his true-mate was a Witch. Last night, rage had rolled through him, making him threaten and bellow. So much for being the perfect unfeeling Fae. Only, with Meena, sensation overwhelmed him. She’d filled his barren world with joy and unearthed all the emotion he buried inside. Then she’d hurt and betrayed him—played him even. He couldn’t be true-bonded with a Witch. Could he?
No way would the Fae gods torture him like that. He couldn’t… He wouldn’t… But he did. Every cell in his body ached to be near her, to breathe in her wild herb and heather essence. He needed her on a primal level, and he definitely wasn’t willing to live without her. He’d find her, win her, and make her his. The only fly in his ointment was his soon-to-be mother-in-law.
He thought of Meena’s lush curves, color-streaked ebony curls, and the way she hummed when he satisfied her. She hummed a lot when she was happy. But not last night. She’d stood there, all wide eyes and quivering lips—lips he wanted to kiss and taste.
Meena never worked spells or curses. Her talent was to suck the magical life force out of plants. Surely she hadn’t meant to wound him so deeply. Besides, with Meena, he discovered things he’d never known—love, laughter, and hugs. Even his mother had wanted the perfect, unemotional Fae son. His younger self had craved his mother’s soft words or some sign of affection—not that she’d ever shown him any. After his father’s infidelities, he’d buried his childhood needs beneath a cool, unemotional facade, but she’d cared more for Mordred than for him.
Then the gods mated him to a rainbow-haired in-your-face-charming Witch. Everything sparkled when Meena stood beside him, but now he was back in a nondescript world where everything seemed dull and gray. Mine! His mating bond screamed inside him. She’s mine! But last night he’d thrown everything they shared away.
He’d almost claimed her—a Witch—as his queen, and his heart still told him he should. He ran his hand through his unbound hair and ignored the emptiness inside him. Not working. He couldn’t breathe for the need of her, but what if he never got past the way her mother cursed him? Damn it, if he wanted Meena for his queen, he’d have to forgive and forget—but he’d dreamed of vengeance for years.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Hair of the dog, bro?” Mordred banged a tankard of ale down beside him.
Damn, does he have to be so loud?
Leonidas’s stomach rolled like the ale sloshing over the tankard’s rim. He couldn’t touch that amber liquid if his life depended on it, but his parched throat demanded he drink something. “I always knew you had a sadistic streak, Mord. Give me water, not more bloody ale. And do it quietly.”
Mordred laughed, actually laughed when his half brother winced. “I’m a ruthless bastard, remember? Elf overlord and all that.”
Leonidas felt like someone had stuck daggers in his eyes—from the inside out. But his head didn’t hurt as much as his heart.
Mordred scraped a chair out from the table, then grinned when Leonidas buried his head in his hands at the noise. He couldn’t resist a chance to gloat. “My uptight brother, hungover and in need of a shower. You reek of last night’s ale. What’s wrong, bro? Trouble with the man bits despite your curse? Was the curvy wench too much for you? Give the bitch to me, and I’ll make her moan with delight.”
Leonidas shot to his feet, then wished he hadn’t. “Elves’ blood, don’t talk about Meena like that.”
Mordred’s smile turned lecherous. “Don’t worry. I dealt with her. I even forbade the servants to disturb you. I told them we were talking food and politics—two things dear to their hearts.”
“Did you hurt her?” Leonidas demanded.
Mordred lolled back in the chair and put his feet on the table. Leonidas winced when the metal heels clattered against the solid oak. He didn’t remember his half brother being so bloody loud before. Maybe a drink would help clear his thoughts.
He grabbed for the tankard, but Mordred switched glasses. “Here, have some water, and don’t come any closer. You seriously stink. I bet your busty little Witch wouldn’t approve of the way you smell. In fact, after last night, I doubt she approves of you at all. And as for your scrawny bit on the side—no, I didn’t hurt her. You know me better than that.”
Vague memories surfaced. Leonidas groaned. Had he really threatened to take the runaway into his bed? Yeah, he had. He’d wanted to wound Meena the way she had him—but now that he was calmer, he’d rather face a flogging than hurt her like that. He couldn’t regret last night’s actions more.
Mordred took another chance to torment his brother. “I did what you wanted with your women. The scrawny one’s safe, and the curvy one’s in the dungeons along with the Witch and the Vampire.”
/> Elves’ blood, does he have a death wish, talking about my Meena like that? I’ll choke the life out him if he doesn’t get some respect in his voice when talks about my woman. Leonidas was just about to tell his half brother a few home truths when he remembered Meena blacking out. Elves’ blood, his prejudice and anger had driven her to that—but she should have told him she was a Witch. Guilt laced through his hangover, and he slumped back in his chair with a groan.
Poor Meena suffered because of him, but damn it, couldn’t he go more than a couple of minutes without her invading his brain? She’d betrayed him, kept silent when she should have spoken—but she’d moaned for his loving touch every time she shared his bed. She was a generous lover, and in his world of aloof women and cruel curses, her honest and open nature delighted him.
He loved the way she smiled as she brushed back rainbow-streaked curls from her cheek, and the way she hummed under her breath when she was happy. Everything about her—big or small—made his pulse race with excitement. Just the thought of her turned his cock hard. His woman possessed a warrior’s heart, and she was always willing to stand up for what was right, but she’d suckered him with her I don’t have any powers act. He wasn’t sure he could forgive that. Even when her lies left him indignant and hurting, he still loved her, and like an idiot he’d let his brother toss her in a cell.
Mordred watched him work through last night’s events with a drunk’s ponderous concentration, then poured him another glass of water. “I can’t spare the magic to fix a hangover. Go outside and stick your head under a pump or something. Get rational enough to read through a section of the Elf archives. Then we’ll talk.”
Leonidas held his head as he staggered to the door. “Damn it, Mord, you need to get a better brewer. That ale’s downright bad. And don’t think I’m going anywhere until I’ve seen Meena.”
“That ale’s no worse than any other foodstuff we produce. Why do you think we trade with the humans? My Elves labor in the fire opal mines, but they’re warriors, not miners. We’re starving, Leo, and the only solution I can see is locked up in my dungeon. And he’s too damn stubborn for his own good. Your woman’s safe and reasonably comfortable—for now. Get out of here, and don’t come back until you smell less like the midden on a sunny day.”
Curse of the Fae King (Scattered Siblings) Page 15
