Cutie and the Beast

by E. J. Russell

  “I’ll take him for my consort. No one can touch him, then.”

  The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “He has agreed to your claim?”

  “He must. He has no choice.”

  “We wish you good fortune, then. However, because of your actions this night, we have no First Champion. You shall take your brother’s place at Court.”

  “With all due respect, Majesty,” Alun drew himself up. “No.”

  Her face grew as cold and distant as the winter moon. “After so recently regaining your right to enter Faerie, do you wish to become exiled again—and for the same reason?”

  Somehow the threat didn’t seem as dire—not if Alun had David by his side. “Majesty, if I have learned anything from David, it is that if we expect to prosper in this changing world, we must learn to adapt. How can we do that if we cling too tightly to the old ways?”

  “Faerie’s very existence is bound by those old ways.”

  “I think there may be more latitude there than we’ve always believed. By the old laws, you should never have been able to unify the Celtic fae. And think of your Consort.”

  “Former Consort.”

  Alun inclined his head. “As you say. Were his actions those we expect from true Seelie fae? Yet he could still pass the Faerie threshold at will.” She stilled, clearly struck by his words, and for a moment— Was that fear in her eyes? “Do we truly need another pointless tournament or a make-work hunt that accomplishes nothing but to exercise our horses? Shouldn’t we consider how fae can make a difference, at least to each other?”

  The moonlight gleamed in her hair as she nodded. “Your point is well-taken. However, when we call, you shall answer.”

  “When you ask, I shall consider.”

  “So be it. But choose your battles wisely, Lord Cynwrig. One day, we shall tire of these negotiations.”

  “If you will excuse me, Majesty, I have a consort to claim.”

  Alun strode across the clearing to David, who was sitting on his haunches next to Gareth, a grin creasing his cheeks.

  “Check it out, Alun. I didn’t screw up. Gareth’s all better. And before you go all mother-hen on me, I feel great.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Gareth stood, dusting off his pants. “I need to get back to the band. We’ve already missed one gig. If we miss another, the guys could get rabid.” He smiled. “And since they’re all shifters, I’m speaking literally.”

  He reached for David, but couldn’t touch him. “I’d hug you but—”

  “Leave that to me.” David wrapped his arms around Gareth’s waist and hugged him hard enough to force a grunt out of him. “Thank you for saving me from a . . . a fuck worse than death.”

  “Thank you for making it possible for me to play again. Although,” Gareth scrunched up his face, “I won’t thank you for forcing me to watch the worst dancing I’ve seen in a hundred raves. I’m surprised I wasn’t struck blind.” He turned and held out his hand. “Alun. I—I can’t promise instant reconciliation, but I think we’ve made a start.”

  “Bollocks to that.” Alun grabbed Gareth in a fierce hug. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re there, but if you need more time, you know where to find me.”

  Gareth patted Alun awkwardly on the back and nodded. “Thank you.” He stepped back and picked up his guitar case. “I’ll send you tickets to the next concert. All right?”

  David jumped, punching the air. “Yes!”

  “Good. Now I’m getting out of this bloody place.” He lifted his hand and walked off through the trees.

  David sighed. “Your brothers are awesome. You know, I wasn’t sure about Mal at first, but the way he—”

  “Dafydd. We must talk.”

  “Yeah, sure, but can we go now? I need to get home and see if my aunt is okay. The stupid Consort stopped me before I could be sure, but I think she was getting better.”

  “She was already recovering when I saw her last.”

  “Really? Then why are you using your therapist voice? And why do you look grimmer than the day I changed your light bulbs?”

  “We must discuss something that I fear you won’t like.”

  “Name something that’s happened tonight that I did like. My aunt close to death? Nope. Kidnapped by a power-mad fairy? Nope again. Dancing to ‘YMCA’ with a bunch of guys with really big swords and I don’t mean the euphemistic fun kind? Nope, nope, nope. I mean, what could be worse?”

  “What about going through it all again?”

  David blinked, his mouth dropping open. “What? I thought we were done.”

  “For now. But Rodric could strike again, in the Outer World this time.”

  “But—” He scanned the glade. “He’s not here, right? Isn’t he in Faerie jail or something?”

  “There is no Faerie jail—there’s only death or exile. Rodric still lives, but is barred from the Seelie Court. And, at the moment, the Seelie Court is the only place you’re safe.”

  “No offense, but tonight’s little extravaganza doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence about that. I was safer in my last medical placement, when I nearly got brained by a flying stapler.”

  “It is my fault you were put in danger, so I have an obligation to make amends. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe; therefore, before we leave Faerie, you’ll become my consort.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?”

  Alun grabbed David’s shoulders, gazing into his eyes. “It’s the only way to keep you safe. The consort law states that anyone who harms a consort can’t benefit from it, because whatever they take is likewise taken from them. As my consort, you’ll no longer be a target because nobody can drain you without draining themselves.”

  David’s eyes turned storm-clouded. How could anyone ever have mistaken him for human? How had Alun? The druids’ powers were stronger than any fae imagined, which bore thinking about. But not now. “Is this a proposal, Dr. Kendrick?”

  “I— Yes, if you like.”

  “If I like? You say the reason you want to . . . to mate me or consort me or whatever is because of guilt?”

  “It won’t be as bad now that my curse is lifted. You needn’t be shamed or disgusted by my appearance. Now that my connection to the One Tree has returned, I can perform the ritual myself. We don’t need anyone else. If we go back to the Stone Circle—”

  “No.”

  Of course. He has traumatic memories of that place. “Very well. It won’t be quite as easy elsewhere, but we could pick another spot. Here, for instance, in the center of the faerie circle, or—”

  “I meant no, I refuse to be forced into—into consortdom because of obligation.”

  Alun scowled. “You have no choice, Dafydd. You’ll be prey to anyone outside of Faerie if you do not.”

  “Well you know what? Screw that. Screw that twice. Screw that from here to Orion’s Belt and back in a ’68 Volkswagen, because I will not be anybody’s ball and chain.”

  This time, David was the one who moped on the ride home—and it was freaking hard to maintain his game-face because Alun talked to him almost non-stop in The Voice. Dang it.

  “Dafydd, be reasonable. Although if you were to stay in Faerie permanently, you’d be safe, it has its disadvantages.”

  No kidding. Like no family, no job, and a boyfriend/husband who wouldn’t have committed unless he was forced.

  “If you stay in the Outer World, you have to expect aggression from other disgruntled or damaged supes like Jackson Hoffenberg. If you refuse to hide, refuse protective charms from your aunt—”

  “Mmmphm.”

  “All right then, from some other druid circle. You’re setting yourself up as a target. Don’t you see? Becoming my consort is the only logical solution.”

  Logic is not what I’m looking for here, Dr. Reasonable.

  By the time they pulled up outside David’s house, his jaw ached from grinding his molars—Jeez, not talking was fricking hard!

  A figure was standing on the sidewalk, and for a momen
t, David thought it might be the Consort—that Alun’s alarmist manifesto was actually correct. But then he saw the dark hair and leather jacket. As soon as Alun stopped the car, David hopped out, leaving Alun to follow as he chose.

  “Mal!” David rushed over and hugged Mal again, although he only got a one-armed bro backslap in return. “You know, I’d think you could lose the leather in this weather.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Some of us are willing to sacrifice comfort to keep our image intact.”

  “Come inside. I want you to meet my aunt. If she—”

  “Oi. She’s a druid, right?”

  David frowned. “Well yeah. So?”

  “Remember what I said about the fae-druid feud? No offense to your aunt, but druids aren’t my favorite people.”

  “Oh suck it up and deal.” He grabbed Mal’s elbow and hauled him to the porch, Alun trailing in their wake. He opened the door and rushed inside. “Auntie?”

  Instead of lying immobile in her bed as he’d last seen her, or sitting in her rocker with her cane at her side, his aunt was standing in the kitchen, pouring tea fragrant with mint and raspberry into four cups.

  David raced across the room and grabbed her in a hug.

  “Thank goodness. I thought I’d lost you.”

  “If you don’t want me to accidentally pour hot tea down your drawers, cariad, you need to release me.” Her words were typical of her old tart self, but her voice wobbled.

  He let go, took the teapot out of her hand, and placed it on the counter. Then he hugged the stuffing out of her, and she hugged him back.

  Alun loomed at David’s side. “Elder. I’m pleased to see you’ve recovered.”

  No thanks to you, as I recall. “Auntie, this is Alun’s broth—”

  “Maldwyn Cynwrig.” No wobble in her voice now. Sheesh. What did Mal do to piss her off?

  Mal winced. “Elder.”

  “Be at ease. You are welcome here. As welcome as Lord Cynwrig.”

  Uh-oh. Guess Alun pissed her off too. Time to redirect.

  “Hey, what’s this?” An ornate chest the size of a shoebox sat on the counter. Dragons, complete with scales and tiny jeweled eyes, decorated the top. “Nola usually goes for plant-based themes.”

  “This isn’t one of hers. Three gentlemen, two extremely large and one quite small, delivered this to our doorstep this morning.”

  David ran a tentative finger over the exquisitely carved dragon. “Did you look inside?”

  She took a sip of her tea. “It’s not mine to open.”

  “Maybe the key is in here.” David picked up a heavy parchment envelope with his name inscribed in perfect calligraphy. It was sealed with blood-red wax.

  “Perhaps. But that arrived by a different method. Pushed under the door sometime last night.”

  Alun sidled closer and peered at the seal. “That’s the crest of the vampire council.”

  “Um . . . should I be worried?”

  Mal hitched himself onto a barstool. “If the vampires were pissed at you, they wouldn’t send you a greeting card—they’d send an assassin. With fangs. Open it.”

  David eased the wax away from the envelope and drew out a folded sheet of the same parchment. “I guess if they were sending a letter bomb, they’d have used the cheap paper.” The sheet was covered in beautiful calligraphy in a deep-red ink, but . . . “What language is this?”

  Mal looked over his shoulder. “I think it’s Hungarian.”

  “Seriously? Jeez, for all I know, it could be a death threat.”

  Alun’s hand settled at the small of David’s back, chasing a shiver up his spine. Don’t give in. Not on those terms. “It’s a thank-you note.”

  David peered up at Alun’s perfect jawline from under raised eyebrows. “You understand Hungarian?”

  Alun shrugged. “Two hundred years of house arrest. I had a lot of time at my disposal.” He held out a hand. “May I?”

  Not only was he drop-dead gorgeous, a hero, and lord of the freaking Sidhe, but he was a universal translator too? Swell. Didn’t mean David wasn’t still pissed at him for being a pigheaded control dictator. “Knock yourself out.”

  “‘We, the World Vampire council, recognize the signal service performed by David Evans on behalf of our esteemed leader. In appreciation, we declare David Evans under our protection in perpetuity. Any who seek to harm him shall feel the full wrath of the vampire race.’ Signed by Kristof Czardos and the entire council.”

  Mal whistled, long and low. Even Aunt Cassie looked impressed.

  Alun folded the oversized page and handed it back. “By the way, that’s not written in ink.”

  Okay. Ewww. David took the note between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not sure what Miss Manners says about the etiquette of using blood for your official correspondence.”

  “Davey, you need to put that in a safe place.”

  “No need for that,” Alun said. “It’s indestructible. If it’s burned, lost, or otherwise destroyed, it will reappear in its original state within twenty-four hours.”

  “You’re kidding me. Even their letters are undead?”

  “You shouldn’t discount it, Dafydd. The vampire council has essentially promised death to anyone who hurts you.”

  “Awesome.”

  “However, you might want to frame it and put it in a prominent location. The protection won’t work that well if nobody knows about it.”

  “Yeah. The whole doomsday thingy. I learned all about that by watching Dr. Strangelove.”

  Alun blinked at him. “What?”

  “We are so going to have a movie night. Or twenty.”

  Alun grinned and moved closer. “We are?”

  Oops. “I mean, someday. We might. If I decide to forgive you.”

  “If you two are done, I want to see what’s in the box.” Mal tapped the lid. “Shite. You sure there’s no key?”

  “No keyhole either.” Alun spun the box to face him, but failed to open it. “Hmmm. Maybe a little fae magic?”

  David rescued the box. “No messing about with magical nukes.” He ran his fingers over the dragon’s intricately veined wings. “It’s too beautiful to mar. Maybe it’s not supposed to open.”

  “It’s got hinges.”

  David gripped the top of the box to turn it around, and the lid gapped. “Oh.” He raised it the rest of the way. It was lined with velvet, and full to the brim with a rainbow of faceted jewels.

  “Gwydion’s bollocks,” Mal murmured. “A dragon’s hoard?”

  “What’s that?” Alun pointed to a sliver of matte white amid the sparkling mass.

  Fingers trembling, David carefully moved the jewels aside and pulled out a small plastic figure in a white tunic. “Luke Skywalker. Holy cats, these must be from Benjy, but this can’t be right. We should return these to his mother right away.”

  “No, Dafydd.” Alun took Luke and set him on top of a thumbnail-sized ruby. “The box opened for you. This is another thank-you note. The dragon shifters are grateful for your aid to their prince. This is how they show their gratitude. If you refuse it, you’ll offend them.”

  “I— But . . . Jeez.” David plunked his butt down on a barstool. “What the heck does this mean?”

  “First, it means the dragon shifters have got your back too, and where the dragon council goes, the rest of the shifters follow. Second, it means you don’t have to temp anymore. You have the means to be a gentleman of leisure.”

  “Oh, no. You don’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll go back to school. Get my RN. Maybe even become a nurse practitioner.” He poked Alun in the chest. “A psychiatric nurse practitioner. Because the supe community needs me. And so do you.”

  Alun’s glower made a return appearance. “Perhaps, but don’t forget my conditions. You need me too, and there’s only one way I can guarantee protection.”

  David tapped his chin. “Hmmm. Let’s see. I’m safe from shifters, vampires, and any harm in Faerie.”

  His scowl faltere
d. “Yes.” He drew out the word, as if searching for the trick.

  “Can any fae get crazy with me out here in the human world?”

  “Since the Queen has declared you untouchable in Faerie, if any of her subjects break her decree, no matter where they are, they risk her displeasure.”

  “‘Displeasure,’ huh?”

  “Don’t discount it,” Mal said. “Her displeasure just dumped a curse—” Mal suddenly found the counter extremely interesting.

  “Mal?” Jeez, I was so focused on Aunt Cassie and Alun, I didn’t look closely enough at him. Where the heck is his glamourie scruff? “Are you okay?”

  “Never better, boyo.” He shot David the same confident, come-on grin as at their first meeting, but if David squinted, he could see the faint tangle of red in Mal’s head. Mental pain—or else I’m a lie-detector now too.

  “Goddess,” Alun murmured. “‘Ye shall lose whate’r you seek to take.’ Mal.” Alun shifted into his Dr. Take-No-Prisoners voice—or maybe it was just his big-brother voice. “Show me your sword hand.”

  Mal sighed and drew his right hand out of his pocket. It looked normal—good color, no wounds, but the fingers curled in toward the palm and they weren’t moving.

  David reached for it. “May I?” When Mal nodded, David cradled it in both of his. “It’s— I can’t see the lines. With Gareth, with Alun, I could see the way their pain eddied in their bodies, how to draw it away. But with you—it’s like your hand isn’t even there. The energy lines end at your wrist, just like the ex-Consort’s after the Queen healed him.”

  “That’s because of the way the blasted consort law works,” Alun growled. “He took Rodric’s hand, so he loses his own.”

  Mal shrugged. “I’ll deal.” He was obviously trying to throw down his bad-boy-don’t-care attitude, but the worry line between his brows and the pinch of pain at the corners of his eyes gave away the lie.

  “Screw that.” David stroked his hand from wrist to fingertips. “Can you feel that?”

  Mal shook his head. “At least it doesn’t hurt. Guess I ought to be thankful for small favors, eh?”