Tempting the Dryad

by Rebecca Rivard

  He looked exactly what he was: a cocky S.O.B.

  But the man was also damn smart. Dion might not like the other alpha, but he respected what he’d accomplished. Before Adric had wrested control of the Baltimore clan five years ago, it had all but imploded, wracked by an internal battle for control that wiped out most of its leadership.

  Rumor had it that Adric had quietly and methodically executed anyone who stood in his way on his march to becoming alpha, including his own uncle. Dion didn’t doubt it for a second.

  “You have everything you need, my lady?” Adric asked Cleia. “Is there anything we can offer you? A drink? A more comfortable chair?”

  Dion’s hackles raised. So what if Cleia was a powerful fae queen? A pregnant female was a vulnerable female. He’d seen Adric’s nostrils flare when she entered the room. His animal rumbled lowly, unhappy that this rival male knew his mate was with child.

  Cleia shifted and he glanced down. She was wearing a sun fae’s version of business attire—a sleeveless dress in a summery yellow with a slightly scooped neck and a pleated skirt. Her hair fell in a thick plait to the midpoint of her back, a strand of diamonds intertwined in the shiny strands. She was beautiful, glowing with health—and too damn exposed, her bare nape a slim, breakable column.

  He widened his stance. Outside the closed door, he could hear Artan and Grady muttering to each other. The guards were pissed off that their queen had ordered them to wait in the hall. He wondered if they’d sensed his agitation; they were fae, not fada, but their family had guarded Cleia’s for centuries and they had a preternatural sense where her safety was concerned.

  Adric’s odd bronze eyes cut to Dion. As usual, the bastard was smirking. He’d been an irritant in Dion’s hide practically from the day he’d become the Baltimore alpha. His clan was composed mainly of cats and wolves. They needed room to roam, and Rock Run owned one of the last large tracts of private land in the mid-Atlantic. It was no secret that Adric wanted Rock Run’s territory.

  Dion glared back at the younger man. The tension ratcheted higher, neither of them willing to give an inch.

  “Dion,” Cleia murmured and brought her hand to her shoulder. He dragged his gaze from Adric’s to lay his hand over hers. She turned her fingers to squeeze his. He released a slow breath and reminded himself that he was here to protect her, not engage in a pissing contest with the other alpha.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she told Adric. “I’d appreciate a glass of water.”

  “Of course.” The earth fada nodded at Zuri, who went to the door and spoke in low tones to someone waiting on the other side of Artan and Grady. Dion knew one of the big blond guards would personally taste the water before allowing Cleia to imbibe it. Rival fae had been known to poison one another at just this sort of meeting.

  “Let me explain why I asked for this meeting,” Adric said as Zuri resumed his place behind him. “As you know, our surveyors found a vein of quartz that is partially on Rising Sun land. We would like your permission to mine it. As a sign of our good faith, we have refrained from mining the part of the vein that is not on your land, although we bought the mineral rights from the farmer who owns it.”

  Smart, thought Dion. The man was making it clear the mining would happen either way. If the sun fae didn’t allow them to mine, they’d still have the noise and environmental effects to deal with right on their north border. But at the same time, in seeking Cleia’s consent, the earth fada showed they were prepared to be courteous.

  “For your rights,” the other man continued, “we are prepared to pay an amount equal to what we paid the farmer.” He named a figure that made Dion’s brows lift.

  Cleia inclined her head. “An impressive sum, my lord. But as you know, we sun fae have little need of money. Everything we touch seems to generate riches.”

  And, Dion reflected wryly, it didn’t hurt that a few of her people had the Gift of spinning straw into gold.

  “The payment can be in precious stones—rubies, emeralds, diamonds.”

  Dion sensed his mate’s interest sharpen. Like all fae, she had a weakness for bright baubles, yet couldn’t tolerate the long hours underground required to mine them. They could buy them, of course, but the fae loved to barter.

  She fingered the diamonds glittering in her braid. “I’ll admit, that’s appealing. But if you have that kind of money, why can’t you just buy the quartz you need?”

  For the first time Adric’s self-assurance slipped. “I—we don’t have it,” he said with a glance at Dion, clearly unhappy at having to admit how poor his clan was in front of a rival. “I had hoped we could work out a payment plan—a portion upfront, the rest to come as we mine the quartz.”

  “It’s that valuable?” Cleia asked.

  “No. Its value is in what we can do with it once it is mined.”

  She nodded. “A payment plan might be acceptable. But I warn you, the first payment will be a large one. My mate doesn’t think you can be trusted.”

  Adric’s mouth tightened, but he replied in even tones, “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Cleia inclined her head and he said, “Then we have a deal—”

  She raised a hand. “Not so fast. We are stewards of our land, not simply the owners. Part of the deal is that you keep the effects of mining to a minimum—and you return the land to its original state when you are finished.”

  “Of course—” Adric was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  Zuri stepped into the hall to accept a tray that held glasses and a pitcher of ice water. Dion was amused to see Grady holding the door for him. Zuri was frankly beautiful, with a hard body and the black hair and warm brown skin often seen in earth shifters. He wouldn’t be surprised if Grady set up a private meeting during his off hours.

  But the bodyguard was a professional; he used the opportunity to scan the room, even though he and his cousin—and Dion—had checked it thoroughly before allowing Cleia to enter. Behind him Artan had his back to them, gazing out into the hall. Dion allowed himself to relax slightly. He and Cleia’s guards didn’t always see eye to eye, but he knew they’d give their lives to protect her.

  Zuri set the tray on the table and took his place again as Adric poured a glass of water and offered it to Cleia. Dion leaned around her and took a taste before handing it to his mate.

  Just to be sure.

  The earth fada’s bronze eyes glinted, whether from amusement or affront, Dion didn’t know. Not that he gave a damn. He was here to protect his mate, not coddle the arrogant young alpha’s ego.

  “I give you my personal guarantee”—Adric smoothly picked up the thread of the negotiation—“that your land will be as beautiful as it ever was when we are finished. We pride ourselves on returning the land to its natural state. And our mining techniques are very advanced—we don’t strip or blast the earth. We mine beneath the surface, entering through narrow shafts. You won’t even know we’re there.”

  “That sounds acceptable.”

  “About security,” Dion said.

  Adric raised a brow. “He speaks for you?” he asked Cleia.

  It was a subtle insult, as if Dion were her boy toy rather than alpha of his own clan. His jaw tightened.

  “He’s my mate,” Cleia replied in a hard voice. “His concerns are my concerns.”

  “My apologies,” Adric murmured.

  Dion jerked his head in acknowledgment. “Queen Cleia has hired Rock Run to be on site at all times. Your people will be confined to the area in which you are mining. If any earth shifter is discovered elsewhere for any reason at all, the deal will be immediately terminated and you will be asked to leave. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Adric replied without hesitation.

  Interesting. The man must be desperate for that quartz.

  Cleia rose to her feet, hand extended. “Then we have a deal, my lord. Lady Olivia will contact you to work out the details about payment and so forth.”

  Adric shook her hand. “Thank you, my l
ady.” With a sly glance at Dion, he kept hold of her hand as he came around the table and raised her fingers to his lips.

  Dion’s hackles rose. But the man had been a pup when Dion was one of his father’s most trusted warriors and advisors. He simply stared at Adric expressionlessly.

  The Baltimore alpha released Cleia’s hand and stepped back. “Peace to you and yours.” He included Dion in the ritual goodbye. “I’ll contact Lady Olivia as soon as possible. We’d like to begin work in early May.”

  “That should be fine,” Cleia replied. “Peace to you and yours.” She inclined her head and headed for the door.

  Dion allowed her to pass before turning back to Adric. “Just so we’re clear: my people will be under orders to execute anyone who sets even one toe outside the agreed-upon perimeter. No excuses. No second chances. Understood?”

  “Understood.” He flashed Dion a cocky smile.

  “Good.” Dion stepped closer and lowered his voice for the other man’s ears only. “And know this, too, you filho da puta. If you ever put your lips on my mate again—for any reason whatsoever—I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

  He met Adric’s smile with his own and strode after Cleia.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Twin gremlins crouched on Tiago’s shoulders and hammered gleefully on his skull. A red-hot shaft of light burned his eyeballs through closed lids. He covered his face with his arm.

  It helped. Barely. He swallowed a groan.

  Breathe in. Out. In.

  Again.

  His mouth was dry, his tongue as gritty as sandpaper. He swallowed convulsively but he had no spit. Water. He had to get water.

  He raised his arm and forced his lids open.

  He lay on a mattress on a dirt-encrusted floor. To his left, dawn light streamed in through two uncurtained windows. He squinted and shifted sideways out of the sunlight.

  The movement caused his stomach to heave. He rolled onto his side and spewed its contents onto the dirty wood floor. When he was done, he pushed himself up to sitting and rested his arms on his bent knees, breath rasping in and out. It felt as if he’d lost an argument with a semi. Every bone in his body ached.

  Gradually he became conscious of another sound. A slight, quick inhale from a corner of the room. Underneath the pungent smell of his vomit, he scented fear.

  Female fear.

  And death.

  He lifted his head and peered into the corner. A naked woman sat on another mattress. A young, slim woman with short black hair. Her thin arms were wrapped around her knees, her eyes wide and scared, and an ugly bruise marred the smooth skin of her cheek.

  At his look, she shuddered and averted her gaze.

  Tiago became aware he was naked as well. And hard as a metal spike.

  She darted a glance at his groin and whimpered. “No—”

  “For God’s sake. What do you think I am?”

  She lifted a shoulder without looking at him. Not exactly a vote of confidence.

  He cut a glance sideways and located the source of the death he scented: Benny. Sprawled naked near the only door, his long hair spread out in a ragged brown fan and a look of sheer horror on his face.

  Tiago passed a hand over his eyes. What the hell had happened here?

  He glanced back at the woman to find her staring at him. “He’s dead,” she said unnecessarily.

  “Yes.” His voice was a rasp. He had too little spit even to moisten his lips. “I—is there something to drink? Water?”

  “Just wine.” She indicated a wineskin a few feet from him. “It should be okay to drink.”

  His stomach turned at the thought of alcohol, but he desperately needed moisture. He picked up the skin and took a cautious sip. It helped, enough that he could take in his surroundings.

  They were in the front room of a rowhouse. Other than the two mattresses, the furniture consisted of a couple of stools and an upended crate which held the remains of a meal—half-eaten shrimp and risotto and a roasted vegetable salad. The walls were chipped and missing chunks of drywall, and there was the sickly-sweet smell of rotting wood.

  His stomach heaved but it was too empty to do anything but contract painfully. He waited until it passed and then tentatively moved his limbs, fingered his ribs. He touched a deep, dark bruise that made him wince, but by some miracle he didn’t seem to have any broken bones.

  He turned his attention back to the woman and lifted the wineskin. “Would you—?”

  “Yes, please.” But she didn’t move.

  He came to his feet. The room swung dizzily around him and he had to wait until he had his balance, before shuffling across the floor to sink down on the mattress next to the earth shifter. She took the skin and drank, but he didn’t miss how she shrank from him.

  He was afraid that if he tried to stand up again, he might end up face-down on the floor, but he edged to the other end of the mattress. Then her words registered.

  “What do you mean, the wine should be okay?”

  She hugged her knees again. “They drugged you,” she told her bare toes. “And me. But not here. Before. Then they brought us here. To…” Her voice faded but he could guess why they’d brought her here.

  Him, he wasn’t so sure.

  “Son of a bitch.” The meeting in the bar came back to him. Not just Benny, but Jorge as well. And Shania—and another woman, the one Jorge had been kissing. “You were there, too—in the club.” It was a statement, not a question, but she answered it anyway.

  “Yeah. They took some as well, but not as much.”

  “Some of what?” Tiago shot a look at his insistent erection, fearing he knew the answer.

  “An aphrodisiac. It made you—” She shook her head. “They said you’d drunk too much whiskey already, that was why it made you crazy.”

  His jaw hardened. He cursed, long and low. “And Jorge? Where’s he? And the others?”

  “I don’t know. There were four men. All water fada. After Benny—after you killed Benny—the others ran out of here.”

  “I killed—”

  Tiago eyed the dead man, his gut twisted with foreboding. Benny had a few marks on him but nothing that should have been fatal. Tiago refused to feel guilty for his death; the man had obviously gone feral and would have continued kidnapping and drugging women for his pleasure. He’d needed to be stopped.

  But how had he died?

  Tiago’s gaze stopped on Benny’s horror-stricken face. “Hell.”

  He felt rather than saw the woman flinch. He turned back to her, his chest squeezed so tight he could barely force the words out.

  “And you? What did I do to you? And the other woman—Shania?”

  She bent her head, her hands gripping her bent knees as if they were a lifeline. He stared at the bruises on her arms and legs, dark splotches against her butterscotch skin.

  Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed sickly. “Tell me,” he demanded in hoarse tones. “I have to know.”

  She closed her eyes. “I—it’s not what you think.”

  “Just tell me the truth. I won’t hurt you, I swear on my avó’s—my grandmother’s—grave.”

  “I don’t know about Shania. I never saw her, not after we left the club. Maybe she got away—I hope so. But me—” Her breath shuddered in, the delicate blades of her shoulders rising and falling. “All four of them. You were out of it, passed out on the floor. You didn’t know—” She halted. Two tears squeezed from beneath her closed eyelids.

  Tiago shut his eyes as well. Deus and all the gods. It was as bad as he’d feared.

  “After—when they were through—they laughed to see you on the floor. Benny—he started kicking you, shouting at you to get up. Jorge forced open your mouth and poured wine into it.” She saw him glance at the wineskin and shook her head. “You were already drugged. It was just wine, something to bring you around. Anyway, it worked. You woke up enough to come to your feet, but you were out of your head.”

  Tiago groaned. But he was
starting to remember.

  Fists.

  Feet.

  Slamming into his head, his legs, his belly.

  The painful thump of his head as Benny banged it against the hard floor. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  No wonder he ached all over.

  Others had joined in. That’s when he’d realized there were four of them. They’d been relentless, each blow thudding through him as if multiplied a hundred times until he had to bite his hand to keep from screaming with pain.

  And all the time he was distracted by a raging hard-on, until he’d realized what must have happened. They’d drugged him with the same aphrodisiac they’d used on Valeria. It increased every sensation, both pleasure and pain. It had nearly driven her mad.

  He’d gone a little crazy then.

  The woman regarded him warily. “You were furious. Started shouting you were going to beat them bloody.”

  He cursed under his breath.

  Red-hot anger had blurred his vision. The drug simmered painfully in his blood. He’d come to his feet swinging, catching first Jorge, then Benny in the face. They wavered on their feet. Recovered.

  The other two men—sea fada, by their scent—took one look at him and scurried out the door, but Benny—or was it Jorge?—taunted him. “Take us, little brother. Take us.”

  The beast erupted. Tiago bellowed a wordless challenge and charged, uncaring that it was two against one. He wanted to rip their heads from their bodies.

  And he could.

  Suddenly he halted, focused. Their eyes widened as he ordered them to lie on the floor at his feet—and they found themselves obeying.

  He reached for Benny, closed his hand around his windpipe. Lifted him like a rag off the floor.

  A furious growl. His.

  “Tu vais morrer,” he told Benny, instinctively switching to Portuguese.

  You will die.

  Benny’s face was a mask of terror, the scar a red slash against his cheek. His eyes widened, then rolled back in his head. His heart stuttered, stopped.