by L. A. Banks
Then she laughed out loud. “Of course! No iron in the limestone, blimey! This is a Fae house, what were ye thinkin’, lassie?”
Sasha pirouetted, laughing, and grabbed a huge, fluffy white towel and sank her face into it. The moment she did, it felt like each strand of terry was massaging her skin as though they were teeny, tiny starfish cilia. The floral scent was so divine it made her heady. Weaving slightly, she abandoned the towel on a white cushioned bench and stepped into the water. Tendrils of pleasure rushed up her legs, drawing her entire body down into the endless bath.
It felt so good that she couldn’t even grip the sides of the tub to keep from drowning. She just began to slide and kept on sliding until she was fully submerged, hair and all. Then the supernatural buoyancy of the water pushed her to the surface again so she could breathe.
“Oh, my, God . . .” Sasha came up and this time held on, albeit with her eyes closed. “You guys sure know how to treat a lady, yes, siree.” Her muscles were so relaxed that she could barely extend her arm to reach for the soap, and when she did a creamy confection filled her palms and made them tingle. “Dude . . . stop,” she said, laughing, but applying the buttery-smooth lather to her body.
A quiet moan escaped her as she lathered her hair, and every ache from hitting a brick wall and fighting rogue Werewolves vanished under her fingertips. Every cut and bruise on her healed and sealed. Her spine felt like every disc in it had been replaced by jelly. She could barely sit up long enough to rinse. But the bed was calling her name and hunger was clawing at her.
She dunked under the water again, marveling at how the bath was a tub on the outside, but the moment she submerged it looked like a vast, fresh-water Caribbean sea. She stretched out her arms and legs, swam a few feet, and then came back to the light portal that was the obvious surface where she could get out.
“How freaking cool is that!” she shouted, tickled by the discovery and looking down to the bottomless tub. Then, testing it, she stood, amazed that there was an invisible floor that held her weight. “Way cool. How did you guys do that?” She stomped around in the tub for a few moments. “I can walk on water! Crazy!”
Totally revived, she held on to the side of the tub and propelled herself out of it in a swift vault. Her wolf was raging, wanting to run under the moonlight, but she thought better of it, half-Fae euphoria high or not.
When she wrapped herself in the thick, newly warmed towel, she moaned. The bench might as well have been spa-hot rocks that heated it to a luxurious temperature, massaging and sloughing her skin with tiny fingers as she snuggled down into it.
Had a robe not appeared on a hook she’d never noticed, she would have taken the towel with her to bed. It never got wet, just renewed itself with dry warmth. She looked at the fluffy white robe and let out a sated breath. “If you’re charmed, just stick a fork in me because I’ll be done.”
It took several minutes to release the towel. But unexpected warm air blanketed her instead of the normal knifing cold air that would be in her bathroom. Yeah . . . The Fae were the best when they rolled out the red carpet. No wonder the Vampires hated them so much. Plus their guys could come out during the day and were just as handsome.
“Haters,” Sasha said, giggling and holding a conversation between the self inside her head and the self outside her head. “Man . . . this is some really strong euphoria . . . whew!” She pulled on the robe, closed the sash and then gasped, sitting down on the bench hard with a thud.
Loving sensuality poured over her skin, caressing her as though it were applying body oil. Peacefulness and desire became one. But when she felt her nipples tighten and her body begin to get moist, she stood and quickly headed to the armoire.
Basic common sense told her to find something else to sleep in. If she fell asleep in the charmed robe, she was going to start a wolf war with her howl.
Sasha flung open the armoire doors, practically frantic, and began hunting. But sheer, lace gowns, obscenely indecent lingerie, and white silk sheaths glistened back at her, clearly charmed. The other options weren’t much better. There was an elaborate ball gown that stole her focus for a moment, and she pulled it out to hold it up against her as she stared into the full-length mirror attached to the door.
It was a glimmering blend of moss greens and woodland earth tones splashed across a sheer overlay with a forest-green silk sheath. The arms were bare, cut in a scoop to reveal her shoulders, but the front came up at the neck and was collared by exquisite genuine emerald bead-work. She turned sideways and pulled out the train and noticed that it was backless. But sheer panels fanned out on the floor—the gown was so beautiful that she gently returned it to the white padded hanger with reverence. A pair of silver-heeled, amber-and emerald-crusted shoes sat twinkling on the crystal rack beside a small emerald-encrusted purse. A white, velvet case revealed teardrop emerald and amber earrings.
“Oh, Sir Rodney . . . you shouldn’t have.” The note inside read, Happy birthday, love. She quickly closed the case and put it back, deeply conflicted, as she gently shut the armoire door.
Food. She needed to eat, clear her head, and stay focused. It didn’t matter that she’d brought a really inexpensive little black dress from Target to go with a pair of basic black pumps to wear for her birthday. She had never been a fashionista and black seemed to work with everything—but damn. If she wore that to the ball, she’d be vastly underdressed. But if she wore what Sir Rodney had left for her . . .
Sasha slapped her cheeks. She had to stop thinking about irrelevant things! “Steak, rare, with string beans—not too mushy, cooked but still crunchy . . . And, uh, new potatoes and a really, really cold beer would be nice,” she called out, testing Rupert’s instructions.
Within seconds the smell of broiled meat filled the room.
“Gotta love the Fae,” she murmured, pacing to the table.
A chair moved itself out for her to take a seat. Sasha just shook her head and plopped down. What the platter revealed made her close her eyes and say a little prayer. Gratitude filled every fiber of her being as she took up her fork and knife to find that there was no need for a steak knife. It was free-range bison, marinated to perfection and so tender that all she had to do was gently press the side of her fork into it and the meat cut. “Damn . . .”
It was impossible not to wolf down her meal, and the cold beer that she’d asked for made her stop with the first sip and close her eyes, holding the chalice in midair. “Oh, man . . .”
Bread baked to Dwarf perfection with honey butter made her lose her manners as she sopped up the juice on her plate and moaned with every bite. Until she had started eating, she hadn’t realized how starved she’d been. The vegetables were grilled to perfection, the potatoes so sweet and tender they melted like the bread on her tongue. Every bite of her steak made her close her eyes and moan out loud. By the time she covered the platter with the silver dome and polished off her second chalice of ale, she could barely keep her eyes open.
But it was amazing what a bath and full belly could do to a she-wolf’s mind. Relaxation brought clarity. Sasha sat up slowly. They didn’t have to do a frontal assault on a powerful Unseelie queen that would put the Fae at war. Queen Blatand of Hecate, for all her possibly unsavory qualities, most likely was unaware of the goings-on of the lower members of her court. Woman to woman and leader to leader, Sasha had to admit that she’d be equally pissed off if someone attacked her base just because Bear Shadow or Woods did something stupid.
Sasha stared at the moonlight. If something like that happened, the first instinct would be a defensive strike—then, and only then, would there be conversations about who’d shot John . . . And then the bottom line would be where was the respect? Why didn’t your nation come to our nation and lodge the complaint? There was no warning shot fired over the bow and you’ve attacked us? Nah . . . the Wolf Clans wouldn’t go for that, either, so why would a powerful Unseelie queen?
There had to be a way of forcing her hand, diplomatica
lly, into outing the members of her own court that were involved in wrongdoing. And those guys were most likely here, not overseas wherever she resided.
An angry smile tugged at Sasha’s cheek. If they were with Vampires, an attack had already been launched against her people at Dugan’s old B&B . . . which meant that they had technically gone after Winters on Fae land. The Seelie Fae owned Dugan’s old spot, as well as the bar that Winters was running from. Winters was a clearly unarmed human that was resident in a Fae hostel, thus a guest, and therefore, by UCE law, the Vampires had launched an unprovoked attack on both the Fae and a member of the Shadow Wolf Clan’s protected membership. Beautiful. Baron Montague was gonna spit out his eyeteeth over this!
“Yeah . . .” Sasha said, thinking out loud. They could burn Vampire lairs in daylight looking, supposedly, for the female—the redhead—by law. And, knowing the Vampires, they would out the Unseelie spell-caster that had cost them so much prime real estate. Once they had the little son of a bitch in custody, they’d turn the screws on him . . . Wouldn’t take much; Shadow Wolves could always smell a lie. An emergency UCE trial could be called by the second night, and the Unseelie queen would be barred from retaliation. “Damn, Sir Rodney . . . I wish you didn’t have to wait for the morning to get this,” she murmured.
A light knock on her door startled her and yanked her focus away from the window. Flustered, she got up and went to the door, tucking her wet hair up into a loose twist. For a few seconds she just stared.
“May I come in?” Sir Rodney asked, his expression so serious that her body stood aside without consulting her brain.
He was freshly bathed, smelled divine, and wore only a long forest-green silk robe.
“Umm . . . I think I misspoke,” Sasha said, quickly closing the door behind him.
“You said you didn’t want to wait until morning,” he murmured, coming closer to her until her back hit the door. “Sasha . . . I . . .” His words fell away as his fingers trembled against her cheek.
“You’ve bewitched the room,” she said quietly. “No fair.”
He shook his head. “It is I who has been bespelled since the beginning.”
“Oh, Lord.” She closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hands.
“No need for formal titles between lovers,” he said in a thickly sensual murmur.
“No, no,” she said quickly, pointing up. “I was talking about that one.”
He chuckled and stepped back an inch with a good-natured smile. “Even the Fae don’t tangle with the Ultimate . . . So what caused you to send up a prayer? Am I that much of a disappointment?”
“No,” she said quickly, placing her palm on his chest. “It’s not that . . . I did want you to come here, but because I want us to figure out a way to avoid an all-out Fae war . . . Your people cannot endure that; the humans cannot endure that. There must be a way.”
He stared at her, the humor fading from his incredible jewel-blue eyes, desire replacing it. He took up her hand, deeply kissing the center of her palm, and allowed it to fall away from his. When she hugged herself he touched her cheek, studying the facets of her face as though she were a priceless gem.
“Sasha, you are not only beautiful, radiantly so . . . but your heart is that of pure gold. Not fool’s gold, but pure gold; do you understand the difference, love? If you don’t, let me assure you that we Fae are well aware . . . and you are what lies at the end of a rainbow.”
She swallowed hard as his eyes left hers to slowly survey her body so intensely that it sent shivers down her spine. She couldn’t answer, much less move. The sexual energy that radiated off him was complete devastation.
“There is honor and integrity, the likes of which would knock the wind from any man standing. I have been felled by you, Sasha . . . And yet, it is this same integrity that frustrates the bloody hell out of me as we speak. You consider yourself mated, a married woman.”
The last part of Sir Rodney’s statement came out more like a wistful question. Her brain struggled to find the right gear to make her mouth work, stalling out like a bad transmission, slipping, not catching.
“Uh, yeah,” she finally sputtered out. “That’s a problem.”
“Are you sure?” Sir Rodney said in a low, baritone murmur, stepping closer. “It doesn’t have to be.”
His hands found her wet hair, as his mouth sought hers. Warm male body fused with her stomach and thighs and breasts in a hot, blanketing wash. As he intensified the kiss, a channel of heat filled her mouth, traveled down her esophagus, to implode in her stomach and course heat throughout her belly until it overtook her womb.
“We have to—”
Another ardent kiss stopped her protest, but as he went for the sash of her robe, she grabbed the ends of it and pulled hard.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” she said, gasping.
“My apologies,” he gasped, heaving in large gulps of air.
“I’m not offended,” she said, staring up into his pained eyes. “Just . . .”
“Conflicted.”
She nodded, and suddenly he became blurry as she nodded even harder. What the hell was wrong with her!
“Oh, lassie . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry . . . didn’t mean to offend to such a degree.”
She waved her hand and bit her lip, totally freaked out that something like this could make a war veteran shed tears. It was ludicrous.
“It’s not you . . . Just look at all you’ve done.” She nodded toward the table, pointing out the bath, and then caught a sob as she pointed to the closet with a shaky hand. “I’ve never in all my life been given . . .” Sasha snatched back her hand and then folded her arms. She had to get her mind to jump back into her skull. It had definitely fled the room somewhere between the bath, the dinner, and the kiss.
“That was given from the heart, no strings attached. Take it all or leave it all, I just wanted you to know you are cared for.”
She bit her bottom lip harder, but the tears flowed regardless. “My men . . . you took them in; all my people . . . Hunter, Shogun, are ready to go to war—shit.”
“I would lose an entire garrison for you, Sasha,” he said quietly.
“No! I don’t want you to do that—and stop being so damned wonderfully chivalrous.” She slipped around him, jamming her hands into her robe pockets to keep from hugging him. “That, I admit, is my weak spot—you found it, and you’re dancing a Fae jig on it—now cut it out.” She wiped her face with her robe sleeves and stared at him, glad to see a lopsided smile overtake his handsome face. That was easier to endure than that intense, sexy, Gaelic stare of his.
“I see we’re both smitten by the same set of principles, then.”
“I refuse to answer that charge,” she said with a half smile and a sniff.
“But I would go to war for you and empty out a fortress for you, and you know what I’m saying is the truth.”
Again they stared at each other for a moment. Her she-Shadow senses confirmed that this man, not unlike Hunter or Shogun, was also no liar.
“I want minimal casualties; in fact, none for your people, or mine.”
“Do you not think that is part of why I love you so?” He swallowed hard, clearly still aroused, but transfixed where he stood.
She would not look down at his silk robe so she kept her gaze fastened to his face. “I had a plan that jumped into my head that I think might work . . . after we lift the spell on your fortress in the morning.”
“So ye would ignore my statement, then, as a form of avoidance?” He smiled a sad smile. “And I thought the wolves had superior hearing.”
“I heard you,” she said quietly. “And it made my stomach do flip-flops.” She bit her lip again, frightened by her own honesty. It was as though everything she’d meant to keep inside her mind was leaping out of her mouth like frogs!
She looked at the door and then at Sir Rodney.
“The wolves are resting,” Sir Rodney murmured.
“There
are two factions under your roof . . . and your guards; anything that were to happen that’s not on the up-and-up could break down alliances, trusts, friendships . . . and that is part of the dark magick plan.”
“Spoken like a true woman of diplomacy,” he said with a wistful sigh.
“And . . . and . . . the gown and jewelry are beautiful, Sir Rodney, but—”
“Now, that would offend me if you returned it,” he said with an easy smile. “And just Rodney . . . please . . . The sir title is much too formal between us, don’t you think?”
“But it’s—”
“A gift,” he said gently, his gaze matching his tone. “And where I come from, in Fae culture, a gift from our people to someone not of our kind is the height of respect.”
She more than respected this man, she liked him, and maybe a little more. Maybe something that she wasn’t ready to investigate. He gave her body a once-over with longing, and tightened the sash on his silk robe with a sigh. Her eyes betrayed her and looked where she knew she shouldn’t have . . . and the sight of his bouncing arousal only ignited hers, but she didn’t move or flinch. Soldier mode took over as she lifted her chin and watched him walk to the door. But, God . . . He had a fantastic ass.
“Good night,” she said, wishing it had come out curtly. But it didn’t. It came out as a gentle caress of words that made him turn and stop to linger by the door.
“Thank you for everything,” she said more quietly when he didn’t move.
“Thank you for leaving a man hope,” he said without a smile. “The one who finally wins your heart will indeed be a lucky man.” He hesitated again, his eyes filled with yearning but also with dignified acceptance. “Sweet dreams, love,” he murmured and then blew her a kiss that she felt on her cheek. “I will respect a lady’s wishes and will not attempt to start a war amongst suitors tonight. You may rest easy knowing I am a man of my word.” Then, just like that, acceptance seemed to win out, and he turned away, opened the door, and left her all alone.
