Rogue's Pawn

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Rogue had walked up to me while I was sorting my thoughts and now stood just before me so I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

  Too close. If I leaned in a bit, I could lay my body against him. His eyes burned and I felt an answering heat. My nipples peaked against the restraining cloth. A hot shiver ran through me as his gaze dropped to my lips. My heart thumped.

  I reveled in that moment, that breathless anticipation where you wondered, hoped, wished, that this beautiful man would lower his head to kiss you.

  His breath fluttered against my lips. Cinnamon and sandalwood swirled through my head.

  I held my breath, waiting for that first taste of him, waiting for the passion that pressed against the corseting materials to surge over me. I wanted the feel of it.

  Wanted him on me and in me. Wanted what he wanted. Wanted him more than anything.

  Whoa, since when?

  I stepped back quickly. “Are you fucking with my mind?”

  Irritation flashed across his face before it fell back into seductive lines.

  I found myself shaking my head. “No, no, no—I may be a babe in the woods here, but I know myself at least. And you just wasted the five minutes I asked for.”

  Rogue cursed—I didn’t quite catch the meaning, except that it sounded pissed and seemed to have something to do with a cow, which sure as hell had better not be me. Then he started pacing the room, filling the silence with rhythmic boot steps.

  Ah, here was the Rogue we knew.

  I felt obscurely comforted. My body still seethed and pulsed, but that was all me. As was the bruised disappointment at missing out on the kiss. Probably my only opportunity. I had a habit of blowing the moment. Me and my smart mouth. Still, I felt I’d won a small battle, gained a bit of ground. Go me.

  At least I had the sense to know that Rogue didn’t really want me. Rogue would probably take what I offered, just as any man would, really, given the opportunity. But what would I be left with once he’d taken it?

  It was a mystery to me, what made a man stick around once he’d gotten laid. Maybe the chance to have more at first. Maybe he signed up for the ring and the vows so he could get it regular. But don’t tell me it’s love. Love was just window dressing, to cover up the dirty panes beneath.

  At least I was thinking like myself again.

  I waited him out while he paced.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re irretrievably stubborn, woman?” he finally got out.

  “Just about everyone, thanks.”

  Which was true. It was also true that people called you stubborn when you didn’t do what they wanted you to do. I had a pretty good idea that whatever these people wanted me to do wasn’t in my best interests.

  “You’re getting loud with your thoughts again,” Rogue said.

  “Apologies.” Dammit.

  “I find myself comforted by the familiarity of it,” Rogue answered wryly, in an odd echo of my own thoughts. He walked back up to me. “We’re at an impasse, it seems. If I can convince you of the sincerity of my intentions regarding you, will you trust me for the duration of the reception?”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I’ll let you into my thoughts—let you feel my intentions.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No more mind tricks.”

  “No mind tricks—you would control this. All you do is look.”

  “That seems like an invasion of your mental privacy?”

  “I’m desperate.” His mouth twisted a bit, distorting a black line so it sharpened into a fang.

  Desperate could be interesting. I knew he heard my thought from the devastating smile that cracked through the thorns. Now that man, with the smile, was the dangerous one. I made certain to keep that observation very much to myself.

  “So I look into your head, see that you’re on the level, and then we go to this deal, with me still running blind? I don’t think so. I want five questions answered first.”

  “What’s with you and the number five?”

  I shrugged. One hand, I don’t know.

  “No time,” Rogue answered, and held up an uncannily long hand when I opened my mouth again. “I feel certain you’d ask hard questions that require long answers. I’ll give you three principles—three things you should know to get through the evening.”

  “Five ground rules.”

  “I can’t think of five.”

  “You disappoint me.”

  He flashed me the wicked grin. “I wouldn’t have, if you’d let me kiss you.”

  Ooh, good one. I floundered for a response. Surely I wasn’t blushing. Rogue walked away and sat on a chair by the fire, clearly smug with the knowledge he’d beaten me that round. Now he was back to business.

  “Four ground rules.”

  “Why four?”

  “Never accept a first offer. Agreed?”

  When I nodded, he beckoned me over to stand in front of him. He parted his knees and pulled me between them, hands on my heavily padded waist. “Shhh,” he said when I tried to pull back, stroking me into calm, gentling me as he had when I was chained to the bed. “Contact is helpful, even necessary at this point. It’s not like I can feel anything through this get-up anyhow.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Ground Rule One,” he said, pinning me with his gaze, “you must appear as nonthreatening as possible, like a young girl protected all her life. Virginal, you understand that idea?”

  I nodded.

  “Be sweet. Be biddable. Be unattractive. Be unsexy. That means they will underestimate you and much rides on that.”

  “Okay, that helps.” I smiled sweetly. “I’ll wear the damn outfit.”

  Didn’t want him to forget that was my choice whether to leave the room in it.

  “Fingertips on my temples,” he instructed.

  I laid my hands on his face, my right fingertips over the black swirling lines, the skin equally silken on both sides. His skin seemed unnaturally warm, with a slight buzz to it, as if there were a mild level of static charge. A spark ran through me.

  “Look into my eyes.”

  As if I wasn’t already hypnotized by the ardent blue of them. There were gold flecks in his irises, and they were ringed with a thin line of desert black. Rogue drew me in a bit more, fingers flexing on my hips. The fire crackled softly.

  Now follow my surface thoughts. Too loud? he asked when I winced.

  A bit, I tried quietly.

  He chuckled. Yes, ironic. Ha-ha.

  This better?

  Yes.

  Now look around, as if you’re looking just under the surface of water.

  Like snorkeling. I pictured the Caribbean and felt his interested response.

  Then images not my own began to float by—a dark pool in the woods, the water chill, a bright ocean, waves tumbling, a black-haired, long-legged boy running on the beach, rocky, uneven.

  Now deeper.

  I dove down. Private here, quiet. A sense of walking through someone’s house at night while they slept. Scenes flickered, as if in a movie. Me, laughing at him, my eyes a green flash. My throat torn open, satisfaction shaded with guilt and grief. Me, lying unconscious on the bed, throat smooth, saved but vulnerable. The need to protect me shimmered around the image, like heat waves.

  Did I believe it?

  I dove deeper.

  Something shadowed. A raven’s wing swept across my vision, shrieking whispers. Hot blood in my mouth, tearing flesh and tears, howls and water. Rogue, drowning in black-and-blue magic, the Dog tearing scarlet chunks out of his chest until Rogue’s howls became blood themselves.

  I wrenched myself away.

  Abruptly I was in sunlight.

  Or rather, back in the firelit room, chi
ll gray fog out the windows. Rogue blinked up at me, eyes turbulent. His fingers dug into my hips, almost all that was holding me upright. It took me a moment to clear the dark howls from my mind.

  “What did you see?”

  “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head. “I kept to my agreement. You were to look on your own. Hopefully you saw that I want only to protect you.”

  “But you said you weren’t my friend.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what are you?”

  Rogue stood abruptly, which brought him hard up against me. My hands fell away from his face and I tried to step out of the way, but he held me with one iron arm. Stronger than he looked.

  The other hand reached up to toy with the short lock that had escaped from my braids at the nape of my neck. He stared at me fiercely from inches away and my heart pounded. Heat simmered from him and I thrilled to it, despite what I’d seen. Or maybe because of it.

  Did the Dog also stalk his dreams?

  “Do you trust me now?”

  He didn’t know all I’d seen in the depth of his heart. Maybe they were things I should not have seen. I wouldn’t want anyone to see my nightmares. Especially now that they were real.

  “As near to trust as we’re going to get right now.”

  He rewarded me with his brilliant smile. “Excellent!” He released me, then strode over to the table, returning with Blackbird’s tray of nibbles. “Have a quick something to eat then and we’ll get going.”

  Chapter Eight

  In Which I Learn to Fence

  Like a child, I thrust my hands behind my back. My stomach felt wildly hollow all of a sudden, though it hadn’t bothered me much before.

  “Lovely Gwynn,” Rogue said softly, “you need to eat.”

  His concern washed over me and he raised a finger to my cheek, a feather touch that made me shiver. Now I understood why Persephone broke down and ate the pomegranate seed. She gave in to Hades. Maybe he’d been gorgeous and sexy, too. After all, he was the god of the Underworld, second only to Zeus in power. Kind of the bad boy of the Pantheon. And there I was, wanting to please my diabolical captor, too. But, call me paranoid, it made me deeply suspicious that everyone wanted me to eat from my specially prepared tray.

  “My name isn’t Gwynn.”

  “I can be stubborn, too.” Rogue waved the tray at me. In case I hadn’t noticed it before.

  “If you’re so worried about time,” I countered, “why waste it on me eating? I hear there’s a banquet in my future. Or don’t you people have food at banquets?”

  “Ground Rule Two,” he said. “Don’t act like you’re afraid of being assassinated. You must be nonthreatening enough to be underestimated.”

  “Not unlike Ground Rule One.”

  “Lady Gwynn, it’s a banquet. You will have to eat. You’ll also need your strength.” Rogue trailed his finger down my cheekbone again, but I batted it away. Too distracting.

  “Stop that. And I’m not a lady and my name isn’t Gwynn.”

  He waved that remark away. “You don’t know who you are. Here, eat.”

  Perversely, I liked the impatient dictatorial Rogue better than the coaxing seductive one. It was true I was going to have to eat at some point. And for all that this magical place wasn’t the real world, it also wasn’t the Underworld where I could exist only in spirit. Easy not to eat when you didn’t have, oh, say, a body to keep alive.

  “I’ll eat at the banquet—food I see other people eating. Nothing—” I pointed at the tray, “—especially prepared for me.”

  Rogue glared at me. The tray vanished from his hand.

  “Nice parlor trick.”

  “Meant to demonstrate that food can be altered on its way to your mouth, if a sorcerer desired.”

  “A sorcerer like you?”

  “Any that wished to.”

  “Nevertheless,” I said, “a girl has to have some standards.”

  “Fine.” Rogue strode to the door. “Shall we?”

  “I get two more ground rules.”

  “We’ll cover them on the way—it will take a few minutes to walk to the banquet hall.”

  “Can’t you just poof us there?”

  Rogue raised that eyebrow at me and held up an arm, every debutante’s dream escort.

  Sighing, I laid my hand on his forearm. Wiry muscle flexed under the black velvet. We walked out into a short hallway, more gray stones, torches burning merrily in sconces. Then we started down circular stairs. A tower. Of course—where else did you keep prisoners?

  “Ground Rule Three. Don’t ask questions about magic. Don’t act surprised by anything you might see. No one is sure where you come from, what kind of abilities you have. All they know is you are powerful, you lost control and must be taught. Be mysterious.”

  Mysterious was not my forte, but I could try. Seemed as though keeping my mouth shut as much as possible was a safe bet.

  “Understood?”

  “Yep, practicing being mysterious and closed-mouthed now.”

  “Unprecedented.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  Rogue grinned down at me and my damn heart lurched. I must be just starved for attention. We emerged from the tower stairs. I hadn’t been able to track the number of turns, but it had to be four to five floors’ worth, a nice tall tower for prisoner-keeping. A wider gallery opened before us. Arched windows ranged along one side, looking down into an interior courtyard. No fog—wasn’t that interesting? It looked to be evening now, with torchlit windows glowing across the way.

  “Final ground rule.” Rogue paused. I could barely hear the rush of his thoughts as he chose his words. I wasn’t going to like this one. “Make the best bargain you can, but watch the wording.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Just that. And remember to keep your thoughts to yourself—half the people here could hear them without trying, and quite a few can hear all they want to with a little effort.”

  “Ooh, would that be a fifth ground rule?”

  “Common sense—I don’t have to remind you to keep breathing, do I?”

  We turned the corner and huge wooden doors swung open before us. A brightly lit banquet hall lay inside with a fireplace big enough for ten of me to stand in. People dressed to resemble jewels and flowers turned as one to stare at me. I wished I didn’t look like an éclair without icing.

  Especially when Nasty Tinker Bell swept up, barely draped in strapless gold cloth. It looked as though her pert nipples were all that held up the top. I tried not to look too hard. Could it be Super Glue?

  “Welcome to our banquet, Lady Gwynn,” Tinker Bell chimed. “We’ve been so bored, waiting for our guest of honor.”

  “Lady Gwynn,” Rogue said, “may I present Lady Incandescence, whom I believe you’ve met, but to whom you have not yet been properly introduced.” Interesting that Rogue’s language seemed to have a more formal cadence.

  I took that as my cue to use her correct name.

  Damn—I should have gotten coaching on proper greetings. Though it would have been difficult to cover “formally greeting nasty noble folk who’ve dumped soup on your head.”

  I gave Nast…Lady Incandescence (say that without rolling your eyes) the inclined head nod I used at my mom’s charity balls—tilt head to the right slightly and dip chin once, agreeable, pleasant. An all-purpose greeting for non-handshake situations.

  Apparently not for this one, however, as she looked incandescently pissed. Or maybe that was just her usual face. I was just waiting for that moment when her dress would eventually lose its purchase.

  Nasty Tinker Bell cleared her face with her trademark reboot and, smiling sweetly at me, said, “I hope everyone votes to kill you in the most painful method possible.” She punctuated
the sentence with her bell of a giggle.

  “Well, that’s honest, Lady Lightbulb,” I answered. Experiment underway—if I pictured the incandescent light bulb and used only part of the phrase, would it translate? The pucker on her charming forehead indicated that it came through slightly wrong, though not enough to argue with.

  Rogue made a choking noise. He could read me well. But he manfully cleared his throat and said, “Respectfully, Lady Incandescence, recall that Lady Gwynn does not speak our language, thus hears what you mean, rather than what you say.”

  She whitened a bit. Aha! She’d been indulging in courteous double-talk.

  “Rogue, introduce us to your…guest.”

  A group of three men ringed around behind Tinker Bell, who seized the opportunity to scuttle away, gold cloth still miraculously clinging to her nipples. Had to be magic—wasted too, as no one but me seemed interested in whether it would stick or not. Probably at some point in the evening, it would come “accidentally” unstuck from one or both, to her delighted chagrin. I’d worked with a gal like that, who managed to lose some or all of her clothing to some mishap or another, at every social event, including the office Christmas party.

  Not everything here was different.

  The men were dressed in Rogue’s style, in various colored velvets, all snug, all enticing. All were long-limbed, wore daggers and two of them had markings on their faces, though on the right sides. None were as large and complex as Rogue’s, and none shared his distinctive coloring. The one with no pattern was ebony dark, the black of his eyes blending into dark holes of pitiless empty space. I shivered, a strange terror crawling up my spine.

  Rogue took my left hand and held it forward slightly. “Lady Gwynn, may I present Lords Falcon, Puck and Scourge.”

  I tried a little curtsey this time, hoping my theater days would see me through, and they bowed solemnly. I tamped down any sarcastic thoughts about the names.

  The first who’d spoken stepped forward. Falcon, maybe. Bright yellow eyes stared at me with raptorish intensity above a hooked nose. “Lady Gwynn, do you have a proposal for us?”