Her One Wish

by Marie Hall

  She swallowed hard, digging her nails into her palms.

  Nixie had lost track of time, but she knew it’d been years. Possibly even decades that she’d been trapped. Long enough for her to release Eric’s stranglehold on her emotions, long enough for her to realize she’d move on someday, because he had long ago. Long enough that now this frustrating male made her body snap, crackle, and pop with pent-up desires.

  “You don’t tell me what to do, I tell you what to do. That’s how this relationship works.”

  Wishing she could shoot laser beams out of her eyes, Cyclops-style, she huffed. “Whatever you say, oh Master mine.” Her bow was nothing short of hubris.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. And gah, what a freaking chest it was. Perfectly sculpted pecs that could probably pop a quarter off them, gleaming with sweat, and…and… “At least put a freaking shirt on,” she hissed.

  His smile was pure masculine pride. “Like what you see then, genie?”

  “I’ve seen better,” she retorted without skipping a beat.

  A pulse in his throat fluttered and the light in his eyes vanished.

  Score one for Nixie.

  “Now that that’s settled”—the grizzly bear of a man stepped forward—“may we resume walking?” His words were for Brad’s clone and not Nix, but she heard a thread of something in his tone that made her suddenly annoyed.

  Yanking on a shirt, Clone Boy ran his fingers over his messy hair. “I couldn’t agree more, John.” Sex on a Stick licked his front teeth almost angrily when he turned his crazy, beautiful eyes back on her. “Back in the lamp.”

  “What?” She held up her hands, shaking her head violently. “No way. I just got out, I don’t want back in.”

  For a second she could have sworn she’d seen regret flash through his eyes, which was ridiculous, as the man clearly hated her guts—the feeling of which was intensely mutual.

  “In now.” And when he used that commanding tone, her body had no choice but to obey. Her traitorous form misted and from one blink to the next, she sailed back inside her lamp.

  In the darkness, with only the quiet of her thoughts to keep her company, she prayed with all her soul and heart that she hadn’t simply been hallucinating. Now that he’d released her from her lamp, the curse of total darkness had been lifted. She could change it to a Chicago skyline again if she so wished, but maybe she’d lived in the darkness too long. Nixie sank to her knees, too tired to change anything. Even if she did, it was all a lie, all just an illusion that wasn’t actually real.

  Reality waited outside and that was where she desperately wanted to be.

  “If you can hear me,” she murmured with a slight hitch to her voice, “then I promise to be good. Just let me out of here. Please, let me out of here.”

  Chapter 6

  The genie wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d not known what the dark genie was when he’d gone in search of it. But what she seemed to be, and what the stories made her out to be, the two couldn’t quite compute in his head.

  Nixie—his lips curved at the way she’d challenged him when speaking her name—didn’t seem all that dangerous. Sure, she’d very nearly caused his ears to bleed upon first meeting her, but she’d not tried to hurt them since.

  She’d sworn she’d not done it intentionally, and he did believe her. But he was still confused by everything. Most especially the fact that whenever he looked at her he felt such a recklessness of conflicting desires that he did not at all feel like himself.

  Why had they flown through the air as they had? And why had no one else noticed it but them? It would have been so much easier if the woman had looked like the one he’d imagined, and not one born of his deepest fantasies.

  Robin hadn’t really known what she would look like, but he’d formed an image in his head of a demonic creature with red scales for skin, horns for hair, and glowing yellow eyes.

  The tales spoke of a horrible curse and a genie without a soul.

  She’d been spunky and fiery, but that didn’t make her dangerous to them. The more he thought on it, the more he was sure that somewhere along the way the translation of her story had been distorted or altered, just as his had been.

  Baba Yaga had told him a story, but had it been the correct one? Or was it just another one of the stories in Kingdom made up of almost nothing but lies?

  “And still she stays,” John murmured two hours later after much backtracking and diversionary tactics.

  They now had a genie on them, that was a treasure greater than all the money in all the world, and one Robin was determined to keep safe. He’d not felt any eyes on them since that time back at the pools, but one could never be too careful.

  Spying a burbling stream a short distance away, Robin trotted toward it, kneeling once he got to the water’s edge. “And still I keep her. Have you got a problem with that?” He raised a brow, bringing a palm full of water to his lips when Maurice and Thrane came to kneel beside him.

  John’s molars clenched. “I’m no longer so sure that we can trust this idea.”

  Wiping at the water running off his chin, Robin gave a slight shrug. “Is it that you can’t trust her, or yourself, John? Because if you think I’ve not noticed how often your eyes stray the lamp…” He purposefully let the thought dangle.

  John’s nostrils flared, and when Robin glanced at his other two men, they too seemed suddenly busy studying the water before them.

  It was much too late to change things, but he wished he’d have listened to his gut and gone this alone. As much as he trusted his men, Robin was beginning to suspect that—for a bunch of thieves—a genie might be a temptation too great to bear, even as loyal to him as they’d always been.

  With a disgusted sigh Robin scanned their perimeter, using the magic of his eyes to seek out heat markers that didn’t quite fit in with the landscape surrounding them.

  There was no one around, save themselves. For now, his genie was safe.

  Thrane and Maurice glanced over at him. Their eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under their eyes. Robin knew if he asked it of them they’d continue onward, but it was easy to see his men were exhausted and in need of food and rest.

  There was a short bridge a few yards away that crossed the brook, separating the land. It might be wise if he separated himself from the group, at least for tonight until he could figure out what to do about all this.

  Plus, he needed more than a few moments alone with his little pet. There were questions that needed answering.

  “Go back a hundred yards and set up camp for the evening. This is as good a place as any to sleep for the night.”

  Nodding in tandem, and with little sighs of relief, the brothers did as told. But John stayed where he’d been. There was no sense asking what his friend wanted; eventually John would get around to it.

  Spooning more water into his hands, Robin wiped the worst of the grime off his face and neck. The evening was humid. They were only about ten miles or so away from the pools, but at least they were now upwind of its stench. It might be hot, but it wouldn’t stink tonight.

  Always had to look on the bright side of things.

  “And the creature, what will you do with it?” John glanced at the bulge under his shirt.

  “The genie,” Robin stressed and patted his chest, “is none of your concern, John. Understand this.” He turned the full weight of his stare upon his second in command.

  John shuffled back just a bit. Probably not even a conscious decision on his part, but at least Robin knew that, friend or no, John understood his place in the pecking order.

  “The lamp is mine. Do not try to take it out from under my nose. I trust you understand what I will do should you try.”

  Jaw flexing, it took John half a minute before he could nod. “I see it, and it does tempt me. The power that can be wielded with it. But”—he stood and dropped his hands to his sides—“I also feel very strongly that to trust it is foolishness on our part.”r />
  “Even so. The lamp. The genie, all of it—it is mine. But more than that, this is a secret only the four of us can share. We must speak of it to no one, for everything we’ve worked so hard for—it is now within reach. Remember that should the temptation become too great.”

  “We can overcome Crispin without it, Robin, you know we can.”

  “Yes, because we’ve done a fine job of it lately. All our planning, all our plots, they’ve been for naught and well you know it.” His fingers pressed hard against the metal. “Here lies our one chance to rectify this wrong. And whether you think we can trust her, I tell you we can.”

  John looked as though he wanted to say more, but finally he just glanced off to the side. Not wanting to let this divide them, Robin clapped his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve never given me cause to doubt you, my old friend, do not start now. I need to know that you’re behind me on this. That even though you do not trust her, you trust me enough to lead you all.”

  Dragging his fingers through the grass at his feet, John gave him a brief twitch of his lips. “I’m with you to the bitter end, I always have been, my friend.” Standing, he turned toward the bridge. “Now I’m going to go check on the men.”

  Nodding, Robin held up a finger. “I’ll be sleeping on this side of the brook tonight.”

  John frowned, casting his gaze toward the lamp once again.

  “Aye,” Robin answered the unspoken question. “I wish to learn more of the genie. Alone. I think it’s safest.”

  “Fine then.” John’s voice was a curt assent. Turning on his heel, he crossed the bridge and climbed the hill toward camp.

  Only once Robin was sure there were no more eyes around him did he stand and brush his fingers across the lamp.

  Blood rushed south when she stepped out. Her dark allure and lush curves tempted him in a way he’d not been tempted for a long, long time.

  Instead of screaming or fainting this time, she merely looked at him with wide, doe-shaped eyes.

  “What, not excited to see me this time, pet?” He couldn’t help teasing her; it wasn’t in his nature to tease, but it gave him a cheap thrill to get a rise out of her. She’d been magnificent earlier, her skin all flushed and rosy with indignation, and he wanted to see her like that again.

  But rather than answer him, she crossed her arms before her, keeping them extended like they rested on a flat surface, and recited a litany of words that made him think it a practiced speech.

  “I have been summoned, Master. Do you wish to use your wishes three?”

  “What is that?” He flicked his fingers at her unusual posturing.

  Her nostrils flared and a hint of a blush stole up her swan-like neck. He had to fight the urge to grin at the sight of it.

  “What is your wish, sir?”

  Robin might be mistaken, but he was fairly certain her “sir” had shivered with a thread of disgust. Tossing his head back, he laughed. “Goddess, you’re a sight.”

  “What?” she finally snapped, dropping her arms, and glaring hotly at him.

  “Finally, some vigor!” He snapped his fingers. “Being cold does not suit you, pet.”

  Her jaw clenched. “If you call me pet one more time—”

  “You and I both know you can do nothing to me, at least not while under my control.”

  He held up a finger, which only made her cock a fine brow, as if to say “You sure about that?”

  The corner of his lip stretched. “And if you imagine I’m not aware of your unsavory past”—he stressed the word—“then you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  A flash of heat crawled through her rich brown eyes.

  “Nothing to say now?”

  Her lips tightened. “I don’t like you at all.”

  “That’s what they all say.” He shrugged, enjoying himself more than he probably should. “Though I should warn you…” He purposefully left the sentence dangling.

  Robin could tell she didn’t want to ask. Nix crossed her arms and tapped her foot, seeming determined to wait him out, but when he said nothing, she finally tossed up her hands, “Well?”

  “Just wanted to see if you’d take the bait.”

  “God, you’re annoying.” She glared. “So are you going to tell me or what?”

  He shrugged. “I really had nothing more to say; like I said, just trying to see if you were paying attention.”

  “Get bent, asshole.”

  Laughing heartily now, Robin sauntered toward the twisted trunk of a large elm tree and settled himself against it, crossing his legs at the ankles. “That sounded positively foul, pet.”

  “Ugh.” She groused, following close on his heels.

  “What? Do you not care for my new name? You said I was not to call you a dark genie, or creature, I thought pet a suitable substitute.”

  Her long, jet-black lashes feathered against the rich, bronze hues of her skin when she closed her eyes, making his pulse quicken for a brief second in time. Goddess, but she was exquisite.

  “Why not just call me Nixie? It’s my name.” She sat down before him, the movement causing the fabric of her pants to stretch, revealing long expanses of her shapely thighs, making his mouth instantly water.

  But more than that, there was a band that seemed to stretch between them now. Connected them. When she’d held his hands earlier, that band hadn’t snapped yet. It made him incredibly aware of her every movement, her every look, the true meaning beneath her words.

  She’d sounded hurt just now and for reasons he could hardly comprehend, it bothered him to hear it.

  He sighed. “I am sorry for my earlier treatment of you.”

  She jerked as if she’d been slapped. “What? Now you’re confusing me.” Her long fingers flitted through the thick blades of grass by her feet.

  “Not used to hearing apologies?”

  “Not really. Especially not from my masters.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps I’m like no other master you’ve ever known.”

  She began fidgeting, then glanced over her shoulder, taking in their surroundings.

  Robin had chosen this particular place because of its isolation, yes, but also because he thought she might like it. One thing he’d learned from leading such a large group of men on his own was that you never bite the hand that feeds. His men were loyal because he was good to them, and in return they’d do anything he asked of them. Even lay down their lives.

  He’d have to do much the same with her; the quickest way to subdue a wild beast was to feed it honey. Figuratively speaking. So he fed her honey. He would show her his good and his bad sides. He would be absolutely transparent with her. Make her see that he might be grouchy at times, and even on occasion broody and mysterious, but not wicked, not cruel.

  Ergo, the bucolic setting they new found themselves in.

  Women liked “pretty” things, and this place was pretty. There was a gurgling brook, wildflowers growing in abundance. Shade from aged trees, and even a couple of robins flitting through the sky to make it even more picturesque.

  He slipped a yellow apple out of a hidden pocket in his shirt before offering it to her. “Apple?”

  “What are you doing?”

  Grabbing her hand, he flipped it over, and placed the apple in her palm. “Calling a ceasefire. We got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

  “Just like that?” She snapped her fingers, and then took a large bite out of the apple, as if in defiance, which only made his grin broaden.

  He shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’d rather I growl. Though should you wish it—”

  “Of course I don’t want you to be a bastard. That’s not what I’m saying.” Her scowl grew deeper.

  Taking out another apple for himself—the pocket had been crafted from a sliver of spelled cloth Robin had stolen from Crispin’s personal squire three years ago—Robin took a bite of the sweet treat. “Then what exactly are you saying, pet?”

  She sighed, but didn’t snap at him this time. The creature was learning.
His lips twitched.

  Taking another more leisurely bite, she nodded. “So that’s what this is.”

  It was his turn to give her a questioning look. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Oh, come on,” she snorted, “let’s not play this game. I’ve been around the block a few times. This apple.” She stretched her arm out. “The scenery. This is a bribe.”

  Smart.

  Very, very smart.

  Resting his weight more fully against the trunk of the tree, he opted to finish his apple before answering her query.

  “You know”—her luminous brown eyes gleamed—“taking itty bitty bites only prolongs the inevitable, but changes nothing in the end.”

  Swallowing his final bite, he gave the core a bored glare before chucking it over his shoulder. “And that is?”

  “That you’re trying to be one of those masters. It won’t work.” She tossed her half-eaten apple at his chest. “I wasn’t born yesterday, I know when I’m being buttered up.”

  Chuckling, he almost clapped at her powers of deduction, but instead opted to finish the rest of her apple. “What won’t work, pet?”

  “Pet.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “Seriously. Would you just stop? Stop it already. I’m yours—”

  “Oh, not nearly, woman. Not nearly.”

  Fire raced up her throat, settling in her slashing cheekbones. She gave him a withering stare.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m sure that I don’t.”

  “Are you obtuse on purpose, or is this fun for you?”

  Flicking the apple core to the side, he wiped his mouth and then sighed, holding up his hands. “Fine. Yes, of course I know what you’re getting at. But I’ve had time to think about our partnership—”

  She snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  His brows rose. “How else would you put it?”

  “Servitude, oh Master mine.” She stared down at her lap as she said it. Her obvious abhorrence of her lot in life humanized her in a way she hadn’t been before.