Storm's Heart er-2

by Thea Harrison

  Aryal laid her head on the table too, facing Niniane, her gaunt features turning serious. “You’re going to be okay,” Aryal promised. Her scowl promised other things as well, like she would rain hell down on anybody that tried to say otherwise. “You’re going to live for a long damn time. We’ll work it out.”

  Niniane tried to swallow past a dry throat. Her fingers were cold. She rubbed her hands together. “And since we’re on the subject of finding people to trust, I’ve also got to find somebody to marry.”

  Aryal’s head reared up. “What?”

  “I’ve made a shopping list for a husband,” she whispered. “He’s got to be Powerful and influential, and someone who wants the throne but can’t get it on his own because he’s got to have a vested interest in keeping me alive.”

  The harpy’s stormy eyes widened. “Oh, good God, gak.”

  Niniane felt her eyes flood with tears again. This time, no matter how she tried, they spilled over, and then there was no containing the harpy’s panic.

  Which was why Niniane was now dancing and trying to pretend she was having a good time.

  Because Aryal talked to Duncan who talked to Cameron, who cooked up the idea of a trip out to Big Red’s. Big Red’s was a nearby bar owned by a retired cop and frequented by cops. It was a sturdy place rather than a fancy one, with solid wood furniture and a sizable dance floor and a small kitchen behind the bar that served a limited menu of food, primarily sandwiches and fries. The building was easily defended, and even better, Cameron knew the owner and vouched for his integrity. Niniane, who would have given almost anything to get out of the hotel from hell, jumped at the chance to escape for a few hours. She threw herself into the venture and put on makeup, an outfit, shoes, the whole works.

  Besides, she adored music and loved to dance. She did, really. Get her under some stress, and she was bound to turn manic and do something like this anyway. Aryal knew. Niniane had closed down more than a few nightclubs in her time. She would close down Big Red’s too. She would click into her groove any minute now, baby, and shake it out.

  But clicking into her groove meant she first had to find it. Her body felt disjointed, graceless. She felt disconnected from the music blaring over the dance-floor speakers. It sounded like a great crash of meaningless noise. The human policewoman, Cameron, dressed casually in jeans, a tank top, and a light summer jacket that hid her gun from casual view, threaded through the other dancers. The floor was packed with a rowdy, good-natured crowd, so Cameron stayed close, while Aryal and Duncan kept watch from one side.

  Niniane forced herself to smile, and it felt horrible and fake, a rubbery stretch of tired facial muscles. Nobody else seemed to notice. Cameron smiled back, her cinnamon-sprinkled features lit with pleasure at Niniane’s apparent enjoyment. The whole thing was gruesome, really.

  Today had been one long, strange day from hell. Where was Tiago now? Aryal said he had met up with Rune. Maybe now that Rune and Aryal were here, Tiago really would head back to New York. He had kept his promise to her. He had stayed until she was healed. She knew how important keeping a promise was to all the sentinels. Would he leave without saying good-bye or returning her calls? He was such a proud, aloof man, and she had rejected his support in front of Carling and the whole Dark Fae delegation, so he might very well be gone.

  Yes, he had made a mistake when he forgot to tell her about the Wyr, but after everything he had done for her, he deserved better than what she had given him.

  She kept remembering that flash of anarchy in Tiago’s face when she had sent him away. She had hurt him, and oh God, she missed him so much it was like suffering an amputation, and she wanted to ask somebody how she had suddenly gotten transported into a Victorian novel.

  A marriage of convenience? Really?

  She coughed out an angry, hurting laugh. The dance music obliterated the sound.

  Look at this progression. First she was afraid to have an affair with Tiago. Then she was afraid she would only get a little time with him. Then she was grateful she might get any time at all with him. Then she lost any hope when she sent him away. Now, when Aubrey and Kellen agreed they would tolerate the presence of her Wyr friends for a few weeks, she didn’t even know if Tiago was still around. If he was, there was a good chance he was no longer interested. Even if he was still interested, she didn’t know how she could stomach having an affair with him while she simultaneously looked for a husband.

  And that was just what was happening in her personal life.

  How had everything gotten so twisted? She almost felt nostalgic for the time when all she had to worry about was Urien trying to kill her. Urien had been Powerful and scary, so she lived under his enemy Dragos’s protection in New York. End of story.

  Maybe she had put things together wrong in her head. (But she didn’t think so.) Maybe a marriage of convenience wasn’t necessary. (Even though she was pretty sure it was.) Maybe things would look different in the morning after a good night’s sleep. (And too many tequila shots.)

  And why did this have to be a nonsmoking bar? Her teeth clenched as she looked around. Everybody knew how much stress cops lived with on a daily basis. Somebody in this damn joint had to have cigarettes. One way or another she was going to beg or steal a pack.

  The air grew static. The tiny hairs along the back of her neck and arms rose.

  She knew that feeling. She knew it.

  The lights flickered and dimmed. A speaker near the doors emitted a feedback shriek then another did, and a lightbulb over the bar exploded in a shower of sparks.

  Agonized hope leaped inside. She turned, looking for him. She was too small to see over the heads of most of the people surrounding her. Then the speakers on the dance floor screamed, and the music came to an abrupt halt.

  People stopped dancing. She heard snatches of good-natured grumbling. “. . . storm outside . . . must have been a lightning strike close by . . .”

  That was when she saw him. He was still dressed in his black fatigues and weaponry. He was taller than most of the humans and infinitely more hazardous. The strong bones of his face were hatchet-sharp, his beautifully cut mouth drawn taut, and he wore dark glasses that turned him into an unpredictable stranger. His face was turned toward her as he shouldered through the crowd. A path opened on the dance floor between them as the people there took one look at him and backed away.

  Her body reacted first as she stared at him. She started to shake. Her breathing grew choppy. Her pulse ratcheted up its speed, turning her veins into an autobahn. Then her emotions caught up with the rest of her.

  Elation that he hadn’t left.

  Astonishment, as the sheer force of his presence jettisoned her into a different reality. Everything around her became sharper, clearer, more vibrantly colored. Everything inside her reached a level of intensity that had her nearly coming out of her skin.

  And there was uncertainty. There was very much uncertainty.

  Because he looked so cruel, so sadistic. No, sexy. No, sadistic. Oh shit.

  He stopped in front of her, an immense wall of muscled male aggression. His dark sunglasses angled down toward her, and his harsh-edged assassin’s face was the one that had promised to burn down the world of the most Powerful Nightkind leader on Earth.

  Whatever you do, don’t say sowwy.

  She tried speaking his name. It came out a shaky mess. “Tiago?”

  “What the hell are you wearing?” he barked.

  The question slapped her in the face.

  Excuse me?

  She fell back a step as hurt spread through her middle like a bruise. She may not have been able to get fully engaged in the outing, but she had still put effort into her appearance because she wanted to look nice.

  She pointed to the door and said between her teeth, “You need to go outside and come back in with a different attitude, mister.”

  He snarled, “What I am going to do is take you back to your room so you can put some goddamn clothes on.”

&n
bsp; An invisible gremlin must have been in the room, because it doused her temper with lighter fluid and struck a match. A wave of heat flashed over her skin. She stamped her foot and shouted, “I look pretty!”

  Dr. Death bent his head down to go nose-to-nose with her. He bellowed, “You look half naked!”

  She disconnected from her body as she transported to a place only he could make her go. She didn’t have to put up with this shit. She cocked her head sideways and glared at her reflection in his sunglasses. That was when she heard herself say, “So what are you going to do about it, spank me?”

  The insolent words echoed in the air.

  He stared at her in incredulity. A sliver of sanity whimpered and tried to crawl back into her head.

  “Sure,” said Tiago. “That works.”

  The floor fell away, and her world turned over as he snatched her up by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. She oophed as her midsection connected with hard muscle-covered bone.

  “Wait,” she tried to say. She had no air in her lungs, so it came out something between a squeak and a wheeze. “I take it back. I want a do-over.”

  “Tough shit,” he said. He wrapped one arm around the back of her legs and strode off the dance floor.

  “Do you understand how popular I am?” she hissed. She bent at the waist and flailed around until she managed to latch on to his ear with her nails. She pinched hard. He growled and jerked his head sideways, trying to dislodge her hold. “You can’t spank a faerie princess in public in America. Do you want to get shot on sight?”

  “Don’t worry, your tempestuousness,” he snapped. “There won’t be any witnesses.”

  He spotted a hall toward the back of the building and made for it. There had to be restrooms, an office, something.

  Niniane brushed her hair out of her eyes. Blood pounded in her face. His long legs rose like tree trunks in front of her upside-down gaze. She braced herself with a forearm against the small of his back and tried to look around. Her head bobbed. Where were the others? She tried again. “Tiago, it just fell out of my mouth. I didn’t mean it. I’m just sayin’!”

  “Shut up.” His voice sounded shredded. He said to someone nearby, “Guard the hall.”

  A familiar voice cursed. She looked in the direction from which it came, and finally caught sight of Aryal and Cameron. They were herding the crowd back onto the dance floor, while people stared at them with varying degrees of curiosity, laughter and alarm. By the bar, Duncan shouted for someone to start up the music again.

  Niniane thought she saw something odd as Aryal looked back at them. The harpy’s eyes were narrowed, her angular face white with strain. Niniane might have been mistaken. Dangling upside down, everything looked wrong. People moved in weird ways, their smiles all turned down, and liquid spilled from drinks falling up. It was like looking in a carnival hall of mirrors in a dream.

  Tiago strode down the hallway. Office, to the right. It was a small, cluttered cubbyhole, piled with yellowed papers. Restrooms. He could hear someone moving around in one and the whine of a small motor as a hand dryer started. Niniane wriggled on his shoulder and almost slid off. He hitched her light little body back into place and kept going. There, toward the emergency back exit, was an open door.

  He veered toward it and strode into a shadowed room filled with metal shelves and boxes. One corner of the storeroom had been turned into a break area, with a battered comfortablelooking couch, a sagging armchair and a scarred coffee table with a pile of old magazines. A folded afghan blanket lay on the back of the couch, and a unit against one wall held a clunky thirteen-inch TV with an antenna and a digital converter box. A microwave sat on a middle shelf.

  He came to the middle of the floor and stopped. She waited a moment. Nothing happened. Tiago’s massive body stood rigid.

  She let go of his ear, and maybe her fingers accidentally brushed along the side of his neck.

  “I look pretty,” she whispered. She rested her cheek against his wide, muscled back.

  He took a breath. She felt it shudder through his whole frame. He laid one hand against the back of her thigh and stroked her leg. The light rasp of calluses on his broad palm left a trail of goose bumps on her sensitive bare skin.

  Then he bent forward. With exquisite gentleness he eased her onto her feet. He kept his hands at her narrow waist until she had her balance back. They looked at each other, her head tilted up, his bent down. She felt absurdly tiny whenever she was this close to him, and warmed in a way that had nothing to do with their physical bodies.

  “I am so goddamn old,” he said. His voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him. “And you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

  She rested her fingers on his forearms so that she could relish the heat of his skin as she looked up into his half-hidden stranger’s face. The aggression had splintered and left him looking shaken and—vulnerable. He was such a self-contained fortress. In all the years of their acquaintance, she had never seen him look this way. She reached up to take his sunglasses off. His obsidian eyes glittered in the shadowed room.

  “If you think I’m beautiful, why didn’t you say so?” she asked. Her breath hiccuped. “Why are you so mad at me?”

  Listen to her. She was going to be the queen who stamped her foot and cried because her feelings got hurt. Whole nations would tremble in fear.

  He cradled her face with both hands. They were so big they encompassed the graceful curve of her head. He growled, “You drive me out of my mind. You make me so fucking crazy I can’t think straight. Did you even notice? Every male out there, along with several of the women, were undressing you with their eyes—and they didn’t have far to go. You can’t go out in public like this. I mean, Niniane. What. The. Hell.”

  He was winding himself tight again by talking about it. His face and body clenched. She blinked as she stared up at him. Light dawned.

  He was so jealous and possessive, he was burning up with it.

  That could only mean one thing. He still wanted her.

  She said, “So you like the dress.”

  He glared at her, the picture of startled offense. “That’s not a dress.”

  Delight tasted like honey mead and turned her drunk. She started to smile. “Then what is it?”

  “It’s–it’s—” His gaze ran compulsively down the length of her body and grew ravenous. He had to swallow to clear his throat. He said, his voice gone husky, “Young lady, that thing barely covering your body is cause for a street riot.”

  Her smile widened. She took one of his hands in both of hers. His hand was huge and filled with killing strength. Veins patterned the expansive back and ran down long calloused fingers. She ran his hand down the sequins that covered the dress. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” she murmured.

  He had taken countless lovers throughout his long life, and they had all been strong-limbed warrior women who could take a good pounding. They hadn’t expected anything afterward except to walk away. Niniane was such an exotic creature to him, with her love of feminine fripperies and the lush delicacy of her body. With the shabby storeroom as a backdrop, she looked shocking and glamorous, like shadowed lightning, and the bright, tiny dangling things as they ran over his fingers felt cool and hard like shards of ice. Entranced, he fingered one and breathed, “Hell, yeah.”

  Her smile faded, and her huge gaze gathered the shadows from the room around her. “I’m sorry I sent you away like that,” she said.

  His hand turned and he squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry too, faerie,” he said. “I knew about your past. I should have been more careful, and I wasn’t. There’s no excuse. I was thoughtless and I fucked up.”

  She reached up and laid her fingers against the warm, carved edge of his lips. For someone who could look so brutal, his mouth had a severe elegance, stamped as it was with both temper and sensuality. “I thought you might have gone back to New York,” she said. “I missed you so much already.”

  He opened his m
outh and took her forefinger between his teeth. He nipped at her with such sensual enjoyment it sent pleasure rippling down her body. “I already told you once.” His voice had darkened, turned gravelly. “I’m not leaving.”

  He said the lie with such conviction her truthsense tried to convince her to believe him. She closed her eyes and explored his face with her fingers, reading the strong, heavy frame of his bone structure like Braille. His lips moved feather-soft against her palm. She felt like someone was dropping stones, one by one, on her chest, in a slow-building pressure. It was getting hard to breathe. Soon the weight would become intolerable and crush her ribs.

  In the main room somebody finally got the music back up. It roared back on with a suddenness that made her eyes pop open. She looked so surprised as she tottered on her four-inch heels that Tiago laughed and yanked her against his chest. The Black Eyed Peas came over the speakers and rocked it out. The walls of the building vibrated as lyrics careened headlong through the air.

  Still laughing, he picked her up, turned and put her against a wall. He held her up at a height where they were face-to-face. He made it look effortless, with one arm under her hips to brace her. With his face alight and his black eyes sparkling, he had such a barbaric beauty it took her breath away.

  Then his Power mantled over her, and she felt a need for him that was so terrible it drew her knees up and sank into her DNA, and she knew in that moment she would never be free of it, or him. He was carving himself into the deepest, most secret places inside of her, and she felt herself reforming in response. She was Galatea, made of stone, coming to life as he fashioned her.

  He nudged his hips between her knees and took hold of one of her ankles to draw her leg around his waist. She wrapped her other leg around him and locked her ankles behind him. She ran her hands across his broad-muscled shoulders. My God, she had to take an anatomy class. Every single one of those muscles had its own name.