Heart of the Fae

by Emma Hamm

  Again, he asked the same question. Anger made his words harsh, but she caught the distinct tones of worry underneath the growl. Why would he worry about her? She added the question to all the others she would never give voice.

  “Unseelie lands,” she whispered.

  “And why wouldn’t you ask me?”

  “For what?”

  “Guidance. Protection. An answer to whether or not it was too dangerous for an unarmed, weak, human woman in the Otherworld?”

  Sorcha gulped. “I was unaware I might need any protection. There was no point when I felt like I was in danger. Until now.”

  “You think you are in danger from me?” His head tilted and a spear of light slashed across his eyes. Twin lines wrinkled between his eyes, vibrant blue nearly glowing with anger.

  She couldn’t respond. Her fear spiked the air with static electricity, making the hair on her arms raise. Of course, she was frightened of Stone. He loomed over her until all she could breathe was his scent and all she could see was the powerful set of his barreled chest.

  “Sorcha.” He said her name as if it was a prayer. “You never have to be afraid of me.”

  He lifted a hand and traced the outline of her face. Crystals scraped across her forehead, past the sensitive skin of her temple, down the soft curves of her cheeks. She couldn’t breathe as he thumbed the plump rise of her lips.

  He swayed again, eyes squinting in concentration. “You are so flawed. So unlike my people who would have scrubbed these markings from their skin long ago.”

  “Markings?”

  “These,” he touched the peaks of her cheeks, her forehead, and the dip of her upper lip.

  “Freckles,” she whispered. “We call them freckles.”

  “I’ve never seen them before. The Fae have smooth skin, like porcelain, as if an artist had painted them with one tone. But you…you have so many colors.”

  “Colors?”

  “Your hair, your skin, even your eyes have flecks of green, blue, yellow.”

  “You’ve noticed all of that?” She couldn’t stop asking questions. Shock twisted her tongue, asking questions she didn't mean to voice.

  “I notice everything you do. You haunt my steps and my dreams. You’ve bewitched me, Sorcha, and I want my soul back.”

  “I don’t know how to give it back to you.”

  He leaned closer, his breath fanning over her lips. “I wonder if you taste like the sun.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  She didn’t move as he leaned down and devoured her.

  He tasted like whiskey and peppermint. Her eyes fluttered shut as the textures of his mouth slid against hers. Soft lips, like velvet, nibbled at her own. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to, even as his arms slid down the wall and slipped around her shoulders.

  Teeth nibbled at her full bottom lip. No, she realized, not teeth. The harsh edge of crystal biting into her swollen flesh as he pressed harder.

  She inhaled in surprise, and he took advantage of the opportunity. His warm tongue swept into her mouth, bringing with it an explosion of flavor. Spices, foreign to her senses, made her drunk as their tongues tangled.

  Strange, she hadn’t thought it would be like this. And then she didn’t think at all.

  He tasted her, unmade her, whispered endearments she didn’t understand against her mouth. The crystals sliced at her skin, splitting open her lip, and pouring the metallic taste of blood into her mouth.

  He didn’t stop. She didn’t want him to.

  Warmth poured over her like a wave. She couldn’t think. He was everything and nothing, tying her to the ground by the electric heat of his mouth. His hands slid over her shoulders and massaged her muscles until she relaxed against the wall.

  “I knew you would taste like sunshine,” he whispered against her lips. “I knew it from the moment I first set eyes on you.”

  “Another flaw?”

  “Entirely.”

  He dedicated his attention to sipping from her lips. To licking, and sucking, and tasting every inch she would allow him. Hot breath slid across her cheeks, crystals cold and scraping, a sharp contrast to the soft flesh of his skin.

  Teeth worried at the sensitive peaks of her ears. Her knees went weak, mouth dropped open in pleasure even as her eyes snapped open. Her nerve endings came alive. Heat rippled through her from the points all the way to her belly.

  “What—” she gasped.

  A pleased, masculine growl rumbled in her ear.

  His hands traveled down her arms, smoothing across the skin he found so flawed. Somehow, she didn’t think he meant it as an insult. She’d seen the Fae for herself, so perfect they looked like stone. Perhaps he saw something alive in her. Something real.

  She arched her back as one of his hands trailed across her collarbone. He nibbled at her ear, scraping both teeth and crystal against the sensitive flesh. His hands traveled further, fingers trailing along the gaping, oversized neckline of her dress. She thought surely her mind would fracture from the pleasure as his hands ghosted over the soft swells of her breasts.

  Until the air went cold.

  His breathing changed. The hot gusts of breath stilled to calm, measured inhalations. He pulled a long strand of web from her shoulder, the sticky filaments stretching out across his fingers.

  “What is this?” he growled. “And you say you had no need for protection?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “You lie.” His eyes narrowed further, an entirely different beast staring at her through the windows of his soul.

  “I didn’t speak with anyone,” she whispered, cowering against the ivy. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want to hurt me.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you, and I will hold true to that vow. No more lies, little human. Why were you in Unseelie lands?”

  She swallowed and contemplated lying. How much should she tell him? The Queen wouldn’t want her running her mouth, and the information she held was a secret. Sorcha still didn’t know who had opened the portal from this side or if it was entirely the Queen’s doing.

  But he would know if she lied. She wasn’t certain how the Fae knew, if they tasted it in the air or could read body language. If he knew, then he would continue to push until she told the truth.

  Sorcha had never been a good liar. “I don’t know why I was there. The portal opened from this side, and there was information the Unseelie Queen wished to share with me.”

  “That portal can’t open on its own.”

  “I don’t think there are any Unseelie here.”

  His eyes darkened, storm clouds brewing in the vivid blue. “Oona.”

  “What?”

  He didn’t answer. The heat of his body disappeared, leaving her shivering and alone.

  “It’s probably better he left,” she said with a shaking sigh. But she didn’t believe the words. How could she when her body was quivering with unfulfilled pleasure?

  Was that how it felt for her sisters? Surely it couldn’t; they had no attachment to the men who came to the brothel.

  A memory surfaced of a blond man with his arms wrapped around Briana. Sorcha had caught them in an alcove outside the brothel, whispering words of endearments, the likes of which she’d never heard before. The soft press of lips to skin, the sound of gasps and sighs.

  Maybe they did know what this felt like, Sorcha thought. Maybe they’d had it ripped away from them so many times they forgot to tell her.

  Or they didn’t want to share. The moment felt so infinitely private that Sorcha wasn’t sure she could breathe a word of it. She tucked the memory into a hidden part of her soul for a time when she felt lost or discouraged.

  For a single moment in time, she had felt what it meant to be cherished.

  Her mind flared to life as the heat in her body disappeared.

  “Oona!” She gasped.

  He’d left thi
s bedroom with clear intent in his eyes. Anger had radiated from his skin like a physical being, his crystals glowing and shimmering with rage. Stone had promised he would never hurt her, but Sorcha had no way of knowing whether he promised the same to the faeries under his protection.

  She burst into motion, rushing from the room, and swinging herself over the bannister and down the stairs. There was no time for exhaustion, no hesitation nor second thoughts. Sorcha had to warn Oona, to rush her from the castle until she could figure out a way to calm him down if possible.

  As much as Stone knew his people’s families, he didn’t know them well enough to guess where they were. Most of the pixies on the isle slept with each other in Macha’s garden. They said it kept them safe and protected.

  Oona wasn’t like the others. She slept in the kitchens with the brownies, to make sure that her domain was clean every night.

  If Sorcha had observed Stone correctly, he would go to the pixie grotto first. Then he would go to the kitchens.

  She ran shoulder first into a door, busting through it so she could shorten her path to the kitchens. Stone’s legs were longer. He would be much faster, but he was operating through rage and nothing else. Sorcha was still thinking clearly.

  Rooms filled with covered furniture and shattered wood flickered through her vision as she ran through each long dead room. Spider webs tangled in her hair and dust covered her shoulders as she made the last jump and threw open the door to the glowing warmth of the kitchens.

  “Oona,” she frantically called. “Oona! Wake up!”

  A small mound in the corner shifted, and the pixie sat up. She didn’t don her glamour immediately. The round face didn't match the persona Oona had chosen for herself. The high peaks of her forehead resembled an oak leaf, violet tinges blushing the high tips and trailing down her shoulders onto her wings.

  “What? Who is it?”

  “Get up, Oona! He’s coming!”

  “What?” The pixie burst into movement, throwing blankets into the air and rushing towards Sorcha. “Where is he coming from?”

  “I’d assumed he would go to the grotto first.”

  A roar shook the door, coming from Macha’s fountain.

  Oona glanced over her shoulder. “You are correct. And now you know I am Unseelie.”

  “Yes.”

  “I did not mean to lie, but there are so many secrets in our world. The Queen wanted to see you, and I could not refuse.”

  “Oona he’s almost here!” Sorcha wrapped her hand around Oona’s forearm and tugged. “You’re coming with me. I know where to put you until he calms down.”

  “I won’t put you in harm’s way.”

  “I’m the only person in this castle that has nothing to fear from him, he gave me his word. Come with me!”

  Oona glanced at her in shock. “He promised what?”

  “If you don’t come with me now, I will carry you. Get moving!”

  “The master has never given anyone a promise of protection. Explain yourself, dearie.”

  Sorcha blew a breath at her hair. “Oona, I order you to follow me now.”

  Using the faerie’s name was harsh, but Sorcha could hear his footsteps pounding towards the kitchen. Their time was short.

  Oona’s spine straightened and fire flashed in her eyes. But she followed Sorcha when she turned and raced back the way she came.

  Sorcha tried to make their trail difficult to follow. She took them through different sections of the castle, hoping a long chase would quell some of his head. They passed broken statues, scuttling spiders, and ripped paintings of faeries she would never meet.

  “We’re almost there,” her harsh whisper barely audible over the pounding of their feet. “So close, Oona. Keep up.”

  The faerie ran faster.

  Sorcha slid around a corner, skidding until her spine hit the wall with a harsh thunk. The air whooshed from her lungs, but she forced herself to keep going. She didn’t know what Stone planned on doing. The fear in Oona’s eyes spoke volumes, and it was enough for her to steal the faerie away.

  Her gut said Stone would regret any judgement he made in anger. These faeries had dedicated their lives to him. They weren’t slaves, they weren’t servants, and he had no right to harm them. Even if they made mistakes.

  She slammed into the carved wall and pressed the stone in the sword’s pommel. The grating grind echoed. Stone’s enraged shout was far closer than she hoped.

  Sorcha grabbed Oona’s shoulders and shook her. “You listen to me. There’s a bathroom in the back corner with a hot spring. Get into the springs and do not come out until I come get you. Do you hear me?”

  “You’re putting yourself in danger for no reason, dearie. Don’t worry yourself with me. I’ve lived a full life.”

  “And I would have you live more. Oona, I order you to hide in the hot springs.”

  The faerie’s spine stiffened, and she disappeared into Sorcha’s bedroom.

  “Now that’s taken care of.” She stepped farther away from the carving and the groaning stone slid back into place. “Let's deal with the last bit.”

  She slid her fingers around the sword pommel, wiggling and gripping until she felt it give away. The tiny nub of stone slid into her hand with little complaint.

  “And you're coming with me.” Sorcha stuck it between her breasts for safe keeping.

  Then she turned, pressed her spine against the carving, and waited.

  She didn’t have to wait long. He came barreling around the corner like a bull, sides heaving and crystals casting violet light onto the floors and walls.

  He pointed a finger and shouted, “You defy me?”

  “I do.”

  Stone walked towards her, each step a deliberate movement filled with aggression and power. She likened the movement to the first night she’d seen him. Intimidation was his purpose, and the first night she had been frightened.

  She refused to be this time. Sorcha tilted her head back and met his gaze with a set jaw. “I’m not letting you get to her.”

  “She is mine to punish. An Unseelie living under my roof has no right to live.”

  “She is no one’s but her own. You have no right to punish her for begging my help. If you want to punish someone, then punish me.”

  He hesitated. “You?”

  “I walked into that portal without anyone telling me to. If you require someone to scream and shout your anger at, then it should be me!”

  “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

  “I knew precisely what I was doing! I was raised with stories of the Fae. I left offerings and sacrifices to your people since I was a child. Unseelie lands are legend, and I assure you, I know all its dangers. I did not eat nor drink. I spoke to as few people as possible—”

  “You spoke to unknown Fae?” he interrupted.

  “I spoke to those who were necessary, and Bran helped me back. What more do you want, Stone?”

  Angry breaths expelled from his body in short huffs. “You should have asked for my help.”

  “Which you couldn’t have provided! You are stuck here with the rest of them.”

  “I would have given you a weapon to take with you!” he shouted

  Sorcha matched his tone and screamed back, “I wouldn’t have used it! I heal people, I don’t attack them, Stone!”

  “My name is not Stone!”

  The walls creaked as his thunderous shout struck the stones. The carvings behind her quaked, and the floor shook with the force of his rage. He turned from her, his shoulders shaking with anger.

  And fear, she realized as the light of his crystals dimmed. He had been frightened for her and waiting for her to return had only caused the fear to fester.

  Sorcha’s own anger dimmed.

  “Then what would you have me call you?” she whispered quietly as she stepped forward. “Master? King? Lord? There is nothing else for me to say.”

  “I would have you call me by name, if it were possible.”

 
“And why isn’t it possible?” Daring to reach forward, she placed her hand against his back. Though fabric covered his skin, the dips of crystal gashes were easy to find. She slid her fingers into the wounded valley to hold him in place. “You already know my given name.”

  “A human in possession of a Tuatha dé Danann’s name is far too powerful.”

  “Why? Do you fear I might order you to kill someone for me? To steal?”

  “I fear that you would ask me to lay the world at your feet.” He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes searing through her calm resolve. “And it would be all too easy to do.”

  He walked away from her, each footstep measured as if he were trying not to run. Her hand slid from his back, out of the grooves of crystals that bit at her fingers.

  She did not stop him, nor was she certain that she could. The sheer force of his power frightened her. But it was the blunt terror of his words that held her in place.

  Would she ask for the world?

  Sorcha didn’t know.

  It was some time before she walked back into her bedroom. Sorcha’s mind whirled with the possibilities of what he had meant, what that meant for their relationship. Was that a declaration of intent?

  Did he feel something for her? Did she feel something for him?

  She wasn’t certain. She knew that his eyes haunted her dreams, that his tortured body was intriguing rather than fearsome. Did she want him? The violent reaction of her body to his suggested she might.

  How would that even work? He was so much larger than her, surely he would crush her if she even attempted to have relations with him. And a part of her questioned whether she wanted him or the protection he could provide.

  Would that make her a whore like her sisters? Was payment the requirement that divided easy women and business women?

  Sorcha feared she would never know. And did it matter? Her sisters gave pleasure and reassurance to those who might not have it in any other way. If they derived pleasure from their job, then they should continue it. She would not judge them.

  She pulled the small stone from between her breasts, staring down at the carved marble gemstone. Her mind stilled, thoughts narrowing down to one question which loomed above all others.

  Would he have hurt Oona?