But inside, all I’m greeted with is Gentry, dressed down and sitting in front of a small feast. He’s swapped out his cloak and tunic for a lightweight cotton shirt, one that hangs loose around his neck. I can see the bare skin of his chest, the sharp cut of his pectorals sloping into his collarbone. I suck in a slight breath and force myself to look away. I don’t like where my train of thought is going.
Gentry glaces up, eyes flickering over the length of my body as I stand in the doorway. I notice that his eyes seem to hover just a little longer on the curve of my hips, the all-too-slight swell of my breasts—but I’m sure I must have just imagined it.
“Miss Gallagher,” he says, welcoming me with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Please. Sit.”
I’m tempted to stand, just to spite him. But after the day I’ve had, I’m not sure how much longer it’s going to be until my legs give out. I march over to the table, pulling out a chair with a noisy screech and plopping myself down so hard that the sturdy wood groans underneath me. Gentry raises a brow, but otherwise says nothing about my entrance.
“Are you hungry?” He nods toward the spread in front of him, plucking an apple from a bowl and raising it in his hand. “You must be. Help yourself, please.”
I eye the food. I’m not gonna lie—it looks amazing. Just as good as the stuff that I had seen in the great hall, maybe better. Duck and pheasant and big golden rolls dripping with butter. But somewhere in the back of my mind, an old warning rattles around—something passed down from my parents to me, and my grandma before them, and my great-grandparents before her.
Never take gifts from a fae.
“Fuck you,” I snap. “You think you can trick me that easy?”
“I assure you, there’s nothing wrong with it.” He stabs his fork into the potatoes on his plate, taking a bite. “See?” he says. “Not poisoned.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about and you know it.”
“That old Slayborn myth about fae food?” Gentry snorts. “And I suppose next you’ll be telling me that we eat our changelings.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Well, as you can see, we eat quite a far stretch better than that. Eat it, don’t eat it. I don’t care. But your tales don’t say anything about wine, do they?”
He shoves a bottle toward me—sweet and gold, thick as honey. The buzz from the whiskey is wearing off fast at this point, and all of the bruises are coming screaming to attention from head to toe. And you know, I really don’t remember the childhood tales mentioning booze. It’s not technically a gift anyway, right? More like a bribe.
I grab the wine and pour myself a generous glass, taking a deep sip. I’ve had a lot of wine in my day—cheap boxed mixes, mid-range bottles meant to impress on third dates, high-end shit meant to impress on first dates—but this is by far the best red, white, or in-between that I’ve ever had. I take another deep sip, any thoughts of pacing myself flying out the window.
“You know, Miss Gallagher,” Gentry begins, pouring himself a glass as well, “you and I aren’t so different.”
“Oh, good Lord. This speech?” I roll my eyes. “I guess you’re right. We do both love speaking in cliches, oh tall, handsome stranger.”
Gentry smirks over the rim of his wine glass. “We were both born into where we stand today,” he says. “You, a Slayborn. I, a king.”
I snort. “Well, sort of.”
Gentry shoots me a short glare, and despite the temptation to egg him on more, I fall silent. The cut on my thigh from earlier is still smarting.
“We were both destined to do great things,” Gentry continues, “and our parents were both unjustly slain.”
“Unjustly?” I set my glass down on the table much harder than necessary. It’s a wonder the stem doesn’t snap. “Your father was a murderer, just like you. I’ve heard the stories. Mine killed to protect people, not for shits and giggles!”
“The third thing that we have in common,” Gentry goes on, as if I didn’t speak, “is that we’ve both been betrayed by those close to us.”
“Look, buddy,” I growl, splaying my fingers out over the table. “Ever since you slaughtered my parents, I haven’t had anyone close enough to betray me.”
“Our parents knew each other. Quite well, actually. I had tea with them once as a boy.”
“Shut the fuck up. You did not.”
“I most certainly did.” Gentry raises a brow, sipping his wine. I could swear from the spark in his eye that he’s amused right now. “I presume people must tell you that you have your mother’s eyes.”
“I told you,” I snarl, “to shut the fuck up.
“Your parents approached my father,” Gentry says. “They were concerned about the growing divide between man and fae. The war between Slayborn and Unseelie. They came to plead their case in front of his court, at great risk to themselves and the others who followed.”
I don’t believe a word that slithers its way out of the man’s lips. But I still sit back and listen.
“They made a vow to my father that they would protect both man and fae. Seelie and Unseelie alike. And your parents kept true to their word.” Gentry shakes his head, expression darkening. “The Làidir learned of their cause. They were accused of treason against the Order. Blasphemy. Your parents were given the choice of renouncing their vow or facing death. But when they realized that it wouldn’t just be the two of them that would be sentenced to die—” Gentry gives me a pointed once-over “—they renounced their vow. They moved to California, started their family, and continued the Slayborn bloodline. And though they betrayed my father, even he could understand the reasoning behind it. He had his own children, after all.”
“But you didn’t.” I scoff. “So you decide to go on a little temper tantrum and chop off a few heads.”
“It’s true, I’ve made some...mistakes.” A muscle twitches in Gentry’s jaw. “I admit, the Dublin attack was foolish. Reckless. Achieved in a fit of passion.”
“Why? What in the hell would possibly drive a robot like you to murder like that? Is is the thrill? The power? Or does it just get your dick—”
“Enough,” Gentry snaps. “I’ve killed for the same reason you wish to kill me, Miss Gallagher. Revenge.”
That shuts me up for a moment.
“My father was murdered,” Gentry continues, more softly this time. “I’m sure you can understand how that feels.”
“But not by my parents,” I croak out. “Not all the others you and your fucking goons and your fucking Dullahan Riders have murdered.”
Gentry freezes mid-sip, silver eyes shifting to meet mine. His voice deepens an octave. “What do you know of the Dullahan?”
“I know that they slaughtered an entire house full of Slayborn,” I spit back. “San Francisco. Ring a bell?”
“Berkeley, I assure you, if there was a massacre in your hometown then I had nothing to do with it.” Gentry leans forward. He looks genuinely concerned. “I don’t control the Dullahan. I haven’t for some time now. I exiled them from the Court years ago.”
I let out a scoff, though it doesn’t sound sincere even to my own ears. “Oh yeah?” I ask. “Then who controls them now? They gone rogue? Taking group vacations across the States?”
“Seamus Blake.” Gentry spits out the name like a curse. “The Dullahan are little more than mercenaries. All he had to do was offer them weapons, payment. Blood. They were happy to oblige.” He stands, heaving a sigh. “It was the Dullahan who killed my father, under Seamus’s orders.”
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“He had his reasons, however misguided.”
“And what were your reasons for murdering everyone at the Dublin Làidir summit, huh? If it really was Seamus who killed dear old dad, why not—I dunno—kill him instead?”
“I didn’t know it was him,” Gentry admits. “Nor the Dullahan. No. For the longest time, I was so sure that your parents had been the ones behind it.”
“My paren
ts? Why would they have been behind it? You just said yourself that they were buddy-buddy with your dad.”
“Because they were here the day that he died.”
I pause at that. “What? Why would they be here? They were supposed to be at the summit with the rest of the Làidir.”
“They were supposed to be, yes.” Gentry nods. “But my father sent an envoy inviting them here. They came one night to discuss the cause that they had supported so long ago. My father had never truly given up hope that Slayborn and Unseelie could rectify their differences, and I truly believe that you parents hadn’t either. But that night, when your parents arrived, the Dullahan were waiting. They slaughtered my father, and after your parents escaped, they told me it had been them who did it.”
Gentry wanders over to the fireplace, leaning up against the wall. The light flickers across his slender frame, highlighting the outline of every muscle underneath his shirt. He’s long and lean, with broad shoulders and slender hips that definitely lend themselves to a quick fight.
When he looks back up at me, though, the sharp lines of his face look almost tired. I could swear that there are dark circles under those perfect eyes. I almost have the strange urge to go over to him, to reach out and touch him.
He just looks so...human, right now.
“How could you possibly know all this?” I ask. “If you went all medieval on those Slayborn like that—whose head could have possibly stayed on long enough to talk?”
Gentry bites his lip, looking me over before wandering back to the table. “Because I asked them,” he says. “Your parents. I...interrogated them.”
“What? So you tortured them before you murdered them, is that the fuck it?”
“I did torture them.” Gentry sounds so casual about it. So blase. I want to punch him in the nose. Maybe give it a bit of a crook. My hands inch toward the butter knife sitting next to my plate, but Gentry doesn’t miss the motion. He whips it out from under me, giving me the sort of stare that you might give to a naughty child. “Let me finish,” he says. “I did torture them. But I didn’t kill them.”
“Then who did?” I snap. “Let me guess. Your good ol’ scapegoat, Seamus?”
“Since I last checked, no one has.”
I start to let out a scoff—an automatic response to Gentry’s obvious bullshit—but then my brain really processes what he just said.
No one has.
“What do you mean?” I ask, slowly. My voice trembles. “They found the bodies. The...the heads. I helped to fucking ID them.”
Gentry shakes his head, looking at me through tousled blond locks. “No. They found two changeling bodies I sent in their stead. Your parents were never at the Dublin summit.”
“No,” I say, my voice a rasping whisper. “No. You’re lying. You Unseelie sack of shit, you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” Gentry says, eyes flashing. “Your parents are alive, Berkeley Gallagher. And they want to talk to you.”
Chapter Fifteen
White Knight
“Where are they?”
I stand so fast that I knock the chair out from underneath me, my wine sloshing over and spilling onto the table. Gentry stands just as fast, holding up a calming hand.
“They’re not here,” he says. Though his voice is gentle, I can tell that he’s tensed to pounce if I make a wrong move. My head is light, dizzy despite the fact that every droplet of blood in my body seems to have rushed to my brain. It pounds past my ears, making it nearly impossible to think. That and the fog of wine seeping through my mind.
“I took them,” he says. “As they fled, I sent my guard to capture them and bring them here. I wanted answers. I wanted to know why they killed my father. And I wanted them to die much, much more slowly than those changelings did.
“But no matter what I did, what I said, what I asked, their story remained true. And eventually, I began to see the cracks in mine. What reason did they have to kill my father? Why would they risk the life of their only daughter? The one they sacrificed so much to keep safe all this time?
“And so I agreed to set them free,” Gentry continues, taking a seat once more and motioning for me to follow suit. “To hide them under the protection of the Seelie Court, far up in the mountains. They live under a Veil that even the Dullahan can’t pass. Your grandmother helped to get them there at my request.”
Even Meemaw knew. Was I the only one who was out of the fucking loop?
“Say I do believe you.” I struggle to keep my voice even. “Not that I do. But hypothetically—if my parents are alive, then why am I hearing about it just now? Why didn’t they call? Write? Why haven’t I heard a fucking word from them in four fucking years?” I almost don’t realize that my voice has risen to a crescendo, my shouting rattling the glasses on the table.
Gentry waits patiently until I’m finished. “What do you think the Dullahan would have done, had your parents stepped foot outside of their Veil?” Gentry’s voice is dead calm. Cold. “If they had sent a letter stamped to you?”
“If they’re alive,” I say, fingers curling around the edge of the table, “then prove it. Take me to them, and maybe I’ll believe your ridiculous story.”
“In time, I can,” Gentry says. “But only under one condition.”
Fuck’s sake. There’s always a catch, isn’t there? Fae never do anything for free. I narrow my eyes, purse my lips. “What’d you have in mind? Need me to murder some babies for you? Maybe take out some women and children while I’m at it?”
“Join me.”
That shuts me up pretty effectively. Whatever I was expecting him to say, it sure as hell wasn’t that. I stammer, mouth opening and closing like a dying goldfish, staring at him in sheer disbelief. After everything he’s done to me, he really expects me to join him?
Even if he’s telling the truth and didn’t kill my parents, he’s still responsible for the murders of plenty of other Slayborn. Add to that kidnapping, beating, forcible bathing—I come to a firm decision that this guy can go fuck himself.
“Nope, I think I’m good.” I turn my nose up, reaching for the remaining wine. Instead of pouring it into my glass, I take a swig straight from the bottle. “I don’t work for lying, manipulative sons of bitches like you.”
Gentry whips toward me, a scowl across his normally stoic face. His cheeks flush, his eyes glint in the firelight, and I’m a little bit taken aback—when he drops the robot facade, he’s surprisingly handsome. I draw an involuntary breath, almost a gasp, and when he leans in until we’re almost nose to nose.
“I’m offering you what you’ve always wanted, Miss Gallagher.”
“And what’s that? Enlighten me.”
“You want to avenge your parents, don’t you? They might be alive, but Seamus still exiled them for four years. Took them from you. It’s he you should be fighting, not the Unseelie. If you join my knights, you can kill him. You can be the one to drive a sword through his gut and end the war.”
I scoff. “You know, I don’t know who to fucking believe anymore. You assholes are all rhymes and riddles and I’m goddamn sick of it. No one tells the fucking truth around here.”
“I assure you, I wouldn’t lie about matters this important.” Gentry gives me a hard stare. “If you don’t accept my offer—if you reject the knighthood—there’s nothing I can do to protect you.”
Good God. Another goddamn White Knight prancing up on his valiant steed. A horse with two asses.
“I don’t need your protection, Gentry,” I snap. “And I don’t want it. I can take care of myself.” And with that I make for the door, hurrying to leave before he can get another word in edgewise. I need to get out of here. I’ll fight my way out if I have to. Anything is better than being stuck in a room with this asshole.
Of course, the Underking stops me. I have no idea how he moved so fast, or how I didn’t hear him coming; but before I can reach the wrought iron chamber door handle he whips me back, gently pinning me against the wall.
/> Though his grip is light enough that I could break it if I wanted to, I’m too stunned to move. Gentry is all but pressed up against me, his body surprisingly warm—warmer than I had been expecting. For some reason, I had assumed his skin would feel like ice. But when his hand reaches out and grazes against mine, it’s like a trail sears into the delicate flesh there.
“Seamus and his Slayborn will kill you,” he murmurs, eyes bright as he studies my face. “Even if you escape, he’ll send the Dullahan after you.”
“Then I’ll just have to kill them all,” I breathe. “Seamus, and his Slayborn, and those headless bastards.”
He shakes his head, frowning. “You can’t take them all. You’re an impressive fighter, Berkeley, but they will kill you before you get to Seamus. Stay here with me, under my protection. We can fight Seamus Blake together, when the time is right.”
I actually consider what he says. I really do. But him, Seamus, even Castor—I have no idea who to trust anymore. It’s like I always knew. I’m better off on my own. The only person in this entire shithole of a planet that I know I can trust is me.
Christ, is that depressing.
“No,” I finally say, giving my head a vicious shake. “You can kill me right here, or try to torture me into submission, or whatever the hell plan you have boiling up in that sick mind of yours, but I’m not falling for whatever game you’re playing here.”
“There’s no game.” Gentry pulls back, almost as if he knows he’s already lost. “You’re a talented fighter, just as your parents were. You would make a fine addition to my forces.”
“So are you gonna keep me here, then?” I snarl. “You gonna fucking detain me, officer?”
Gentry heaves a sigh, grabbing the bottle of wine from the table and taking a swig himself.
“No, Miss Gallagher,” he mutters. “You are free to leave.”
Honestly, I’m surprised that Gentry keeps his word. Though I get plenty of glares as I walk by, and the occasional insult, no one attacks me. No one so much as even approaches.
Slayborn Page 10
