by Sarah Makela
But she’d been too slow. Before she had a chance to see the cause, Honora was crushed against a hard body, facing away from her captor. The hand on her knife was held in place near her belt. She jerked, trying to free herself, but it was like being captive by a wall of muscle. The person behind her didn’t give way.
Warm breath tickled her ear. “What are you doing in my home?” The deep voice promised dark things, and she couldn’t help but squirm a little at the onslaught of images rushing through her head—her standing naked as her faceless captor thrust into her, harder and faster, taking all she had to offer and giving much more.
Her chest rose and fell with her panting. This wasn’t the time or place, yet the dull ache between her legs begged to differ.
She remembered the last time she’d felt this vulnerable. Memories of her family’s deaths and the horrible pain she’d felt stopped her desire cold.
“I knocked, but no one answered. I took shelter from...” How I am supposed to answer? Humans knew a little of what lurked in the shadows, especially those who resided around here, but she wouldn’t tell this man more than she had to.
“From?” he prompted, his slight Irish accent catching her attention.
“From the dark.”
“Ah, I see.” He chuckled. “Much good that will do you here.” The easy humor of his voice relaxed her, but something about what he’d said triggered warning bells. The world spun. No, wait, it was her.
She raised her eyes to stare into his—they were nearly black. The man’s pale skin reminded her of the moon’s glow. His raven-black hair trailed to below his shoulders and pale, pointed ears peeked from the dark mane. Cursing, she recognized what this man...creature...was. A dark elf.
Her hand lifted the throwing knife, but he squeezed her wrist in a sharp gesture. Pain shot through her arm and the knife fell from her grip, landing with a metallic thud on the floor beside them. Magic churned within his touch. Magic that shivered along her skin, tugging at things low in her stomach.
No bloody way!
She raised her free hand to throw a fireball at him, but he grabbed her wrists, twisting her arms behind her back. The dark elf shifted his steely grip to hold her wrists with one strong hand. Twisting and bucking only brushed her soft breasts against his hard chest. Moisture pooled between her legs.
“Release me,” she said.
He dropped his gaze to her chest where her cloak had fallen away, showing her pert nipples through her linen shirt. “I don’t think you want me to.” A fierce grin formed on his lips.
“Release me now! I will not ask again.” She brought her knee up, but he easily blocked her.
“And what will you do if I don’t?” He stared back into her eyes.
“I’ll have to hurt you.” Not that she’d normally have a problem with that, but for some reason this dark elf distracted her, awakened inexplicable desires within her. His kind had killed her family, yet...
She shook her head, ridding herself of excuses for why she shouldn’t kill this being.
The dark elf leaned in until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. “That’s a big promise for someone in your predicament.”
“What?”
“So vulnerable, so ready to take.” Smirking, he glanced at her lips. “I might even offer my assistance.” He slid his hand along her side to the pants she wore and arched an eyebrow. “You’re a woman. These pants don’t suit you.” He tsked, dipping his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt and stroking the flesh of her belly.
Honora jerked back, squirming in his grip. “You know nothing about me.”
He released her in the midst of her pulling away and she fell, landing on her butt on the hard stone floor. Her hand dropped to her hip where she kept her throwing daggers, but they were gone. She looked up to see him waving them at her.
She’d teach him not to mess with her weapons. Extending her hand towards them, she focused her power. Her magic shimmered in the air, filling the blades with fiery heat.
The blades thumped to the ground by the dark elf’s feet. He hissed in pain, examining the red skin of his finger and thumb.
She shoved the knives into her sheath, then crawled away from him. He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t stop her.
Soon, she was near the hearth. Warmth caressed her back and the softness of the bed brushed against her fingertips. “Who are you?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to find out.
He stared at her, his lips a tight, thin line. His only movement was the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
If she went for her weapons, he’d be on top of her. Although, she tried to convince herself, she could take him down, even if it killed her too. Yet her body betrayed her, yearning for something other than violence from him. Besides, he seemed nothing like the other dark elves she’d seen.
At last he spoke. “Why should I tell you who I am, mercenary?”
Her teeth clenched and she narrowed her eyes. What does he know about me?
He sighed. “You wear their emblem.”
She brushed her fingertips against the guild’s brooch on her cloak. “You don’t fear me.”
“Why should I? You’ve not been good at your assault thus far.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I am Brennan. And you are?”
It was her turn to stare. Did she dare tell him her name? He might give it to his fellow dark elves and the other Unseelie beings. She didn’t want to risk it, not with her recent kills.
She kept her mouth closed.
Brennan strode towards her and he crouched out of arm’s reach. “There’s something about you, you know. Your coloring, your physique, the power inside you.” He smirked. “We’re more alike than you realize.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about? We’re nothing alike.”
His smile widened, but he didn’t clarify. “What shall you do? Stay in my hall? Leave?”
Honora glanced at the door behind him. Movement caught her attention, but it was too late. Pain ripped through her head. Her body fell back against the soft sleeping mat as darkness consumed her.
* * *
Brennan watched the lady mercenary’s chest rise and fall steadily. Golden light from the flames reflected on her paler-than-human skin. His suspicions solidified. This woman was part dark elf, whether she realized it or not. Although he guessed not, since she hadn’t caught what he’d said.
Raking his hand through his hair, he considered what to do about her. As she’d said, he knew nothing of her—other than how his body reacted so strongly to hers. Apparently, the feelings were mutual. Her blushing skin, hard nipples and heavy breathing had given him all the signs.
However, he wouldn’t force himself on her. Even he knew where to draw boundaries—though others of the Unseelie Court wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
Brushing a dark strand of hair away from her cheek, he smiled. This female was different from any he’d encountered, even all the dark elves and faeries at the Unseelie Court. When she woke, she’d try to get away. He couldn’t allow that. Not yet.
Brennan scooped her into his arms, wondering at how light she was. He carried her to his private room. A pair of thick leather cuffs hung from the ceiling by a sturdy rope. He’d had them specially made, since iron acted like a poison to elves and faeries, and while he didn’t want to hurt her by using rope, he needed to be certain she couldn’t get loose.
He strode across the large room to the restraints, then slid her hands into them, closing the bronze buckles with a few deft strokes of his fingers. He let the cuffs hold her weight. Her knees bent, and her body slid against his.
Brennan resisted running his hands over her soft curves again. With a sigh, he pulled away. His gaze took in her gentle sway, then he walked over to the rope tied to the wall, which held her up. He pulled her bindings tighter until her heels lifted off the ground, then retied the rope. This woman had proven to be deadly, and he wouldn’t allow her the chance to be a danger to himself or his servants.
; Leaning against the wall, he watched the mysterious mercenary who had entered his home. Banging on the front door interrupted the moment, and he ground his teeth.
His anger swept icy magic from him, chilling the room despite the warmth from the candles. He reached the door just as the knocking started again. What could they possibly want? Who would be coming to his home this late?
He threw open the door. A woman with dark rich skin and a slender build stood on his doorstep. The drow, Aoife.
“Hello, Lord O’Niall,” she said, dropping into a deep curtsy, making sure he caught a glimpse of her ample cleavage. “You’ll never believe what I’ve heard.”
He admired her beauty, no doubt, but now wasn’t a good time. He dipped his head in a return bow. After all, he was nobility—while she pretended to be—and he did have some manners.
He knew Aoife kept an eye on him in hopes of gaining status; he didn’t blame her for hoping, but she’d need to wait quite a while, as he wouldn’t be spending any of his long lifetime with her.
“And what would that be?” he asked.
She looked expectantly over his shoulder as if waiting for an invitation inside before saying more. She wouldn’t be getting one tonight. After a few moments, her gaze met his, and a slight frown curved her lips.
“I heard there is a killer on the loose.” Dark humor lit her eyes, vanquishing the frown. “Some adventure around here after all. The Fear Dearg is dead, as well as a few other minor beings.” She waved her hand as if the deaths were of little consequence. “I’ve heard we should all be more careful.” Aoife pressed her hand to her mouth and laughed. “What could possibly happen?”
“Yes, I agree. Quite interesting.” Brennan folded his arms over his chest. His newfound mercenary made him wonder. Could she be involved with those deaths? Should he be cautious of her? She didn’t stand a chance against him—his abilities overpowered hers.
Aoife’s gaze dipped to the flexing of his arms. She licked her lips seductively, probably baiting him into allowing her in.
Not tonight. He had someone else in mind. Someone who made him burn with desire and need.
“I’m sure you’ll be wanted at court soon. The murderer will need to be dealt with.” A smirk slid across her lips. “Few things thrill our kind more than death and torture.”
That was true, however, if someone more powerful had been killed, immediate repercussions would be taken. This minor situation would linger a while at court.
“If you would like company—”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Good evening.” He nodded again and closed the door. A feminine scoff outside had him grinning as he turned away.
Copyright © 2012, 2015 Sarah Mäkelä. All rights reserved.
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Copyright © 2012, 2013, 2016 Sarah Mäkelä
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without expressed written permission from the author.
Editor: Katriena Knights
Cover Artist: A.C. James
ISBN-10: 1-942873-86-7
ISBN-13: 978-1-942873-86-0
