by Sophie Oak
Cian’s gray eyes rolled. “Yes, the warrior king requires backup. He’s not only the greatest warrior to rise from the Seelie in a thousand years, but he’s a storm lord, too. I think he can handle one small female. Now, spit it out, cos. What happened with your dad last night? Don’t lie. I know that look in my uncle’s face. I saw it when he caught me and Beck with his personal assistant ten years ago.”
Dante’s eyes went wide. “You two did Helena? Seriously? How did I not know that? She’s twenty years older than you.”
Cian’s smile was slightly lecherous. “She was very experienced. We were just young lads looking to learn. It was a beautiful afternoon that we got our asses kicked for. Uncle Alex had that look in his eyes last night. What’s going on?”
Dante shrugged as they passed a goblin vendor selling all manner of odd items. “He was a bit upset. He thinks there’s going to be some bad press about the DL.”
“I believe the talk shows labeled you ‘Asswipe of the Year,’” Cian confirmed. “I didn’t think that was a term serious journalists would use, but they seemed happy with it.”
“Stupid tabloids,” Dante cursed. They were always on his back. The paparazzi waited to capture his fuckups on tape for the world to see. “What do they want me to do? I didn’t even like many of those girls. Most of them just wanted to be DL stars. Should I have asked one to marry me so I didn’t look like a jerk and then break it off later?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone on the show in the first place,” Cian said with a sensibility that set Dante’s fangs on edge. “I find it hard to believe you were serious about finding a wife from twenty females desperate enough to share one man.”
He hadn’t been serious. He could admit that to himself. It had seemed like a fun way to waste some time while the bio-med unit worked on the sunscreen project. Dante had been surprised at how joyless dating twenty hot chicks was when there was always a camera around.
“Besides,” Cian was continuing, “it really works better the other way. You only have one dick, man. How are you going to keep that many women happy? It takes two of us to keep Meg happy. If you really want to go down that road, you should find a friend and get a woman between you.”
“I don’t want a ménage,” Dante growled. The last thing he needed was some dude in bed with him. It worked for Beck and Cian because they shared a soul. Dante had never shared anything, and wasn’t about to start now. “I don’t want anything at all, if I’m honest. I just don’t have that choice anymore.”
Cian stopped in the middle of the street, the dust churning under his feet. “What does that mean?”
“It means my father ordered me to get married or else,” Dante admitted harshly.
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dante sighed and began walking again. “He kicked me off the sunscreen project. He told me I can’t get back in until I have a consort at my side. He apparently thinks getting married will make me seem less like an asswipe.”
“You can’t get married just because your dad tells you to,” Cian insisted.
Dante snorted inelegantly. That was the pot calling the kettle black. “I don’t know why not. You were certainly going to, or have you forgotten a frigid filly named Maris? Are you trying to tell me it was your idea to bond with her?”
Before the civil war, Beck and Cian’s father had arranged their bonding with no thought to love. Dante remembered Maris. She’d been a highborn bondmate. She’d also been one of the coldest women he’d ever met. Cian couldn’t stand her. Many nights, Dante had listened to his cousin bemoan his fate.
“That was different,” Cian insisted.
A wave of rising irritation nipped at Dante’s patience. “Sure, cos. It was different because it was your father threatening you and your inheritance at stake. I remember how much you hated that woman, and you would have married her if fate hadn’t stepped in. I’m sure you would have stood up for yourself in the end. You would have told your father and Beck to go hell because you wanted to marry for love.” Dante’s sarcasm flowed through the room.
“That’s not fair, Dante.” Cian frowned.
“None of it is,” Dante shot back.
“And it was different. There was a kingdom at stake. I’m not trying to say I’m better than you. I don’t think that at all. I’m trying to tell you that you have choices. You have more freedom than Beck and I had.”
“Stay out of it, Ci. I’m going to do what I need to do, and that’s that. My father has always complained that I wasn’t willing to do what it takes. Well, I’ll show him.”
Dante hurried along, leaving his cousin with the perfect wife and happy life behind. He didn’t need a lecture from Cian. Cian was happily married. He had his brother to depend on. Dante’s sister treated him like he was still five years old. Come to think of it, everyone treated him like he was a child. He was thirty years old. He ran a business. He ran an arm of the family business. Of course, he had an assistant and a manager who did most of the daily work, but everyone had help. Not everyone was as efficient and organized as his sister. Not everyone wanted each minute of the day planned out to model efficient time management.
What, he asked himself brutally, did Cian expect him to do? Should he tell his father to go straight to the Hell plane and righteously pack his bags? Where would he live? How would he survive? He’d never gone without a day in his life. He liked being rich, and he was good at it.
A long wail split the air around him, and Dante stopped. It was the howl of an animal in pain.
“What the hell was that?” Cian asked with a hitch in his breath.
“I think that’s our guest,” Beck replied.
Beck broke into a run, his long legs eating the distance to the tent. Meg struggled to keep up with him. While Beck ran ahead, Cian took their wife’s hand and hurried her along. Dante jogged, easily catching up and matching Beck’s stride.
There was a crowd outside the large tent, though he noticed they gave the place a wide berth as though what was inside was too terrible for them to get too close to it. It was easy for Dante to fight his way to the front.
All around him, the people and creatures whispered in hushed tones. They talked about the animal in her cage and wondered if the bars were enough to keep her from their children. Savage, one called her. Brutal. Some spoke of her attempting to eat the little gnomes assigned to care for her.
Maybe he would rethink the whole getting-married plan. Maybe Rhys had another, less hostile consort he could buy. He didn’t need to die to prove this point to his father. A nice, homely, uneducated rube would do nicely. He wanted her to shock his father, not cannibalize him.
“Rhys, what’s going on now?” Beck asked.
A small man with a pointy red hat moved toward Beck and Cian, who had taken his place beside his brother. Dante felt Meg at his side, but he was watching the gnome. Rhys of the Gentle Hills, who had served the Finn family for decades, bowed deeply.
“Your Highness,” the gnome said, nodding to each of the Fae royals. “I am sorry to have bothered you, sir. I simply do not know what to do with the lass. She is completely feral. The demon gave us a potion to keep her weak. We’ve given it to her every day, hiding it in the water she drinks, but I fear it doesn’t work. She wouldn’t eat for the first three days she was here until Cara had the idea to give her raw flesh. She is an animal, sire. Though I am loath to do it, I must ask you to put her out of her misery.”
“No,” Meg argued instantly. She rushed to her husbands.
Dante held his tongue. The sounds coming out of the tent made him think that maybe Rhys was right. There was a long, loud howl. He wasn’t sure how a sound like that came from a thinking being. It was primal. The sound was pure rage.
“Meggie, calm down,” Beck commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dark bark. Meg’s head dropped immediately.
“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.
Beck’s hand came out to lift her face up. The harsh lines left his
brow, and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll do what I can, Meggie mine. Trust me.”
She smiled up at him, though Dante could see tears unshed in her eyes. “Always, baby.”
Beck looked back at the gnome. He pulled his sword off the scabbard on his back and held it at his side. “Let’s see her, then.”
The flap of the tent was pulled back, and Dante found himself following his cousin.
To his heightened senses, the room was quite pungent. Whoa. He checked his gag reflex.
“I am sorry, sire,” Rhys apologized, his face reddening. “We have not been able to clean her. She is filthy. When we attempt to get close, she tries to bite and scratch. She growls like an animal. It is the only language she seems to know.”
“I thought I gave you translator implants,” Dante heard himself saying. His eyes adjusted as the sunglasses flowed back into his jacket. It was dark in the tent. All of the flaps that would allow light in had been closed. There was a single candle burning, and only a bit of light filtered through the canvas at this time of the day. The place felt a bit like a pit. Or a tomb.
Rhys snorted. “As if we could get close enough to get one in her. We’ve barely managed to keep her fed and to give her the medication the demon claims she needs. I don’t know what the bugger was thinking bringing me an animal to sell. She’s not fit for any society.”
Whatever else was said, Dante missed because he caught his first glimpse of the female in question. Through the gloom, he saw a slender figure move to the bars of a cage. He could see nothing of her face, but her form moved, flowed, toward the front of the cage.
The cage was the largest of the ones kept in the tent. A “mate cage,” as the Fae called them, was supposed to be for show. It was a tradition that was passed down through the centuries. They were richly decorated. There were carpets covering the dirt floor and soft mattresses with fine blankets for the women to rest on. The blankets and pillows had been torn apart in the girl’s cage. It was a chaotic mess, but still neater than the female herself.
She glowed. Like all consorts, there was an aura about her that a vampire couldn’t mistake. His cousins might need to physically touch her to know that she was an adequate bondmate, but Dante could plainly see it. She glowed like Meg glowed. He wondered, seriously wondered, exactly how sweet she would taste. After she’d been properly cleaned, he thought with a shudder.
Dante’s eyes adjusted to the low light. He studied the woman.
Her brown hair was matted. He couldn’t tell how long it was, but there was an awful lot of it. She was covered in dirt and other things Dante didn’t want to recognize. He was surprised to find her naked. Rhys would have given her robes to wear when she wasn’t on display. Her small breasts were round, and Dante couldn’t help but think they would make a sweet handful. She was slender, but her hips flared in a pleasing way. She would be lovely when she was clean. She sniffed the air around her and growled low in her throat at the newcomers.
“You see, Your Highness, she is completely feral. There is no intelligence,” Rhys said.
“Bullshit,” Dante muttered, not taking his eyes off the woman for a second. The woman in the cage was baring her teeth, but he was looking at her eyes. They were a startling blue. They looked like seas of the tropics on his home plane, blue and clear, and he felt like he could see deep down to her soul. He stared, quite caught in her eyes.
The woman rattled the cage viciously. Her small hands wrapped around the bars as though she could pull them apart with nothing but her own will. She howled, but Dante could hear something beneath the seemingly chaotic sounds.
“Befria mig.” She said it over and over again. He didn’t recognize the language, but it was there all the same.
“Befria mig?” Dante tasted the words, trying to make sense of them. Vampires were known for being very talented with languages, and his innate skills told him that this seemingly feral woman was trying to communicate.
The female stopped suddenly, her hands falling away from the bars. She stood up, where before she seemed inclined to prowl, as though more used to four legs than two. She stood properly now, and all of her attention was on Dante.
“Hjälp mig, behaga min herre,” she said plainly. Her stark blue eyes were filled now with tears.
“Not intelligent?” Beck asked. Dante could feel the iciness in the query.
Rhys sputtered, staring up at his king. “Sire, I…”
Dante ignored the small argument between the Fae. He stepped toward the woman, trying to ignore the smell. “I don’t speak your language, sweetheart.” He pulled a translator implant out of his pocket. He always had a couple. He held it up. “I need to place this behind your ear.” He pointed to a small spot behind his own ear where the translator would be deployed. “Then we can understand each other.”
“Befria mig?” the woman asked, her voice almost timid now, as though she didn’t quite believe him. This close, Dante could see her high cheekbones and the delicate planes of her face. Her cheeks were soft and her chin a stubborn line.
Dante gave her his most reassuring smile. He could handle this. He could handle this better than Beck, who had just planned on brute force. Dante could show them all that diplomacy and charm worked just as well. “Sure, sweetheart. Let me get the translator in and we’ll ‘befria mig’ all you like.”
“Mr. Dellacourt, I would not do that if I were you,” Rhys warned him.
“It’s fine,” Dante said. He had this. He moved toward her. “Give me the keys.”
Rhys pursed his lips together as though he would argue further. His small hands didn’t move toward the keys on his belt. Dante gave his cousin an impatient glance.
“It’s one small female, Beck,” Dante said, irritated that yet again someone thought he couldn’t do something. She was petite, and her eyes were soft and pleading. “I think I can handle her.”
“Well, if you can’t, I’m sure I can,” Beck allowed, his hand still on the sword, but his arm had relaxed. He stood in the center of the room, blocking the way out. He was a broad, reassuring figure. “Rhys, open the cage. Let Dante have a try with her. I would hate to kill her if this is all just a misunderstanding.”
The gnome didn’t hesitate when his king ordered him. Rhys moved immediately, pulling the correct key off his belt and turning it in the heavy lock that separated the female from her freedom.
Dante watched her, strangely fascinated by the creature in the cage. Every muscle in her slender body was taut as the small gnome slowly pulled back the door. Her eyes flicked suspiciously about the room as though she were waiting for something terrible to happen. Was she frightened? She’d been thrown into a world she obviously didn’t understand. At least Meg had spoken the language. This poor thing didn’t even have that comfort. Dante felt a wealth of sympathy rise for her.
Moving cautiously toward her, he kept his hands out, attempting to show her he had no weapons, just the tiny translator that would painlessly burrow into her and attach itself to her brain thereby allowing her to understand the known languages of the planes. Dante really hoped it worked as quickly as it was supposed to work. Even if the language was unknown, the computer would work to decode it. It shouldn’t take long before he could talk to the little creature in front of him. Then they would discuss hygiene.
She took a step back when she realized he was coming in. She went down on her feet. She crouched low, her knuckles grazing the floor. She looked tense, as though prepared to pounce.
“It’s all right,” he cajoled. He suspected she was quite lovely under all that grime. The bones of her face were delicate, but well defined. Her eyes were wide and her lips…he knew a lot of women on his plane who paid money to get lips like that. And she was young. She was too young to have eyes so wary.
He saw the minute her eyes changed from wary to aggressive.
Beck had moved closer, and the female had caught a glimpse of the sword in his hand. She growled and went after the only target she could get to—Dante.
Chapter Three
Dante felt his head smash against the iron bars of the cage as the female slammed into his body. She was slight, but he was shocked by the strength in her delicate frame. She didn’t feel insubstantial as she pressed down on him. She wrapped a hand around his throat.
“Get away from him!” Beck’s command roared through the tent.
The woman snarled as she looked to the king of the Seelie Fae. “Låt mig gå, eller ska jag doda honom.”
Dante’s head was throbbing, and there was something about the hand at his throat that was bringing out the beast in him. He looked up at the slender feminine body that crouched in a dominating fashion, and he felt something break inside of him. Too much. It was too much for a man to take. First his father, then Beck, and now this slip of a woman thought he was less than a man. His heart began to pound. His fangs lengthened in anger, rather than arousal, though he admitted that was present as well. He could smell her now. He smelled past the filth to the woman under the dirt. The smell was strangely familiar, as though something primal in him recognized her on a base level.
Beneath the filth, there was a sweetness. It was there, hidden under the dirt and bravado. She thought she could hide it from him? A dark need began to twist in Dante’s gut. It was totally foreign and a little frightening.
And it was far too powerful to ignore.
“Dante, just stay calm, and I’ll get you out of this.” Beck’s words were meant to be reassuring, but all Dante heard was that Beck intended to get between him and the female.
The female had attacked him. She had put him on his back and laid her hands on his throat as though he were some submissive, soft thing to bargain with. He didn’t know exactly what her words meant, but he understood. She was using him. She was threatening to kill him if Beck didn’t back down and allow her to flee. He was her pawn, her weak little pawn.
