by Dani Harper
“But that could take years!” exclaimed Ranyon.
Instantly Brooke grabbed his hand and steered him toward the front door. “She means about Fox!” she hissed.
“Oh, aye. That.”
Though her brain was on overdrive after the night’s ruckus and revelations, Lissy fell asleep almost instantly. Nightmares, frequent visitors when she was stressed, did not plague her. Instead, she found herself wandering a strange, exotic garden under a moon that hung like a bright-orange slice in a deep-blue sky. Unknown constellations, even the tiny spiral arms of far-off galaxies, pinwheeled high overhead while the air around her was thickly redolent of honey, gentian, licorice, and something oddly akin to nutmeg. The flowers, she thought. The rich scents emanated from the vibrant blossoms all around her, intoxicating her to that perfect point of carefree euphoria as if she’d drunk a glass, or maybe two, of dark Mourvedre wine. She reached out a hand to a poppylike bloom—but no poppy was ever this size or had such vivid petals. Her fingers came away with pollen that glittered like diamond dust a moment before it vanished into her skin, and suddenly she could taste spices on her tongue.
When knowing hands began to unbutton her blouse from behind, she didn’t resist. Instead, Lissy laughed and leaned backward until strong arms caught her and bore her away . . .
Trahern laid her down on a thick bed of soft golden violets, cool and vanilla-fragrant as they crushed beneath her. He was already naked, his marble skin warmed with color by the apricot moonlight. A myriad of intricate symbols, signs, and strings of words, each inked in amber, wound their way over lean muscle, from the straight line of his shoulders to his narrow hips and long legs. Every detail of his body was there for her to see, to appreciate. Even his long white hair was bound back so she could easily see the telltale scar across his throat. Nothing was hidden from her—
Save his face.
Is this a game? The exquisite half mask was finely crafted of flawless copper, inlaid with semiprecious stones. The high cheekbones mirrored Trahern’s own angular features, but the visage was completely expressionless. She reached for it, but at a word from him, her hand fell away and would not obey her again. “Hey!”
“My touch is for you. All for you,” he said.
“But I want to touch you, too! And what’s with the mask?”
He shook his head. “It matters not. For now, relax and feel. Allow me this.”
Her arm was her own again. “All right.” Lissy smiled and settled deeper into the violets, a tremor of anticipation tingling through her entire body. “But next time I get to wear the costume.”
Look at me, he said in her mind. Lissy obeyed, determining that this time she would finally discern the color of his eyes—at least she could see those! But his irises shifted and changed even as she stared. Gold? Blue? Whatever their color, Trahern didn’t take his eyes from her face as he slowly undressed her. As each inch of her skin was gradually revealed, he drew light spirals upon it with the brush of a masculine fingertip—and the clothing left her body in very tiny, teasing increments. No kisses, no fondling. Only the lightest of touches that electrified and soft, feathering strokes that devastated.
By the time her blouse and jeans had disappeared, Lissy trembled with sensation. Was he creating a tactile memory of her form? He never seemed to need to look at what he did in order to coax a fresh flush of excitement from her body, another frenzy of tantalized nerve endings. Her nipples rubbed impatiently against sheer fabric as his relentless fingers traced the outline of her bra . . . then slipped beneath its edges to tug gently at the confining material. She wanted to scream at Trahern to rip it off, dammit, when suddenly the offending garment was gone. Just gone. The thick night air caressed her breasts even as his inexorable touch ringed them with designs as finely detailed as those on his own skin. Perhaps the patterns were the same . . .
Lissy’s body throbbed and pulsed, ached and arched. Wanted more and couldn’t bear any more. Arousal lifted her to unimagined levels, and she knew there were still greater heights ahead. Yet something was missing. Trahern still held her gaze, and although she’d given up on ever knowing his eye color, she found herself suddenly looking deeper, past an unnamed barrier, to the man within. Saw the emotions he struggled to understand, the feelings he resisted, the truth he hid from.
In one fluid movement, Lissy sat up and tried to pull the mask from him. Let me see you, she shouted in her mind. “Let me in,” she whispered aloud.
He pulled away from her. “I cannot. I am gaethiwyd. My will is not my own.”
“Then let me set you free—”
Instantly she found herself sitting on her bedroom floor, wide-awake, naked except for a tangle of blankets, and definitely alone. All was dark, save for the glowing numerals on her alarm clock: 3:45.
Crap.
THIRTEEN
In Trahern’s former life, his finely honed talent for negotiation made him both highly respected and successful in trade. Now he had to negotiate some sort of leave from the Wild Hunt. Was such a thing even possible?
He had no idea how his petition would be received—not only was a human involved, but Braith had already acted on his own and left the Hunt. Did that negate Lurien’s protection? The dark fae was truly a law unto himself, and no one, not even Eirianwen, dared cross him. Retribution was swift and terrible and certain. But Trahern also knew that Lurien held himself to a strict code of honor. He treated his Hunters well and, unlike many of the Tylwyth Teg, was both approachable and reasonable. Most of the time . . .
There must be a way to convince him.
With the queen still in residence in Tir Hardd, the Lord of the Wild Hunt could only be at the old capital, as far away from the monarch as possible. Eventually, Trahern found his leader on a broad knoll in the Black Marsh, inspecting a trio of strange young foals. All three were dark as night—until they moved. Pure-blooded fae horses were rare, and they often possessed unusual attributes. Trahern’s own mount boasted horns and clawed hooves. But these . . . In his former life, he would have traded half his wealth, perhaps even most of it, to possess them.
“They’re exquisite,” he breathed. “Triplets?”
“Indeed. A ternion birth, rare and propitious.”
Trahern couldn’t help himself. “May I?”
At Lurien’s nod, he stepped close to one of the beautiful creatures, passing his hands lightly over its withers and back. Instead of the fuzzy coat of a weanling, the young horse had smooth, overlapping scales that were as soft as shadow and just as black. That is, until its hide twitched. A dazzling wave of iridescent colors swept over the spot, fading from sight as the skin ceased quivering.
“I’ve never seen such horses.”
“Nor have I, and I will not see them again. They are a gift from the ruler of the Dragon Men and, as such, will be returned.”
Returned? How could anyone let go of such a prize? And then Trahern realized who the giver was: Aurddolen. A stunning and clever woman, she’d made no secret of her desire for the Lord of the Wild Hunt, nor of her goal to share with him the dominion of her vast, wild territories if he would but relinquish his much-rumored desire for Gwenhidw. The legends say that love binds souls together—yet I see only division. If such is love, for what did Braith sacrifice himself? What purpose did it serve?
Trahern wisely refrained from voicing such dismal thoughts and turned his attention back to his objective. His carefully prepared arguments proved unnecessary, however.
“Any mortal possessing such power is a serious matter,” said Lurien. “But a young child with such abilities cannot be left to his own devices.”
“Exactly. I believe he poses a great peril to those around him.”
“In the human world, most assuredly. But this child—” The dark fae paused, expectant.
“Fox,” supplied Trahern, feeling a surprising amount of discomfort as he did so. Lissy would be deeply troubled to know he had spoken the child’s name to another in the faery realm. But the Lord of the Wil
d Hunt is the most powerful ally we can hope for.
Lurien nodded as if he, like Trahern, approved of the child’s unusual name. “This young Fox is highly dangerous to our world as well. I felt his power the day he was born. Before he even received his name, I witnessed for myself that great magic had chosen him for its own.”
“You saw him?”
“And hid the boy’s energy as well as I could, knowing even as I did so that others would sense his power sooner or later. Some factions in the Nine Realms will surely seek to take him, hoping to use him to further their own goals and ambitions.” He appeared to come to a decision then. “It is better that we know exactly where he is. The Hunt can protect him if necessary, and if we are fortunate, perhaps we will have some influence on him. You must train Fox before he attracts the wrong attention.”
“His mother has great courage and is much devoted to her son. What if she does not agree to this?”
“While free will is to be respected among mortals and bravery honored, a human cannot be allowed to endanger the Nine Realms. If the woman will not acquiesce, then you have no choice. You must take the child elsewhere.”
Trahern fervently hoped it would not come to that. “And what of my duty to the Hunt?”
Lord Lurien motioned to a fluttering of pyskies to take two of the horses away. “As I told you from the beginning, you are quite free to walk away from us at any time. But since your services have proven rather valuable, I would prefer not to lose you. And I’ll wager that you’d rather not lose my protection.”
“True enough.”
“Then let both purposes be served. I hereby command you as a member of the Hunt to undertake a specific mission: to teach this human child all that you can. Use what resources you will. And as for duration, the mission will take as long as it will take.”
“The boy will be instructed to the utmost of my ability, and I will withhold no knowledge from him,” he said. Not as my family sought to blunt my own training. “But I cannot be faithless to my brother. I cannot stop searching for a way to free him.”
“You have labored long. According to pysky chatter, when the Hunt takes its ease, you study and work, worrying at the puzzle of Braith’s transformation like a hound gnaws a bone. Hast thou found the key?”
The answer was as a physical weight, crushing down on his entire body. “Nay.” He waited for his leader to rebuke him for his failure. Instead, Lurien’s voice was thoughtful.
“It is highly possible that by aiding the young child, you may aid your brother as well.”
What? “How so?”
“In the contemplation of one problem, the answer to another often presents itself, does it not? Focus on the child, Trahern. And that you might do so fully, I will assign someone to guard you both. Braith will fill that role rather well, I think.” The dark fae looked amused. “And, most conveniently, he is already in place.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Of course he knows. He knows everything . . . But there was one truth Lurien might not be aware of, and Trahern lowered his voice to a whisper as he revealed it. “The future is not hidden from my brother. I know not what he saw, for he is unable to tell me, but he sought out Fox immediately and has refused to leave his side since.”
The Lord of the Wild Hunt was silent for a long time. “Make haste to train the child,” he said at last. “It’s been a long time since a mortal with such potential has appeared. A very long time. Not since my friend Myrddin was born.”
Though Merlin was human, there wasn’t a sorcerer in the Nine Realms who did not know of him and envy his abilities. And Lurien was his friend? Trahern struggled to keep the surprise from his voice. “I—I have heard he yet lives.”
“Indeed. With mortals, the greater their exposure to magic, the longer their life. After mentoring Arthur, he paired with Coventina, a sorceress of the Undine, and has made his dwelling in the seas ever since. He walks upon the land or even between the realms at will but always returns to her.” Lurien finished with the young horse and sent it away with its brothers. A fleeting expression of regret passed over his dark features, but whether it was for the gift or the giver, Trahern could not guess. “When last I spoke with Myrddin, he was yet content,” continued Lurien. “He loves Coventina well and truly.”
Even Merlin? Does no one perceive the foolishness, the futility, of love? However, the Lord of the Wild Hunt had lived far longer than Trahern. Perhaps he possessed some insight, some illumination, on the subject. “What is this love that both fae and mortals speak of?”
The Lord of the Wild Hunt released a long, deep breath—a sigh?—and a faraway look appeared in his depthless black eyes. “Love is truly an affliction and a great vulnerability. Yet it is the most desirable of all things in all worlds.”
He vanished without another word, leaving Trahern with more questions than ever. The affliction and vulnerability parts he understood. But desirable? The queen would never love anyone but her dead king. And while Lurien might have affection for Aurddolen, he would never love her as she wished. Three powerful people made miserable by their belief in love, and trapped by their desire for it.
Just like his brother.
Yet Braith appeared pleased, even happy, in his new role as Fox’s companion and guardian. He has fresh purpose. Perhaps teaching the child will grant me this also.
All Trahern had to do was gain Lissy’s permission. And avoid the complications of his unexpected attraction to her . . .
Did she feel it as well? Her thoughts suggested as much, and she had said aloud that his hair was gorgeous. It wasn’t a word used in the fae realm, but he hadn’t been able to resist doing a little research. It meant “striking,” “elegant,” even “magnificent.” He’d never had anyone admire his hair before, other than when he was a child and his relatives approved the color as meeting the high standards of appearance set by the Royal Court.
But it was just hair. What about the rest of him?
Love might not exist, but pairing was as natural as breathing in the fae world. The Tylwyth Teg reveled in pleasure as frequently as possible, and at Court, every type of carnal sport was commonplace. Frequent festivals there called for elaborate costumes that exposed more than they disguised—and sometimes no costumes at all. Charmed music was designed to heighten desire, and dances almost always concluded with more than a few naked couplings on the polished quartz floor of the grand ballroom. Little attention was paid to such, except to jest or wager. Or join in.
Having grown up in such an environment, Braith and Trahern had likewise indulged freely whenever the opportunity presented itself. And since the brothers were heirs to the House of Oak, opportunity had presented itself often. Even when he traveled to the far-off corners of the Nine Realms seeking both trade opportunities and new knowledge, the chance for indulgence was ever present.
Eventually he came to understand that pleasure had its limits, particularly when one lived long. Small wonder that novelty is often esteemed above wealth. Bored and desperate for ever-greater heights of sensation, many among the excitement-hungry fae used their ethereal beauty to lure humans to the realm for the express purpose of bedding them. Rumors claimed the experience to be exotic, far more interesting than sex with other fae, and possibly even addictive. Which made mortal lovers extremely valuable—as long as they lasted or until their novelty wore off.
Rumor also claimed, however, that a few fae harbored something rather like affection for their human pets, even forming an attachment. Heddwen had told him a story as a child, something about a fae lord taking a human to wife—a briodferch o ddail, or bride of leaves, so called for her mortality. And like a leaf, she eventually withered and died, to be mourned forever by her faery husband . . .
Such a thing would never happen in the House of Oak. Unlike other clans of the Tylwyth Teg, most with Oaken blood would never stoop to touch someone from a family of lesser status, never mind couple with a mortal. Humans were an altogether inferior species.
As I once believed as w
ell . . .
Until he’d encountered Lissy.
Unarmed in any way, she’d confronted him in defense of her child. And when he surprised her in her home, she’d been as fierce as a warth, fighting with anything that came to hand.
Novelty, he tried to tell himself.
Her aura burned bright with intelligence, and her forthright personality held tremendous appeal after the artifices of courtiers.
Simple novelty. Nothing else.
Physically, Lissy’s unique beauty set her apart from any female in his own world. Her hair, her skin, her eyes. And her scent . . . Minute vibrations suddenly thrummed in his blood like music, hummed along his skin until it burned, drummed between his legs until his gwyllt awakened.
The rush of true desire wasn’t a novelty; it was a revelation. The mere thought of a woman had never excited him so! Was this part of the mystique that surrounded mortal lovers? Trahern shifted uncomfortably in the saddle and spelled his riding leathers to ease his arousal. He was sweating like an earthly horse run to ground.
I cannot permit such distraction. The only thing that truly matters is obtaining Lissy’s leave to train her son.
If he failed to get that, he needn’t be concerned about the effect she had on his body. He’d be too far away to be troubled by it. Too busy instructing Fox on the secrets and disciplines of sorcery.
And too regretful for having stolen Lissy’s child from her.
The morning sun was impossibly bright as Lissy opened one eye. 7:39. 7:39? She was on her feet in a heartbeat. And still naked, not having bothered to put on her favorite pajamas again before she climbed back into bed in the middle of the night. She glanced around for them—they were blue with little cartoon penguins, the soft material faded and almost threadbare in spots. If there was a less sexy outfit on the planet, she couldn’t imagine it. And yet she’d managed to have a dream that simply blew everything she’d ever experienced or imagined right out of the water.
