Her hands snaked to where he’d touched her and a low thrill warmed her from the inside out. Tingles crept across her skin at the memory of his kisses. She slipped a hand between her legs and thumbed herself, her other hand massaging her breast. Little gasps rent the quiet air as she replayed every touch, every moan. Flutters of something dangerous tickled her heart, but she ignored those and concentrated on the physical sensations lower. She panted and rubbed harder, fighting her emotions. It wouldn’t do to get caught up in her feelings for Therron. Hell, she didn’t even understand them. They were tangled and complicated and ooooooooh, gods, so, so good.
A knock at the door halted her cresting orgasm and she cursed at whoever had interrupted a perfectly lovely moment.
“Go away!” she yelled from the bathroom, her anger fueled with frustration. Her head throbbed and body clenched with a need to release.
“I have your breakfast, miss.”
The sharksniffing servant. She thought he’d take longer. Efficient asshole.
“Leave it on a table, please.”
The door opened and she heard him setting the dishes on one of the tables in her room. Instead of leaving, he stood in the doorway to the bathroom and asked, “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
An embarrassed flush covered her neck and cheeks. The nerve of the man! She slid her hands to her sides. Despite the bubbles hiding her solitary activity, a slice of guilt cut into her heart. She hadn’t cheated on anyone, so why did she feel as if she had?
He remained where he stood and a shocking realization spiraled in cool waves from her hair to her toes.
“You’re not just a servant, are you?” Rori adjusted the bubbles, making sure they covered her nakedness.
“I’m not sure what you mean?” The non-servant cocked his head, his eyes roving the tub.
The angle of his posture, and haughty sneer he couldn’t quite hide, gave away the game.
“What’s your name?” Rori’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed.
“Lor—” He caught himself in time, then said with a bow, “Justin, miss.”
“Mmm-hmmm. Tell me, Justin, if I were to order you to pleasure me, would you?”
“Without hesitation, miss.”
“And what else do you do for your queen?” She knew the answer before he even spoke.
“Anything she demands. It’s an honor to serve her.” He stood to his full height and flexed his shoulders back.
“What do you get out of serving her?” Rori was genuinely curious now.
“Pleasure. Humility. Control of my emotions. I’ve learned a great deal from the queen. How to serve, among those lessons.” Not an ounce of humor shone from his eyes. He spoke with quiet sincerity.
“So that one day you will be a better master of your domain?” Rori asked and delighted when his lips pinched. She’d guessed correctly. “Does Midna make all of her guests act as servants? Or did you choose this?”
“I misbehaved.” He hung his head for effect. “This is my penance.”
Laughter burst from her and his glare brought about another ripple.
“What would someone have to do in this palace to be punished?” Giggles punctuated her words.
An imperious veneer covered his features. “Does miss require anything from me?”
The bulge in his pants was evidence he wouldn’t mind a tumble in her bed, even if she had embarrassed him.
“Thank you, but not at this time.”
With another bow he left, but not before giving her a look of resignation or regret, she wasn’t sure which. She lay her head against the porcelain and tried to recover her thoughts of Therron, but they were gone. That stupid Justin had chased her lovely memories away.
She rose and dripped across the tiled floor to where the towels were kept. Rori made quick work of drying and dressing—in the filmy gowns, tripled up for coverage—then she settled in for her meal. Twice while she was eating, her mind wandered to Therron and his prolonged absence. She didn’t expect him to stay with her while she slept, but a part of her wished he would have. That he hadn’t checked on her yet left her disappointed. A feeling she wasn’t accustomed to having, nor did she particularly enjoy.
Stomach full, she decided sitting in her room all day moping wasn’t going to happen. She traipsed down the long halls of Midna’s palace, keeping her eyes forward, but noting all the couples or small groups along the way. No one acted inappropriate, nor were there any hints of distress from the people she passed. It was, as she’d noticed on her first visit, remarkably unremarkable.
Snippets of conversation drifted to her. Gossip, mostly about who the queen would choose as her partners for the evening’s entertainments, and some about Rori. She listened to both without appearing to do so, although the urge to yell, “I can hear you!” was strong.
The MacNairs were not unknown to the Unseelie Court, and by the whispered conversations she overheard, a bit of a mystery. Cian, it seemed, by refusing to sleep with the queen, caused quite a stir. Now the courtiers placed wagers on whether Rori would follow his lead.
A servant scuttled past, averting his eyes, and Rori turned to follow in the hopes he might point her in the direction of Midna’s rooms. She couldn’t be expected to simply wander all day, could she? There were lessons to be learned, an education to be gleaned.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a hand clamped over her lips and she was jerked backward into an alcove. An arm reached around her middle, immobilizing her movements. Rori’s muffled curses went unheard as a female hissed near her ear, “Aurora MacNair, your life is in danger. You cannot stay at this palace.”
Rori reached for daggers that weren’t there—stupid asinine dresses—and struggled against the hold her assailant had on her. The grip was like steel. Rather than fight, she relaxed. As she’d hoped, the woman loosened the grip on her mouth, but not her waist.
“Who are you?” Rori mumbled beneath the hand.
“Continue the work your brother started. Faerie cannot afford another traitor. Time is short. Do not linger here lest you be caught in Midna’s web.”
“Midna wishes me harm?” Rori’s mind spun with everything that had happened in the past week. All the words said, unsaid, and simple expressions she’d not noticed.
A soft chuckle tickled her neck. “Midna would have you as her trophy. When Cian denied her, she took it badly. If she could snare you, that would be a boon for her status. But she does not wish you injured or dead.”
The last was said without emotion.
“Why are you telling me this?” For all Rori knew, the assailant was a jealous courtier who wanted Midna all to themselves.
“Follow the enchantress. Do not, under any circumstances, go to the human realm.”
“The enchantress is dead,” Rori argued, but the hand around her waist was gone, as was the woman.
She spun around, but a blank wall met her searching gaze. The faint scent of ylang-ylang and citrus hovered in the air. Rori knew the smell, but couldn’t place it. She pressed her fingertips to the wall and it inched inward. More pressure revealed a hidden doorway within the alcove. Clever. Of course Midna’s palace would be riddled with secret passageways.
Rori glanced around at the near-empty hallway and slipped into the darkness. She made a ball of drossfire and plunged ahead. The secret passageways were a rat warren of turns and dead ends. Rori chased the mysterious woman down one cramped space and through another, hoping all the while she’d catch up to her and failing. After several minutes, Rori admitted defeat. She bent at the waist, hands on knees. Breathing wasn’t exactly difficult in the musty passage, just uncomfortable. The wound on her thigh throbbed and she took a moment to calm her tumbling heartbeat.
A bump on the wall to her right drew her attention and Rori pressed her ear against the cold stone. Muffled voices came from the other side and Rori cursed the stupid woman who’d led her into this place. What good were secret passageways if you didn’t know where the doorways wer
e?
Rori straightened and directed her drossfire to one side, then the next. She decided to forge ahead, taking a slim passage to her right. Muffled sounds continued the farther she went, and she took that as a good sign.
As she walked, with her fingertips floating across the stones, she parsed the woman’s warnings. Don’t sleep with Midna. The woman could be a past lover and jealous of Midna having a new favorite. But then, why would she warn Rori from going to the human realm? If she were truly a jealous lover, she’d want Rori as far from the Unseelie Court as possible; the human realm didn’t get much farther. And why tell Rori to follow the enchantress when Acelyne was dead?
Unless she meant follow Acelyne’s past behavior to discover how she was able to kidnap so many fae. Rori’s hands fisted and she scraped her knuckles on the rough stone. If she could kill the witch a second time, she’d gladly do it.
Where were the missing faeries?
And why had Acelyne told Rori she knew how to free them?
Questions and more questions swirled in her mind. With each new query, Rori became increasingly certain she couldn’t stay in the palace. The fae needed her and she was honor bound to help them first. And she couldn’t do that lounging around with álainn obedience.
Strangely enough, she didn’t mind postponing—or even cancelling—her education with Midna. What she’d been searching for might still be with the álainn obedience, but her heart told another story. Leaving the Unseelie Court meant leaving Therron. She could ask him to come with her, but this wasn’t his fight. Hadn’t he said as much? He didn’t get involved with fae politics. Besides, he hadn’t bothered staying with her all night; why would she think he’d want anything to do with her now? She told herself it was a hookup, nothing more. Her breath caught in her throat as the thought of him filled her senses.
A niggling at the back of her mind reminded her she’d never actually had a hookup, and if she had, she didn’t think they were like last night. Therron had made proper love to her and she’d responded in the most delightful way. Weren’t hookups all grunts and grinding? A flush crept up her neck and she was grateful for the dim light and solitude. If anyone caught her blushing over an elf, she’d be mortified. There was plenty of grunts last night and she certainly had been grinding. But it wasn’t quick and dirty. Hell no.
Warmth spread from her cheeks to her toes and she forced thoughts of Therron from her mind. She had work to do and couldn’t afford to be distracted. She’d find him once she spoke to the queen, then she’d say a quick farewell and be on her way to retrace Acelyne’s steps.
A lightness in her chest sparked hope and she bounced on the balls of her feet. Therron had said he’d been following Acelyne—he could help in her mission. She’d ask politely, of course, and he could always deny her, but the least she could do was give him an option.
It wouldn’t do to simply leave without saying goodbye.
19
Prickles of apprehension covered Nikala’s skin and she turned off the blow-dryer to listen. The faint sound of footsteps across tile rose the hairs on her neck. She set the dryer down and picked up the gun she’d taken from Malcolm and set on the coffee table. He didn’t share her revulsion of the things and with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, she hadn’t trusted him with the weapon. Without making a sound, she crept to the door and listened. A click to her left was followed by silence. Whoever it was, they were gone. She hoped.
Ignoring the thump-bump of her heart, she opened her office door with a jerk. The lobby sat stark and empty. For a wild moment, she thought maybe Hunter had returned.
She held the gun low, with both hands, and checked that the door to the stairwell was locked, then moved into Malcolm’s office. Nothing was out of place, but an unease settled in the pit of her stomach. A slight shift, perhaps. As if a spirit had drifted through, disturbing the air, but nothing else.
“Get a grip, St. James.” Nikala tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans and breathed out. Ghosts and phantom footsteps. She was losing it.
Before she conjured more imaginary boogiemen, she grabbed her leather jacket and phone. Food and sleep. That’s what she needed. In a matter of seconds, she had her boots zipped and was heading out of her office. She’d grab something quick, then come back to grab her bags. With Malcolm shipped off to Hunter’s, her stuff would be fine for the half an hour it would take to eat, then she’d get a hotel and sleep for a year.
The shower had been to help clear her mind, help her think about what Malcolm had said. He’d hidden the pendants somewhere, she was sure of it. Otherwise, why say he’d covered for her? Clearly he knew she stole one amulet, but why hide all of them from Hunter? And if he confessed to covering for her, why not just tell her where they were? Her gaze took in all the luxe fabrics and furniture of the reception area. It was another test. This time from Malcolm. She was sick of tests. Yes, she stole one damned pendant. That didn’t mean he needed to keep testing her loyalty. It was bloody asinine. Yet, that little voice chided from the back of her mind, it was her own damn fault.
She’d find his hiding place and return the amulet. Maybe then he’d trust her again. She smoothed her hair off her face and breathed deep. Where would Malcolm hide them?
A floral scent wafted to her from the lift when the doors opened and she inhaled with a smile. Hadn’t Malcolm told Hunter he’d send her somewhere tropical? Maybe she should go on holiday. Disappear for a few weeks or months. Lay low until this business with Hunter was completed. Malcolm was ridiculous for believing Hunter would get rid of them. If anything, Hunter needed Malcolm very much alive. It was Malcolm’s money that kept Hunter’s lab operating. Yet the way Malcolm shuddered when he’d spoken set an alarm in Nikala’s mind.
Whatever the Dawn Project was, she had to find out. That meant sneaking into Hunter’s lab. Drips of apprehension clung to the thought. The last time she’d seen Hunter was in that lab. Far more sophisticated than what he’d built in Aberdeen, the London laboratory was Hunter’s dream and Nikala’s nightmare.
Her hand went to the two scars on her left bicep—the ones Hunter had given her when he’d shot her at point-blank range. Then she traced her fingertips to the scars on her collarbone, where her quick movement made his bullet miss her heart by mere inches.
A test, he’d said. A test to see how quickly she healed, but also whether a bullet could kill her.
Nikala’s fingers shook as she stroked the place where her loyalty to Hunter had finally snapped. Tonight he’d said Yasheda and Jude were a test—for her. But what if he was testing them as well?
The lift doors opened and Nikala walked in a fog through the lobby. One of the night watchmen said something and she mumbled a reply.
“The last batch didn’t survive the first test,” Hunter had said to Malcolm. Nikala’s mind whirled with details and snippets of overheard conversations.
Malcolm had always supported Hunter’s experiments. At one time or another, they both had told Nikala that what Hunter was doing was to benefit all mankind. She’d convinced herself they were making cures for diseases. And why not? She’d never been sick a day in her life. Certainly the tests they performed on her worked—she was proof of that.
Why didn’t the last batch survive? And what constituted a batch?
And what did Cian MacNair have to do with all of this?
She braced against the chilly air and strode across the broad walkway toward the pub, her thoughts churning as quickly as her empty stomach. An idea was forming that she didn’t like—the amulets were filled with pathogens that Hunter tested on unsuspecting patients. Acelyne might be the one providing the test subjects. But why? Nikala shook her fists at her side. Something was eluding her. Something simple and it pissed her off to not grasp it.
The sound of a motorbike revving broke her reverie and she glanced up in time to see two black-clad riders heading straight for her. Time slowed to microseconds and she took in tiny details. The first rider’s eyes were hidden behind a w
indscreen, but the second rider’s eyes were dark and mean. Yasheda. Hunter must’ve sent them to test her again. Or this time it was Malcolm who gave the order. Either way, they were nearing, and she had to make a decision.
A woman crossing the narrow alley opposite Nikala didn’t seem to hear or see the bikers and, at the rate she was walking, would collide with them.
Nikala lunged toward the lady, knocking her backward as the motorbikes sped past. A stinging burn sliced across her lower back and she turned in time to see a flash from Yasheda’s blade. The bitch cut her. Nikala cursed under her breath and swore that by the end of the night, neither Yash nor Jude would see the light of day.
The woman floundered beneath Nikala’s grip, then found her footing and swung her head from Nikala to the retreating motorbikes with a look of surprised fury crossing her features.
“Are you all right?” Nikala scanned the woman’s features and aside from an ashen face, she looked unhurt.
“Thank you,” she stammered. Her gaze settled on Nikala and the rage turned to something softer, like regret, or ruefulness. “I thought I was looking at a ghost.” The last was mumbled with a slow shake of her head.
“Bloody kids and their bikes. They should get a warning for dangerous driving.” Nikala straightened her leather jacket, wincing as it swished over the wound Yash inflicted.
“Too right. Well, thank you again.” The woman dipped her head and scrambled off in the direction she’d been walking, taking her past the entrance to Malcolm’s building. She pulled the collar of her saffron-colored coat up, leaving only a tuft of her auburn hair visible.
“You’re welcome,” Nikala mumbled. But she wasn’t angry with the woman. Why should she be? The poor thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
For a long minute, she listened for the motorbikes, but heard only London traffic. If it was her, she’d return to finish the job. Maybe it was their plan to make sneak attacks all night to keep her unbalanced and paranoid. Good plan, but it wouldn’t work. She felt for the dagger up her sleeve and grinned. If they wanted to play games, she was ready.
Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Page 17
