by Chant, Zoe
There was something new in the air of the sidhean. His nose was less sensitive in man form, but Cuan could still detect a faint, alluring scent drifting down the stone corridor. The elusive aroma curled around his mind, awakening his deepest animal instincts. He had a sudden urge to drop to four paws, to race ahead to find the source of that irresistible call…
What in the name of the Shining Ones is wrong with me? Cuan shook himself, hoping that Maeve hadn’t noticed his momentary lapse into a dumb beast.
Then again, perhaps it hadn’t been his lesser side taking over. From Maeve’s half-parted lips and glowing faemarks, she was just as enraptured by that alien scent.
“Delicious, is it not?” Maeve drew in a deep, appreciative breath. “Already every fae in my court clamors to be the first to taste her. I shall claim that for myself, of course, but after that…I am minded to play a little game.”
Maeve’s tone of voice sent a chill down Cuan’s spine. When the high sidhe played, it went poorly for the game-pieces involved. Perhaps it was his tainted blood, but he had never seen the appeal of such past-times.
That was the real reason he absented himself from the court as often as he could. Cruelty directed at himself, he could endure…but cruelty directed at others was another matter.
He set his shoulders, reminding himself that he was as much high sidhe as he was phouka. If he was to be seen as more than a mere beast, he had to adopt the manners of the nobility.
Still, he could not help wishing that he had handed over the changeling to the sidhean guards and retreated back into the woods.
“Come.” Maeve drew him further into the sidhean, in the direction of the central hall at the heart of the mound. “Let us have some sport.”
Chapter 3
This was certainly a very interesting hallucination.
From his razor-sharp cheekbones to his long pointed ears, the man who was currently restraining Tamsin’s wrists was, unmistakably, an elf. And the sort of elf that she’d spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about as a teenager. The studded leather armor he wore barely protected his modesty, let alone anything else. Intricate green tattoos swirled across his bare torso and shoulders, glowing with a faint mystic light.
Tamsin could only assume that she’d hit her head really, really hard.
I’m in a coma, she decided. This is all a dream.
Which was just as well, because otherwise she’d be terrified out of her mind.
Bondage Legolas had grabbed her the instant she’d fallen through the stone circle—no, she corrected herself, when she’d imagined that she’d fallen through the stone circle. For all his ethereal beauty, the guy had the muscles of a heavyweight boxer. And even if she could somehow break free of his iron-hard grip, there was nowhere to run. A whole crowd of elves thronged around her, murmuring to each other. Every single one was stunningly attractive, in an alien, feral kind of way.
And every single one was staring at her hungrily.
But there was no need to worry. This was all just a dream. It wasn’t real.
She was quite impressed with her own imagination, actually. The sexy elves might have come straight out of her adolescent fantasies, but she had no idea how her brain had come up with the rest of the scene.
She seemed to be in a large, circular stone chamber, with a high vaulted ceiling like a cathedral. But no cathedral had marble pillars carved like trees, so detailed that she half-expected to see a stone leaf shiver and fall at any moment. The walls were carved too, and inlaid with silver and opal in gorgeous abstract patterns that suggested flowers and ferns.
The only light came from dozens of pale glowing spheres like miniature moons, hovering high overhead without any visible means of support. The complete lack of windows made Tamsin wonder if she was underground. Her grandma’s stories flashed through her mind, about faerie hills and the Fair Folk who lived under them. How sometimes they would ride out and capture a mortal to bring back to their hidden halls…
So that’s what I’m hallucinating, she realized. I’m dreaming that I’ve been captured by faeries.
The murmuring crowd stilled, drawing back and sinking into low bows. A beautiful dark-haired woman in a flowing red gown swept past them all. From the silver and ruby tiara resting on her brow and way all the other elves were groveling, it was clear that the woman was the ruler here…and yet Tamsin could barely spare her a glance.
Wow. This hallucination is getting better and better. Thank you, hormones.
The tall man pacing at the queen’s side was her every guilty fantasy, and then some. Unlike most of the rest of the elves, he was dressed in plain leather armor rather than elaborate jeweled confections. Somehow, the fact that his torso and abs were covered rather than on full display only made him more enticing. He bore no weapon that she could see, but he was obviously a warrior.
He had a brooding, chiseled face, the lines of his nose and jaw rather more pronounced than most of the other male elves. The rugged angles only added to his masculine good looks. He wore his midnight-black hair bound back, the sides braided, the tail falling well past his broad shoulders. Intricate, deep blue tattoos that reminded Tamsin of Celtic knotwork curved over his high cheekbones. The spiral designs covered his exposed shoulders and biceps, too, emphasizing the hard swells of his muscles.
Oh my. Tamsin hoped that she wouldn’t wake up for a while yet. Take your time, paramedics. This coma just got very interesting.
The ridiculously hot warrior was staring at her like all the other elves, yet there was something different in his leaf-green eyes. There was hunger there, true, and heat…but also an intense, focused attention that seemed to penetrate straight to the secret depths of her soul.
Tamsin had the oddest feeling that alone in the room, he was the only one who saw her. A person, a woman, not a loaded dessert cart ready to be devoured. He looked at her like he wanted to know her, intimately, in every way…
“So this is our tithe,” purred the elf queen. “Let us look at you.”
With an effort, Tamsin jerked her attention away from Hotty McBroodypants as the elf queen’s gaze swept over her from head to foot in slow fascination. Tamsin felt rather like a chicken being scrutinized by a peacock.
To distract herself from the unnerving sensation of being studied like some rare and exotic beetle, she examined the elf queen in return. She was the most beautiful woman Tamsin had ever seen, though it was a strange, sharp-angled beauty, not at all human.
Her ears were long, tapering to elegant points. Her ebony hair hung loose down her back, touching the floor. Like the other elves, she had intricate patterns of curving lines and dots on her brow and cheekbones. More lines wrapped round her slender shoulders, spiraling down her bare arms. The designs glinted red-gold against the woman’s white skin.
Are those tattoos, or some kind of cosmetic? Tamsin wondered. From what she could see, every elf had unique patterns. The markings gleamed in the pale light of the moon-lamp, with subtle, every-shifting colors like butterfly wings.
The elf queen circled her. Tamsin couldn’t hear her footsteps, just the faintest sound of silk swishing against marble. The back of her neck crawled. She tried to turn to keep the woman in sight, but her guard tightened his grip, holding her motionless.
“What a delicious thing you are,” the elf queen said, coming back into view. She stroked a long, crimson fingernail down Tamsin’s cheek and under her chin, forcing her to tip her head up. “Well met, little human. At least, well met for me. You may find otherwise.”
Not real, not real. Tamsin made herself meet the elf queen’s eyes without flinching. They were the deep red of flawless rubies, bright and hard. There wasn’t an ounce of compassion in them. None of this is real.
The elf queen’s head tilted, her mouth pursing a little. She turned to address the guard holding Tamsin. “She is glamoured?”
The man bowed as best he could while holding Tamsin motionless. “To keep her calm, my lady.”
�
��Release her,” the queen commanded. She stepped back, her blood-red lips curving up. “I wish to taste her fear.”
The man let go of Tamsin’s wrists—and she gasped, feeling as though he’d tipped a bucket of ice water over her head. All her calm detachment washed away in an instant, leaving behind only cold realization.
It is real. This is all real. This is really happening.
The elf queen drew in a long, satisfied breath, as though sniffing a rare wine. “Ah. There it is. Marvelous.”
Heart hammering, Tamsin whirled. Wherever she looked, she could only see cruel smiles and gleaming eyes. High, mocking laughter rang in her ears. She tried to run, but strong hands grabbed at her, tossing her back into the center of the circle.
“P-please, there’s been some kind of mistake,” Tamsin stammered. “Please, let me go!”
“Why would I do that, little human?” the elf queen said, looking amused. “You were tithed to the unseelie fae, in accordance with our most ancient laws. You belong to us now.”
“But, but I can’t just disappear off the face of the earth. I have a job, friends who’ll miss me…” Fresh horror struck through Tamsin. “Oh no! Angus!”
The elf queen’s laughter rang over the rest. “You have a lover, little one? Do you fear he will pine and waste away without you?”
“No, Angus is my dog.” Even more laughter greeted this statement, mocking and derisive. “You don’t understand, I left him tied up at the bottom of the hill, he’ll be cold and hungry and scared—please, please let me go!”
Tamsin turned on her heel, searching for a single kind face, any hint of mercy…and found the queen’s armored bodyguard. Alone in the crowd, he wasn’t laughing at her. His expression was studiously neutral, but his shoulders were tense, his hands balled into fists. Their eyes met, and she saw pity in those emerald depths.
“Lady Maeve.” The bodyguard stepped forward, but not to address Tamsin. He dropped to one knee in front of the elf queen, bowing his head. “Give me this human.”
The elf queen’s delicate eyebrows winged upward. From the shocked whispers that ran around the crowd, and the way that they were all staring at the bodyguard, Tamsin guessed that this was not a typical request.
“My dear beast.” The elf queen sounded amused. She ran her fingers through the man’s hair, stroking him as though he was some kind of pet. “How unusually bold of you. One might think you had scented a bitch in heat.”
Titters rippled through the crowd. The man’s jaw tightened.
“When I returned your changeling child, you said that you owed me a boon.” The man lifted his head, and his feral stare pinned Tamsin like a spotlight. “I claim it now. I claim her.”
Chapter 4
Cuan had known that he was pushing his luck. But from the way Maeve’s eyes narrowed, he had pushed it well beyond the realms of foolishness and into suicidal insanity. When a sidhe lady looked like that, a wise man backed down immediately.
Cuan held Maeve’s cold stare. Logic and self-preservation might demand that he retract his request, claiming that it was all a mere jest, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand by and watch the human woman be thrown to the savage whims of the unseelie court.
It was more than mere pity that moved him. There was something about her—her face, her scent, the very way she stood—that called out to some deep animal instinct. He could no more have not defended her than he could have struck a child.
“You said that you owed me a boon,” he repeated doggedly. “You put no limits on that. Will you deny your own words?”
All the amusement vanished from Maeve’s expression. “No unseelie goes back on their word. But this is a very great favor that you ask, beast.”
“I know, my lady. But have I not served you faithfully and well? Did I not succeed in returning your changeling child, when your warband could not?”
This last sentence earned him more than a few hard looks from Maeve’s knights, who did not appreciate being reminded of their failure. Cuan knew he would pay for that later, but he was flying high on the wings of recklessness now. All that mattered was the human woman.
“Give me this woman, and I shall never ask for more, ever again,” he said. “On my mother’s blood, I swear it.”
For a heart stopping moment, he thought it wouldn’t be enough. He could see Maeve parting her lips to deny him, and he tensed himself for what must come next. In the madness that gripped him, seizing the human woman and fighting his way free of the entire sidhe court seemed an entirely reasonable plan.
Maeve paused, perhaps reading something of this in his stance. Her gaze flicked from him to the human woman, and back again. Slowly, and in a way that was not at all reassuring, she smiled.
“My dear beast,” she purred. “So delightfully uncouth as always. So marvelously entertaining with your unpredictable antics. Of course you shall have this prize.”
Cuan let out the breath that he had been holding—an instant too soon. Maeve lifted one finger, forestalling his thanks. Her catlike smile widened.
“For as long as you can keep her,” she finished.
Cuan, who’d been starting to rise, froze again. Keep her? What could Maeve mean by that? The human woman was hardly going to be able to open a portal and slip back to her own realm.
Maeve’s eyes gleamed in cruel triumph at his confusion. With a theatrical sweep of her skirts, she turned to her gathered court.
“My beloved nobles!” she called to them. “Are there any here who wish to challenge my dear beast for this human?”
Uproar broke out. Sidhe warriors and courtiers alike pushed forward, each clamoring to issue their challenge. Cuan’s heart seized in his chest as he realized just what game Maeve was playing.
The human woman flinched away from the baying mob, stumbling into him. Cuan caught her—partly to stop her from futile flight, partly to support her. Her face was so pale, he half-expected her to faint. He wished he had the power to glamour her, to wrap her in comfort and reassurance, but all he could do was steady her in his arms.
He’d underestimated the human woman’s steel. She stiffened the instant he touched her. She didn’t try to jerk away—she must have already learned the futility of a human attempting to fight fae strength—but she fixed him with a glare worthy of a high sidhe lady.
“Let go of me,” she said, with icily offended dignity. “Now.”
He released her at once, stepping back and raising his hands to show his compliance. “My apologies. I would never have touched you without your permission, but I feared you might swoon.”
“No chance.” She squared up to him, setting her feet. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on, but let’s get one thing straight here. I’m not some sort of prize you can win in a sick game. You do not own me.”
“That is very likely, alas,” Cuan replied grimly. “For it seems I shall have to fight the entire court after all.”
“Peace, peace!” Maeve was laughing, gesturing for calm. “My dear beast cannot face you all simultaneously. Who shall be the first?”
“As the challenged, it is my right to set the nature of the contest,” Cuan said loudly, before anyone else could speak. “Any who would face me must do so on my terms.”
Maeve pursed her lips, but dipped her chin in a grudging nod of acknowledgement. “Custom and chivalry does indeed grant you the choice. What form of contest will you pick, my beast? I presume it will not be a duel of wits.”
Cuan let that one pass by without comment. He drew himself up to his full height, ignoring the way his injured leg twinged in protest. “Armed combat.”
That at least gave the court pause. In a duel of magic or art, he could have been bested by any full-blood sidhe, but all present knew his skill with blades. All the unseelie mages and courtiers who a moment ago had been clamoring for a chance to face him abruptly decided that the human woman was not so enticing after all. Even a fair number of the warriors hesitated.
But not, alas,
all.
“I shall face the beast,” declared a strong, confident voice.
Oh no. Of all fae…it had to be him.
Eogan, the captain of Maeve’s war band, cut through the crowd. Amidst the gathered courtiers, he loomed like a raven surrounded by songbirds. The thick plates of his ebony plate mail clanked together as he swept a deep bow in Maeve’s direction.
“And when I have punished him for his impudence,” Eogan continued, straightening and shooting Cuan a poisonous glare, “I shall make you a gift of the human woman, my lady, as a small token of my undying loyalty and respect. As any true sidhe would.”
General murmurs of appreciation followed this statement. Maeve favored the knight with an approving smile. “Courteous as always, my dear Sir Eogan. You may have the honor of the first match, then.”
The crowd drew back, leaving them alone in a ring of space. Cuan reached for his blades, summoning the silver scimitars from thin air with a practiced gesture. He started to sweep them up in the traditional salute to signal his readiness to begin the duel—and then paused, eying his opponent.
Normally a duel would be to first blood, but given that Eogan was dressed head-to-foot in the finest plate while he himself wore only studded leather, this seemed like a poor idea. He had small hope of winning, but he would prefer not to lose within the first five seconds.
He turned to Maeve. It was unorthodox, but… “Permission to duel until one of us submits, my lady?”
As he’d hoped, Maeve’s bloodthirsty nature worked in his favor on this occasion. Her faemarks glimmered with flashes of gold, betraying her delight at the prospect of a serious fight. “What a splendid idea. Until one warrior concedes, then.”
“It shall not be I.” Eogan also summoned his weapon—a massive two-handed sword twice the length of Cuan’s own curved blades. He clanged the visor of his helm down, hiding his face. “Make sure you cry mercy loudly, hound. I fear I may not hear you the first time.”
