“Is he?”
She stopped walking. “Yes.”
“That’s not what I heard, angel.”
Rhys’s mocking tone set her on edge. “You spied on me?”
“Of course.” No apology. No remorse.
Tegan glanced over her shoulder. Rhys faced the fireplace, preventing her from seeing his expression. The lust in Ian’s voice when he’d demanded she come to him had been clear. To her, at least. Or maybe she’d wanted to hear it.
“He sensed a woman. You were right about suggesting sex as a tool to calm him. But I won’t be his crutch. I no longer allow males to use me.”
“That’s what Ian wanted?” Rhys caught her gaze. “The affectionate nickname meant nothing?”
“He probably confused me with someone else.” Like his dead fiancée. Tegan barely stopped herself from looking at Cynthia’s picture. Tegan had considered destroying the photo, but she hadn’t wanted to desecrate anything that belonged to Ian.
“If that’s what you want to believe, but we both know it’s a lie. He’s a Hunter now. As such, his senses are enhanced. He would’ve known you didn’t smell the same as Cynthia.”
Tegan rubbed her arms, hating that Rhys could read her so well, but not surprised. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I want no part of it. I fulfilled my promise to Calan. I went to Ian, but I can’t be what he needs to bring him out of his rage.”
A minute passed in silence, then another. All the while, Rhys stared at her. She shifted from one foot to the other. Rhys had always been able to unnerve her. Too cold, too regimented, too disciplined—he was the most calculating of their Teulu, their family of Hunters connected to Arawn. Rhys acted as their strategist in battle and their counselor in life. The first he excelled at. The second was questionable. He approached their issues as if the source of their pain was a puzzle he needed to solve.
“You didn’t even speak to him.” Rhys’s assessing gaze lingered on her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. She dropped them. One corner of his mouth rose. “How can you be sure it’s sex he wanted?”
“His cock lengthened with my approach. I’d say that’s a dead giveaway, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe.” Rhys gave a small shrug. “But it’s odd he didn’t have the same response to Rowan’s visit. I can’t help but wonder why.”
Rowan was the only other one of their sisters who’d walked out of the fairy prison with her mind pieced together enough to function. Tegan loved her sister dearly, but if Rowan had touched Ian, she’d bleed.
“Where are you going with this? I don’t care to dissect why he reacted to me and not Rowan, but I can promise you I won’t fuck him in order to draw him out of his rage.”
“My guess is you won’t need to. He acknowledged you. Go back to him. Talk to him. Touch him. Only then will you know for sure.”
Tegan glanced away before Rhys saw the longing in her expression. She wanted to return to Ian. No, that was a lie. She didn’t just want to be with him. She needed to run her fingertips over his skin, drag her tongue across his stubble-covered cheek, and kiss him. The yearning to reconnect with him was almost impossible to ignore, but the pain in her heart prevented her from playing out the scene they’d shared in their dreams.
His visits were the only thing that had kept her sane over the last few years. Knowing he’d had a life, or more specifically a lover, to indulge in after he walked away from Tegan left her in a state of depression. She was pathetic to want a man who’d only thought her a figment of his imagination. She did, though. Pitiful, that’s what I am.
Rhys’s sigh cut through her despair. “If Ian cannot be pulled from his rage, Arawn will withdraw the mark of the Hunt.”
Only one other human had been cast from their Teulu—Bjorn, her ex-lover. He’d died as a result, killing himself. Arawn had sworn it hadn’t been his doing, merely a coincidence that Bjorn couldn’t live under the weight of his sins. Arawn had simply exposed them, showing Bjorn the fate that awaited him upon his death: damnation. It was the outcome he’d found upon death too.
She slammed the door shut on the long-ago tragedy, refusing to revisit it. Memories of Bjorn left her as raw as the day she’d learned she was nothing more than a sex toy for him.
And here she was, facing the same fate with another human. The irony wasn’t lost on her. “Arawn wouldn’t risk it.”
“And why not?” Rhys cocked a brow. “Ian is nothing to him.”
“He is part of our Teulu.”
“Yes, but Arawn won’t allow him to live lost in a state of rage for eternity.”
No, Arawn wouldn’t. He’d consider it cruel. “There’s no guarantee Ian would regain his sanity after being banned from our Teulu. Actually, losing his connection to us might ensure he never does. We need each other.”
“That we do, but as riders of the Hunt, we must never falter or forget our duty to the humans.” He slipped his thumbs into his pockets and leaned against the mantel, taking the position she had. “We are not allowed a moment of weakness, and a Huntsman lost to his rage is a liability we can’t afford.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle a second time. The truth in Rhys’s statement churned her gut. The Huntsmen had powers even the highest-level gods did not hold. Many viewed them as a threat because of it. If word got out there was one among them who teetered on the edge of insanity, the other gods might very well call upon the Triad for their deaths. As much as it saddened her, Arawn was right to be cautious.
“Harley would be crushed if Ian was cast out and never regained his sanity.”
Rhys snatched Ian’s picture from the mantel and studied it. “Yes. Harley cares much for her half-brother, but Calan will comfort her. Of that I have no doubt.” He raised his gaze to her. “Whose shoulder will you cry on?”
“I have never spoken to Ian.” Which was true. They’d only kissed and stimulated each other through the barrier of their clothes. No matter how hard she’d willed words to come out of her mouth, they wouldn’t form. “Why would I suffer?”
Rhys snorted. He popped the back off the wooden frame she’d held and withdrew the matte print. “You lie, sister. Losing Ian would crush you, and his eventual death would destroy you. The truth is, his fate affects you more than any of us, including Harley.” He glanced from the picture to her face. “Do you think Calan and I didn’t know of your dream lover? Or what Ian’s visits meant to you? What he means to you?”
Calan, as their leader, had the ability to connect their minds, linking them, so they acted as one driven force during the Hunt. He’d always mentally nudged her, asking for entry, before joining with her. She’d been careful to shield all thoughts of Ian while Calan had walked through her soul.
Hadn’t she?
“Ian is not… I mean, I’m not sure—”
“Enough.” The harsh command dropped between them, stopping her rambling. “I don’t care to hear your denial over the human’s unexplainable connection to you. It doesn’t change the facts. Arawn will send a succubus to Ian tonight since you refuse to reach out to him. If she cannot draw him out of his rage, Ian will be cast from our Teulu. He will live out his life as a damn vegetable, sedated so as not to hurt himself or others. You know it as well as I.”
Unable to deny his prediction, Tegan held his gaze.
Rhys cursed. “So be it. Enjoy your guilt.”
He flicked the print into the fire and walked out.
Tegan waited for the slam of the door before she rushed forward. She reached into the hearth and grasped the brittle paper. Flames seared her skin. She ignored the sharp bite and blew on the remnants of the picture. Black edges surrounded the triangle that had survived. Only Ian’s face remained. His hazel eyes bored into her, accusing her of being weak.
She supposed she deserved the guilt her conscious dropped on her.
“Fine. I’ll go to him. Give him something to embrace besides his rage.” Though she wasn’t sure what that’d be. She’d already played the role of th
e other woman. It wasn’t one she cared to reclaim. Then again, her competition for Ian’s heart was dead. He’d killed her. Did that make Tegan the only woman?
We can have our chance. Make our dreams a reality. And then…
What? Live happily ever after? She groaned. Yeah, right. This is not a dream. This is real life, and I can’t expect Ian to just forget about Cynthia and fall in love with me.
Nothing made sense, not her emotions or the cruel fate she’d been handed. But there was one thing she was sure of—no way would she allow a demoness to touch Ian.
No one could touch him. Not until Tegan figured out where she fit into his life. And then? Well, that was up to Ian. If he wanted her, he’d have to earn her trust, proving she was the only woman for him. She’d learned the hard way not to blindly believe the words of anyone outside of her Teulu. Nothing was worth the risk of betrayal. Not the prospect of affection, power, lust…
And most definitely not love.
Chapter Two
Tegan strode down the sloping, roughhewn corridor leading to the innermost chambers of her father’s fortress. The wails and shrieks of its inhabitants stirred memories of her first visit to the Underworld. At seventeen winters, she’d been an adult among humans. Here, she’d been a child, and her innocence had been crushed within days of her arrival. She’d endured tortures, caused some, and learned what it meant to carry the blood of a god in her veins. By the time she matured, Arawn had molded her into a rider of the Wild Hunt.
Hardened. Cold. Unattainable.
She’d taken her place as third in command of his army, a position she’d defended against her beloved younger siblings who’d thought to win their father’s favor. Their obedience she’d earned through their pain and blood. Their love she’d gained by shedding hers.
Life in Hell hadn’t been sweet, but it was all she’d known until Bjorn, a human she’d once rescued from a redcap, captured her attention. He died because she fell for his lies.
Never again. Sex was not the same as love. Ice slithered into her veins at the reminder of how immature she’d been. If she didn’t have a promise to fulfill where Ian was concerned, she would’ve turned around. But she did. No way would she risk any more bad karma landing on her shoulders by breaking her promise. She’d endured enough unfortunate luck over her lifetime.
The click of her heels echoed in the space. Tegan turned the corner and stumbled to a halt. Minerva, her stepmother, leaned against the wall. Tegan took in the goddess’s fuck-me boots, short skirt, and see-through top. She cringed. It wasn’t the sight of Minerva’s erect nipples pushing against the gauzy white fabric that caused the involuntary reaction. As a goddess of love, Minerva was always eager and ready for sex. No, what bothered Tegan was her stepmother’s choice in outfits and how similar it was to Tegan’s.
“Hello, daughter.” Minerva’s piercing gray eyes glowed softly, drawing Tegan’s attention. “Nice clothes, but surely that leather bustier is uncomfortable.”
It jarred Tegan to admit it was. She shrugged. “I’m still experimenting with the attire of this era.”
“It is quite different from when you last walked the earth, isn’t it?”
Apparently, the goddess was in the mood for small talk. Tegan knew better than to ask why. A deity of love she might be, but Minerva was a vindictive bitch. If Tegan had a choice, she would not get on the woman’s bad side.
“Oh yes. I very much find the multitude of styles, along with the sexual freedom of the modern world, refreshing.” Tegan fingered the edge of her miniskirt. It barely covered her ass. She’d chosen the slutty outfit for Ian. The quicker she could capture his interest, the better.
“Is that so?” Minerva raised a brow. “Have you had a chance to sample the variety of males?”
Tegan’s instincts flared. “I’ve only been free for a week. I haven’t had time.”
“You should make time, child. Unless, of course, you have your”—a sneer spread over Minerva’s face—“dreams set on a specific man.”
Tegan froze. Minerva couldn’t know about Ian. Neither Rhys nor Calan would tell her. No, it was impossible, just a coincidence that Minerva’s word choice had spiked Tegan’s paranoia.
“I haven’t left the estate.” Tegan raised her chin. “Who would I meet?”
Minerva stared at her for a long moment while Tegan’s heart raced. Finally, Minerva cocked a brow. “A pity. You should come to the Haven with me, then. While I cannot partake of the males there, I do enjoy watching. It’ll be like old times, a mother-daughter bonding session.”
Tegan recalled her days of drunken encounters within the walls of the demons’ sexual lair. All residents of Hell visited the Haven at one time or another. She’d worked her way through the males with a voracious appetite even the sex demons didn’t come close to matching. It shamed her to think of the number of partners she’d taken.
“I don’t have time, not with the fairies’ creatures loose upon the world. My duty to your mate comes first.”
“Is that why you are here? Duty?”
“Yes.” Tegan forced her feet to move. She matched the goddess’s pose on the opposite side of the narrow hallway and tipped her head back to meet Minerva’s gaze. The woman towered over her even with the three-inch heels Tegan wore. “I’ve heard of Arawn’s ultimatum for the newest Hunter. I’m here to see if I can bring him out of his rage.”
“With sex.”
Not if she could help it. “With whatever means necessary.”
“Good.” Minerva nodded. The strands of her silver hair swayed. A soft tinkling sound accompanied the movement. “The sooner you finally sample what he can do for you, the better. Many females vie for his body. I’d hate for you to lose your male.”
Finally? Tegan inhaled sharply, her paranoia seizing her once more. “Ian isn’t my male.”
“Oh, but he is. I created him just for you.”
Tegan rolled her eyes while her muscles tensed. She didn’t understand the direction Minerva was leading their conversation. It was time to get to the bottom of it, even at the risk of the woman’s temper. Time wasn’t her friend at the moment. Tegan had no doubt Arawn would follow through with his threat.
“Really? Since when did the Triad grant you the ability to pair mates?”
“They haven’t. Even the gods have free will and love cannot be forced.”
“Then take your—”
A roar echoed from the bowels of the fortress.
Ian.
Minerva laughed. “Ahh… It sounds as if Ian isn’t enjoying his visitor.”
The succubus. Tegan glared at her. “You sent a female to him, knowing I’d come.”
“Yes. I wanted him primed for you.”
“Primed? All you’ve done is enrage him.” Tegan shoved from the wall.
Minerva blocked her from descending into his prison. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You want me jealous. It won’t work. Now get out of my way, goddess.” Tegan sidestepped the woman.
“I sacrificed for you, daughter. Do not toss my present away.”
“What do you mean?”
A female’s shriek added to the howls emanating from below. Tegan enjoyed the woman’s pained sounds. It beat ones of passion and gave her a moment to learn Minerva’s motives.
“Ian belongs to you. You have to keep him. Protect him. I…” Minerva licked her upper lip. “I saved his soul and ensured he wasn’t allowed to be born until you could claim him.”
Tegan studied her stepmother with narrowed eyes. “Ian is thirty winters old. How did you know I’d be free of my prison in time for our paths to cross?”
A wicked smile spread over Minerva’s face. “Now, daughter, I can’t tell you all my secrets.”
Tegan bit back her smart remark. Instead, she inclined her head. “Fine. Then tell me how you stopped his soul from being birthed? Better yet, why?”
Minerva brushed a trembling hand over her hair and glanced in the direction of the main floor, not Ian’s
prison. The sign of her anxiety stirred Tegan’s.
“You don’t need to know the how or the why. Love is a powerful emotion, if not a confusing and downright scary one. Still, I can feel the potential for eternal love between your souls. What you do with it is up to you, of course. As my stepdaughter, I want you to be happy. The male I’ve created for you alone is your only shot at it. I’ve made sure of it.”
Minerva lied. Tegan sensed it. About what, however, she didn’t know.
Another bellow from below pushed concern over Minerva’s motives to the side. Worry for Ian drove Tegan. She rushed down the hall.
The door to his cell stood open. Ian’s growls and curses reverberated in the small space. A blonde demoness stumbled out, her hand covering her bloody nose. She turned her head at Tegan’s approach.
“You.”
The word came out garbled, but the animosity behind it rang true. Tegan felt the same. She clenched her hands and took in the state of the woman’s outfit. Her open shirt displayed unbound breasts, but she still wore a pair of gauzy red pants that did nothing to hide her pantyless state.
Oh yeah. She’d come dressed for seduction too, and she’d been alone with Ian long enough to flash her chest. What else had the bitch done? Maybe kissed him? Explored the dips and grooves of Ian’s stomach with her tongue? Bound in chains, he wouldn’t have been able to stop her.
No. Tegan balled her fists to stop her sharpened claws from emerging. She wouldn’t give the little whore the satisfaction of seeing what Ian did to her. Besides, the demoness wouldn’t have been standing here with a bloody face if he’d enjoyed his visitor.
Tegan forced her hands to unclench and pasted a smirk on her face. “Not having a good morning?”
The demoness’s growl answered her.
Tegan bit the inside of her cheek to stop her grin and pointedly glanced from the blood dripping off the female’s chin to the open cell. “Your charms didn’t work?”
The succubus kicked the door closed with her foot. The slam of metal on metal reverberated in the narrow hallway. She dropped her hand. Her broken nose and torn lip confirmed Tegan’s suspicions. The demoness and Ian hadn’t engaged in sex. If they had, she would’ve been able to heal her injury with the energy she stole from Ian’s pleasure.
Cursed Page 2
