Beguiled (30 page)

“Fine,” she said, stepping off the ladder. “Just let me put this paint down.”

“Could you wash your hands, too?”

She glanced at him and he was wrinkling his nose at her.

“You’re covered in that stuff and I don’t want to get paint on my suit when we fight, okay? That meeting I have?”

“Right.” Maggie shook her head, set down the jar of tempera and while she did, she plucked up the iron-based knife she’d taken to carrying with her. The sword Bezel had given her was great, but a little too unwieldy to carry around every day.

When she straightened up, she was holding it out, fisted in her paint-streaked right hand. With any luck, she’d slice him good and get paint on his precious suit all at the same time.

“That won’t help,” he said, his eyes narrowing on her.

“We’ll see.” She swept the blade out in a wide arc and as he jumped back, she crouched, then flew at him, taking his legs out from under him.

They went down together, hitting the pavement with a jarring thud that felt as though it rattled every one of Maggie’s bones. The asphalt tore at the already-frayed knee of her jeans and ripped right through the fabric.

But she couldn’t spare much time worrying about torn jeans and scraped knees. The Fae was up and over her in an instant and before she could think much about it, he slammed his fist into her jaw.

She actually
saw
stars. Again.

He grinned and Maggie stabbed him with the knife. Instantly, he recoiled, looked down at his pristine white shirt and hissed as blood seeped into the fabric. “Now look what you’ve done! I can’t go to my meeting looking like this!”

Fury filled his features, but a moment later, a look of stunned surprise flashed across his eyes. He stumbled back and had to fight for his balance. “You . . . bitch . . .
iron
?”

“So iron does help, after all,” Maggie said, scrambling to her feet as her opponent glared at her.

“A lucky shot,” he told her, already recovering his balance, shaking off whatever sickness the iron blade had introduced into his system.

“Then come on and get me,” she taunted, keeping in a crouch as Bezel had taught her, circling him as she’d seen Culhane do during a fight. Her gaze was locked on his. She knew that she’d see his plans in his eyes before he made a move, so she focused everything she had on reading that decision.

So when he charged her again, she was ready. She moved down and up, slicing at him again with the knife, dragging the blade sharply across his chest, while at the same time punching with her left hand. She caught his chin, saw his eyes roll back and really blessed all the su perstrength she’d gotten as part of this whole queen thing.

The Fae in a suit was moving with stilted steps now, shaking his head as if to clear his vision, bending over double occasionally as if in pain and Maggie was glad to see it. Not that she actually liked hurting people—Fae—whatever. But if it came down to a choice—them or her—she picked
her
.

Then he moved suddenly and swatted the knife from her hand. It clattered as it slid across the asphalt, but Maggie barely had time to acknowledge it. The Fae’s huge hand was at her throat and she was gasping, choking for air. She felt her heartbeat thundering. Her feet left the ground as he continued to squeeze.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarled, silvered eyes locking on to hers. “Did you really think you could take us all? Defeat Mab? You’re pathetic. You can’t win this.”

Maggie fought desperately for air. She kicked at him and missed. She threw desperate lightning bolts from the tips of her fingers, but they seemed to bounce off the guy as if he’d been Scotchguarded. Her vision was graying at the edges and Maggie was scratching futilely at the hand that held her in such a tight, unrelenting grip.

“You lose, Your
Majesty
.”

She looked down into his eyes and saw him laughing, celebrating. And she knew he was right. It was all finished. Her destiny was going to end right here in a Fae glamour on Pacific Coast Highway.

Game over. She hadn’t even lived long enough to grow into all her Fae powers. She’d never reach her full potential. Now she had no chance to move to Otherworld and rule. No fights with Mab. No more sex with Culhane.

No more anything.

Her lungs were bursting, clamoring for air that wouldn’t come. The world was going completely gray and even the Fae who held her so closely was looking blurry.

And then everything changed.

Culhane appeared out of nowhere.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t threaten. He simply swung a sword in a wide arc and decapitated the Fae trying to kill Maggie.

Instantly, she dropped to the ground, grabbed at her throat and hissed in glorious, wonderful, smog-filled, ocean-scented air. Shaking, still terrified, she glanced at the fallen Fae, then looked away just as quickly. Not in time, of course, to prevent her mind from indelibly carving the image of a headless Fae sprawled out on a city street. She knew she’d be seeing that image in her nightmares for years.

But the point was, she’d be alive to
have
nightmares.

Then Culhane was there. Kneeling beside her in the street, his pale green eyes locked on her face, his hands cupping her cheeks. Worry glittered in his gorgeous eyes as he kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose and finally, all too briefly, her mouth. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, her throat still too sore to speak.

He glanced at what was left of his enemy, then shifted his gaze back to hers. “He was a follower of Mab. A known supporter.”

“Great.” She croaked out a single word and winced at the effort.

Culhane took her hands and pulled her to her feet. Keeping her face turned to his so she wouldn’t have to look at her enemy again, he said, “We have word that she is gathering her strength. Building an army of rogue Fae in Casia. Soon, she will come to challenge you.”

Maggie nodded, and leaned into him.

“You’re not alone, Maggie. There is no reason for you to ever have to face any of them on your own again. It is time to move to Otherworld. Take your rightful place in the palace. Let all Fae see that the Queen is in residence.” He cradled her head to his chest and she listened to the rapid-fire beat of his heart. “It is time,” he whispered.

She knew he was right. It
was
time. Time she gave up her ties to the world where she didn’t belong anymore. Time to move her family and her friends to a palace that could be safeguarded more thoroughly than her little beach house ever could be.

Time to be what destiny had already named her.

More bad was coming. But then, she’d known that all along. She wrapped her arms around Culhane’s waist and clung to him so tightly he’d have to peel her off later.

She was shaken. Scared. And royally pissed off.

Maggie was done being the nice Queen. It was time to kick some serious Fae ass.

And she was just the Donovan to do it.

Chapter Fifteen

Maggie was never going to make it living in a castle that was entirely white.

She was a girl who loved color. Texture. She enjoyed the tactile experience of putting paint to canvas. She relished being surrounded by jewel tones, by soft greens and pale yellows. She liked flannels and silks and those nubby bedspreads that used to be so popular.

In a crystal palace with white marble floors and the occasional pulse of faded color, Maggie felt . . . uneasy. Uncomfortable. She wanted warmth and coziness.

And she wasn’t going to find it here.

“Stupid,” she mumbled, doing a half turn in her new bedroom. Here she was worrying about white walls and floor when she had half of the Fae population out for her blood. But then again, if she didn’t feel at home here, how could she fight to remain?

“Can’t do it,” she muttered.

Culhane’s head snapped up, his gaze locked on hers. “So you will not stay after all?”

“Oh, I’m staying.” She fisted her hands at her hips and turned in a slow circle, taking in the Queen’s chamber.

Her new bedroom was as big as her entire house back in her old life. Wide windows, opening out onto gardens that were so rich and beautiful, they were a painting in themselves. Sparkling marble floors and crystal walls shone like mirrors, reflecting her own image back a thousand times.

Mab might have enjoyed that, but for Maggie . . . she looked at herself and saw five extra pounds, hair that needed a trim and the beginnings of panic shining in her eyes. Nope. Didn’t need more mirrors.

There was a closet, empty of all but the space she might need to hang her pitifully small wardrobe. A bathroom that could have been right at home in the Taj Mahal and a formal sitting area beside a fireplace—again white marble—big enough for her to stand up straight in.

It was gorgeous, palatial and so not her.

“I can’t live like this,” she murmured.

Culhane looked stunned. “You do not like it?”

“Oh.” She turned quickly to face him. “It’s gorgeous. Like a museum or a castle you pay ten bucks to tour. It’s just not . . .
me
.”

He smiled, a slow curve of his mouth that was comforting as well as sensual. “Ah. I think I understand. Perhaps something more like this.”

He waved one hand and Maggie’s breath caught as she watched the room transform, molecules scattering, rearranging themselves in the blink of an eye. Her own paintings, now in luxurious frames, were hanging on walls painted a soft blue. Dark blue, overstuffed chairs now sat in front of the roaring fire, with a small table drawn up between them.

Pillows, all kinds and colors, were stacked on the window seat, making it look as though a rainbow had spilled into the room and settled in for a long stay. The bed, which she’d already had Culhane change out since no way had she been willing to sleep in Mab’s old bed . . . ew, was now a massive four-poster.

The very one he’d conjured for their first night together down in the throne room. It looked invitingly plush, with its thick quilts and throws piled atop the mattresses and the mountain of pillows stacked against the headboard. At either side of the bed, lamps burned with soft yellow glows from atop the twin tables that appeared magically. The book Maggie had been reading at home lay on one of the tables also, just waiting for her to pick it up again.

Maggie grinned as rugs in shades of blues and greens dotted the floor that now looked like oak planks the color of warm honey. Beside one of the windows, her easel and painting supplies blinked into existence and her chair popped in next, all ready for her to pick up her brushes and do what she did best.

She laughed, delighted. “It’s wonderful.”

Maggie gave Culhane a grateful smile and shook her head in amazement. “It actually feels like my place now.”

“It is your place, Maggie. You are Fae,” he said. “Magic is your birthright. You may do what you will to the palace. You are Queen. You must make of it whatever you see fit.”

“You’re a dangerous man, Culhane.”

“Not to you,” he countered.

“Oh, especially to me,” she told him. She knew he’d never meant more to her than he did right this minute. He had, with a wave of his hand, made this new world seem possible. Made her feel as if she might actually belong here.

“Oh. My. God.” Nora wandered into Maggie’s room. “Did you see my room? It’s bigger than my whole house and I think I had a sexual experience when I saw the bathroom and—” She broke off, took in Maggie’s sumptuous bedroom and said, “This is. Wow. I mean. Wow.”

“I know.” Maggie smiled at Culhane and walked toward her sister. “So you’re okay with moving to the palace? I know I didn’t give you much of a choice about this, but I really think we’re all safer here.”

“Yeah, you said all that.” Nora shook her head and looked at her sister. “Don’t worry about me, Mags. The important thing is, we keep Eileen safe.”

“We will.” Maggie glanced at Culhane for confirmation and the warrior gave her one quick nod.

“But you said before that you were worried about us staying in the palace. Because Mab used to live here and she’d know it so well.”

She had believed that, until it had become all too clear that Castle Bay, California, was not the safe haven she’d hoped it would be. There were too many Fae wandering around her hometown. Too many demons making tries for her and her family. So the only thing left to do was to move to Otherworld. Pick up her destiny with both hands and hold on for everything she was worth.

Maggie was going to do whatever she had to do to keep her family safe. Period. Besides, she had a little idea, which, if it worked, was going to up their safety quotient by a lot.

“Trust me, Nora. We’re going to keep Eileen safe. And, we’ve got something Mab didn’t have and probably doesn’t know about. Claire.”

“Claire?”