Cruel Enchantment (17 page)

Kieran swore under his breath and crossed to the door. “I won’t touch her because you asked me not to, Aeric, but others will want a piece of her.” He turned before he left and shot Emmaline a cold glare. “You just wasted your life for a bit of Seelie garbage.” Then he was gone.

Emmaline slumped as if fear and tension had been the only things holding her upright.

Aeric slammed the bolt home on the inside of his door. He was going to make some charmed iron pieces for it to make fucking sure no one got through.

“Are you okay?” he asked, crossing the room to her.

She shook her head. “No, I’m not okay, not at all. He was right, Aeric. I’m putting you in danger by staying here. I need to leave, go somewhere else . . . not the Rose, but I’ll find somewhere. It’ll be okay—”

“Hey.” He caught her by the upper arms and forced her to look up at him, although she only did so for about a half second. “Stop.”

“No.” She licked her lips, an action he was fast recognizing as something she did when she was nervous. “I’ve put you in danger. I knew that if my cover was blown and the Unseelie found out I was here, they’d come looking for me. The fae have long memories. I have my glamour.” She tried to push past him. “I can fend for myself.”

He tightened his grip and she stilled, refusing to look at him. “Yeah, like you fended for yourself with me? I saw right through your glamour. Forced you to give it up.”

That made her look up. “You’re the only one
ever
to be able to do that.”

“If I can do it, so can someone else. Remember, you’re not with the humans anymore. You’re with your own kind. We’re not as harmless.”

“I don’t really need to be reminded of that, considering.”

“You’re staying here, got it? I brought you here and I can keep you here.”

“My ass is yours?”

“You fucking better believe it.”

“I thought you wanted me out of here so bad, Aeric. What happened?”

He released her and stepped back. “I can’t discount the possibility that your story about the piece of the
bosca fadbh
is true. If you’re really working for the HFF it’s important you stay safe.”

“So you’ve gone from wanting to kill me to wanting to protect me.”

His lips twisted. “How’s that for a change?”

She cleared her throat and gave him a shaky smile. “Yeah.”

“You can stay here. I’ll reinforce the door with charmed iron pieces. When you leave my apartment, you’ll do it glamoured. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about me.”

“Aww, isn’t that fucking sweet. I can take care of myself, Emmaline.”

She frowned at him. “You swear a lot.”

“Yes, a recent occurrence, much like my sudden binge drinking and bouts of unpredictable violence. I developed a few bad habits when you arrived.”

“Swearing, fighting, and drinking. I’m a great influence.”

There were worse influences, like the one that made him want her so much. The one that made his dick hard when he watched her move or caught the scent of her hair and skin. Yeah, that one was a lot worse. No way was he telling her about that one.

Hell, he was having a hard enough time not
showing
her.

She moved away from him before he could tell her to go back to sleep, sending up a wave of the scent of the shampoo she used, whatever that wicked stuff was that she kept in her backpack. “I need a drink, myself.” She looked a little wobbly on her feet.

“Okay, let’s both have one. I don’t think either of us is getting back to sleep for a while after that interruption.”

Of course he could think of better ways to pass the time.

He went for the whiskey.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding up an ancient bottle of golden liquid that had no label.

“Aged apple liquor. You probably knew it as Amber Sip. Fae-made.”

“Amber Sip.” She uncorked it and sniffed. “Wow, I haven’t had this stuff since before the wars.”

He grabbed a couple of glasses and took the bottle from her. “Then let’s kill the bottle.”

Some time later Emmaline swirled the liquor in the bottom of her glass. She’d had more than one and apparently she’d never win any drinking contests. She glanced up at him with exhausted, heavy-lidded eyes, her dark hair framing her face in a way that made him want to brush it back, cup her cheeks in his hands, lean in, and . . .

“You think I’m gorgeous?” She drained the glass. “You said that . . . the, uh, other day. You know, in the forge.” She looked away from him.

He unlocked his jaw long enough to answer. “Yeah, I think you’re gorgeous. Don’t you ever look in a mirror when you’re not glamoured?”

She frowned and stared into her empty glass as though wondering where her drink had gone. “No, actually. That day you let me have a shower was the first time I’d seen myself in hundreds of years.”

“Wow. No offense, but that’s a little fucked up.”

She looked up at him and blinked. “Yes, it is. I guess . . . I never really liked myself all that much. You know, because of that whole assassin thing.”

He held the bottle up to her with raised eyebrows and she held out her glass for more.

“That whole assassin thing, yeah.” Every muscle in his body tightened and he forced himself to relax. “We’ve all done things in the past we’re not proud of.”

“Some more than others.” She drew a breath and then gave him a dazzling smile. “So, I’m looking okay, then?”

A corner of his mouth hitched upward. He slammed back the rest of his drink before answering, since he needed it. He was about to tell a woman who had been a sworn enemy only weeks ago that he thought she was pretty. “More than okay. Like I said, gorgeous.”

She smiled a little, but her eyes were sad. “So, tell me about Piefferburg. I read all I can about this place, but nothing’s like a firsthand account. By not living here, I’ve missed a huge chunk of fae history.”

He snorted. “It’s not history yet. Seems like current events to me.”

“With your help, soon it might be history.”

“By the fae timeline Piefferburg is just a blip. We were here long before humanity stopped swinging from the branches and we’ll be here long after they disappear.”

She swirled the rest of her drink in her glass. “And so will the Phaendir.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Those bastards are like cockroaches. Not even a nuclear blast could get rid of them.”

She finished her glass and settled back into the cushions. “So, tell me. How did they trap you here, Aeric?”

He set his glass aside and started in. He told her about how the Phaendir had hunted them down like dogs and trapped them all over the world with the help of the humans. He told her about the ship stuffed to bursting with fae who were either sick with Watt syndrome, trussed up in charmed iron—that had been created by him, originally, and commandeered for that purpose—or both. There had been hardly any food, almost no clean drinking water. Disease had been rampant. So many died on the trip that the sharks followed in their wake, waiting to be fed. Of course, the fae weren’t the last to travel the ocean to the New World under such conditions.
Hardly
.

He told her about Piefferburg’s earliest days, how cold it was and how there was so little food and no shelter. He told her how they’d built the city from nothing but grass and trees and how all of them had seethed in anger over their treatment. That common bond drew all the fae races together, ending the pettiness of the wars and uniting them in a common purpose.

If any good had come out of Piefferburg, it was that.

Eventually, though, the fire of their indignation had been lost in simply surviving—maintaining an economy that could support all of Piefferburg’s inhabitants.

Now that righteous fire was back, sparked by the Phaendir and the way they’d barged into their city the previous year in an attempt to gain the Book of Bindings and kill their new Shadow Queen. These days Piefferburg seethed again. The fae wanted blood.

Hopefully they would get it.

When he was done, he looked over and found Emmaline asleep. The empty glass had rolled out of her fingers and onto the cushion. Her face rested comfortably on one of the throw pillows, her long dark hair tucked behind her ear. Her breathing came deep and easy, almost as if having someone try to kill her happened every day.

Although—he frowned—these days it sort of did.

She really was beautiful, as much as he hated to admit it. Not beautiful in the perfect, ethereal way that Aileen had been beautiful. Emmaline’s attractiveness was a different kind. Natural. Unique. Compelling. Interesting.

He eased his hand to her chin and turned her face toward his. Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher. How had she landed in his life this way? He wished she hadn’t. Wished he didn’t find her as compelling or as interesting as he did.

He wished he found her guilty.

It would have made things so much easier if he’d just been able to stick with his original plan. But reality was whatever it was, no matter if you liked it. He was a fan of seeing the truth in events and in people, no matter if the truth was complicated and the lie was a comforting old friend.

So, new plan.

He set the empty glass on the coffee table and gently scooped her into his arms. She mumbled a little in her sleep and put her arms around his neck, nuzzling his throat like he was a lover. Every nerve in his body leapt to life. He closed his eyes for a moment and gritted his teeth, gaining a handle on that annoying, misplaced superattraction he had to her. He could fuck any woman in Piefferburg, but not this one.

Not Emmaline. He needed to resist.

She weighed more than she looked, but it was still no problem to get her over to the bed and lay her down. She snuggled into the pillow and blankets with a sleepy-sounding murmur. He covered her before he had a chance to skirt her body with his gaze and imagine what she’d look like if she was nude. He already knew, right? He’d already touched her, made her come. His fingers itched to do it again—to peel off all her clothes and stroke down her soft skin.

He swore under his breath and turned away from her. Maybe he should sneak out and fuck one of the women in the Black Tower, one he knew would welcome an early morning visit with no strings attached. His hands fisted. Yeah, but that woman wouldn’t be the one he really wanted—she wouldn’t be Emmaline. No woman had tempted him this much since Aileen.

The irony of that was not lost on him.

Yet, there was that truth thing again, slapping him in the face with its inconveniences. He wanted to say
fuck the truth
. . . but he couldn’t.

 

 

“AISLINN?”
Aeric stepped into the room and motioned to Emmaline to join him. “Emmaline is here to see you.”

Emmaline stepped from the corridor and into the Shadow Queen’s quarters.

The Shadow Queen turned from her desk and Emmaline caught her breath. Out of sheer instinct, she dipped low into a curtsy. She dropped her glamour, too, now that the door was shut behind her.

Man, she hadn’t made that curtsy move in a long time . . . and never to the Unseelie Royal. The Summer Queen had always demanded that she dress for the occasion when she entered her throne room, but Emmaline hadn’t packed any finery, figuring she could buy it within the borders of Piefferburg. Now she wore a pair of faded jeans and a black sweater. Not fit for a queen to see.

“Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher, please rise. I don’t stand on court protocol the way the Summer Queen does.”

She rose, but still couldn’t quite catch her breath in the face of the queen. As was the tradition for both the royals, the Shadow Queen was dressed in traditional garb. She wore a huge, elaborate gown in hues of peach and white. Folds of fabric draped over a hoopskirt and cascaded to the floor, forming a train. The bodice was tight, pressing her breasts to overflowing at the top. The collar formed a fan around the back of her neck. Her hair, a silver blond, was pinned on her head with glittering diamonds, curling tendrils falling around her face.

The Shadow Queen motioned to a figure near her. “Please meet my husband, Gabriel, the Shadow King.”

Emmaline’s gaze cut to the man. He was devastatingly good-looking, dressed from head to toe in black. His long hair, the same hue, pretty much melted into his clothing. He bowed to her. “Nice to meet you, Emmaline. We know you by reputation already, of course.”

She dropped her gaze at those words. “Those days are far behind me.”

“They might be far behind you,” Gabriel answered, “but the Unseelie remember. You have many enemies in this court, Emmaline.”

Her lips twisted. “I am aware.”

Gods, he was handsome with all that long black hair. He was an incubus, according to Aeric. They were always devastating. It was part of their weapon—a way to get women to have sex with them. They exuded pheromones, too. Emmaline blinked to get herself out of her stare.

Aeric was far more compelling. The two men didn’t have the same kind of attractiveness. Gabriel was classically good-looking, smooth, while Aeric was all brute strength, pure male.

“Aeric told us about what Kieran did last night,” the queen added. “According to the way Unseelie law is constructed, I can’t punish him. If he wants to take revenge against you for his brother’s death, he’s within his rights. Just like I can’t punish Aeric for what he did, though he knows I’m not happy with him over it.”

She inclined her head. “I understand.”

“But you are within your rights to defend yourself as well.”

“I did defend myself.” Emmaline looked up and smiled at her. “And, believe me, if Kieran tries it again, I will do my best to kick his ass.”

The Shadow Queen moved to a large chair in the middle of the room with heavy swishes of fabric and sat down. “Aeric tells me you’re with the HFF, working undercover among the Phaendir.”