Inked Magic (5 page)

Better that he convince her to do what his family wanted—willingly—so she’d stand a chance of surviving it, than to leave it to
his uncle and father. That’s what he told himself, but his conscience gnawed at him. And the only way he could suppress it was with images of Brianna, and the casket he’d walked away from before it was lowered into the grave.

“Stylin’ Ink wasn’t what I expected,” he said.

“You expected flash on the walls and bikers hanging out in the waiting room?”

“Something like that. Though this is an expensive district, I probably shouldn’t have.”

“We’re mostly a custom shop. There’s some flash in the reference binders, but even the tourists usually want their work personalized. The clientele varies, depending on the artists. Derrick attracts the extremes, gay guys and total homophobes. Jamaal draws a lot of the office-worker crowd. Bryce took over the shop a couple of years ago. His specialty is portraits.”

“And you? Do you like drawing portraits?”

“Devotion art almost always. Memorial art, yes, but it’s a lot harder sometimes.”

“And the difference between the two?”

“Not all artists make one. For me, devotion art is having something like your mother’s or girlfriend’s face drawn over your heart while she’s alive to appreciate the gesture. Memorial portraits depict someone who’s dead. If they died a while back, I don’t mind it so much. A fresh event is a lot tougher to handle, when getting the ink is a way to process the grief. Emotional pain translated into physical pain.”

“Catharsis.”

“Yes.”

“Do you draw outside of producing skin art?”

“Not often.”

Cathal backed off at the tone in her voice, different, firm. As clear an indication not to push further as was the way she’d deflected any probe that might lead to talk about her family.

He traced the eye on her right palm and felt a shiver go through
her, one that resonated in him, like an echo and amplification of lust. His thoughts blurred, but whatever he might have said next was interrupted by the arrival of a blond man at their table.

Competition
.

The word blazed through him and was confirmed when the stranger merely nodded, making no pretense at what had brought him to the table and where his interest lay. Etaín. And by the expression on her face, she wasn’t immune to the blond, or resistant to the attraction.

Like calls to like
, Etaín thought, the idea coming from nowhere but settling in with surety as the tattoos along her forearms felt as though they were alive, writhing and rippling and soaking in this man’s presence. Not bells this time, but raging fire and stormy seas.

The maître d’ and servers were mouthwatering, but this man was stunning. Tiny stones set in intricately marked silver glittered from his ears. Dark blond hair flowed down his back in twisted waves and his eyes were the blue of deep sea.

In every way he was as breathtaking as Cathal, as commanding. Sex incarnate, but perhaps coming with a greater risk.

His attention flicked to her upturned palm and she tensed at seeing something in his expression, recognition maybe, or satisfaction. “I am Eamon. Welcome to my place.”

He didn’t offer a hand in greeting. Solidifying her suspicions that he knew, that somehow he had strange gifts of his own.

“Etaín,” she said, and would have sworn she felt the force of his will pressing to hers, demanding she provide a last name, more in the way of identification. It took a greater effort than it should have to glance away. “This is—”

“Cathal Dunne,” Eamon said, turning his head slightly, directing the next words at her companion. “I know of his family.”

Dark ripples in a smooth voice. Undercurrents that made her think of jagged reefs beneath the calm ocean surface.

Cathal inclined his head, nothing more.

A silent battle waged between the two men. She felt it against her
senses and suppressed the urge to point out they were definitely not junkyard dogs and she was not a bone to be fought over, or to be gnawed on by the victor until his hunger passed.

Eamon turned back to her and his heated look had the same effect on her as Cathal’s did, delivering a lightning strike of need. “I’ll tell those who work here you’re to be admitted any time you desire. Food and drink will be provided at no cost.”

His eyes held knowledge of his effect on her. Kissable lips drew her attention so she watched the words leave them. “You’ll understand if I hope you arrive unaccompanied so I can join you.”

She left the sentiment unanswered. Falling back on a semblance of manners, linked loosely to a social rule about leaving with the one you came with.

A server came through the doors and crossed the bridge, heading toward their table. Eamon said, “Your dinner is about to arrive. I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”

He left, his presence seeming to stretch across the terrace and claim every inch of it, the unmistakable aura of ownership and power.
And something else
, she thought as the sensation of fire and water along the inked vines on her forearms subsided.

“Well, that was interesting,” she said as their plates were placed on the table and the server left.

“For you maybe.”

Cathal’s voice held dismissal, the absolute confidence of a man who didn’t truly worry about a rival when it came to women. She risked feeding his outrageous ego by saying, “Definitely for me. It’s not every day two guys who look like poster boys for carnal sin come into my orbit and hit on me.”

The smile he gave her curled her toes and very nearly pushed the image of Eamon from her mind. “Carnal sin. My favorite kind. Does that mean you’re going to give in to temptation?”

“I’m still undecided.”

“Then I’ll have to convince you.”

Cathal stood and moved to her side. Heat flared in her belly and the scent of him filled her lungs.

He smelled right. There was no other way to describe it.

Her heart skipped and raced. She wet her lips in anticipation and tilted her face up as he lowered his, recognizing this for what it was, even if he didn’t. The staking of a public claim despite his outward show of confidence. A reaction to Eamon’s arrival at their table.

Her panties dampened further as his mouth neared hers. “Tease,” she murmured when he took his time reaching her lips.

He brushed his mouth against hers. “And you’re not?”

“I can be. If that’s what you like.”

He cupped her cheek though he didn’t have to worry she would try to evade him. “I’d like anything you’d care to do to me.”

“That’s a pretty bold statement. I might be into whips and chains.”

“Turnabout is fair play.”

He covered her mouth with his, licking at the seam of her lips. When she opened for him, he didn’t thrust inside but continued to torment her with light touches and tender sucks, the promise of penetration withheld.

Her breasts grew swollen, the nipples tight and aching, crying out for his hand to leave her cheek. Or better yet, for his mouth to move downward.

Desire shivered through her, need too long suppressed. Heat gathered in her labia and she pressed her thighs together to capture it, enjoy it.

If they’d been alone she would have cupped her mound with her hand, touched herself until he forced her hand away and replaced it with his, or rolled on top of her and filled her with his cock.

His tongue finally thrust against hers. Rubbed in a sensual prelude.

A small moan of pleasure escaped but instead of enticing more of the same, it served as the bell announcing the end of the first round and naming him victor. He lifted his mouth from hers, satisfaction and lust in his eyes. “Convinced?”

“That you’d be good in bed? I only had to look at you to know that.”

He brushed his thumb over her still-parted lips. “You tempt me to risk a charge of lewd and indecent behavior to get the answer I want, but I’ll take the more conservative course. For now. Step foot in my club and all bets are off.”

E
amon watched from above, Rhys at his side, as Cathal leaned down, delivering another tormenting kiss.

“I could arrange an accident for him,” Rhys said.

The same solution had crossed Eamon’s mind though violence was never his first choice when dealing with humans. On the whole, he disliked them, but it seemed dishonorable, given the shortness of their lives, to end them prematurely or cause undeserved hardship.

“Not now,” he answered. Perhaps not ever.

He’d been hard from the moment he’d seen her and hadn’t imagined his cock could throb more painfully, yet it did. He found it incredibly arousing to watch Cathal touch her, to imagine coming to her bed after the other man had left it and having her spread her legs for him as well.

The reaction surprised him, as did the willingness to even consider sharing his consort-wife with a human. Time would tell, he decided, if the increased desire he felt at seeing them together came from the challenge of taking her away from another, or if there was something about Etaín and Cathal together, a primal connection with roots in the magic filling her and empowering her inherent gift.

Too much was at stake to act in haste, and she was an unknown. “Have someone shadow Etaín. I want to know where she lives and works.”

“I’ve already stationed someone outside, humans, so attention won’t be drawn to her. A young couple so they’ll more easily find ways to blend.”

“Excellent.”

“Should I look into her involvement with Niall Dunne’s son and learn what I can about her history?”

It was the easy way, but not the most satisfying. “Hold off for now. I’ll make contact with her again. Tonight perhaps. Unless she’s still with Cathal.”

“The clock will start ticking if you’re seen too often in public.”

“It already ticks. There’s no avoiding it. If I’m successful in making her my consort, all of us will need to move and reinvent ourselves elsewhere. She has friends here, and humans she believes are her biological family. They’ll age and die unless they pledge themselves and become part of my household.”

Rhys captured the red sun of his earring, rubbing his thumb over it as if to ward off bad luck. “How can she be unclaimed? How is it the queen isn’t scouring this world for her?”

“We don’t know she isn’t.”

“Our spies—”

“Might no longer belong to us. But more likely, they haven’t heard even a whisper about the existence of a
seidic
hidden away and not bound over as the law requires.”

“It’d be a coup for the queen if she introduced one to the court. It’d be a way to reward those whose loyalty is unquestioned and strike terror in the heart of anyone who isn’t. Binding Etaín to you instead of giving her over will be viewed as a declaration of sovereignty once it becomes known.”

“Such a declaration is inevitable. I don’t think any other lord would act otherwise, especially after they’d seen her.” He hesitated then added, “When she passed through the wards, the magic possessing her felt old, as if it originated in Elfhome.”

Rhys’s breath caught. “Then why let her continue to roam free?”

“Because I want a willing wife-consort, not an unwilling prisoner.”

“You risk much.”

“For the chance of gaining more. Tell the couple watching Etaín
to report her whereabouts if she parts company with Cathal and settles in a place where I can approach her without making her feel threatened.”

“I’ll do it now.”

Rhys left and Eamon continued to study the couple below as they finished their meal. Curiosity ate at him. Desire. He felt more alive, more excited than he had in centuries.

Ennui was the curse of long life, why intrigues and political maneuvering became a hobby for many, a dangerous amusement in periods when peace existed between their kind and the other supernaturals hidden in this realm.

“Who are you?” he murmured, looking down at the woman who would soon belong to him. “Where did you come from?”
And is it possible you could lead us to one of the gates to Elfhome. Would you want
to?

Would he?

So many unknowns.

Next time, if she arrived with Cathal, he would order them seated somewhere other than the terrace, so he could listen to their conversation. Magic and honor prevented him from doing it now. The first because the area they were in was heavily warded, a place of containment as well as sanctuary, and second, because those humans allowed to sit there during the hours the restaurant was open to them had been guaranteed it was a place of absolute privacy.

Cathal’s father and uncle came here frequently. Instinct or paranoia, from their first visit to Aesirs, they’d secured seating on the terrace.

They remained a complication. He had no desire to swell the ranks of those calling him Lord with humans, especially men like Niall and Denis. The sooner he weaned Etaín away from involvement with anyone who had no ties to the Elven world, the better.

Eamon watched as Etaín and Cathal stood, the other man’s hand settling on her lower back in a possessive manner.

Her aura darkened as a result of it, rich gold against the shimmering purple of Cathal’s. Confirming, in a small way, why he found the thought of sharing her erotic rather than unacceptable. The magic possessing her found something in Cathal it wanted.

She didn’t move away as Cathal’s body brushed against hers, touched as they halted on the bridge and looked down at the koi. She threw something into the water and Eamon’s attention flicked back to the table.

He spotted the small, distinctly patterned bowl, now empty of the pellets it had once contained. Seeing it brought a smile to his face, a surge of pleasure at her whimsy. So few guests asked about feeding the fish.

Pleasure became a spike of lust when Cathal leaned in, whispering something in her ear, using conversation as an excuse to touch his lips to her skin, to place a kiss high on her neck as his hand caressed her spine.

Eamon fought the urge to curl his fingers around his hardened length, his desire deepening in response to the heat flowing back and forth between them.

She pulled away, just far enough to turn toward Cathal and say something, making him smile then lower his gaze to the front of her shirt, and the nipples visible there.