Prince of Air and Darkness (2 page)

“Let us prepare you for the attack,” the Queen said, rising gracefully from the bench.

Two goblins, clothed in Faerie glamour that made them look like street-dwelling mortals, rose from nearby benches, darting suspicious glances around the square as if assassins might be lurking behind any tree. When the Queen strode purposefully toward the apartment building where Kiera lived, Hunter hurried to follow, the goblins falling into step behind them. They were the Queen’s bodyguard, but Hunter couldn’t help feeling like they were in equal part his own jailors, keeping him trapped in his mother’s company when his soul screamed for release.

Chapter 1

Kiera took a deep, steadying breath before she pulled open the diner door. Lunch with her mother was always an adventure and usually left her unsettled, or irritated, or just plain confused. However, with them both living in Philadelphia, it seemed there was no way Kiera could shield herself entirely from her mom’s goofiness.

Bells adorned the diner’s door—no doubt in early preparation for Christmas—and they jingled loudly. Only the patrons nearest the door seemed to notice the sound. Kiera scanned the bustling crowd and soon picked out her mother’s signature carrot-orange hair. Inwardly, she sighed. She would have thought once her mother went gray, she would have chosen a more . . . understated . . . color for her hair. Instead, she insisted on replicating the hideous orange that Kiera had always hated—both on her mother and on herself.

Her mother waved eagerly, and Kiera wove through the tables until she reached the booth. Cathy Malone beamed as though she hadn’t seen her daughter in years.

“Have a seat!” her mother cried, sounding far more excited than the situation warranted. Her eyes shone with an almost manic glee, a glee that made Kiera’s nerves buzz with apprehension. Nothing good ever happened when her mother’s eyes shone that way.

Kiera hung her coat on the metal hanger attached to the seat, then slid into the booth, still wearing her hat and scarf. The seat made an unattractive whooshing sound when she sat. “Have you ordered?” she asked, reaching for a menu. Not that she hadn’t memorized the menu ages ago, but she hoped she could delay the inevitable.

Unfortunately, her mother ignored the question entirely. “Guess what?” she cried, loudly enough that Kiera glanced around to see if anyone was staring at them.

“It sure is cold today,” Kiera tried, aware that her voice had an almost desperate edge to it.

Her mother laughed and plucked the menu out of Kiera’s hands, tucking it back in its holder. Kiera looked up, frowning. Her mother had never been beautiful, but she was striking, even now. The orange hair was cut ultra-short, except for a coquettish curl that dangled over her forehead. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and though she tended to wear too much makeup on her eyes and lips, she never covered those freckles with foundation. Her eyes were russet, but recently she’d taken to wearing green contact lenses. No one would mistake that kelly green for her natural color, and yet somehow it suited her.

“No hiding, and no changing the subject,” her mother scolded, the smile never leaving her face. “I’m blissfully happy, and I want to share that happiness with my daughter. There’s no crime in that.”

Kiera leaned back in the booth and regarded her mother skeptically. “The last time you were this happy was when you thought you’d found the best get-rich-quick idea you’d ever heard of and you got ripped off by a stupid pyramid scheme. The time before that, if I remember correctly, was when you did that past life regression therapy and ‘discovered’ you were a reincarnation of Boudicca, the Celtic warrior queen.” Kiera’s cheeks heated with embarrassment on her mother’s behalf. “Then there was the time you went on your crusade to save the homeless and started inviting various drunks and junkies to spend the night in the warmth of your apartment and ended up homeless yourself when your landlord kicked you out.”

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, no longer looking quite so gleeful. “Don’t forget the time I claimed to have slept with the Faerie King and borne his child.”

Kiera rolled her eyes. God, please don’t let her go on about
that
nonsense again. The only thing Kiera felt certain of about her birth was that her mom had been staggering drunk when she’d bedded down with her father—whoever he was. The man had probably been equally drunk. Kiera had no idea which of the two drunken nut-cases had come up with the Faerie King idea, but if she had to guess, she’d say her mom. Any way she could find to make her life seem more dramatic and important than it was, Cathy Malone would seize with a single-minded gusto.

“I don’t know how I managed to raise such a closed-minded cynic,” her mother said with a shake of her head.

It was all Kiera could do not to groan. There was a difference between being a cynic and being a realist, but her mom didn’t seem to make the distinction. And she never learned from her mistakes, either. But there was no point in arguing—Kiera doubted she’d be able to convince her mom the sky was blue if she took it into her head to say it was purple. And if Kiera allowed herself to get dragged into the craziness, this lunch could stretch until near dinner time. Kiera couldn’t afford that—she was meeting with a potential client at two.

A harried waitress finally arrived to take their order, saving Kiera from having to respond. Kiera ordered soup and salad. Her mother ordered a hot turkey sandwich and mashed potatoes. She would eat the whole thing, gravy and all, without gaining a single ounce. Her wild-eyed energy seemed to burn up the calories as fast as she could suck them in. The thought made Kiera even more grumpy.

“Well,” her mother said brightly, “it doesn’t really matter what you think of me or my way of life. Notice that one of us is sitting here with a big smile on her face and the other has a thundercloud hovering over her head. That isn’t a coincidence.”

Kiera folded her arms and felt like a sulky teenager. “I never said it was. You get quite a kick out of getting on my nerves, so of course you’re having fun.”

“Yes, dear, I live to make you miserable. Now, can I tell you my news, or would you like to sneer a little more first?”

Kiera was always amazed at how easily her mother shrugged off these little tiffs of theirs. Kiera would probably spend the rest of the day brooding about it, and here her mom was making jokes. Maybe if Kiera just humored her mom, they could quickly move on to saner, more normal topics and Kiera would manage to escape the diner in time to meet her client.

“I’ll wait until you tell me your news, then I’ll sneer some more, okay?”

Her mom flashed her an ironic grin. “Yes, I believe you will.” She paused dramatically before continuing. “I’ve found him,” she announced with great ceremony.

Kiera bowed her head and tried to suppress a groan. There was only one “him” her mother could mean. For as long as Kiera could remember, her mother had been on a quest to find “him.” In her mind, “he” was the Holy Grail, though Kiera thought it was more like one of those silly snipe hunts they sent you on in summer camp.

“So,” she said, not attempting to hide her sarcasm, “does Mr. Right have a name?”

“No, he’s an anonymous sperm donor. Did I mention I was pregnant?”

Kiera’s head jerked up, her common sense taking a quick coffee break while she thought for one fleeting instant her mother was serious. The waitress chose that moment to sling their food onto the table, breezing away before Kiera could remind her that she’d ordered the chicken soup, not the clam chowder.

“I thought
I
was the one who’s supposed to be gullible,” her mother said as she cut into her sandwich. “Of course he has a name.” She giggled like a school girl. “And, wouldn’t you know it, his name is Alonso Wright.”

That surprised a laugh out of Kiera. “Mom, that’s one of the oldest—and silliest—jokes in the world.”

“Well, it’s the honest-to-God truth. Wright is a common last name, you know. And I’m sure Alonso has heard a million Mr. Right jokes in his lifetime. But just like I told you, sweetie, the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was destined to be my soul mate.”

Kiera’s stomach turned over at the sappy smile and the even sappier words. Her mom had dated quite a few men over the years, some of them for significant periods of time. Kiera knew at least two of them had proposed marriage. But although her mom had been fond of these men, maybe even loved one or two of them, she’d insisted that none of them was her mythical soul mate, her Mr. Right. Annoyingly, she had also declared that none of the men Kiera had ever dated was
her
soul mate either. Kiera wished she had married one of them and lived happily ever after, if only to prove her mother wrong.

“And does Mr. Wright share your certainty that you are destined for one another?”

“Well, we haven’t exactly met each other yet, so no.”

Kiera stared. “You haven’t met him, but you’re sure he’s your soul mate. Mom, you’ve always been a goof, but this is a bit over the top even for you.”

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “I told you there was fey blood in our family tree—even before my little fling with your father. I’ve always had a little touch of magic, and I can tell you that Alonso Wright and I are meant to be together.”

“Uh-huh.” Kiera speared a cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth. At least if she was chewing, her mom wouldn’t expect her to offer any encouraging commentary.

“Alonso owns the Old World Charm Café—you know, that new Italian restaurant, the little one that opened up right around the corner from me? I had dinner there last night, and the moment I set eyes on him, I knew.”

Kiera considered stuffing another bite of salad in her mouth to avoid this conversation, but her appetite was nonexistent. “You know I don’t believe in this Mr. Right crap, so don’t expect me to get all excited about it.”

“Of course not, dear,” her mother said with a wry smile. “But would it kill you to be happy for me?”

“I’d be thrilled if I thought you really had something to be happy about. Seeing a man and instantly deciding he’s the love of your life doesn’t cut it.”

“Kiera, honey, I know you think I’m just this side of certifiable, but even us crazy people occasionally get something right. Right here, right now, I’m happy, and I intend to enjoy it to the fullest.”

Envy twinged in Kiera’s chest. She wasn’t
un
happy with her own life, even if she had to admit it was a little lonely at times. Loneliness was far preferable to the misery she’d endured during her last relationship, one she’d stayed in far longer than she should have. But it had been a long, long time since she’d been bubbling with happiness like her mom was now.

Happiness built on fantasy and wishful thinking doesn’t count
, she told herself. She had a good, stable life, with none of the wild peaks and valleys of her mom’s. She’d spent long enough in one of those valleys when she’d stubbornly tried to make her relationship with Jon work. And no peak was worth suffering the sickening plunge again.

****

Hunter glanced impatiently at his watch as he sipped his cooling cup of coffee and watched the ebb and flow of customers through the doorway. When he’d first moved into the apartment directly below Kiera’s, his plan had been nothing more sophisticated than to engineer chance meetings with her in the lobby and elevators, counting on his natural charm—and fey glamour—to draw her to him.  However, during his first week of fact-finding and information-gathering, he’d learned she worked from home as a web designer, and that information had led him to a more pro-active plan of attack.

Hunter’s appointment with Kiera was supposed to be at two o’clock, but she was already fifteen minutes late. If he’d been a real client, he’d have gotten up and left by now. Patience wasn’t a virtue that was much valued in the Unseelie Court, and Hunter had to fight the urge to tap his foot on the floor or his fingers on the table.

The bell on the coffee shop door tinkled, and Kiera stepped in from the cold, her cheeks bright red from the wind’s bite. She was wearing the same ugly coat, the same hat, and the same scarf that she’d worn every time he’d laid eyes on her. He had thought perhaps she would dress more appealingly when meeting a client. He himself had chosen an expensive Armani jacket, paired with a silk shirt and Italian loafers. His black leather coat was draped across one of the four chairs at his table, and his hat hung on the side of the chair, looking much less rakish there than it had on his head. Of course, if Kiera had been here when he’d arrived, as he’d expected, he’d have been able to use the coat and hat to their fullest advantage, presenting the dark and mysterious image he’d so meticulously planned.

Kiera scanned the tables. He had not described himself to her, and he’d told her he’d recognize her from her picture on her website when she entered the shop. He let her examine each of the tables, hoping she was sweating and thinking her client had failed to wait for her. But when her eyes found his table, she stopped her search. Her brows drew together in just a hint of a frown, and he wondered if she remembered seeing him in the square the other day. Then she banished the frown and strode to his table.

“Hunter Teague?” she inquired, so sure she was right she was already pulling out a chair to sit down.

Hunter’s reply was half a beat late because he was so startled by her certainty. “How did you know?” he asked, hoping he sounded only mildly curious instead of annoyed.

She piled her motley array of winter wear onto the other empty chair, then shrugged. “Instinct, I guess. You look like your voice sounded.”

Hunter was struck momentarily speechless, not sure what to make of that comment. He tried to hide his discomfiture by taking another sip of coffee. It had gone cold and bitter, and he couldn’t help a grimace of distaste. She had only spoken two sentences, and already she had managed to put him off balance. Pushing the coffee cup away, he cocked his head at her. “Is that a compliment or an insult, I wonder?”

She looked surprised. “Neither. Just an observation.” The surprise vanished under a sweet smile as she stuck her hand out over the table. “Kiera Malone, at your service.”