Prince of Air and Darkness (4 page)

But that was silly, right? Why would he lie about it? Why would he hire her to design a website for his business if he didn’t really have a business? Paranoia, she decided. First she’d caught herself thinking he might be the mythical Mr. Right, now she was thinking he was some kind of imposter.

Sure this temporary insanity was somehow her mother’s fault, Kiera pulled out the pad of notes and began idly sketching out some design ideas.

Chapter 2

Hunter’s nostrils flared the instant he stepped into his apartment. He recognized that stink, like poorly tanned leather. With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed the knife he kept hidden up his sleeve. Cautiously, he moved farther into the apartment, his nose twitching as he followed the stench of goblin until he found the uninvited guest in the room that would one day be his massage studio. Already, the room sported a massage table, CD player, and a stack of CD’s with soothing, tuneless music on them.

Bane didn’t hear Hunter’s silent footsteps—he was too busy uncapping and sniffing the collection of massage oils and lotions Hunter had purchased. In fact, the goblin had no hint of his presence until the silver blade of Hunter’s knife was pressed into the flesh of his throat.

The goblin’s natural appearance was hidden behind a mortal glamour, and to top it off, he was disguised as a stinking, filth-encrusted street person. The stench made Hunter’s eyes water, and he hoped it wasn’t rubbing off on his own clothing.

“I don’t remember inviting you in,” Hunter growled in the goblin’s ear, increasing the pressure on the knife so that the blade just broke the first layer of skin.

Bane didn’t move, but Hunter sensed no hint of fear from him, no tensing of his muscles, no quickening of his heartbeat. “Her Majesty would be displeased with you if you killed me,” he said calmly.

Hunter’s hand itched to draw the knife across the evil creature’s throat, but he didn’t want to imagine how the Queen would punish him for killing the most vicious of her courtiers. “It might almost be worth it.”

“You don’t have the balls for it, half-breed.”

With effort, Hunter reined in his temper. Bane had goaded him into more foolish acts in his lifetime than he could bear to admit. Just this once, he would refrain from taking the bait.

With a grunt of disgust, Hunter released the goblin and slid the knife back into its sheath. Bane put a little distance between them, then reached up to finger his throat. A thin line of blood beaded where Hunter’s knife had bitten. Bane examined the blood on his fingers, lips twisted into a snarl that showed a flash of fangs behind the glamour.

“If you were going to stick me, Prince, you should’ve done a better job than this.” He licked the blood from his fingers. “Barely enough to annoy me.”

“What do you want?”

Bane chuckled. “What do you think I want, Boyo? I want to snap your bones, one by one, and hear you scream.”

Hunter met the goblin’s eyes. “Yes, well,
I
wanted to slit your throat, but I refrained.”

Bane’s chuckle turned into an all-out laugh. “The Queen will be highly pleased with both of us for our self-control.” He looked genuinely amused by their mutual desire to kill each other, and Hunter could do nothing but shake his head.

Neither a lifetime in the Unseelie Court, nor the Unseelie blood that ran through him, was enough to make him understand how these creatures could so greatly enjoy killing. It wasn’t that Hunter had never killed before. Most of the unfortunates he’d hunted for the Queen’s pleasure had been highly reluctant to be taken alive. Usually, he’d been able to subdue them, but there were times he’d “accidentally” killed his mother’s intended victim. There’d been a certain sense of satisfaction with those minor acts of rebellion—despite the inevitable consequences. But he’d never actually
enjoyed
the killing, not like these goblins did, not like his mother did. Of course, with Bane, he might be able to make an exception.

“Why are you here?” he asked with exaggerated patience.

“A little reminder from Mama,” Bane sneered. “Just because you’re on your own doesn’t mean she isn’t watching you. And she can always get to you if you displease her.”

Hunter had never doubted that for a moment, but he wasn’t particularly surprised she’d felt compelled to send him the message. Nor was he surprised she’d chosen Bane, whom he hated above all others—excepting his mother herself—as the messenger.

“Well, now that your message is delivered, you can get the hell out of my apartment. I’ll have to fumigate just to get the stench out.”

Bane gave him another of his toothy, vicious smiles. “Sorry for the . . . inconvenience. But, since I’ve already inconvenienced you, perhaps I should stain the carpet with your blood while I’m at it.”

“If you thought you could get away with it, you would have gone for my throat already. Now, are you planning to leave peacefully, or will I have to throw you out?”

“I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty, Prince,” Bane said, starting toward the door.

Hunter tried to step aside, knowing that Bane would shoulder him out of the way if he didn’t. But it seemed that only a handful of days in the mortal world had already dulled his instincts, for he didn’t read the intention in Bane’s eyes until too late.

As Bane brushed by, he made a fist and poked a lightning-quick jab at Hunter’s groin. The pain drove Hunter to his knees, and for a moment he could barely breathe as his body clenched in agony.

“That’s for the little nick you gave me. Unfortunately, I can’t hit you any harder or you might have trouble performing your stud duties. But if the Queen ever takes the muzzles off of us, I’ll show you what I
really
wanted to do.”

Hunter had to fight too hard for air to manage a comeback.

****

“It’s perfect,” Jackson declared, looking over Kiera’s shoulder at the site she’d designed for him.

Kiera beamed, absurdly pleased to have won his approval. He’d been her best friend ever since her senior year in college, and this project was more like a favor than an actual job. But Jackson had never been shy about his opinions, so she knew he meant what he said.

Jackson put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “You’re a genius, you know,” he said, and she laughed.

“Do I look like I need an ego boost today?”

He moved around her chair and rested a hip against the desk. He was wearing a heavy wool turtleneck in muted shades of red, and a pair of black leather pants that molded to his ass like a second skin. Kiera couldn’t help thinking that the pants were so tight, he should be showing the male version of panty lines; however, the leather was smooth and unmarred. “I don’t know about an ego boost, but you do have one of those looks today.”

Surprised, she pushed her chair back from the desk and frowned at him. He always seemed to see her moods, even when she thought she was hiding them so well even the CIA wouldn’t know what she was really feeling. “One of what looks?” she asked.

He cocked his head as he regarded her more closely. She tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. “At a guess, I’d say you met a new potential man.”

Kiera grinned and shook her head. The man was amazing. “Not really,” she said, thinking of Hunter and the burning kiss he had planted on her hand. “Just a good-looking client.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Is he married?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t ask clients personal questions like that.”

“Hmpf! You ask
me
personal questions all the time.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. But if it makes you happy, I did notice he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”

“So, you met a good-looking, unmarried client, and he’s impressed you enough that I picked up the lust vibe from you. How is this not a new potential man?”

She tried to look nonchalant. “Other than the fact that I don’t date clients, you mean?”

“You work from home, where you’re guaranteed never to meet any new men, you hardly ever go out, at least not for anything fun, and now you tell me you don’t date clients.” He frowned and tapped his lips thoughtfully. “It sounds to me as though you’re avoiding men.”

She snorted. “I’m not avoiding
you
,” she pointed out.

“That’s because I’m not a threat,” he countered, quite reasonably. “I might as well be ‘one of the girls.’”

She had to laugh at that. She had never thought of him as “one of the girls,” despite the occasionally flamboyant clothing, and despite his boyfriends. But, she had to admit, he had never been a potential lover, so his accusation was more accurate than she wished to admit.

“Can you really blame me, Jackson? With my history?”

“Blame you? No. But, if you would occasionally take my advice, especially when I tell you you’re dating an asshole, perhaps you might do better.”

Her cheeks felt suddenly hot and she looked away. “You and my mother always seem to know when
I’m
dating the wrong guy, but neither one of you can avoid the lemons any better than I can.”

“It’s all a question of perspective,” he told her, making a mock-serious face. “Perhaps you should introduce me to this client of yours.”

“Jackson . . .” she warned.

He held his hands out in a gesture of supreme innocence. “Of course, I would never suggest that you disregard your professional ethics and date a client. But, as he does seem to have piqued your interest, I can tell you whether it might have worked out. If you were willing to date clients.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, even though she couldn’t help wondering what Jackson would make of the unsettling Hunter Teague. “Keep your matchmaking nose out of this, Jackson. I’m serious.” Despite all the sexual heat Hunter had aroused in her at their meeting, he was definitely not her type, she told herself. Too arrogant, too smooth.

Jackson’s smile became devious. “Of course, I’m unattached right now myself. Do you think he might be
my
type?”

She laughed. “No. I don’t think the two of your egos could fit in the same room at the same time.”

He took the jibe with his usual good-natured humor, laughing as he reached out to rumple her hair. “Hey!” she cried, batting his arm out of the way.

“You can’t mean to tell me you think I could do any damage to that unruly mess!” he protested.

“Leave my hair out of this,” she grumbled. “I like it just the way it is. And you’re not a hairdresser.” She used her fingers to smooth out the curls as best she could. As a teenager, she’d tried unsuccessfully to tame them. Now, as a mature adult, she was determined to embrace them.

Jackson pushed away from the desk and glanced at the screen once more. “Brilliant,” he told her again. “Absolutely brilliant.” He bent to plant a light kiss on her cheek. “Worth every cent I paid you for it. And more, I might add.”

She’d refused to charge him full price for her services, despite his protestations. He couldn’t have afforded it, and besides, it just didn’t seem right to charge a friend full price. “If I ever have a dog or cat, you can sit for it at half price to make up the difference,” she told him.

He sighed heavily. “If you weren’t allergic, I would feel much more comforted. Ah, well. I’ll find a devious way to pay you back, never fear.”

“As long as that devious way has nothing to do with Hunter, that’s fine.” She recognized her tactical error the moment the words left her mouth, but it was too late to stuff them back in.

“Hunter?” Jackson asked with a wicked grin. “His name is Hunter?”

“Let it go, Jackson.”

“But even the name sounds sexy. I’ve got to meet this guy.”

“Go play with your kittens and puppies. I’ve got work to do.”

“For Hunter the sexpot?”

“Jackson, you’ve got one of the finest asses known to mankind, and it would be a terrible shame if I took a big bite out of it. Go!”

With another laugh, Jackson finally withdrew, leaving Kiera to wonder if she should have kept her mouth shut. If Jackson took it into his head to play matchmaker . . . She shuddered to think just what kind of mischief her best and oldest friend would get into.

****

A week after her first meeting with Hunter, Kiera dug his card out of her coat pocket in search of his email address. She’d finished the three design schemes and wanted to email the links to him, but to her annoyance, there was no email address on his card. Grumbling to herself, wondering what kind of business owner failed to put his email address on his card, she reached for the phone.

Kiera found herself hoping he wouldn’t be home, that she could just leave a message and not have to talk to him. The less contact she had with him, the better. He was too tempting, and though she doubted his flirting was serious, she didn’t like how it made her feel, like she was simultaneously attracted to him and ready to run for the hills. She knew her disastrous love-life had left some scars on her heart—how could it not?—but she hadn’t realized how deep those scars ran.

Of course, life was never easy, so Hunter answered on the second ring.

“Hello?” His greeting was a sensual purr that made her breath catch in her throat.

“Um, hi,” Kiera said a little too brightly. “This is Kiera Malone.”
He probably has caller ID, you dope,
whispered a voice in the back of her head. What was it about this guy that made her feel like an awkward teenager? “I wanted to email you some mockups, but your card didn’t have an email address on it.”

“Why don’t we meet at the coffee shop and you can show them to me in person?”

That idea was not in the
least
appealing. At least, that’s what Kiera told herself. “I’d rather just email you, if that’s okay.” Maybe she was being a bit rude, but she saw no reason she had to see him in person for this. Hell, she’d never even laid eyes on most of her clients.

Hunter hesitated, and Kiera had the instant impression that he was put out by her refusal. Or maybe that was just her feeling guilty about her skittishness.

“I’d really rather meet you in person,” he said quietly. “You see, I’m dyslexic, so corresponding by email isn’t my strong suit.”