Silver Skin (A Cold Iron Novel) (8 page)

The
geis
. She had forgotten all about it.

Kneeling in front of her, he’d looked feral and hungry, arousal flushing his features, but now his cheeks were pale, and he seemed more drained than she was.

“Miach, are you all right?”

He didn’t stir.

She climbed off the sofa and knelt beside him. “Miach,” she said softly.

No response.

She touched his cheek. Her fingers came away bloody. There was blood trickling from his ears. “Miach,” she said again as panic overtook her. She shook him and he stirred a little, then opened his eyes.

“Why are you bleeding?” she asked. “What’s happening?”

He sighed. “I suppose I violated Beth’s
geis
by pleasuring you, willing though you were. It’s weakened me, given the iron a chance to do its work. The little Druid’s magic is even stronger than I suspected. I think she might be a tad . . .
overprotective
, don’t you?”

“What can we do?” she asked.

“
We
can do nothing until Beth arrives. Not even a repeat performance, no matter how much we might enjoy it. I am going to ruin the last of Nieve’s garden, and perhaps wreak a little havoc on the park across the street after all.
You
are going to Deirdre’s.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m too weak now to protect you. Because there’s no summoning spell written on your skin, which means that the Fae who cast it on you has worked deeper, more dangerous magic than I can fight until I’ve fully recovered. I hate to admit it, but you just aren’t safe here with me.”

• • •

M
iach rued his own stupidity
and lack of self-control. He was three thousand years old. He didn’t make these kinds of mistakes. But somehow he’d managed to convince himself that Beth Carter’s
geis
couldn’t pose a real threat to him. It was an oath to an untrained Druid, a novice in the magical arts.

He was as self-delusional as the rest of his race.

Beth’s
geis
held real power. And Miach had violated its conditions. It did not matter that Helene had been a willing and enthusiastic participant in their love play. He had been the aggressor, or at least the active agent. No matter that he hadn’t even really bedded her. It had been enough to trigger the effect of the little Druid’s prohibition—at a time when he could not afford to be weakened.

And it was humiliating for a Fae to appear weak in front of a human woman. Mortals were attracted to the strength and beauty of the
Aes Sídhe
, to their superiorities. Not to their few frailties. It was entirely possible that Helene would want nothing more to do with him now, not of her own free will anyway. Not without using his glamour on her. And he did not want—had never wanted—Helene Whitney that way.

“Elada will take you to Deirdre’s,” he said. “You and Nieve. You’ll be safe there.”

“I’m not going,” she said. “You were poisoned, Miach. You’re even worse now. You need someone to look after you.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. It seemed that the trees in the park had seen their last summer. He would have to consume them. “Better, in fact, without Nieve fussing over me.”

“Why is Nieve in danger?” Helene asked.

“She may not be. But if Finn’s family is involved in this, she and her son will be in jeopardy. You both have to go to Deirdre’s. The Fianna would attack my home on the slimmest excuse if they thought they had a sporting chance of defeating me and mine. But they have no quarrel with Deirdre, and they would not risk angering her, or her friends, by crossing her threshold. Her house is the only safe place left for you and Nieve. Elada will take you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to arrange a meeting with Finn. He doesn’t want the Fae Court back any more than I do. Of that, I am certain. But his children may have been involved in your blackouts. They’re half-bloods. Young fools. They dream of past glory and imagine that the grateful Queen will admit them to fellowship in the Wild Hunt. A vain hope, a childish fantasy. Nothing more. But some of Finn’s get and followers are strong enough to have created the spells I think were used on you, and others are human enough to handle cold iron, could have laid the trap we sprung on the roof. If so, I’ll make a bargain with Finn and let him deal with them.”

“This is because you didn’t find the summoning spell, isn’t it?”

“It isn’t on your skin,” he said. He didn’t want to tell her what the bastard had used. She had been through enough.

“What is it?” she asked. “You owe me the truth.”

They had just been intimate. Somehow that made it more difficult to tell her what he believed. If only he had found the summoning spell written somewhere on her skin. He might not have been able to remove it himself, weak as he was, but he would have been willing to bargain with the one other Fae in Boston who might have had the raw power, if not the requisite skill. Miach could have guided his old pupil, channeled his untutored energies and freed Helene from the deadly compulsion.

Instead, he had found only the locus of the memory spell. Dangerous enough magic, to be sure. It would have to come off, and soon. And that would likely involve Miach allying himself with his enemy, Finn.

Because he had not been able to resist her. He had thought he would be strong enough, but when he failed to find the
geis
on her back or her belly, when he had cupped her breasts and her breath had hitched, when he had smelled her arousal, honey sweet, and felt her heart beat faster; he’d convinced himself that the Druid’s spell, the Druid’s proscriptions didn’t matter.

It was her legs that had first drawn his eyes when he met her, and it was her legs that had undone him today, blinded him to reason. He’d squeezed the firm muscles of her calves, skimmed the pure geometry of her knees, then felt the swan’s down softness of her inner thigh where he had first placed his own mark.

It was gone now but the memory of tracing it there in Magic Marker had reminded him of the night they’d met and of all the reasons he wanted her. And then he’d seen it, when her legs were parted as he slid his hands up, up, up her silken thighs. Seen, on the simple, sheer cotton panties—a flash of white beneath her navy skirt—the spot of wetness forming. Noticed, too, the hint of musk.

He’d touched her. She’d responded. She’d sighed, and he’d circled his finger in her slickness. And she’d responded again, beautifully. She’d arched and writhed, and he—he’d become fixated on making her come. On showing her how good it could be with a Fae, with him.

If he had stopped after she’d sobbed and choked and given a wordless cry, if he had taken her into his arms or just rested his head on her thigh, all might have been well. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t stopped. He’d wanted to know the contours of her body, to draw things out, to drink in her responses to the invasion of one finger, then two, to see if she was capable of the kind of cataclysm he had suspected.

And she had been. Her entire body had tensed and spasmed that time. Then he’d put his lips on her and given her release once more.

Fool that he was, he wasn’t certain even now that he could have acted differently if he’d known the costs and consequences.

“There was no summoning
geis
on your skin. That means that the spell was placed inside your body. That it was baked into bread or written on paper, and that you were forced, under compulsion, to swallow it down. The medium is unimportant, and only the magic remains. The spell is part of you now, and it cannot be undone. Not until the Fae who cast it dies—or you do.”

• • •

H
elene knew Miach was right.
She couldn’t go home. It wasn’t safe. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of staying in the home of another of Fae—particularly one of Miach’s sometime lovers. But if Miach was so anxious for her to leave his house, after he had spent months wooing her from afar, then she was certain the danger was real.

“When does Beth arrive?” she asked. Although she knew Beth was walking into danger, she desperately wanted to talk to her oldest friend. There was no one else who would understand what she was feeling.

“Her plane lands at Logan in a few hours,” said Miach. “I’ll send her straight to Deirdre’s. They’ll take good care of you, Deirdre and her Kevin.”

“And who will take care of you?” Helene asked.

“Elada,” said Miach.

“He doesn’t strike me as the nurturing type,” said Helene.

Miach smiled. “He’s not. Elada’s the killing type. And that’s going to be more useful to me tonight. I need someone to stand guard while I destroy a good portion of the city’s greenbelt. And to watch my back while I negotiate with my enemies.”

“I should have stopped you,” she said. “It’s my fault that you violated Beth’s
geis
.”

Miach laughed. “No. It is my fault for underestimating the power, and comprehensiveness, of the little Druid’s prohibition. And for underestimating the allure of your charms. You were as compelling, in your passion, as any Fae.”

He looked suddenly vulnerable. “Will you still want to finish what we started, if Beth will release me from my vow?”

“If?” asked Helene, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t Beth release you?”

“Because you are her friend and she cares about you, and
I
 . . . I am a dangerous man.”

“Beth is in love with a Fae,” Helene reminded him.

“Beth is in love with a single-minded warrior Fae. A surprisingly trusty champion who has lived under a hill for two thousand years. You are involved with the paterfamilias of an exceptionally successful crime family, a seducer and a sorcerer. My Fae nature is perhaps the least of your problems.”

He had been so confident earlier, so sure he would be able to win her. Now he was warning her off. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“Because I find that I want you to see me and accept me for what I am.”

“I do see you,” she said. She wasn’t certain that she could accept everything that he was, that she wanted more from him than a brief sexual affair, but today he had put her safety ahead of his own, had courted her body just now at reckless risk to his health. And he had bared his scars, quite literally, to her. There was more to him than it appeared, than she had first suspected.

“How long do I have to stay at Deirdre’s?” she asked.

He looked relieved that she was agreeing to his plan. “For this afternoon, at least. I need to time to arrange a meeting with Finn.”

She watched him cross the room to his desk to call Elada. Blood still dripped from his ears and his nose, disappearing in the rich pattern of the Persian carpet. She listened as he gave his right hand instructions to bring the Range Rover around and take Helene, Nieve, and Nieve’s son, Garrett, to Deirdre’s.

“You’ll be safe at her house,” said Miach. “She’ll afford shelter until I can come to some arrangement with Finn. I
am
sorry about the Range Rover. I know Elada tried to run you off the road in it, but it is the only armored car we have to hand. Except the minivan. And nothing will persuade Elada to drive the minivan.”

“Where do you get an armored minivan?”

“Quincy,” he replied, without missing a beat.

“That was a rhetorical question. You think this Fae will shoot at us?”

“I don’t know what to think, Helene. But I am certain this Fae has human allies or followers. Compulsion would be too risky for a job like the trap at the museum. Iron is too toxic to the Fae. No sane
Sídhe
would risk anyone but a trusted follower handling something so deadly. And a hundredweight of iron filings isn’t something you can pick up at the corner store.”

Elada entered the room a few minutes later. Helene had not seen Miach’s right hand since the day he had tried to kill her and Beth Carter by running their car off the road. Elada was the only member of Miach’s household who did not share his blood, and his close-cropped golden hair and gray eyes set him apart from the rest of the MacCechts. That, and the sword on his back, which Beth had explained was cloaked from human eyes by Fae glamour.

Helene knew that to be safe she must swallow her fear of this creature.

The warrior took one look at Miach and tensed, then cast a baleful eye on Helene. She could plainly see he blamed her for the sorcerer’s condition. But he said nothing about it. Instead, he addressed Miach.

“Nieve came back from Helene’s and took young Garrett out to the park or the beach. We’re not sure exactly where. Liam and Nial are out looking for her.”

“Fine,” said Miach. “Take Helene to Deirdre’s now. Anything she needs, Deirdre’s Kevin can go buy for her.” He flipped a thick stack of bills onto the desk. Twenties. She didn’t think she’d ever seen so much cash. A reminder, in case she had forgotten, that he was a criminal.

Elada pocketed the money without comment. He beckoned Helene with a decisive, measured movement of his head. “Let’s go.”

She stood up on shaky legs. Miach looked as though he wanted to say something more, but didn’t. She picked her bag up from the floor and followed Elada out of the room.

Downstairs the house was hushed and empty.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, realizing that earlier the ground floor had hummed with constant activity, the sounds of boisterous family life. It had reminded her of home, of growing up in a house full of siblings and cousins, augmented by an ever-changed roster of their friends and romantic attachments. She had been the youngest, a late and unexpected child. Her mother had raised two boys, both already in high school by the time Helene had come along.

And Helene had been a teenager by the time her mother had realized that the world expected her to raise a girl differently. The crash course on femininity, on grooming and fashion, had come somewhat late for Helene and had left her with little taste for elaborate rituals involving hair and an abiding love of over-the-top couture. If you were going to wear
girl stuff
, Helene had soon decided, it ought to be fabulous girl stuff; otherwise it just wasn’t worth the effort.

Her mother’s attempts to refine Helene’s taste in entertainment had been something of a failure. She’d imbibed too many science fiction novels and horror movies with her brothers. Merchant and Ivory would evidently never hold much appeal.