The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (4 page)

“I’m ready.”

Okay, I can do this.

One more time
.
Only one more time.

The creature underneath her walked toward the spectral tendrils of mist forming ahead. Trina’s stomach churned in acidic apprehension, anticipating the upheaval of the portal. She braced for the horror and anguish.

They picked up speed. The creature’s muscles bunched under her as he prepared to leap into the swirl of grey and purple that loomed ahead.

She was wrong.

So wrong.

She couldn’t do this.

Her stomach heaved. She leaned over the side of the horse and barfed, finally losing control and spattering the flanks of the beast. She took queasy satisfaction in the portal swallowing the creature’s roar of displeasure.

Another world. Another sky. Trina’s worn out eyes worked at adjusting to the brightness of a full moon.

“I feel awful.” She was barely upright, huddled in the protective circle of her captor’s strong arms and still riding the creature from hell. They ambled down a dirt road, framed by a low stone wall and surrounded by the black silhouettes of trees. She sucked in air to ease her nausea.

“Portal jumps are a bitch. Most humans can’t handle one, let alone three.”

“If we hadn’t done three, I might not have yacked.”

“You didn’t hit me.”

The long black tail whisked out and stung her foot. She wasn’t sorry about barfing on the thing they were riding on. It deserved it, and probably more.

“The extra jumps were necessary,” the elf continued, “The hounds of faery will track through portals, but not running water. And the sands of D’nun are well known for bogging down pursuit.”

“But, you have the hounds.” Her brain was fuzzy, her stomach still queasy. She’d never been through a portal before and had only one thing to say about them.

Portals sucked.

“Do you think these are the only tracking beasts the queen has?” Was it just his accent or was he patronizing her? “You don’t want to be tracked by some of the other things she can call. My hounds are tame compared to the uncanny creatures that serve the queen.”

Only a fae would call twenty lean beasts the size of Great Danes, with teeth as sharp as Samurai swords, tame.

They rode into the cobbled yard of a moonlit fairy tale cottage whose thatched roof screamed idyllic countryside paintings. A single light glowed in a small window.

“Are we back in my world? It looks… almost normal.”

An amused snort sounded warm on her neck, close enough to send a slight shiver along her backbone.

“Almost normal, a good way to describe it.”

Hope cut through her that they were in her world and not the world of Faery. He hadn’t denied it.

“Dismount.” He didn’t sound impatient as he swung down to the ground, but there was no reason to irritate him. Yet.

She slid off, stumbling as if her feet belonged to someone else. She was sore all over and grateful to be on solid dirt, despite the swaying ground and the seasickness. She put out a hand and nearly touched the black horse, reeling back as the creature’s sharp teeth snapped the air next to her cheek.

Its ear-burning snicker hung in the air.

“Don't you have to put it away?” Trina asked, “Open the barn for it? Something?” A disgusted snort came back over its shoulder, the long tail just missing her nose with a sharp flick.

“Solanum can take care of himself, if need be. Better than you, I think.” His low amused voice reminded her of her disheveled hair and near-nakedness, illuminated fully by the light streaming from the open cottage door.

She re-wrapped the blanket in an attempt to make it more secure. “I can take care of myself.” She swallowed back the bitter taste of fear in the back of her throat, lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “Give me some time and I might even take care of you.”

His sharp laughter cut her off, showing her exactly where she placed on the threat meter.

“Come on then, we have bargaining to do. You owe me for not killing you, remember? Oh and you might want this.” He handed her a small, minty-smelling glass.

“Where in the world…”

“Swish and spit.” He turned and strode into the house, not bothering to look back at her, his captive, waiting in the drive.

Trina’s foot lifted off the ground. She balanced there, one hand held the blanket, the other held the glass of mystery stuff. One foot ready to step, the other firmly planted on the cold rounded cobblestone.

She could take this opportunity and slip away.

He’d left her out here. Alone. Okay not alone. The hounds had scattered into relaxed, deceiving, floppy piles, every one of them tracking her with avid, citron eyes. She tried not to look too closely at them, afraid they would turn into the flash of something else that rippled under their skins. Running wasn’t an option. Not yet.

The elf had gone into the house, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be out in a hot second if she ran. The man himself was probably faster than light. She’d never seen one this close but she knew elven blood lent all sorts of special powers, innate physical attraction, speed and agility among them. And, after seeing the way he’d torn down the hill, she knew there was no way in hell she could outrun the phantom disguised as a horse.

Escape would have to wait.

Her hesitant foot dropped to join the other, planted firmly on the ground. She needed clothing, and an idea of where she was. Trina swished and spit.

The hangover feeling dissipated leaving her mouth minty fresh and tingling. She could market this. Magical Minty Mouthwash, made by elves.

Her brain was still sluggish, but it was beginning to work. This couldn’t be Underhill. This was somewhere she fit, somewhere she belonged. Earthy and damper than Wyoming, but it smelled right, felt right. Maybe she stood a chance. She picked her careful way through the hounds to the door and crossed over the threshold into the tiny cottage. The door clicked shut behind her. Her gut twisted with the instinctive fear of a trapped animal. She turned and took an immediate step back, hitting her shoulder on the closed door as the heavy sound of the dead bolt slid across, locking her in.

She wrenched on the dead bolt, and the knob, but neither budged. There was nowhere to go but forward into the hall. Taking a deep breath she looked around. This might not be Underhill, but it definitely wasn’t Wyoming either. From the outside, this appeared to be a two-, maybe three-, room building. But inside it was the size of a small mansion, full of color and dark, carved woods.

She took a few cautious steps down the long hallway and into a large, lit room. Worn furniture of different ages and styles filled the room and the walls were crammed with everything from rustic artwork to modern collages. Masses of trinkets and clutter overflowed shelves and tables. Floating, clear globes with moving, lifelike scenes caught in them. A mummified, miniature dragon’s head. Framed, pinned butterflies that, upon closer examination, were actually preserved, tiny fae. It looked like hoarders gone fairy, not the house of an elven lord.

Near the stone fireplace, her nemesis snapped his fingers and the dry wood crackled into flame. “That should help you warm up.” He turned and faced her, and for the first time all night, she could see her kidnapper clearly.

He was tall. But not elven tall. Built like a pro running back, not lean, like the willowy elves she’d seen before. Still, there was no doubt, from the tips of his pointy ears to his silky blue-black shoulder-length hair, he was fae, and therefore, the enemy.

“Come here, over by the fire. You can warm up while we negotiate.”

She crossed to where he stood, looking up before she thought better of it, and got caught in the fae spell of his crystalline foreign eyes. The room grew hot, close. She swayed, drowning deep in icy turquoise, overpowered by the smell of crushed sage, leather, and the indefinable smell of male.

He reached out a steadying hand and she jerked away, breaking the attraction.

“Don’t touch me!” She winced at her waspish uncontrolled voice.

His black brows twitched up.

“I just need to sit, I’m a little dizzy.” She dropped onto the couch in front of the fire, wrapping her blanket tighter around her body in a protective shield. “You rip me out of my circle, give me no time for grounding, drag me through portal after portal…”

He moved in front of the couch. And she realized she’d made a big mistake.

When she’d been standing, his power had made her nervous. Now, looking at his muscular thighs and close-fitting leather pants was worse. Eye level with his groin, she had proof he was aware of her naked body under the blanket. Heat washed through her, pooling low in her center. She flushed.

Sitting had been a mistake.

Trina angled back against the couch, closed her eyes, and tried to get her brain working.

“Wake up, witch. We have a bargain to conclude.” The deep, hypnotic tone of his voice sank straight into her belly, sending little electric pulses zipping through her already aroused center.

She was a gypsy and a MacElvy, not simply human. The smidgen of fae blood running through her veins would help her resist his natural attraction. She could and she would fight this. She opened one reluctant eye, then the other, since it was plain he wasn’t going away and she had to deal with him. He stood, too close, his beautiful inhuman eyes gleaming.

The bastard knew the magnetic effect his species had on hers. He enjoyed this.

Anger stiffened her spine. “I told you before, I have nothing for you.” Trina ran through her list of options, frantically thinking of anything she could bargain with. She had nothing. She was naked for Danu’s sake. What could he possibly want?

“Everyone has something of value.” His voice was persistent, drawing her down to a dark, desirable destination.

“You said you wouldn't take my life.”

“No. I said it would be a shame if I did. The queen has ordered me to kill what I found, and I found you. I have no problem with you personally, but if I don’t kill you, I will have to deal with the queen.” His gloves slapped a distracting rhythm against his leather-clad thigh, drawing her attention again to the evident bulge a foot away from her face.

“What could I possibly have that you might want?”

Damn it.
That question had been too open-ended. She needed to think before opening her mouth. Her spinning brain tried to go through its directory, searching for anything practical out of all the information Aunt Theresa had stuffed into her over the years. Horror stories and fairy tales flashed through her mind. It took a shrewd person to conclude a deal with the fae with no loopholes. Everything she could come up with hadn't ended well. Real fairy tales had no happy endings.

He squatted down in front of her, resting his hands on powerful thighs. She thought he’d had the advantage of height before. Now his gaze was level with hers and the smell of hot leather rose.

Her breath locked tight in her throat.

Rules. There were rules he had to follow, what were they?

He was close, so close, too close. Nearly touching her. His heat warmed her through the blanket, speeding her heart up, melting her down.

He leaned in, and she trembled.

“What about your body?” he whispered.

Her breathing came fast and loud in her tight throat as his mouth drew close to hers. The moment pulsed as her body considered his offer.

She broke through the spell of his attraction. “You can't be serious,” she said and pressed back into the couch to get away from the mesmerizing attraction of his lips. “I don't even know you.”

He shifted back and she found her breath. His arrogant mouth flirted with a smile and his voice took on an indifferent tone, as if negotiating for her life was nothing.

“I’m sparing your life, risking the wrath of the queen and her court. I can ask for much.” His indolent gaze raked her nudity through the scant covering of wool. She damned her body’s instant softening.

“You willing in my bed would be sufficient recompense.”

A sudden picture shot into her head. The two of them, his long limbs wrapped around her, his mouth nearly touching hers. Heat washed over her, through her, and her whole body shook.

Her sluggish brain tried to tell her something. Finally, it poked a small hole through the fog of her exhaustion and near arousal. She swallowed hard, loosening the constriction in her throat.

“You can take something from the future, something I don't have yet.” She sat up, grabbing the blanket to prevent flashing an indecent amount of breast.

“What? Like your first born son?” His voice iced over. “What need have I for an infant, now, or in the future? I'm not a dirty old man like Rumplestiltskin.”

“No… I didn't mean…I just meant…” Worse and worse. Not only had she insulted him, but she’d moved the bargaining from her body to her future offspring. “I knew the fae were cruel, but my life, my body, or my child? There’s not one good choice among them.”

“Not one, hmm.”

He stood.

The fire crackled. He watched her. The pine logs popped loud in the stretched out silence. The movement of the gloves began again, the long black leather of the empty fingers slapping hard.