The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (7 page)

Solanum rolled his eyes. “You need food. You should be made up of ether and dreams like me.” Solanum snatched another clump of the forbidden flowers. “Then you could survive deprivation better.”

“I’ve survived just fine. I’ll keep my mortality.” Logan headed for the cottage. Solanum’s antics made him feel tired, and much older than his meager three centuries.

The puca snorted his disagreement.

“I need food though, I’ll give you that,” Logan said. His stomach growled. The smell of bacon lingered on the air and the juices in his mouth ran. “I hope they feed me before killing me.” He attempted to walk to the door, but the energetic puca cut him off.

“Aaah, maybe they’ll kill you just to set me free.” Solanum danced in a shaft of sunlight. His deeper than black coat gleamed, razor sharp hooves cut into the soft, green grass, sending clumps flying.

Logan hid his shudder from the puca and forced a light tone. “Sorry, you’re a family heirloom, just like the hounds and my father’s sword. I’d set you free, but I’m not sure the world would survive.” He darted to the side, but Solanum was quicker. “Maybe I’ll just auction you off.”

“If you actually owned me.” The puca tossed his gorgeous black head, sending his long mane rippling. “Who else would stand beside you while you risked your balls deceiving the queen? Who else would revel in the blood and fire and lies, hmmm?”

His capering hooves sparked cold flame off the cobbles as he danced back and forth, blocking Logan from the door. Finally he relented, let Logan through, and danced his way to the forest. “I’m off to find something to play with.” He tossed an evil look over his shoulder.

Solanum reveled in carnage and blood, and like all pucas, his middle name was deceit. Logan bared his teeth at the puca’s back. “Don’t go too far, I won’t be here for long.” It was some ancestor’s canny bargain and Logan’s black luck that Solanum was loyal to Logan’s family. And would be until the last one died.

Logan released the hounds into the forest to hunt. They, at least, would come when he called. Squaring his shoulders, he let himself into the early morning silence of the house and followed the tantalizing smell of breakfast. He hesitated at the kitchen door, unsure if it was relief or concern that curled in his stomach at the sight of only two of his seven uncles waiting for him beside the lit hearth.

Rinnal, head of the family, reclined in his favorite chair, puffing on his meerschaum pipe, a gift from the leprechauns. Logan rocked uneasily back onto his heels at Rinnal’s stern glare. Angus, second in command, leaned on the hearth next to his brother, tamping tobacco into his own pipe.

They were both tall, muscular men whose rock hard muscles and sharp skills with sword and shield Logan respected. Both near three thousand years they would live another thousand years, easy. In the human world they’d pass for near forty, but small signs of change around the house reminded him that, like himself, they were mortal. Rinnal’s chair had a few more patches, the kitchen floor a few more creaks. Even his uncle Angus’s treasured tobacco pouch looked like it had been replaced.

“Are ye going to wait there all day, or are ye coming in to straighten out yer mess?” Rinnal puffed rings of rich, homey cherry tobacco out with each word.

Angus finished filling and tamping his pipe and made ready to light it. He flashed his trademark womanizer grin from under a thick black beard. “Saw what ye’ve put into the front bedroom. Did ye bring her here for yourself, or for us?”

Hot possessive anger surged under Logan’s skin, burning the tips of his ears and revving him up despite his exhaustion.

“Ah, quit pulling the lad’s leg.” Rinnal spoke through rings of smoke. His face sobered. “Ye can’t keep her here, boy.”

His back stiffened. He should have thought harder before bringing the witch here. Found a different solution. He struggled to control his unreasonable and completely unexpected jealousy. The queen, his uncles, his own reactions proved it; this woman was nothing but trouble. The sooner he got rid of her, the better. Once he satisfied his lust, she would be gone.

“I’ve put you in danger. We’ll leave.”

“Oh, as to that, we’ve been in danger before, and likely will be again. But she’ll look here first, ye know. Ye need a place to hide.” Rinnal sat back, clicking the wooden pipe stem with his teeth. He and Angus exchanged glances, a small nod passed between them. “You could take the girl into the forest.”

“Too much old magic,” Logan said. “I’d have to watch her day and night. I need somewhere safe.”

“That old cottage is still standing. I check on it now and then. For old times’ sake.” Rinnal’s blue eyes glinted with something that looked like pain, but was gone before Logan could be sure.

“You can install your treasure there, in the cottage.” Rinnal’s long face stretched into a slow suggestive smile. “If you’ve a mind.”

Smoke snorted out of Angus’s nose. “I think he’s of a mind.”

Logan ignored the two men’s amused looks, focusing instead on hiding another unwarranted jealous surge. “You think it’s safe?” he asked, lips pressed tight.

“You know better lad, the forest is never safe,” Rinnal said, sobering. “Most who live there serve only their own interests. But it’s within our territory. Not the evil bitch’s.” His face hardened. Both men spit into the fire and the flames hissed.

“You’d be willing to hazard it?” Logan asked. “Our staying in the cottage?” He shook his head. “It’s too close. Too dangerous. The queen is more unstable than I remembered. More unstable than I think anyone knows.” He paced back and forth across the floorboards. “It’s too large a risk.”

Logan went to the stove and dished up some cold eggs and bacon. He didn’t know where else he could go if they said no. He’d worked himself into a corner by backing Prince Kian, now with the prince missing, he held prisoner something the queen desired. There were few places to hide. Maybe nowhere.

The fire crackled and popped. Rinnal puffed on his pipe and Angus stared out the window that overlooked the Black Forest and pulled on his beard. Logan carried the full plate back to the table. He didn’t know if he could eat with so much tension in his belly.

Angus and Rinnal exchanged looks. Angus removed his pipe from between his lips. “Lad,” his face was serious, “the girl is against the queen. Enough said.”

Logan’s knees weakened. His full plate clattered on the table and he gripped a chair back. The relief surprised him, as did the wave of immense emotion that followed, washing through him in a second surge of gratitude. Gratitude for his uncles. All loyal, strong men who would stand behind him and each other. Come hell or the Black Queen.

Rinnal and Angus watched their nephew leave the kitchen. He puffed out billowing smoke rings and listened to Logan’s heavy footsteps climbing the back stairs. For a long moment, he simply sat and smoked with his brother, as they had for longer than Rinnal cared to remember.

Angus broke the silence. “He’s naught more than a pup.”

“We weren’t much older when the first of the wars broke out.” Rinnal looked into the bowl of his pipe, examined the remaining tobacco.

“Yes, but there were more of us then,” Angus said, his voice tight. He coughed some of the emotion loose. “We had other clans to back us up. We had control of the whole of Erenn, a good part of Underhill, and more. Now, we only have the Forest.”

“We may be the last of the Fir Bolg, but we have allies. Other clans survive. ”

“Survive, to be sure. Nothing more than survival, though. The Tuatha…” Both men spit into the fire. “…have spread through the universe like devouring grubs, consuming all in their way and leaving naught but terror and destruction. We’ve nothing compared to their strength in numbers. They rule Underhill and those who rule Underhill have control of the worlds. And the Black Queen is one of the worst.” Lines of old anger and despair cut deep into Angus’s face, running under his beard. He rubbed his cheeks with both hands as if he could take away the worry, fear, and pain. “Why, in the name of Danu, did Eileen have to fall in love with the cursed queen’s cousin?”

“Eileen was a fool.”

Their sister had been a fool, and they had been oblivious. Off fighting a war while their sister ruined herself with the enemy. Deceived by the handsome Tuatha De Danann prince, Eileen had found out too late that he cared nothing for her and only wanted the information she shared about her clan’s troop movements. Her brothers’ troops. Nor had the fucking scrote cared for their son until it was plain he would have no other heir than the bastard half-Fir Bolg child. Logan was the last of the dead prince’s line.

And theirs.

Rinnal shook his head at his brother. “This may be his only opportunity of escape,” he said. “Logan needs to stand up, pick a side. If the lad doesn’t do something to get out of that sewer of a court, he’ll never be free. She’ll use his Gift to expand her control of Underhill. Turn him into her executioner. The bitch will ride him until he’s broken, dead, or worse.”

The fire popped and an ember fell out to lie burning on the painted tiles at their feet.

“She’ll ride him, Angus.” Rinnal stared as the black heart of the ember flared into a vicious red. “Ride him ‘til he’s tied to her by blood and bone.”

Upstairs, Logan hesitated outside the door to the guest room. The witch was on the other side. He rubbed his tight forehead, trying to ease the tension trapped there. How he expected to pull this off, he didn't know. He’d had two days stuffed into a full night and he was ready to drop.

First, slaughtering the doe. Next, burning the labyrinth, the house, and the valley, the flames making Solanum difficult to control. Finally, duping the queen in front of the entire court. If the queen ever found out the depths of his deceit, he’d be lucky to end up back in the oubliette.

What demon had possessed him last night? No woman was worth putting his life and his family’s lives into jeopardy. And the idea that the witch might give him some hold over the queen… He gave a small somber laugh. That idea grew more and more dangerous with every moment. The sane thing to do would be to give the witch over to the queen or to mercifully take her life.

Instead, he planned on taking her into the forest. Why? For one thing, he’d never be able to look his uncles in the eyes again if he killed her. For another, by keeping her alive there might be a slim chance of finding a way to use her and win his freedom from the queen. The witch was important, somehow, he knew it. Either way, he was in for a pound now.

He took a deep, fortifying breath and lifted the latch.

The bedroom was dark and curtained, still full of leftover night shadows. The fruit of his decision lay sleeping in the bed, her naked body tangled up in sheets and blankets. The witch's rosy lips were slightly parted as her soft, almost soundless breaths eased between them. Delicate lashes feathered webs of black lace over high, pale cheekbones. She was small, curled on her side like a child, but the luscious curves of her body betrayed her. She was a woman.

An unfamiliar emotion pulled deep inside his chest. Not sexual desire for her pale curves and woman’s body, nor sympathy for her plight. No, something strange that put pressure on his lungs and heart and had his skin tingling.

He shook it off with a self-depreciating smile and a full, deep breath.

He couldn’t afford to become involved with a human female, even one as lovely as this. This wasn’t emotion. No, this was a simple thing, easily understood. As he looked at her, he knew why he’d put his whole existence at risk.

Lust. Simple lust.

A killer dry spell, combined with his impulsive nature and the temptation of the queen’s comeuppance and it was no surprise he’d snatched her up. He stepped over to the bed and ran a light questing finger down the side of her face. Brushing a strand of long, dark hair off her cheek, he savored the silky texture between his fingers and the sensation vibrated his nerves right down to his cock.

She rolled over in her sleep, the edge of the sheet pulled tight and low across her full breasts. His breath caught.

She might be worth it all.

Worth the risk of hiding her. Worth the baiting from his relatives. Worth the queen’s wrath.

He eased onto the bed and balanced on the edge, placing an arm across her body. His hip nudged close to hers, barely touching. He leaned in close, angling over her, and deeply inhaling her scent of sunshine, dried grass, and the faint underlay of sage. Earthy, warm garden scents that awoke in him an aching desire to crawl into bed with her and extend this moment, this rare pleasure of watching a woman sleep.

She moaned, stretched, and flexed under the covers. Under him.

His hand twitched. He fought his need to pull the blankets down and ravage her breasts with his teeth and tongue. Taste her secret spots, her navel, the side of her waist, between her thighs.

Fierce shaking lust stole his breath and, despite his exhaustion, left him hard and aching.

Logan was no longer confused about why he’d taken her. The queen didn’t matter. None of it mattered in this moment. He desired her and it had been a long time since he’d been able to indulge his desires.

Taking even, deep breaths, he held still, praying for her to do the same. If she moved, if she opened her eyes, if she pressed her thighs against him, he’d be lost. He’d take her with the savagery of fifteen years of deprivation. And he’d regret it.