The Hob (The Gray Court 4) (14 page)

The White Queen sniffed disdainfully, her bright, iridescent wings fluttering behind her. “I see no reason why my nephew is still in the hands of the bitch queen. Mark my words, Oberon, she’s up to something.”

Of course she was. Titannia didn’t take a step unless it benefited her in some way. “Allow the delegates to at least attempt a negotiation, Gloriana.”

She scowled, the expression taking her pert prettiness and turning it ugly. “Why did you send
him
as the arbiter? He’s a traitor to the White, and biased.”

Oberon bit back a growl. There were days when he wished he’d never met Titannia. If he had not, Gloriana would not have been elevated to the position she was in, but the word of the gods was inviolate. Gloriana’s light was supposed to counteract Titannia’s darkness, but more and more that light seemed more like inflexible ice, unyielding and due to shatter at any moment. “Lord Duncan Malmayne-Blackthorn did nothing to—”

“He bonded with a vampire. How much more proof do you need?”

Gloriana’s inflexible attitude toward the turned fae was rooted in her last encounter with Titannia. Oberon understood her anger at the Black Queen, but she’d allowed her prejudice to spill over onto an entire race of beings, banning them from the White Court with all the venom of a woman scorned. Even those of pure heart, like Jaden Blackthorn, were denied entry. Indeed, Gloriana’s policy was to kill them on sight if they even approached the White Palace. Not even his Blades were allowed inside if they were vampires. “Not all vampires belong to Titannia.”

“Fool yourself if you must, but do not attempt to fool me.”

Oberon quirked one brow, wishing she were in front of him. If she were, his power would put her on her flat ass. “You dare to call me a fool?”

Gloriana had enough common sense left to backpedal, but only so far. “I think you have blinders on where Robin Goodfellow is concerned. You always have. All know the vampire is one of his favorite pets.”

“Robin is mine, Gloriana.” The threat was clear. No more need be said. Robin had been and always would be Oberon’s. His was the only loyalty that Oberon never questioned, never truly doubted. While Robin might give in to fits and starts of mischief, Oberon had only to say the word and Robin was at his side, ready and willing to do whatever Oberon wished of him. He never had to ask for more, for Robin was always willing to give him all.

Gloriana bowed her head. “As you say.”

“Indeed. I do say.” Oberon smiled and Gloriana shivered. Good. “The negotiators are in place, the mediator is present and ready to work. We still do not know where the boy is, but my Blades are searching.” He ignored her grimace of distaste. Ever since Jaden had become the lord of Clan Blackthorn she’d become sour where his Blades were concerned.

Hell, even before then she’d started to sour toward them. Robin believed that, if not for her interference, the darkness could have been rooted out long before the Malmaynes gave their allegiance to the Black.

“I am no longer certain negotiation is necessary. They’ve had the boy long enough to have turned him. He’s of no use to me.”

Oberon blinked slowly. He’d worried Gloriana would turn her back on the boy, and now he had proof. “You would leave him to die?”

“He’s more than likely already dead. You know how she is. This is a feint for her true objective, a means of distracting me.”

On that, at least, they were agreed. “Then perhaps if we find the boy, we find the objective.”

Gloriana smiled. “She is dark, but she is not dim. No, Evan will have no place in her grand scheme as anything more than a red herring. If the negotiations fail, leave him to his fate.”

Oberon smiled back. “No.”

He cut the connection before she could answer. He was not hers to order around. The boy, if he was untainted, would become his, as would the whole Yates family. He had no illusions that Gloriana would bother keeping her brother and his children around once Evan was retrieved alive. No, once a member of a family or clan was proven to be Black Court, they were all painted with the same dark brush, at least in Gloriana’s eyes. He’d gotten more remnants of White Court families, devastated by losses their own queen imposed upon them in her purges, than he ever got of Black Court.

Oberon pulled up the genealogy charts for the royal family of the White Court and started sending out orders. Plans would need to be put in place for the refugees. Gloriana might have become the ice queen, but Oberon, whether anyone believed or not, still had at least half his heart.

The other half had died centuries ago, buried alongside his bond with Titannia.

My one and only truebond.
Oberon snorted. The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor if Titannia was its idea of Oberon’s perfect match. He could no longer remember when it had started to go wrong, the lies, the cheating, the never-ending arguing and one-upmanship. Nor could he remember who had started it all. If he could pinpoint the moment when she gave in, gave herself to the demon, it might ease his mind. But he could not. Perhaps, someday he’d be able to look back at all he’d lost when she’d betrayed him and feel…something. Anything but the yawning empty nothing that had been left behind when the gods, to save his life, had severed his truebond.

Until then, Oberon would guard what was left of his heart and soul and pray nothing stole them from him. If they were lost, the world itself would be lost, in ways far worse than even Robin Goodfellow could comprehend.

Michaela flopped into bed, groaning. She glanced over at the clock. Four hours. She pulled the sheets over her head and moaned. She’d get four hours of sleep before she had to get up, shower, dress and meet Ringo for breakfast. Michaela yawned and made sure her alarm was set. She hadn’t even bothered with a nightgown, falling into bed naked and with the evening’s makeup still on.

Maybe she’d get lucky and see the faux Robin Goodfellow too.

She smiled, her eyes drifting shut. Both men were hotter than hell, entertaining, and looked at her like she was chocolate mousse and really good coffee, and they didn’t know if they wanted a bite or a sip first. Most men viewed her as the “cute one” of her friends, but she bet if Amanda were right next to her they’d
still
only have eyes for Michaela.

Of course, pigs could fly out of her vagina singing “Hail to the Chief” too. Anything was possible.

“Who is Amanda, and what makes you think I could possibly want her more than you?”

All it took was a feather–light touch to her instep and Michaela was giggling like a child.

“You know you are the only one I want in my bed.”

Michaela nodded and then shook her head.

“Do you doubt me?”

Michaela shrugged. It wasn’t him she doubted. It was herself, her fickle, wavering heart that seemed to want two men, one of whom she’d barely met but looked like her deepest, darkest fantasies, and one who was a dream all on his own and treated her like she was worth more than gold. She’d loved Robin forever, but Ringo called to her in ways she’d only felt with her dream man.

“Shall I prove it to you?”

She opened her eyes to find Ringo hovering over her, those beautiful, changeable eyes of his burning into her. He touched her again, his palms sliding along her skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

“Please.”

Ringo kissed her deeply, taking her mouth the way he had after lunch, claiming her with lips and tongue and teeth until she melted beneath him, pliable and wanting. He smiled and lifted the sheet away. “As you wish.”

Ringo wasn’t a man who did things by half measures. He immediately latched on to her nipples, suckling them into ripe, wet points of neediness. He stroked her body like it belonged to him, soothing her one moment and inflaming her the next. It wasn’t long before she was writhing beneath his touch, demanding he give her what she craved.

God, she wanted him.

Ringo nipped her stomach, his tongue rimming her belly button before he reached between her thighs. He moaned his approval of her closely shaved pussy before diving in, taking her clit between his lips and sucking on it until she was drenched and shaking. She was so close to coming it tingled along her spine, made her thighs quiver.

She grabbed hold of his head, burying her fingers in his hair. She wasn’t above begging if it got her what she wanted. “Ringo. Please. Make me come.”

“I need to hear you say Robin.”

She looked down, shocked to see bright red hair running through her fingers. Laughing blue eyes sparkled with lust, and something more. Something untamable.

“I am going to take you, pleasure you until you scream my name.”

Before she could protest, Robin crawled up her body and slid into her, stretching her farther than any lover ever had before.

She gasped. It was the most perfect sensation in the world, one she never wanted to end. They’d never done
this
before, but dear God she hoped they had about a thousand repeats. “Robin.”

“Indeed.” Robin kissed her deeply. She could taste herself on his tongue. “Now, we dance.”

Robin didn’t begin to pound into her the way she’d expected. He set up a slow, hip-rolling rhythm that had her clutching his arms and shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. Little crescent marks appeared, blood red against pale flesh, and he smiled when he saw them.

Her own skin was slicked with sweat, her limbs shaking as he denied her over and over, bringing her close to the brink only to back away at the last minute.

If he kept this shit up she was going to kill him and take matters into her own hands.

He laughed as if he read the threat and was amused by it. “Do you want to come, my dear?”

She whimpered, incapable of speech.

“Then say you are mine.”

“Robin…” How could he even ask that? She’d been his since she was a child.

“Say it, Michaela.”

Ecstasy beckoned, blurring her vision. She licked her lips, wanting another taste of him. “Yours. I’m yours, Robin.”

“Yes.” The hissed word seemed to release something inside him. Now the pounding she’d expected earlier began as Robin thrust into her over and over. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was so loud she was surprised it didn’t wake the neighbors.

“Yours, all yours, fuck me, please, God.” She was babbling, begging, so ready to explode she was near tears.

“Now, my dear. Fall. I will catch you, always.”

Michaela lost breath, sight, all sensation but the one rocketing through her as Robin brought her to one of the most explosive orgasms she’d ever had in her life. His muttered curse, in a language she didn’t recognize, barely registered.

“Robin.”

She wanted to cradle him close, feel slick, wet skin against her own, breathe in the perfume of his hair. She’d waited so long for this moment, for him to come to her, claim her. Make her his in every way that counted.

She’d waited all her life for him, and he’d finally come.

What she got was an armful of pillow, and a body throbbing from a dream of an orgasm that destroyed any sensation she’d ever experienced while awake.

Fuck. If just the
dream
of Robin could do that…

Shit. She rubbed her thighs together, relishing the ache. No real man could live up to the dreams she had of Robin Goodfellow, not even the beautiful Ringo. The moment Ringo morphed into Robin, she should have realized what was really going on.

She giggled into the pillow she cradled it close. Still, that had been one
hell
of a ride, hadn’t it?

Robin Goodfellow sat straight up in bed, his silk sheets soaked in sweat and come. He bent over, still painfully aroused by the perfect dream he’d had of Michaela. The urge to go to her, to claim what was so obviously his, nearly overwhelmed his common sense.

He slid out of bed and headed for the shower, too excited to sleep any further. In a matter of hours he would be with his truebond again. He ran his fingers over the crescent marks and grinned. He stared at his disheveled reflection in the mirror, his eyes flashing from blue and green. The red crescents of her nails still marked his skin, and Robin willed them not to heal. She’d marked him in her human way, and he relished it.

Let the Fear Dearc try to lay his false claim. Michaela had declared that she was his, and Robin was holding her to it.

Make no mistake. Michaela will be mine.

It couldn’t be soon enough.

Chapter Twelve

“Mm. Pancakes.” Michaela licked syrup off her fork and Robin suppressed a shudder. He wanted to feel that tongue on his flesh, tasting him as she did the sweet treat. “These are so good. I don’t get to eat them often enough.”

Robin titled his head. “Why not?”

“Too damn busy.” She grinned. “The con is a semi-vacation for me. Between working at the hospital, volunteering at the soup kitchen, and my weekend hobbies, I don’t have time to indulge in leisurely breakfasts.”

Robin’s brows rose practically into his hairline. “Soup kitchen?”

Her fork paused. “I didn’t tell you about that?

“No. You did not.” Yet another sign of his bondmate’s generous spirit…and desire for an early grave. Did she not know how dangerous such places were?