Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 11

  Yes, he would be. Agrona would suck the prince of his Gift, his virility, and eventually, his life. And the queen would take all of that from Agrona and use it to wreak her vengeance on the Golden Court of Oberon.

  Haddon patted the queen’s shoulder, soothing and fussing as he poured the wine and served marigold biscuits. The crisis was over, but he’d spend the rest of the day working double-time to keep the queen from killing anyone. She’d need her ego soothed, disruptions kept to a minimum, and her lusts slaked.

  And he was the person she would go through for everything. He’d made sure of that.

  Even he, who had done terrible things in the name of advancement, things that turned his stomach, quailed at the thought of being wed to the queen’s niece. Agrona was the product of generations of royal inbreeding, combined with some distant troll blood. Not only would the prince be losing his freedom and his powers, he would end up an empty shell, a puppet, when Agrona turned her life-sucking Gift on her husband.

  Then the prince would be safe from harm, no longer a threat to the queen’s rule or peace of mind. And the prophecy would be nullified.

  All of this worked in Haddon’s favor, as long as the prince stayed locked up. It had taken years for Haddon to become the man next to the throne. The throne was next in his sights. All it would take was patience, cunning, and a little manipulation.

  Long ago, during the violent, early years of the queen’s childhood, when the queen’s father had stolen him from his parents to be the princess’s whipping boy, Haddon had perfected the art of inner concealment. It had kept him alive. Later, iron control and a willingness to do what was needed had done more than help him survive, it had helped him move up the ranks from bullied, crawling servant to trusted retainer. Now he was finally in a position to make his move. And he’d be damned if he let the prince, or the queen, ruin his plans.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trina snuggled into to the warmth of a firm body, waking slowly to the safe solid sound of a rhythmic heartbeat. She yawned, rubbed some sleep out of her eyes, and watched the dust motes drifting on the early morning light shining on Logan’s hair.

  How the hell had she gotten downstairs? And how the hell had she ended up naked and in bed with the elf? Her breaths grew short and shallow as she struggled for air against reality’s bitter sucker punch.

  She sat up and pulled the lavender scented sheet up high around her bare breasts. She clearly remembered returning to the cottage, sneaking past a snoring, sound asleep Logan, and climbing the ladder into the loft. She remembered the pang of guilty relief as she put off the confrontation, instead falling into bed fully-dressed, for a restless sleep between cold, lonely sheets.

  Now here she was, naked as the dawn and in the downstairs bed—and inches away from her sworn enemy.

  Logan muttered something and rolled to his side, taking the sheet with him. His hair was a silky, black waterfall too near Trina’s fingers. She snatched her hand back, smothering the sharp desire to pull aside that long dark hair and trace the contours of his sleeping body.

  She’d start at the deltoids, down across the lats, cruise along the valley of his spine to where the sheets covered the hills of his glutes, touching every inch of smooth skin and firm muscle. Sliding along the dips and fissures—first under her palms, then under her tongue. Licking salt and smoke, and the taste of male.

  A warm, weakening ache slid straight to her core.

  She shook herself free of the fantasy and got out of bed. Shivering in the early morning cold, she resolutely turned her back on the temptation of Logan’s sexy hair and warm skin and got dressed in the mysteriously repaired green dress folded neatly on a chair.

  Last night, she’d sworn she would stay away from him. She didn’t remember being weak, sneaking downstairs, and crawling between the sheets. But here she was. She had to get back on track, remember her family’s danger. No more indulging her physical desires...no matter how delicious Logan’s smoky bare skin would taste.

  Her stomach rumbled.

  “Damn.”

  She had to cook breakfast. On the fricking wood stove.

  Trina loaded and fired up the stove, hauled and heated water, and started breakfast—all the while studiously ignoring the temptation sleeping across the room. When Logan finally rose, buck naked and glorious, stretching and flexing his six-pack in the sunlight, she turned her back to him, stirred her oatmeal, and swallowed hard.

  He donned a robe and crossed to stand behind her. Touching her shoulder and tugging her hair aside, he buried his morning-rough face in the sensitive curve of her neck. Her chin dipped, giving him access for one weak second.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips on her skin.

  Her insides pulsed.

  She stiffened and turned to confront him. His mischievous eyes promised a good time, if she wanted it.

  She wanted it.

  Wanted him, standing too close, relaxed, and somewhat sleepy, the heated scent of his skin rising warm and woodsy from his muscular chest. This man had her doubting with one look everything she knew to be true. Her stiff jaw, her legs, her body, everything softened in anticipation of taking him inside.

  Then she thought of her cousins and aunt, fleeing for their lives, thinking her dead. And her resolve hardened.

  She held up the wooden spoon and backed away. “Last night was a mistake.” She firmed up her voice. “For both of us.”

  “Was it now?” He took a chair and chose a fresh raspberry from a bowl. “Why is that?”

  “Look, we’re stuck together for a year.” Oatmeal dripped from the spoon onto the floor. She threw the spoon back into the pot. “There’s no reason why we should complicate it with sex. I don’t know you, I don’t like you, and I don’t want anything to do with you. But I have a job to do. You’re sort of my boss.” She grabbed a rag and bent down, wiping up the mess. “Everyone knows that sort of thing never works.” She looked up at him and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  He sucked the ripe berry into his mouth and bit down. His eyes closed, his head fell back, and his features contorted in a fruit-induced orgasm.

  Trina’s mouth exploded, her juices running in response to his bliss. She could almost taste the tangy wet fruit, the sweet flavor of each bite, the exquisite pleasure on her tongue.

  “All right.”

  “All right?” She rose, struggling to remember the conversation.

  His eyes opened, their blue intensity a deep reminder of how he’d looked the night before as she’d straddled his cock. He reached for another raspberry. She stumbled to a chair and sat and hoped he hadn’t noticed her trembling legs.

  “Sure, if that’s what you want, lass. I’m not the kind for forcing women.” He ate the berry in eye-closing rapture.

  Trina rubbed damp palms on her skirt, squeezing her thighs tight together. She gave herself a moment to recover and for him to open his eyes.

  “You’re not the kind for forcing women?” She gave him a hard look. “What about the kidnapping thing, the contract, and the possibility of trading my body for my life?”

  “There are rules in these situations. I simply followed them. And I didn’t kidnap you. I rescued you from a difficult situation. You owed me.” He leaned back, contented, relaxed, and sexy as hell.

  He smiled and popped another raspberry in his mouth. Trina shuddered.

  She forced her wayward thoughts back to the issue at hand. “I owed you? How do you figure that?”

  “If I hadn’t taken you from there, you’d be dead today.”

  “You mean you would have killed me.” The rush of anger was a relief, pushing her arousal deep inside where she could ignore it and focus on her nearly forgotten hatred of elves, fae, and this elf in particular.

  She got up and went back to stirring the pot with brief, vicious strokes, wishing she had the guts to stir in some black magic...or poison.

  “Well, of course. But, because I spared your life, by all the rules that govern us, I w
as owed something. And you didn’t have much on you at the time.” Logan’s lascivious grin gave no doubt he even now pictured her naked.

  “If you’d given me time, I’d have figured something out.” Trina tried to stay calm, but her Gift had opened up. A rush of power thrummed in her bloodstream, offered up in a generous flow from the pool of eager energy under the clearing. It surged into the soles of her feet, pushing her to use it anyway she wanted. Black magic, white magic, sex magic.

  She pushed the needy power away, afraid of what she might do with it in anger or uncontrolled lust. Tear his clothes off and ride him until she broke? Or take him on physically until he used his superior magic to take her down all the way to death.

  She gripped the spoon and concentrated on not using the power to create a lethal breakfast.

  “If I’d given you time, we’d both be dead,” Logan said. “You, because the queen wants you dead. Me, because if I didn’t kill you, she would have sent someone else to do the job. Then they would have come after me. Don’t sleep with me if you don’t want to. Although,” his eyes sparkled, “if last night is any indication, I’ve no doubt you’ll be changing your mind.”

  Trina’s mouth dropped open. “You arrogant son of a...”

  He cut her off. “But don’t be thinking I’ve dealt with you unfairly. I’ve followed the rules set up between your kind and mine. I’ve spared your life, and given you a more generous bargain than I had to.”

  “Fine! I’m fulfilling my side of our deal.” She slopped some undercooked oatmeal into a bowl and slammed it down on the table, her body vibrating with power that either wanted to kill him or rip his clothes off. “Here’s your breakfast. Now, since you have bargained so generously, I want my two sets of clothing, and shoes!”

  He arched a brow. “One set. I already gave you the dress you have on. I’ll get you another one, and shoes, when I go to see what kind of information I can find out about the next Traveller meet.” Picking up his spoon, he poked at the glop in his bowl. “Is there any cream?”

  “Well maybe you can get a cow when you go to the fair, Jack! No, there’s no cream. All we have are dry goods. There are no eggs, or milk, or anything like that. And this dress is unacceptable. It doesn’t fit right, it’s too short—and I prefer jeans!”

  She forced the power down into the pool. Afraid that if she didn’t, she would push his breakfast aside, climb up on the rickety table in front of him, splay her legs open, and beg to be kissed.

  “I’ll see what I can find.” He dug into his oatmeal, apparently oblivious to her struggle. “Unfortunately, the selection in the cottage is limited. There are some floor-length gowns, but I didn’t see any jeans. And I like that dress on you.” He smiled and she relaxed, her lips tugging up in response.

  Damn! She was going to find herself giving in and she wouldn’t even be able to blame him, just her own stupid lack of self-control. She pinched her arm in a vicious twist to help her remember that under this charming persona lurked a ruthless man.

  Nice men didn’t come to your house to kill you and your family, even if they changed their minds. What if she’d been old or ugly? Would she be dead?

  “I’ll tell you what.” He shoveled oatmeal into his mouth and swallowed. “I’ll head over to the cottage and find out what I can from my uncles. I’ll also see what I can wheedle out of them in the way of fresher goods. I’m going to owe them quite a bit by the time I can pay it back.” He sent her another winning look. “And before I go, I’ll haul in water for you to have a bath. Would you like that?”

  “I’m still not having sex.”

  “I’m a patient man, love. I have a whole year.” A wicked Cheshire grin tilted his lips and despite her best efforts, she smiled back. “Now, I’m giving you one opportunity for a bath, then I’m leaving.” He dumped the last of the raspberries on top of his oatmeal.

  “A bath. No strings?”

  “No strings.”

  “Yes.” She was filthy and desperate for clean water. She squashed the feeling that she’d be paying for the bath later. “Just one question. Where’s the bathtub?”

  “If I start hauling in the water, it’s sure to appear somewhere. Home spells are not my area of expertise. As I understand it, the original owner liked to do quite a bit herself.”

  “Who lived here?”

  “Just a green witch, like yourself. Long gone.” For the first time that morning, the amused look dropped from his face and she caught a glimpse of the hardened man underneath. Then his face smoothed over, the spoon clattered into the empty bowl, and he rose from the table.

  “Time to get moving, lass.”

  Trina shook herself and got busy cleaning up so she wouldn’t get caught staring at the muscles moving and shifting under the skin of his back and legs as he pulled off his robe to get dressed. In fresh, clean, clothes.

  The oatmeal bowl clattered to the counter. Her blood pressure zoomed.

  “Wait a minute, why do you have clean clothes, and I only have this?” She indicated her dress. The same dress she’d been wearing the day before and had slept, well almost slept, in. “Where did your nice, clean clothes come from?”

  “Oh, these?” He looked down at his chest and legs, seeming surprised that he was dressed at all. “I have a whole wardrobe in my pocket.” He grinned, his good mood restored as if he’d tugged that out of a pocket, too. “You my dear, have not.”

  Whistling, he grabbed two buckets and sauntered out of the cottage.

  “Ooohh! I hate him!” She turned, and tripped over the metal hip tub that had appeared behind her. “And don’t think you can make me feel any better about all this.” She chided the empty cottage in a loud voice. “A bath might make me clean, but I’m still stuck out in the middle of the woods. With him!”

  A half-hour later, she changed her mind.

  She was in ecstasy, immersed to her shoulders in water. Hot, clean, water and lavender scented. The spell on the cottage was working overtime now, apologizing for its earlier rustiness. It had sped the heating of the water, so that by the time she emptied her bucket into the tub, the one on the stove was ready to go. It also kept the water the perfect temperature while she bathed. She hummed, happy and relaxed for the first time in days.

  She put all her worries and fears on the back burner: the kidnapping, being out of touch with her family. The sex.

  No, she would not think about the mind-blowing sex.

  She’d made her decision about Logan, and it felt good to know it was the right one. She would serve out her year, and he would help her find out why the queen had it in for her tribe. She was clean, and warm, and every muscle she had abused over the last few days had softened to the consistency of warm taffy.

  And she was not thinking about sex.

  Warm, silky water cascaded from the sponge down over her extended arm. Sunlight filled the cottage. And for this one single moment, all was well. Later she would think about everything else. Think about the queen. Think about the elf.

  But not the blood-rushing, lip-licking, smoky-tasting sex.

  LOGAN PEERED THROUGH the newly clean, white curtains, hoping to see Trina without her prickly defenses up. Every time she saw him, she threw up shields he doubted she even knew she had. She sat, back facing him, and ran a dripping sponge down bare arms. Water slid over her skin, making it glisten, before dribbling back down into the steamy bath.

  He couldn’t stop his grin at his sudden good fortune.

  For once, he’d gambled on the fickle portals and won. He’d ridden hard, picked his uncles brains about the upcoming meet, borrowed more supplies, and swung through an unpredictable portal in order to return in time to catch Trina lounging in the tin bath.

  And he was glad he’d taken the risk.

  Inhaling deeply the steamy scent of lavender, rosemary, and sage floating out the window, he let his shoulders drop. He could stay here all day. The light breeze, birdsong, and slight heat of the sun were seductive.

  Trina sat up. Water c
oursed in shining droplets off her naked arms and shoulders. She leaned back, chin high, and dunked her long, soapy dark hair into the tub. Logan stopped breathing as she held the pose—spine arched into a bow, full breasts pointed to the ceiling, water dripping in lazy rivulets from the rosy tips.

  A ravenous hunger lightninged through him, stealing his strength and propelling his thoughts in directions they never should have gone. He staggered and grabbed the window frame for support, sucking in air.

  This kind of hunger wouldn’t be fed in a year. Or two. He needed more time. Maybe a decade before he’d be satisfied.

  Breaking her pose, she reached for a tall glass jar from the chair next to the tub. She poured the viscous, violet liquid onto her hand and massaged it into her scalp. He inhaled lavender, got his legs back, and headed for the door.

  “Can I assist you, milady, in the rinsing of your hair?”

  Trina shrieked and shot down into the tub, water sloshing over the sides.

  “No. Go away. I don’t want help.” Her green cat’s eyes glittered. “I can rinse myself.”

  “Surely that long hair requires a full rinse. Allow me.” He picked up the bucket of water next to the tub and tipped it over her head.

  She sputtered and spit through the deluge. “You’re drowning me!” She stood up, struggling to step out of the tub, water spilling everywhere. “Get out!” Wrestling with the heavy wet hair streaming over her face and eyes, she snatched blindly at the towel he held out.

  “You’re getting the floor wet.”

  A new towel appeared next to her feet. Trina snarled and stepped on the towel, allowing it to soak up the remainder of the water.

  “You were quicker than I expected.” She wrapped the thin towel into a tight fabric defense. “Couldn’t find your way back to your uncles’ house?”