Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 21

  A frown crossed his face. He didn’t have any experience understanding or keeping a woman. He only hoped she understood things the way he did.

  Solanum tossed his head. “Get your mind back on your task, Logan.”

  “I was enjoying the silence.”

  The puca snorted. “You’re lucky the hounds and I are alert, or you’d be traveling somewhere else now, lost in a portal somewhere.”

  “I know where we are.”

  “Yeah, you do. We’re heading back to your lightskirt, so of course you know where you’re going.”

  Solanum’s sarcastic accusation wasn’t wrong. Logan had thought of little besides Trina and what he intended to do with her delectable body the entire time he’d been gone.

  “Face it man, you’ve a crush on her. Dumb as a stone, you are. You do know she’ll be dead and you’ll live on, and on, and on.”

  “Quiet.” He tightened his knees around the puca’s barrel. “It’s nothing but a fling. One year, maybe more, but I’ll not be keeping her around long enough to be mourning her.”

  “Ignorant slob. Sooner, later, it won’t matter. She’ll go and you’ll mourn. It’s the weakness of the soul in you.”

  “You’re ruining my good mood, beast.” Logan frowned at the space between Solanum’s twitching ears. He didn’t want to think of Trina gone, much less of something as unavoidable as death stealing her away.

  “Someone needs to keep you on your toes.” They neared the hedge and Solanum’s ears pricked forward. “Someone’s been here. There’s a stench of something not right.”

  They rounded the hedge to the gaping entrance. The front hound stiffened and a low growl echoed in Logan’s head. Deep in the shadows, at the bottom of the porch stairs, lay a tumbled pile of dark hair. For a moment he stared, unsure what it was. And then it hit him in a solid blow to his gut.

  Trina.

  He leapt off Solanum, pushing through the hounds as they fanned out into a circle, tails down, hungry yellow eyes fixed on her lifeless form. At first, Logan thought she’d fallen down the short steps and was injured, but one look at her chalk-white face and blood-red lips and he knew. She was dead.

  Solanum followed close behind. “Out of the way, you sods!” The hounds scattered to the side.

  The ache in Logan’s gut spread into his chest.

  Solanum pushed his horse’s head in Logan’s way. “See, the stupid cow’s gone and died on you already.”

  “Shut up!” Logan forced his feet to move. He shoved the Solanum violently aside. “Get out of the way.”

  He pulled his riding gloves off shaking hands and felt for a pulse. It was there, but weak. Any later and he wasn’t sure he would have found it at all. He focused his inner sight. Her usual verdant, healthy aura was contaminated by the sickly color of noxious pond scum.

  “You’re no healer.”

  “If you shut up, I might be able to do something!” He narrowed his focus and tried to locate the origin of the problem. He traced through her aura, following the lurid green that was quickly insinuating itself in her system. Finally, he found the source in her tumbled hair.

  He put his leather gloves back on. Pushing her silky hair back from her face, he searched through the tangles and uncovered an intricate pair of Dwarven combs, magical poison leaking from the wicked sharp points.

  Logan blew out his breath and prepared to pull out the combs.

  Solanum’s voice stopped him. “I wouldn’t do that, not if you value the wench. The spell could be rooting in her system. If you pull them out, there’s a good chance they’ll pull out her soul.”

  “I might hasten her death, but I don’t see anything else to do.” Logan dropped his hands to his sides. Trina had paled past the point of porcelain, a tinge of green creeping under her skin. He turned back to the puca. “If you have any ideas, speak up, she’s almost gone.”

  “Nay. I don’t.” Solanum shifted to human. “Pull them. If she dies, well, at least you won’t be lying to the queen anymore.”

  Logan clenched his hand into a fist, ready to take a swing at the puca and let out all his frustrations.

  The young man stared back, his black eyes hollow and expressionless. “Hit me if you want. It won’t change matters.”

  Logan’s shoulders drooped, his anger draining away. “Fuck you.”

  If he pulled the combs, she might die. Her pulse was weak and thready. If he delayed and took her somewhere, the move might kill her. His stomach tied into Gordian knots, he looked at Trina and took a steadying breath.

  Her life was running out. He had to make a decision.

  He reached into the waves of dark hair and tugged the deadly combs loose.

  Logan flung the combs across the clearing, and the hounds scattered. For a long, excruciating moment, there was no difference. His witch lay white faced and bone still.

  His stomach clenched.

  Cursing his lack of healing knowledge, he closed his eyes tight and pleaded with the Fates, the goddess, gods—anyone who would listen and bargain with a reprobate like him.

  The hounds, Solanum, even the wind, stayed motionless. A drop of sweat trickled its way down Logan’s spine.

  Then Solanum exhaled.

  Logan opened his eyes. “What is it? Do you sense anything?”

  “Nay.”

  But as Logan stared there was a faint tinge of blush, then color rushed back into Trina’s skin. Her lips lost the bizarre red color of the spell, paling just shy of their usual, rosy beauty. He squeezed his fingers to her wrist and searched for a pulse, and was rewarded with a weak, but steady beat.

  Relief rushed through him and he sagged onto a step.

  Trina’s eyelashes quivered. “What happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper as she searched his expression, her eyes hazy and disoriented.

  “Shh, it’s all right, lass.” He cradled her to him, rocking her back and forth.

  “I’ll take the watch.” Solanum said, shifting into a black dog the size of a large pony and stationing himself in front of the porch. “You get her inside.”

  Logan nodded and swept Trina up into his arms.

  A hard shiver racked her body. “I’m c-c-cold.”

  “Shh, lass.”

  He carried her inside and over to the bed, tucking her in tight under the blankets. He forced himself to be quiet and leave her be when all he wanted was to know who had dared violate his wards. And what had happened to leave her so close to death.

  “It’s shock,” he said instead. “I’ll make tea.”

  He built up the fire in the stove by hand, afraid he was so shaken that if he used his magic it would ricochet and the stove would explode. The simple acts of filling the kettle, placing it on the stove, and finding the tea and honey, helped calm his anxiety. By the time the tea was ready, his trembling had slowed and the sweat on his back was dry.

  “Here’s your tea, lass. The heat should help.” She held out shaking hands. “Hang on, you’re racked with the shivers.” He placed the mug on the bedside table. “We need to get you naked.”

  “Logan, no.” She lifted her hand and let it drop. “I can’t possibly have sex.”

  “What do you think I am, a monster?”

  Her eyes widened. “I—”

  He shook his head in disgust. “You need to get warm. Body heat’s the best way.” He helped her take off her clothes then stripped off his own. “I was thinking of climbing back into bed with you this eve, but not like this.” He got under the covers and pulled her into his warm body.

  They spooned together perfectly. Her head tucked under his chin, his body coiled around her icy back. Pressed up against the curvy cheeks of her warming ass, his cock grew hard and wanting. Cursing his lack of control, he nuzzled her neck and breathed in her familiar, earthy smell, only succeeding in growing hornier.

  He’d almost lost her. He wanted to stash her somewhere she’d never get hurt, never be exposed to anything that would let death close in and open him to the pain he’d felt today. Hi
s embrace tightened.

  “Logan, you’re hurting me.”

  He eased off, but buried his face in her hair and didn’t let go.

  When her shivering slowed, he helped her sit up and wrapped the afghan from the foot of the bed tightly around her bare shoulders.

  He passed the tea into her not too steady hand. “You’re still wobbly, but let’s get this down you where it will do the most good.”

  He eyed her, fretful as a nurse, while she took small, careful sips. He waited until he was sure she could handle the hot liquid before rising and getting dressed.

  “I need to go outside and take care of something. Stay in bed, I’ll be back soon.”

  Trina gave a weak nod and rested her too pale face on the pillows.

  Searching the closet, he found and pulled out a small oak handkerchief box. Dumping out the handkerchiefs, he rooted through and chose a black silk one.

  “I meant what I said. Stay in bed.” He held her clouded gaze for a moment, waiting for her nod, before grabbing his riding gloves and going outside. He found the golden combs glittering under the stars on a bed of dead, black grass, a group of the hounds sitting sentry.

  Riding gloves on, he wrapped the combs up in the handkerchief, taking great care they didn’t touch any of his flesh and placed the bundle inside the box. Silk and oak for protection. He hoped it would be enough.

  “Those are a wicked piece of work.” The black dog emerged from the shadows. “Too bad you saved her life. You almost were spared a horrendous fate. Now you’re doomed to grief.”

  “Not amusing, Solanum.” Logan held out the box. “I need you to put them somewhere safe. We may need them later, but I want them far from here for now. She put them on once, she might do it again.”

  “Are you sure?” The puca shifted to human and took the box. He raised a slender, black brow, the expression looking too wise for a face so young. “You might want her to put them on. Her death will be easier now than in a hundred years.”

  If he didn’t know for sure that the puca couldn’t work against him, he would wonder if he was behind this heinous act. But Solanum was bound for eternity—or until the last of Logan’s line was dead.

  “I’m sure.” Logan turned, tripping over hounds pressing against him in their anxiety. “Guard,” he snarled, and they spread out into the clearing, tails tucked between their legs.

  “She’s dangerous to your well-being.” The puca’s black eyes flashed red. “She’s human and vulnerable. Where will you manage to keep her now?”

  Logan’s anger flared, then died.

  “You’re right.” There was a sour taste in his mouth. He’d failed her. “I can’t lose her now. We’ll find a place to keep her safe, and then I must find Aoife.”

  “What of Prince Kian?”

  “When she’s safe, you and I will find the prince.”

  “I’ve looked between the hills and searched the solar system. The Black Queen hides him well.”

  “We’ll find him. I have sworn an oath.” He’d failed to keep Trina safe, but he wouldn’t fail the prince. Not again. “One thing at a time. Wherever the queen has him hidden, he’ll keep. For now. But this won’t. The queen is on a vendetta and I need to solve this riddle or Trina’s life will be forfeit.”

  Solanum nodded and walked towards the forest with the box. “As you wish.”

  Logan stared at the circle of dead grass. The puca spoke nothing but the truth. How could he safely hide a MacElvy witch while he remained tethered to the queen and responsible for a missing prince?

  He returned to the cottage and found Trina gazing into her nearly empty mug. He sat beside her, the mattress sinking under his weight, and picked up her free hand. It was lax in his grip and he rubbed her palm with his thumb, as he worriedly examined her pale face and glassy eyes.

  “Can you tell me what happened, lass?”

  “I’m not sure.” She frowned. “An old woman gave me a set of combs.” Her face flickered with some emotion, and she frowned. Her hand went to her head. “Where are they?” Her anguished voice rose. “Where are my beautiful combs?”

  She dropped the mug. It rolled to the floor, the last of the tea spilling out onto the wood.

  “I need to find my combs.” Tossing away the blankets, she struggled to get up.

  “Hush lass, back into bed.” He wrapped the afghan around her and eased her back, cradling her in his arms. He kept his voice soft. “Where did you see the old woman?”

  “They’re mine, I need them!” she wailed, darting wild looks around the room. “Where are they?”

  “Hush now.” He pulled her tense body close. “This will wear off the longer you’re away from them.”

  He hoped it was the truth. He had no experience with this type of magic. He slow-rocked her and she relaxed in his arms until he was able to ease his tight hold and try again.

  “Can you describe the old woman?”

  “There was something wrong about her, something strange.” Her voice shrank and she clutched his arm. “Why did I take the combs? I don’t understand.” A shudder ripped through her, and her eyes glossed over. Her arms flailed, her hands hitting him in the face. She kicked his shins and elbowed his ribs, but Logan tightened his hold and rode out the storm.

  “Tell me what you remember,” He kept her close, stroking her hair like he would a scared pup.

  “She was ancient and wore a hideous, long dress. I didn’t know what to do, and then she handed me the combs.” Her face flickered again into lust. “They’re mine,” she hissed. “You can’t keep them from me. Give them to me, now!” She spasmed, arms flying from her sides.

  Logan held on, whispering in her ear as the remnants of the spell lashed through her. It took much longer than he thought it would before Trina’s flailing limbs subsided and she shuddered in his arms.

  “I’m so tired, Logan.” She stretched and yawned.

  He eased his grip, pulling back and searching her eyes for signs she was still impaired.

  “Your eyes look clearer.”

  “I think I just need to sleep.” Her eyelids fluttered heavily.

  “You rest. I need to check the perimeter, make sure we’re safe for the night.” He eased out of the bed.

  She half opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Logan?”

  “Go to sleep, we hunt in the morning.” She sighed and curled on her side.

  Looking down at her his thoughts ran wild. How had this happened? How had the queen found them? His mind spun with possibilities while fear coursed like through his bloodstream. If the queen knew Trina was alive, then not only her life was in danger, but his existence as well.

  And he was the only thing standing between Trina and death.

  He grabbed his jacket. “I’ll return soon,” he whispered, but she was already asleep. He tucked her in and gave her a quick, chaste kiss on the forehead.

  He opened the door and looked back at her curled on her side like a child, her breathing already soft and sweet with sleep. The thought of losing her had the blood pounding in his temples.

  He couldn’t bring her with him, but he was damned if he would leave her here by herself to face whatever might come next to their clearing. And he couldn’t leave her with his seven randy uncles back at the cottage. They’d already made rude comments to him about his woman during his quick supply runs. Why the horny bastards isolated themselves here in the forest without female companionship, he’d never understand. He needed to find somewhere safe to put her, and he was running out of ideas.

  He closed the door behind him.

  Solanum materialized from the shadows at the side of the house. “I have yet to find signs anyone has been here.”

  Together, they walked the interior of the clearing, then out into the dark of the forest, leaving the hounds in a circle around the house. Logan extended his tracking Gift and examined the surrounding area. Someone had taken great effort to hide from him in particular, using the same tricks a hunter would use to confuse his prey. T
here were no residual signs from the person who had been there that afternoon. She had covered her tracks well.

  He headed back into the cottage. He’d be awake all night now that he knew someone watched and waited for him to be off his guard. Trina was sound asleep in his bed—safe and where she was supposed to be. He climbed in, pulled her close, and let the warm honey of her presence fill him and ease his tension.

  Tonight, he would content himself with holding his witch. Tomorrow they would hunt. For now they were the hunted.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Soft kisses trailed down Trina’s cheek and across her neck. She pried sticky eyes open and peered at Logan.

  “Wake up, lazy, I have work for you to do.” He looked great and smelled even better—woodsy, clean, sexy.

  She, on the other hand, felt terrible—mouth dry, stomach unhappy, and everything hurt.

  “Go away.” She rolled over to hide under the covers from his too chipper attitude. “What did we do last night? I have the worst hangover.”

  He tugged on the blanket, letting in the bright sunlight. “How do you feel?”

  “My head aches, my eyes ache, everything aches.” She struggled to pull the blanket up, but he seemed intent on depriving her of its shelter. “And nauseous. Very nauseous.”

  “Not too bad, all things considered.” He stripped the blanket away, leaving her naked and defenseless, blinking against the light. “We’re leaving within the hour. If you want a bath, now’s the time.” He leaned over and sniffed her hair. “And I’m thinking you want to get started soon.”

  “Are you saying I stink?” She half-heartedly swung a pillow at him, but he ducked and grinned.

  “Up, or you won’t have enough time to pack.”

  “Pack? Where are we going?” She struggled to remember why she should feel so bad. “And what would I pack? My whole two dresses? Whoopee! I’ll get right on it.” She rolled up to sitting, flipping him off with her free hand.

  “If you’re nice, you might have a little more than two dresses to pack. Where do you think I was yesterday?” Logan dangled a small, purple velvet bag that grew even as she reached for it. “Most of your new clothes are already in here, but you should add anything you don’t want to leave behind.”