Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 5

  Or give Prince Kian what help he could.

  “You’ve had time to think on what defying me costs, and this killing does provide some evidence of penance.” The queen’s lovely wicked eyes measured his value. “I suppose I could use your prison for someone else, if it were empty...”

  The entire court inhaled, sucking up the available oxygen and leaving a palpable vacuum.

  “I will not put you back in. You may go." The queen relaxed back in her throne and gestured to a serving girl for a cup. Logan nearly toppled from the breeze of a thousand exhales.

  “My lady, this takes care of my service to you.”

  She looked down at him. “Do you think so?” She raised her eyebrows, her lips pursed. “I do not. You were supposed to be my huntsman and you refused my wishes.”

  “Fifteen years of imprisonment and this service should bring us even.”

  “Even!” she hissed. “You defied me and worse than that, you encouraged my son to defy me. Do you think you can ever repay me?” Her eyes swirled into a maelstrom of purple.

  Logan struggled to retain his calm as the tapping began again, accelerating to a fast staccato.

  “How can you consider this a service, Huntsman? One measly creature killed when you should have killed four. They should all be dead! And you were supposed to have made sure they were, but you did not. I need them all killed. All of them. Every last MacElvy an-ni-hil-ated!”

  Her shrill siren voice rose, becoming louder and louder until the more sensitive in the court keeled over, clutching at their ears. Her body glowed as her magic built up, threatening to explode. Sparks flew. One landed on his hand, burning it briefly before he shook it off. He held his position and stifled the urge to bolt.

  A flow of bodies pushed away from the thrones and impending destruction, but he forced himself to stand firm, regard her steadily and not think of escape. Whatever these witches had done to her, she was never going to forgive. No matter how sexy the girl was, no matter what hold she might give him over the queen, keeping her might have been a fatal mistake.

  Haddon leaned over and whispered something to the queen. The tension in her body eased. The sparks slowed. She nodded, a small infinitesimal nod, never looking away from Logan.

  “You may go. For now, Huntsman.” Her use of the title informed him she felt she could still pull his chain. “I may have some use for you. But don’t think you are off the hook. I require penance.”

  “By your leave, Your Majesty.” He bowed and made his escape.

  He headed for the doors at a calculated pace, his mind spinning. He exited into the now-deserted antechamber and almost tripped over Bosco.

  “Well, well. She didn’t exterminate you.” The other fae’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “Yet.”

  Logan pushed past him, heading at a steady speed for the exit.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Huntsman?”

  Logan winced at the title, but didn’t stop. He called over his shoulder, “The queen will need someone else to fill that role. Maybe you, Bosco?”

  Not likely. Bosco’s hunting talents were not with horse and hound. Only Logan’s paternal bloodline had the Gifts of the hunt. Only Logan now.

  “Oh, I think you’ll be filling the role for some time to come, Huntsman. Unless you want to come to the same end as your father?” Bosco’s brittle laugh trailed after him.

  Logan didn’t need Bosco’s reminder. Despite his hatred for his father, it still burned that the queen had ordered his father executed.

  The queen had said he could go. He would be out of this section of Underhill as fast as possible. He wasn't released from his obligations completely, but he wasn’t in prison. He’d take what he could get.

  Use the breathing time to figure out a way to keep the queen from him—and his new acquisition from the queen.

  Chapter Six

  They rode out of the portal and into the blaze of early morning sunrise. Logan blinked blearily at the dazzling light, pushed a knuckle into the corner of his eye and rubbed, nearly losing his seat as Solanum kicked his heels and twisted into a kicking buck.

  “Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Logan clamped his legs tight, slamming his fist down hard between the puca’s ears.

  “Shaking off portal mist.”

  “Well stop. Let it dissipate on its own.” He dug deep into a cloak pocket searching for any possible sunglasses leftover from before his imprisonment. Giving up, he raised a hand and blocked the glare. “What day is it?” His time sense wasn’t kicking in like it should, he must be more worn out than he thought.

  “Don’t you ken how long we’ve been gone?” Solanum ripped up another clump of Uncle Eirc’s prized flowers, chewing as he spoke.

  “I should, but I’m knackered to the bone.” Logan’s empty stomach lurched as they approached the cottage. “Shit. It feels like two days.”

  “It’s piper paying time, old son.” Solanum’s thick, black equine lips twisted into a leering grin, one tattered, white daisy hanging from a corner. “Your uncles will be wondering why you left them such a succulent present.”

  “My uncles will tear me to pieces, leaving a tasty morsel for them to fight over.” Logan dismounted, rolling and stretching his shoulders until they cracked. He was too tired for this. “I should have warned her.”

  “Nah. It’s early morning of the same night.” Solanum said. “They’ll just have gotten home. You’re one lucky sod.” Logan stumbled at the news of his reprieve.

  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 two centuries.

  The puca snorted his disagreement.

  “I need food though, I’ll give you that.” Logan’s 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.

  “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 sliced into the soft grass, sending clumps flying.

  Logan hid his shudder from the puca and forced a light tone. There was a reason the fae had banded together and eradicated most of the puca from the universe. Ultimate power and no morals were a scary combination.

  “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 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 and let Logan through, dancing his way towardss 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 member 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, h
ead of the family, reclined in his favorite chair, puffing on his meerschaum pipe, a gift from the leprechauns. At his uncle’s stern glare, Logan rocked uneasily back onto his heels. Angus, second in command, leaned on the hearth next to his brother, tamping tobacco into his own pipe. His look was more long-suffering, and less task-master.

  They were both tall, muscular men whose rock hard muscles and sharp skills with sword and shield Logan respected. Both near two 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 you going to wait there all day, or are you comin’ in to straighten out your 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 you’ve put into the front bedroom. Did you 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. “You 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’d 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, you know. You’re in need of 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 shook his head. “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?”

  “You know better lad, the forest is never safe.” Rinnal’s face sobered. “Most who live there serve only their own interests. But it’s within our territory and not the evil bitch’s.” 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 something valuable 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 overlooking the Black Forest and pulled on his beard. Logan carried the full plate back to the table and set it down, staring at it. 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. His expression was serious. “Lad, 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 WATCHED LOGAN leave the kitchen. He puffed out billowing smoke rings and listened to his nephew’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, examining the remaining tobacco.

  “Yes, but there were more of us then.” Angus’s voice was 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. 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.”

  Chapter Seven

  Logan hesitated outside the door to the guest room. 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 Black 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 the woman’s life.

  Instead, he planned on taking her into the forest. Why? For one thing, if
he killed her, he’d never be able to look his uncles in the eyes again. For another, by keeping her alive there might be a slim chance of finding a way to use her to 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 all 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. The sensation vibrated his nerves right down to his cock.

  She rolled over, 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.