Prince of Air and Darkness

  “You stay away from my daughter!” she shouted, her hands curling into fists like she wanted to beat him into submission.

  Hunter wasn’t sure whether to be amused or angry. Perhaps a little of both, tinged with a grudging admiration.

  “I’m afraid staying away from her is not one of my options,” he said. He kept a wary eye on her as he picked the gun up off the floor. He popped it open, removed the second cartridge—touching it gingerly in case there was iron in the casing as well as the bullet, but there wasn’t—then handed the empty gun back to her. She snatched it from his hand.

  “You may think you’re invulnerable, mister, but—”

  “Not by a long shot,” he interrupted with a shake of his head. “I’ll explain why I can’t leave Kiera alone, but it’ll take a while, so why don’t you come sit down? Maybe you’ll be able to help me think of a way out of this mess that doesn’t endanger her.” He didn’t really believe that, but he hoped that the suggestion might help defuse some of her protective rage.

  Her steady gaze told him she didn’t trust him for a moment—as if he didn’t know that already. “Start talking. I’m listening.”

  Apparently sitting down and making herself comfortable was out of the question. Hunter supposed it didn’t matter, so he did as she commanded and started talking. He told her about his mother’s spies, including Bane, and he told her about his mother’s more sadistic inclinations. He also told her about the truth spells that would make it impossible to hide his feelings for Kiera if his mother ever had an inkling what questions to ask. He didn’t, of course, mention that his “charade” with Kiera to fool the spies had long ago stopped being a charade. That much he could never expect her to understand.

  By the time he was finished talking, Cathy’s arms were crossed over her chest, skepticism seeping from her every pore.

  “It’s a very convenient story,” she said.

  Hunter restrained his urge to snap at her. How could he blame her for her skepticism? “Please, for the time being, at least pretend you believe me. Help me think of a way out. I haven’t been able to come up with one, and Kiera’s too fixated on trying to save me to focus as fully as she should on saving herself.”

  “Maybe if you were so eager to save her, you should have just let me shoot you,” Cathy said with a curl of her lip.

  Hunter rolled his eyes. “I told you, that wouldn’t kill me. It would just hurt like hell.”

  “Another convenient story.”

  Hunter swallowed hard, not looking forward to implementing the only solution he could see to Cathy’s disbelief. He dug the remaining .22 cartridge out of his pocket and held it out to Cathy.

  “Fine. See for yourself, if that’s what it takes.” He hoped a second shot wouldn’t alarm anyone in the building, but the .22 really didn’t make a whole lot of noise, and most people would assume it was a nail gun or something of the sort.

  Cathy reloaded the gun warily, clearly expecting some kind of trick. Hunter closed his eyes and put his hands behind his back, making himself completely vulnerable. He didn’t know why he was offering to put himself through the agony of an iron bullet just to win Cathy’s good opinion, but he felt no inclination to change his mind. Though if she didn’t get on with it, he might well run out of stoic acceptance.

  The seconds ticked by, and still Cathy didn’t pull the trigger. It took an impressive effort of will for Hunter to hold himself still, but he managed it.

  Eventually, Cathy sighed and Hunter opened his eyes. Her hand with the gun in it was down by her side, and her shoulders were slumped.

  “It would have served you right if I’d shot you,” she said without looking at him.

  Hunter didn’t disagree. “But it wouldn’t have protected Kiera, and that’s something we both want to accomplish.”

  “So you claim.”

  Hunter stifled a grunt of frustration. “I wish that little pea-shooter of yours could kill me. Both Kiera and I would be better off if I were dead.” He wasn’t eager to die, but there was no escaping the reality that a quick death here in the mortal world was preferable to whatever would happen to him when he returned in disgrace to the Unseelie Court.

  Cathy’s mouth dropped open, and she regarded him with almost comical surprise.

  “I’d have put myself out of both of our misery on the night you and Conan revealed my identity, only I fear my mother might draw the right conclusions and take her frustrations out on Kiera. You don’t happen to have a larger caliber gun with iron bullets stashed somewhere, do you?”

  He wasn’t sure if even the largest caliber handgun could kill him, but maybe with an iron bullet, or multiple iron bullets . . .

  But Cathy shook her head. “This is all I have,” she said, holding up the .22 for display. “Conan seemed to think it was plenty of firepower to stop any fey who might try to make trouble for me.”

  Hunter shrugged. “Against ordinary fey, he’d be right. Most wouldn’t die, but the pain of the iron would be at least temporarily incapacitating.”

  “But not for you?”

  “I am not like other fey. I’ve had a lifetime of practice enduring what the Queen can dish out. Besides, my mortal blood gives me some protection.” Not much, to be sure. The touch of iron would burn his flesh like it would that of any fey, but it wouldn’t poison his blood at least.

  Hunter was tired of standing in the entryway, so he strode into the living room. Cathy could follow him or not as she wished. He poured himself a generous dose of single-malt whiskey from the bar in the corner, and when he turned back to face the room, he saw that Cathy was sitting on his sofa.

  “Would you like one?” he asked, holding up his glass.

  “No. Thanks.”

  Hunter sipped the whiskey, but though it was of the highest order, he couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for it. He put the glass down after a single sip. He’d come into the living room because he’d wanted to sit, but now he found he was too restless to do so.

  “Let me see if I understand what you’re saying,” Cathy said as he paced. “You think the only way Kiera can be truly safe is if you die, but you can’t kill yourself because you’re afraid your mother will figure out you did it to save Kiera and will come after her. Does that about sum it up?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell.”

  “But if someone else killed you, the Queen would never guess that Kiera matters to you, and my daughter would be safe.” There was a look of calculation on her face that sent a shiver of unease down Hunter’s spine.

  “Yes,” he said more slowly.

  “Someone like a phooka, who’d been sent here by Finvarra to keep an eye on his daughter?”

  Hunter’s lip curled involuntarily. Of all the creatures in Faerie, phookas were no doubt the most annoying. They were tricksters by nature, although as Conan had proved, they were as capable as anyone of being dangerous. “A phooka wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

  Cathy raised her eyebrows. “Even if he took you by surprise?”

  Hunter’s immediate instinct was to say no, his ego insulted by the very idea of being taken out by a lowly phooka. Instead, he swallowed the denial and forced himself to think about it.

  “He would have to be in canine form,” he mused. “And he would have to disarm me on the first strike.” Hunter flicked his wrist, and his silver knife slid out of hiding and into his hand. “Even wounded and taken by surprise, I would most likely kill him if I’m armed.” He allowed himself a fierce smile that was more of a grimace. “And I’m never unarmed.”

  “I’m sure that could be arranged,” Cathy said softly, and Hunter hated the hint of pity that now shone in her eyes.

  Was he really giving this plan serious consideration? He was talking about arranging his own death. It seemed he should have more objections to the plan, that he should be desperately trying to think of some other way out of this mess.

  But his every instinct told him there was no other way out. And really, when you got right down to i
t, was his life really worth saving? The only true happiness he had ever known were the few stolen minutes he’d had with Kiera, minutes when he’d allowed himself to forget who and what he was. The rest of his life was made up of suffering and death, of acts he knew were wrong and punishments if he failed. How could he go back to that after he’d had a taste of something different?

  He met Cathy’s steady gaze. “Kiera will never forgive Conan and would probably never forgive you if she knew about this.”

  Cathy winced, obviously hearing the truth in his words. “We’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t know. If you’re actually saying you’re willing to go through with it.”

  Hunter thought about it a moment longer, trying to figure out how to cause Kiera as little pain as possible. She had already grown way more attached to him than was wise—as he had to her—and he imagined his death would sadden her even if she didn’t know her mother and the phooka were behind it.

  Which meant the best way to protect her feelings was if she never had to know.

  “I’ll tell Kiera that Conan has found some kind of sanctuary for me in Faerie. Somewhere I can disappear to and never be heard from again, where my mother will never find me.”

  Cathy considered his words, then nodded. “Somewhere where Kiera can’t follow you, either.”

  “Exactly.” The idea of lying to Kiera once more sat uneasily in Hunter’s stomach, but it was a necessary evil. It would hurt her so much less to think he had fled to safety, even if it was somewhere she couldn’t go, than to know he had died.

  There was a strange burning sensation in his eyes, and his chest ached like there was a goblin sitting on it, crushing his sternum. If only he could have just a little more time with Kiera, a little more joy in his life before it ended . . .

  But no. The longer he and Kiera spent together, the harder the separation would be. And the more risk that his mother would discover his weakness. If he was going to do this, then the sooner the better.

  Hunter swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m seeing Kiera tonight,” he said, and his voice was embarrassingly husky. “I’ll tell her the news, and I’ll say I have to leave immediately.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll go for a walk afterward. She’ll think I’m headed for Faerie, and I’ll act as if we’d had a fight for the benefit of any of my mother’s spies who might be watching. Your phooka should go for my right arm in his first rush, and he’d better finish me off quickly.”

  Hunter’s fists clenched in his lap as he imagined allowing himself to be taken down by a phooka. It would be an inglorious end, to say the least. No matter how practical the plan was, his ego didn’t like it one bit, and in the heat of the moment . . .

  “I’m going to fight back, Cathy,” he said tightly. “My instincts won’t allow me to just roll over, and even if they would, I have to make it look good for my mother’s spies. Tell the phooka I’ll kill him if he isn’t careful.”

  Cathy had gone pale and wide-eyed. She cared about the phooka, he realized. But he didn’t take the threat back. It was best for everyone involved if the phooka was fighting for his life.

  “Does that change things?” Hunter asked, already knowing the answer.

  Cathy took a deep breath and raised her chin. “No. I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect Kiera, and so will Conan. I . . .” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. You seem like a decent sort for a fey—”

  Hunter cut her off with a bitter laugh. “That I most definitely am not. Save the speeches. I don’t much care whether you’re sorry or not.”

  Perhaps it wasn’t terribly fair of him to lash out at her. It wasn’t her fault he was in this predicament, and she was just doing the best she could to protect her daughter. She was doing the right thing. But she’d already shot at him once today, and she’d just helped plan his murder. He would have to be a saint not to hate her for it, at least a little. And he was no saint.

  ****

  Kiera snuggled into the warmth of Hunter’s body as they walked the four blocks from the comedy club back to their apartment building. His arm around her shoulders felt wonderful, and the scent of his leather coat blended beautifully with his cologne.

  Although the evening had been truly romantic, with a scrumptious candle-lit dinner and enough sexual innuendo to leave her blood singing in anticipation, she’d sensed a certain underlying sadness in Hunter tonight. His laughter at the comedy club had sounded hollow to her ears, and even now, when she was basking in the glory of being close to him, she felt the pall.

  She held her peace until they were safely back in his apartment. He took her coat and draped it over a chair. While he slipped off his own coat, she turned to him, arms akimbo.

  “All right. Tell me what’s wrong,” she demanded.

  He halted momentarily, then laid his coat on top of hers and turned to face her. “Nothing beyond the usual.” He smiled, but it was a very sad smile. His smile transformed from sad to lascivious. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me put ‘the usual’ out of my mind for a while.”

  She’d been aching all evening to have him inside her, so she decided to figure out why he was especially gloomy today at some later time. She flashed him a mock-innocent glance and batted her eyelashes. “I can’t imagine what you might be talking about.”

  He came to stand only inches from her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body even though they weren’t touching. She had to strain her neck to meet his eyes, but it was worth it to see the light that shone in them. Oh, it was going to be hot tonight, all right.

  Kiera rose to her tiptoes so she could brush her lips against his. He started to lean forward to take her lips more firmly, but she put a hand on his chest to hold him off. It seemed to take a mountain of self-control for him not to plow on through her resistance. She licked her lips invitingly, still holding him off.

  “If I’m to cheer you up, you have to let me do this my way,” she told him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Your way? What’s wrong with my way?” He narrowed his eyes as if in anger, but the expression in them was pure mischief. “You’ve never complained about it before.”

  She laughed. Perhaps she should have tried taking charge before. She rather liked seeing Hunter out of his element. “Now, now, no pouting. Be a good boy and humor me.”

  He sighed heavily and put on a look of stoic acceptance. “Oh, all right! If you insist.”

  She looked him over from head to toe, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She circled him, continuing her slow examination, then put both hands on his chest and worked the top button of his shirt loose. Hunter closed his eyes in pleasure as she lightly stroked the skin her fingers had exposed. Her fingertips felt the ever-increasing speed of his pulse. She freed two more buttons, then planted a series of soft kisses on his chest as her hands continued their work.

  Kiera savored the taste of him as her kisses turned more ardent and she heightened the torment with little flicks of her tongue. When the last button was open, she untucked the shirt from his pants with a swift, sure motion. Hunter shrugged his shoulders until the shirt fell free. She allowed herself to admire his lean but muscular frame for a moment before slipping her arms around him and continuing her oral exploration.

  Hunter, clearly not used to being a passive lover, raised his hands with the obvious intention of cupping her breasts, but she grabbed his wrists to still them.

  “Remember, I’m in charge here,” she said, her lips only millimeters from his skin.

  “I’m not allowed to touch you?”

  She laughed and ran the tip of her tongue over his nipple. “All in good time.”

  He lowered his hands back to his sides with obvious reluctance. “I’m at your mercy. Do with me as you will.”

  She complied by teasing first one nipple then the other into a hard little bud as she pressed her body against him, moving her hips so she could feel the hard length of his erection. Her fingernails raked down his back, the
n plunged under the waistband of his pants.

  “Ah, woman, you’re killing me!” he complained breathlessly as her hands stroked his ass. But he obediently kept his own hands at his sides. Her patience with the foreplay was wavering, so she withdrew her hands and unbuckled his belt. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said.

  She glanced up at his face briefly as she slid his zipper down. Despite his grumbling, his face practically glowed with pleasure, and he was watching her hands with heavy-lidded eyes. She pulled the pants and shorts down, biting her lower lip in anticipation when his erection sprang free.

  Hunter’s pants and shorts were gathered at his ankles. He tried to free his feet, but he was still wearing his shoes and socks. Kiera stilled his efforts with firm hands.

  “Here, let me,” she said, then knelt and slipped his shoes and socks off, tossing them aside. The pants and shorts soon followed. When she straightened, Kiera found herself on eye level with his penis. She reached up to run her fingers gently over the smooth shaft, smiling in pleasure to hear the moan that escaped Hunter’s lips. “I suppose while I’m in the neighborhood . . .” she murmured, then mimicked the course of her fingers with her tongue.

  Hunter’s moan sounded almost painful, and his breaths came in short gasps. Feeling bolder and more uninhibited than she could ever remember feeling, Kiera slipped her hand between his legs to cup his balls while she opened her mouth and took him in. He buried his hands in her hair as she sucked greedily, running her tongue against his shaft, drunk with her power to arouse him. She took him deeper, then moved her tongue in an unmistakable rhythm that started his hips thrusting.

  “Kiera, stop,” he croaked, his hands urging her head away from him.

  Her own desire raged so fiercely that it took a concerted effort to release him. She looked up at him, wondering if somehow she had offended him with her forwardness. The look in his eyes instantly quelled that worry.