Puzzled, he looked down to find Catriona braced ful against him, her wings pumping hard to hold him in place as he strained forward. “Put the wax back in your ears,” she said breathlessly. “Then touch the halter.”

He gazed at her, muddled by pain and blood loss, and a discordant surge of heated lust. Her mouth formed a wordless oath. Letting go of him with one hand, she snatched the wax bal s out of his palm with the other and put them back in his ears. Then, one hand stil braced on his chest, she tugged on his other arm, lifting it toward Firewind, a few paces away. The horse eyed him baleful y. His upper lip lifted, showing teeth, the ears sweeping back.

“Wait.” Jacob shook his head, his other hand fal ing on her hip to hold himself steady. It was then he realized the inevitable result of the three sirens— he was heavily aroused. In the snug, very thin hose, that part of his anatomy was pushed rather solidly into Catriona's flat stomach. “Oh, Jesus. Sorry.” He tried to back away, swayed, and she caught him, continuing to hold him with the additional propulsion of her wings and firm grip.

“It's all right. You can't help it.” He was able to make out those words easily enough. Her pointed ears were tinged pink and she kept her gaze on his chest, though.

He cleared his throat, tried to set her somewhat to the side so he could turn, place his hand on her shoulder for balance, instead of the more intimate pose. It also all owed him to face Firewind squarely.

Bowing his head, Jacob bent his knee, gritting his teeth at a searing, mind blackening cloud of pain as he made the respectful obeisance.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Forgive my ignorance, my lord.”

The waterhorse snorted. He felt the vibration of hooves clomping through the grass toward him, fortunately at a more sedate pace. When he looked up, Firewind stood right over him, gazing down at him disdainful y. The halter, however, was within reach of his hand.

Jacob took it, closing his hand on the strap, but then, with another murmur of thanks and apology, he also braced himself on the massive shoulder to bring himself all the way upright. Since Firewind didn't whack his head off his shoulders like a T-bal , he assumed he'd been found worthy, or at least tolerable.

Catriona reached up, plucked the wax back out of Jacob's ears. “The sirens are gone,” she explained.

“He liked the apples. He wants more. But he says it's time to catch up to the Hunt. You've wasted enough time.”

“You understand him?”

She shrugged. “Of course. He is Fae. Sometimes he is horse . . . sometimes other. He says he will bear you for this night, for you are worthy. However, at dawn's light, he will tolerate no more and you must take off the halter made of his hair. He requires that you return it to me, or to Keldwyn, but not to the queen, even if she commands it. will you risk her wrath?”

“I think we're already deep in wrath territory when it comes to Rhoswen, so sure. I'l be happy to give it to anyone he wants.”

Catriona turned to Firewind. Though there was no spoken communication, it was clear Firewind found those terms acceptable, for she turned back to Jacob and asked, “Do you need help getting on him?”

“Male pride is a terrible thing. Not sure I can make myself say yes to that, no matter how true an answer it is.”

Firewind blew out a snort. This time, instead of fire, Jacob was surprised to find himself sprayed with a light mist of salt water, perhaps from their swim in the moat. Stretching out his forelegs in an attitude of total imposed-upon suffering, the waterhorse went to one knee and Catriona helped him mount. Jacob managed it without staggering or uttering vile curses not appropriate to utter before a Fae lord or a female dryad, but it was a near thing.

Once he was seated, she handed him the reins.

“Good hunting,” she said simply.

“Where are you—”

“Back to the forests. I have been watching you, these past few days. The timing today was fortunate.”

“Yes, it was.” He'd automatical y shifted to a proper seat, the boon of long experience. Things were getting less painful, though, the bones and wounds healing, but he felt weak as a newborn and knew he had to be far too pale. “Have you been watching Keldwyn, too?”

“Yes. I am not ready for him to see me yet, though.” Her voice softened, and her eyes had a glimmer of tears. “Go with the Goddess's blessing, vampire.”

“Jacob,” he reminded her. But she was gone, with several nimble strides that launched her a few feet in the air, skimming over the tributary. As she crossed it, she did a pretty twirl, her feet kicking up the water, and the sirens emerged to wave. A selkie leaped into her path, a sleek shine of moonlight across his skin, and her fingers trailed his flank playful y before she cleared him, and was past the water, headed back to her beloved forest. She also got a wave from Yeshi, walking up the hil toward the stables.

Jacob looked at Firewind as the waterhorse turned his head, met his gaze. “Do I just tel you where I'd like to go? I get that I shouldn't use heels or tugs on the reins, but I can't promise about the knees and thighs. That's second nature to me.” The horse shook his whole head and neck, a shudder that went through the withers, which Jacob interpreted as a shrug. “Is it too much to hope that we don't have to go there at a gal op?” At the horse's look, he sighed, took a firm hold of reins. “Yeah, I know. We're already late. Let's go, then. Do you want the wax?” He opened his palm to show the two bal s Catriona had tucked there. “So you don't have to hear my screams of pain?” The horse laid back his ears and blew a smal spout of flame out of his nose. “Wax gone,” Jacob said, tossing it. “At your pleasure, my lord.” 13

FORTUNATELY, the bones had knitted enough that the furious gallop was uncomfortable, not excruciating. It didn't take very long for Jacob to see the tail end of the procession, but it was good that Firewind had run, because they weren't far from the glittering train of horses that had to be the Seelie host.

He cantered along the line, his knees holding him on the horse, one hand wrapped loosely in the mane and braided reins. He'd recovered enough to hold a good seat, and kept his attitude casual, as if it was nothing to ride up on a waterhorse that could burst into flame at a moment's notice. He saw his lady riding with Rhoswen. It had been a curious honor, given Rhoswen's attitude toward Lyssa, but he expected since Lyssa's attendance had been specifical y requested by the Seelie king, Rhoswen was playing politics, making it appear as if she was treating Lyssa as an honored guest. Or it could be more of the schizoid love-hate behavior she'd been demonstrating to her half sister throughout their compel ed visit.

As they approached, he noted the palfrey was little more than half Firewind's size, but given his lady's petite stature, they were a proportionate match. With Lyssa sidesaddle, the skirt of her dress spread out on the horse's haunches, and the palfrey's arched head and flowing mane, they made a beautiful, feminine picture. It didn't matter to Jacob who led the procession. She was the one who stood out, who riveted his attention.

Based on that, he couldn't blame Firewind for trying to steal a playful nip of the mare's neck. He had a similar urge toward her rider. The stal ion won an offended whinny, a sidling dance on four dainty hooves. It was instinct to control his mount with a quick whistle of breath, a hiss of admonishment.

Before he could think oh, crap, regretting his faux pas with the prickly equine Fae lord, Firewind's feet left the ground, but only a few inches. It was a retort, yes, but it was just as much a cocky, handsome display to the mare. Then he settled to his version of a sedate pace, which meant a menacing stalk.

“Manners. Be a gentleman, you big lout,” Jacob muttered.

Of course, he was one to talk. Wearing only the indecently snug hose, holes burned through them in a couple spots, he was well aware he was nowhere suitably dressed for this entourage, but Rhoswen had set the terms. She could explain his appearance to the Seelie king. At least his boots had held up well.

Lyssa's green eyes revealed nothing. However, he knew she saw the strain of the trek through water, would feel the weakness the burns and injuries had left him. Though she'd been worried, he could also tel she was proud of him, pleased he'd achieved Rhoswen's quest.

It was an age-old feeling, the sense that he'd done something worthy of his lady's favor. That he'd won her heart anew, the true prize for a quest performed well. That, and the pleasure of her body later, when she'd offer herself generously as a further reward.

Oh, really? I expected you here at least ten minutes ago. I think you're losing your touch.

As she looked him over, he saw her remember the first time she'd met him, how he'd been wearing an outfit remarkably similar to this one.

Though that one didn't have the added benefit of being glued to your body with water, Sir Vagabond.

Her gaze lifted to his face. She knew he needed blood, but she didn't ask or coddle, knowing this was not the time. And it was not her way, regardless. One of the many things he appreciated about her.

Rhoswen glanced back, as expressionless as his lady, underscoring the family resemblance once again. He didn't think it would be politic to grin about that, no matter how giddy or slightly unstable he was feeling at the moment.

“So you figured out the secret to riding a waterhorse, vampire. You look a little . . . overcome by the experience. And far underdressed.” Jacob inclined his head. “If my appearance pleases my lady, then that is enough. And yes, I did figure out the secret. Treat him as he deserves to be treated.”

“Under that maxim, I was overly merciful with the bearing rein. He should count himself fortunate.” After that cryptic comment, Rhoswen turned her attention to Lyssa, dismissing him and Firewind.

“When we reach the Seelie host, I will introduce you to King Tabor and turn you over to him. But remember what we spoke about.” She met Lyssa's glance. “A day from now, at dawn, the herald will come.”

Jacob gave Lyssa a quizzical look, but she made a neutral gesture, putting him off.