Chapter Five
On the other side of it, he hesitated for a moment, wrestling his anger and disappointment.
It had been some of the best sex he’d ever had. Olivia had gone up in flames beneath him. Rhys had never had a woman react to him like that, not even the ones who knew the size of his bank account.
And she knew exactly how to drive him completely out of his mind with a kiss, a stroke of skilled fingers, the brush of her body across his.
He stalked across the bedroom to the walk-in closet, where he pulled out a pair of jeans and a polo shirt at random. As he dressed, he brooded. He supposed he could understand her rage. If he’d realized he was under a spell that forced him to fuck an utter stranger, he’d be pretty pissed, too.
Extending a hand in front of his eyes, he studied the magic swirling around him. Those blue-tinted sparks were a lot thicker than the field that surrounded her, and there was a lot more turbulence in their swarming motion.
And there wasn’t so much as one green spark among them. She was right; the spell was just on her.
Which meant his emotions were genuine.
Then again, why wouldn’t they be? She was everything he’d ever dreamed of: beautiful, talented, in possession of all the secrets he wanted so badly to know. Of course he was halfway in love with her.
That fast. You barely know her. Idiot.
He tossed the clothes on the bed, then headed to a bureau and pulled open a drawer to dig out a pair of briefs and socks. He could have conjured clothing, of course, but he always had a fear that his magic would fail at some inconvenient moment and leave him stark naked in public.
As he got dressed, he remembered the sight of Olivia riding him like a Valkyrie. All that lovely hair flying around her face, her violet eyes glowing with her magic.
Dammit, he wanted it to be real.
Olivia knew the answers to mysteries that had tormented him since he was ten years old. She knew magic, understood how it worked, how to assemble spells to accomplish her goals.
More than that, she was bright and fierce and courageous, and he’d never met a woman like her.
And I’m damned if I’m going to just give her up.
He didn’t need magic to seduce a woman. He’d always found his body, his charm, and his face were enough to do the job.
And okay, maybe there was some arrogance in that thought, but then, Rhys had always known he was an arrogant son of a bitch. He just usually did a better job of concealing it.
Arrogance could be useful, though, because it gave you the guts and confidence to go after what you wanted.
What Rhys wanted was Olivia Flynn.
The question is, what does she want?
Well for one thing, she wanted revenge on this Gorin douchebag. Now there was a plan Rhys could get behind. Any bastard willing to torture a child to death had been doing evil shit to a lot of people for a long time. The planet would be a lot better off without the Day-Glo Dickhead on it.
Both planets.
Normally Rhys didn’t believe in taking the law into his own hands. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give justice a hand—or even a good strong shove. In Gorin’s case, Rhys would love to shove the bastard into a giant trash compactor, even if he had to conjure one especially for the occasion.
Assuming, that is, that Gorin was indeed the one behind all this. The werewolves would probably know the answer to that question. All Rhys had to do was capture one of the furry bastards and ask.
And in the meantime, he meant to convince Olivia that there was more between them than a spell.
* * *
Olivia sat on the slick fiberglass bench inside the shower, letting the water pound down on her shoulders.
Dammit, it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t she entitled to a little pleasure?
Though maybe a “little” was the wrong adjective. Rhys had damn near blown the top of her head off. And if I’d kept my mouth shut, he would’ve done it again.
Olivia straightened to let her head thump against the shower’s tile wall. She’d just been so pissed off when she realized her hunger had been driven by a spell.
The question that really made her crazy was why? There had to be a reason for this, but damned if she had any idea what it was.
Standing, Olivia reached for the shampoo and poured a palmful of it. It smelled like sandalwood.
Well, that explained at least part of his seductive scent.
She considered conjuring something a little more feminine for herself, maybe with notes of lavender to calm her down.
Then she sighed and started working what she already held through her long, white mane. She could have used magic to banish the dirt, but she’d found over the years that nothing cleared her mind quite like a hot shower. It was as if it washed away all the poisonous thoughts and emotional upheaval.
And yet now, as she tried to figure out what was going on, her mind remained stubbornly blank. She simply didn’t have enough information. There were too many pieces of the puzzle still missing. And to make matters worse, the puzzle seemed to be getting bigger, with more and more empty spaces opening up, and too few pieces to fit into them.
Finally, clean but still confused, Olivia got out of the shower, her hair a dripping tail down her back. With a grimace of disgust, she gestured.
Magic ran the length of her body, and the smell of ozone filled the air. When it passed, her hair floated around her dry body, the fine strands water-free.
Next she conjured black leggings, boots, and a pretty blue silk top. Pausing in front of the mirrored bureau, she contemplated her reflection. It felt odd to let her bare face show after so many years of concealing it behind a glamour, almost as if she were more naked than she’d been making love to Rhys.
It had been centuries since she’d been proud of that face. After all, it had been the cause of her family’s murder.
When she’d come to Mortal Earth two centuries ago, she’d gotten in the habit of wearing a glamour, both to keep Gorin from finding her and to avoid being noticed, as women who looked like her often were.
So why show my true face to Rhys?
Ego, she supposed. Or maybe she was just desperate to keep him from kicking her to the curb. I may be a crazy lady who all but announced she wouldn’t sleep with you without being under an evil spell, but at least I’m pretty. Keep me around.
Geas or no geas, Olivia needed Rhys. He was the only chance she had get the revenge she’d dreamed of for so many years.
And Sweet Goddess, what kind of bitch does that make me? Using him, putting him in danger, then buying his cooperation with her body. Her mother would’ve been scandalized.
If she’d still been alive.
If Ansgar hadn’t ordered her parents’ murder to keep them from offering Olivia sanctuary.
In the end, there’d been only one place she could go: Mortal Earth. It was so hard to use magic here, you couldn’t really scan the planet for a magical signature the way you could back home. And her self-banishment had worked. Olivia had been safe here for two centuries. Now she was in the crosshairs again.
At least this time she had an ally. Rhys would help her—assuming she hadn’t alienated him so thoroughly he’d kick her out on her ass.
Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the bedroom door and swung it open.
“Olivia?” Rhys called from down the hallway in that deliciously masculine voice of his.
Deep within her, something seemed to clench and heat. She wished she knew whether it was the spell or her own body.
Olivia nibbled her lower lip, uncharacteristically embarrassed. He probably thinks I’m a lunatic. Hell, I think I’m a lunatic.
But she wasn’t a coward, so she squared her shoulders and strode down the hall, pausing in the guest room’s open doorway. A queen-sized sleigh bed occupied one side of the room under a dove-gray satin comforter. A cherry bureau stood against the other, across from a cherry rocking chair in one corner.
Rhys gave her a tight smile and gestured at the newly made bed. “I put on fresh linens.”
“Thanks.” She gazed at him, wondering what to say. In the end, the choice was obvious. “I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
He shrugged those magnificent shoulders. “I don’t blame you. I’d have been just as pissed in your shoes.” He moved toward the door, and she stepped aside. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m sure this will make more sense in the morning.”
“Well, it could hardly make less sense.” She grimaced. “Probably shouldn’t have said that. We’ll get a rain of frogs next.”
His lips twitched. “Or locusts. Don’t forget the locusts.”
“Goddess, I hope not.” But as he started to walk past, he broke step.
Olivia found herself looking up into the warm, rich amber of his eyes. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to duck away, he bent his head and kissed her.
Instant lust scalded through her, but before she could grab for him, he stepped back and gave her a small smile. “Good night, Olivia.”
“Good night, Rhys.” She licked her lips, feeling the velvet echo of the kiss. Lust rolled through her and she closed her eyes, fighting it.
The door snapped closed behind him.
* * *
Olivia’s hands trembled as she walked along the palace corridor, relief warring with the aftermath of terror.
She’d just escaped rape by the width of a Demi-Sidhe’s wing. When they’d been summoned to the Morven court two months ago, she’d had no idea she’d end up banished—and relieved it wasn’t worse.
As it easily could have been, because she’d told King Ansgar no. Again.
Many women would have said she was mad to refuse her sovereign. Tonight, the king had looked as broad shouldered and regal as always in a black jerkin glittering with rubies and gold embroidery, worn over black hose and gleaming black boots. More rubies glittered in the braids in his hip-length hair and in one lobe of a pointed ear.
But if he’d intended the effect to be seductive, the stony expression on his handsome face and the chill in his black eyes had the opposite effect.
He’d been charmed at first when she’d resisted his efforts to lure her to bed. But as the weeks had gone on, his ego had been pricked.
Tonight, his patience had worn out.
Olivia had found herself babbling. “You . . . You do me great honor, your majesty. But I . . . I’m married. My husband . . .”
Terrifying rage flashed through his eyes and vanished a heartbeat later, replaced by a charming, kind smile she didn’t trust in the least. He leaned forward to brush a hand over her cheek. “Goddess, what a beautiful creature you are.”
When she couldn’t quite suppress her flinch, he gave her a tender smile. “Oh, my dear. Do you expect me to do you some violence?”
“It wasn’t my intention to anger you, Majesty. It’s just . . .”
“You love your husband, I know. All the court knows. The two of you are fair sickening, you with that laughing little boy of yours.” His lips twisted. “You are so fortunate to have such a son. I’ve never seen anything so very . . . sweet.” He brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “I would not dream of hurting you.”
It should have made her feel better, but her mouth was dry as sand anyway. “Your Majesty is most generous. Thank you for your understanding.”
“Oh, my dear, don’t thank me.” He stepped away from her, and she relaxed a fraction. His violence with the maids was well-known. Even the ladies of the court had known the weight of his fist. “I have no desire to mar such beauty.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Not when there are so many other ways to make my displeasure known. So very many, so much more painful.”
He spoke so softly, almost gently, yet she had never found him so terrifying, even in his most flamboyant fits of rage.
Oh, Goddess! I’d better give in! “Your Majesty . . .”
But his tone turned coolly dismissive. “You’d best return to your quarters, I think. You are your father’s chatelain, are you not? His castle has done without your services for too long. I’ve been selfish.”
“I am . . . devastated to leave your presence. But I will of course do as you will.”
“That would be refreshing.”
She sank into her deepest curtsy, inclining her head. Her heart beat so hard, the lace of her bodice trembled against her skin.
He turned on a heel and strode away.
When the echoes of his clicking footsteps had faded, she rose. Her trembling knees almost collapsed under her weight.
Did I just make a dreadful mistake? She’d worried for weeks whether she should simply give him what he wanted. After all, the king’s discarded mistresses were often richly rewarded.
Yet she simply couldn’t stand the thought of having any man’s hands on her other than her husband’s. Not even the king’s.
Coln had left the decision up to her, but she could sense he hadn’t wanted her to surrender her honor, either.
She was lucky to suffer nothing worse than banishment. At one point, she’d been convinced she was about to be raped; Ansgar wasn’t known for his forbearance.
Now she had to gather Coln and Ivor and get them to safety as quickly as possible.
Reaching the ornate door of the chamber they shared, she wasn’t surprised to find it locked. It was late—almost midnight. Ansgar had kept her long in his quarters. She knocked softly. “Coln? Let me in. We need to get packed and go. The King has banished me.”
But there was no answer. No sound at all. “Coln?”
Reaching into the purse on her belt, she groped until her shaking hands found the key. It took two tries to fit it into the lock.
Somehow she got the door open, stepped inside—and froze, staring. A wave of cold rushed over her, as if all her blood had been replaced with ice water.
Coln lay on his side with his back to her. The worn rug he lay on was dyed red with blood. A small arm lay flopped over one of his shoulders as if the child had fallen asleep in his arms.
And a sword thrust straight up on the other side of him, point buried in the floor.
“Ivor! Coln!” She ran across the room, leaping over broken furniture, her slippers crunching through broken crockery. Coln had fought savagely to defend their son. It hadn’t been enough. Blood covered his white linen shirt in huge stains, crimson darkening to brown.
Olivia fell to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulder. Her hand jerked back as the cold of his body registered. He was long dead.
Ivor lay curled in the shelter of his body, as though Coln had tried to shield him.
It had done no good.
The blade of a great sword lay driven through Ivor’s side, skewering him like a capon on a spit, pinning him to the floor.
Olivia’s stunned gaze traveled up the length of the weapon to the hilt, intricately carved with coiling roses, garnets forming the petals.
She knew that weapon. It belonged to Gorin, the Royal Assassin, who’d murdered two of King Llyr’s wives and three of his children.
He’d left it here as a message. Gorin wanted her to know he’d killed them—on the king’s orders.
A sob tore at her throat with rusty claws. Olivia looked down at her husband’s face, eyes staring sightlessly over Ivor’s small blond head. Then she realized the man wasn’t Coln.
He was Rhys.
* * *
Olivia jolted upright in bed, her teeth clamped against the need to scream. She’d long since learned not to draw attention with a scream.
She woke the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. She felt logy and depressed in the aftermath of last night’s dream, but she shook the feeling off and cast a cleansing spell over herself. Feeling marginally better, she dressed in the clothes she’d conjured the night before and followed the enticing scent of food to the kitchen.
“Grab yourself a cup,” Rhys told her, waving a spatula at the coffee maker, where a pair of mugs waited.
After doctoring her coffee with cream and sugar, she moved to look over his shoulder. “Something smells good.”
He gave her a smile, his amber eyes alight. “Hopefully your nose doesn’t deceive you. How do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled’s good.” She watched him start cracking the eggs into a bowl, his big hands sure and competent. He poured the bowl’s contents into a skillet, which instantly began to sizzle.
The toaster made a chunking sound, and two pieces of wheat toast popped into view. He plated the eggs, added a couple of strips of bacon, and plucked out both pieces of toast, then handed it all over.
Plate in one hand, mug in the other, Olivia headed over to the breakfast nook. A moment later, he sat down across from her with his own meal.
Her gaze fell on his coffee cup, where a painted boy rode a broom. “Harry Potter?”
As he sipped, his eyes smiled at her over the rim. “Mom’s idea of a joke.”
“I like your mom’s sense of humor.”
They spent the next twenty minutes demolishing breakfast. The eggs were delicious—he’d gone the extra mile with chives and seasonings. Was he trying to impress her or was he just a foodie? Of course, from what she could tell, Rhys habitually went the extra mile when it came to virtually everything.
He certainly had the night before . . .
Then she remembered the role the geas had played, and her smug smile faded.
She stole a glance at him, watching the tendons slide in those broad, strong hands. Even now, she could feel the spell urging her to touch him, to run her fingertips along the powerful muscles of his forearms, taste that sensual mouth again.
The real question was, why did the geas’s creator bother? Olivia didn’t really need a spell urging her to have sex with Rhys. That big, powerful body and handsome face didn’t need help to inspire lust.
Olivia dragged her gaze away from him and directed her attention to her plate.
“You said it wasn’t hard to create one of these dimensional gates,” Rhys said as he spread blackberry preserves over a piece of toast, his gaze thoughtful. “Could you open one?”
She took a sip of her coffee and shrugged. “Of course. It’s been . . . oh, sixty years since I’ve been to the Mageverse, but gating is one of those skills you don’t forget.”
“Sixty years?” He blinked at that. “Why haven’t you been back?”
She shrugged. “I was afraid Ansgar would send Gorin after me, until another Sidhe told me King Llyr Galatyn had finally killed him.” She smiled over her cup, remembering that happy moment. “The whole damn ex-pat Sidhe community let out a cheer. A lot of us went home then.”
He shot her a perceptive glance. “But not you?”
Her father’s body sprawled in the courtyard, a sword lying beside his bloody hand, a dozen stab wounds in his body. Her mother had fallen nearby, not far from Olivia’s sister. Their bodies were so badly burned from magical blasts, she had to cast identification spells to confirm who they were.
“I had nothing to go home to. Ansgar sent Gorin after my mother and father to keep them from giving me shelter. There’s nobody left alive in the Morven kingdom I care anything about seeing—and the rest did nothing when the king turned on us. Mortal Earth is my home now.”
Compassion warmed his amber gaze. “I don’t blame you for being pissed.”
When her eyes began to sting, Olivia stood up from the table, picked up her dishes, and moved to the trash can to scrape off her plate. After rinsing it in the sink, she opened the dishwasher and found a place for it. Once she was sure she could continue without embarrassing herself, she straightened her shoulders and turned. “But getting back to your question, I can definitely open a gate for us. In fact, I think a trip to the Sidhe kingdom would be a good place to start. If Gorin’s the one who’s been messing with us, he’s probably been doing it from the Mageverse. And I’m willing to bet he doesn’t have King Llyr’s approval. Llyr, unlike his brother, isn’t a vicious son of a bitch.”
Rhys’s eyes lit like a boy contemplating Christmas. “You mean to go today?”
She shrugged. “The sooner we get a handle on what’s going on, the more likely we are to survive it.”
His smile faded, his face going grim. “Got to agree with you there.”
“The trouble is, getting into the capital may take a little work. You can’t just gate there. There are wards to keep out hostiles around every Mageverse city. Normally we’d gate to the guard post and ask permission to enter—which probably wouldn’t be all that tough to get. But then we’d have to seek an audience with the king, which could take months.”
“So even fairies have red tape?”
“You bet your muscled ass.” She leaned a hip back against the gleaming white countertop and frowned. “It might be faster to go to Avalon and talk to one of my friends there. See if they can get me an audience with the king.”
“Avalon?”
“The Magekind capital in the Mageverse.” Reading his confused frown, she explained, “Remember I mentioned Merlin? Well, King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table are real, too.”
His golden brows flew up. “Are real? You don’t mean they’re still alive? But that would make them . . .”
“Fifteen hundred years old. Yeah. They’re vampires.”
The brows snapped down in outrage. “Oh, hell no.”
“Oh, hell yeah. Not Count Dracula–type vampires—they’re the good guys.”
“Aw, crap. I grew up on those stories when I was a kid. Loved them. The Once and Future King, The Crystal Cave, Le Morte d’Arthur—I read them all.”
“And unfortunately, they’re all ninety percent wrong. Arthur was a Celtic king, yes, and he had a Round Table of knights, but Merlin wasn’t a magician, he was a Mageverse alien, a member of a race called the Fae. He came to Mortal Earth to create a team of immortal, magic-using guardians who took an oath to protect humanity from its own worst impulses.”
Rhys stared. “Why?”
“Because the Fae had discovered most sentient races render themselves extinct through war or environmental catastrophe . . .”
“Given the past century, I can believe that.”
“So they decided to fight that trend by teaching members of each race how to protect their people. Merlin tested Arthur, his knights, and his ladies, among others. Those who passed drank a magic potion from Merlin’s Grail, which gave them the ability to draw on the Mageverse. It made the men vampires and the women witches.”
Rhys blinked. “Uh . . . why? I mean, why vampires and witches?”
“Hell if I know. I gather the Fae have the same biological setup—vampire males feed on non-vampire females—so that’s the template they use when creating their magical guardians. Anyway, I worked with one of the Knights of the Round Table during World War II . . .”
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Damn. Which one?”
“Gawain.”
“The guy who fought the Green Knight?”
“Didn’t happen. But yeah, that Gawain. He also had a magical sword inhabited by a dragon . . .”
“Why didn’t that make it into a legend?”
“No idea. Anyway, point is Gawain might be willing to help me get an audience with the king. And they’d make handy backup if we have to deal with any more hired werewolves. We’ll have to gate to the city wards and try to get a message to him from there, but he should be willing to see me.”
“Do we need to take anything with us? Clothes or whatever?” A smile tugged at Rhys’s lips, though he was obviously trying to rein in his excitement.
Olivia found herself grinning at his enthusiasm. “Anything we need, we can conjure.”
“That does simplify packing.” Picking up on her amusement, Rhys shrugged sheepishly. “Well, it’s not every day you get to go to another planet.” His eyes gleamed. “Or meet a Knight of the Round Table.”
“True enough. Let’s head outside. Might be better to try it there.” Olivia grimaced. “There’s some Mageverse wildlife you wouldn’t want to get loose in your house.”
She followed Rhys out the kitchen door and onto the deck beyond, an impressive stretch of red-stained wood complete with a hot tub and huge barbecue grill. Wicker deck furniture and an immense umbrella, folded for the winter, suggested it would be a great spot for picnics in good weather.
“Nice.” Moving to the deck rail, she stared at the rolling sweep of what had to be an acre of lawn. Oaks and maples stood surrounded by azalea bushes that would be beautiful in the spring. Now, though, the February wind was cold enough to numb her cheeks.
Before she could even think about conjuring a coat, magic swirled around her. When it vanished, it left behind a heavy black pea coat.
Rhys wore the same long black trench he’d worn the night before. It was one of those bitingly clear winter days, and the sunlight shown on his thick honey-blond hair.
Goddess, he’s beautiful. And that thought didn’t feel like the geas talking. There was good reason to want Rhys beyond the dictates of that bloody spell. Even aside from those spectacular looks, the man had saved her from freezing and fought werewolves for her. He’d focused on her pleasure in bed, then shown compassion for her losses at Gorin’s hands.
Of course she wanted him. Not just for sex, but for the way he made her feel less alone.
Unfortunately, we don’t have time to indulge, she told the warm female purr in the back of her brain. Later.
With him at her heels, Olivia moved to the center of the yard, clear of any of the surrounding trees. Closing her eyes, she stilled her mind and reached.
Her will summoned the boiling pinpoint of the dimensional gate into existence. She felt the heat and pressure of magic on her skin like sunlight on a hot day as she started feeding it more power . . .
Light detonated in her face, accompanied by a stunning psychic hammer blow. Olivia staggered, sucking in a gasp that became a scream as pain burst into agony.
Darkness fell.