CHAPTER 4
Fiona felt her lips twitch, but she figured it might be considered rude to laugh at someone who had saved her life. “Ah, all right. Do you have a nickname?”
The werewolf scowled down at her. “Tobias Walker. But I think the more important question, lady, is what in the hell are you doing here?”
Pursing her lips, Fiona swung herself into a sitting position and winced when the movement pulled at the slash in her belly. The wound had begun to heal, but with as much magic as she had expended, she guessed it would be a couple of days at least before she did any dancing. Which was a shame. The idea of performing one of the seductive, erotic, hip-grinding dances of Faerie for her erstwhile rescuer held a definite appeal. And judging by the current fit of said rescuer’s jeans, she thought he might turn out to be an appreciative audience.
“Lady,” he growled, jerking her attention off his pants and back to his face. “You want to answer my question?”
“Not particularly.”
She bent her head to examine the wound on her belly, so she couldn’t see his face, but she could definitely hear his biting curses.
“Do it anyway.”
Fiona looked up, saw the edge of a ruthlessly controlled temper looming, and sighed. She’d been raised around her aunt’s warrior guardsmen and knew a dominant man in a snit when she saw one. In her experience, it was always better to humor them. “I’m taking a vacation.”
He opened his mouth, looking for all the world as if he planned to huff and puff and blow her house down, then snapped his jaw shut in confusion. “A vacation’? What? Was the Fae Riviera overbooked?”
She blinked innocently up at him. “No, but I just hate getting all that sand stuck in my hair.”
“Oh, right. I see.” He glared at her, the sarcasm dripping off his tongue. “I’m sure that as soon as she hears your reasoning, Queen Mab will personally drape you in a lei and sing you a chorus of ‘Bon Voyage.’”
This time it was Fiona’s turn to pull up short. She eyed the Lupine warily and offered a soothing smile. “Really, Tobias. Let’s not be childish. There’s no reason to bring Aunt Mab into this—”
“Aunt Mab?!”
Fiona watched with fascinated horror as the top of the werewolf’s head seemed to lift off and hover atop a molten-lava eruption of furious disbelief. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the family connection? But of course, he’d latched onto it with the ferocity of a pit bull and was shaking it for all it was worth. Which, in Fiona’s book, wasn’t a whole hell of a lot.
“Queen Mab, High Lady of the Sidhe, Queen of the Summer Court of Faerie, Mistress of the Living Forest, and Empress of Earth and Water, is your bloody fricking aunt?”
Now seemed like a good time for Fiona to stand up. And take a few steps back. And maybe make sure she was standing somewhere far away from corners and close to an obvious escape route.
“Um, a little.”
“A little? She’s a little your aunt. So I suppose she’ll only make my life a little miserable when she finds out you’re here. That’s just fabulous.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a tad?” she laughed, not really amused. “Mab can be a little bit… temperamental, I grant you, but she’s not entirely unreasonable. She’s not going to get all bent out of shape with you just because I took a little trip.”
Walker crossed his arms over his chest and pinned her with his stare. “So then you got permission to visit before you crossed through the gate from Faerie that no one on either side is ever supposed to use except in direst emergency?”
Fiona made a face. “Not exactly.”
“Then what the hell makes you think Mab isn’t going to pitch a royal Fae fit?” he snapped, stalking toward her until she could have sworn the force of his irritation blew her hair back like a hurricane wind. “You broke the goddamned law, and not only that, but you picked the worst possible time in history to dump your pretty little troublemaking ass into my lap, sweetheart. I’ve got enough to worry about without trying to prevent an interdimensional incident with the Summer Sidhe!”
Fiona’s curiosity leapfrogged over the protestation of innocence she had been about to make. Rumor had it, there was a sprite somewhere back in the branches of her family tree, and it was moments like this that lent credence to the story. Eyes glinting, her need to know everything hurled her right into the provocative part of his diatribe. “How is this the ‘worst possible time in history’? Is something going on?”
Walker teetered back on his heels, his expression slowly shifting from anger to confusion. It looked like he’d just hit a brick wall after accelerating to full speed. “What?”
“What’s going on at this particular moment that makes the timing of my vacation so bad?” she asked, ignoring the bark in his tone. “There must be something major going on. You seem stressed out. Is there something I can do? Anything I can help with?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Well, there’s no need to sound so astonished. Just because I’m Fae doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. Not everyone who grows up at court is a dilettante. Just tell me what the problem is, and I’ll be happy to lend a hand.”
The werewolf stifled another curse that had Fiona wondering about the extent of that particular portion of his vocabulary. It seemed quite amazingly comprehensive.
“The only way you can help me,” he grumbled, abruptly backing up a few steps and resuming his earlier pacing, “is by doing whatever it is you do to magic yourself something to wear that looks less like it came out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Then you can follow me back to the Faerie gate you came in through and get the hell home before anyone important realizes you were ever here.”
Fiona blinked and raised an eyebrow. “That was a little harsh. Is that what passes for manners in the mortal world lately? No wonder we have so many jokes about the irony of mortal civilization where I come from.”
His head snapped around, and he scowled at her through fiercely narrowed eyes. “Now is not a good time for you to lecture me, sweetheart.”
The predatory glow in those wolfish eyes caught Fiona by surprise and sent a shiver of awareness skittering down her spine. All at once her senses seemed to register the power of his muscled body, the breadth of his lightly furred and distractingly bare chest. The heat that radiated off him in waves along with something subtler, deeper, and infinitely more unnerving. Typically, Fiona reacted to the warning of her instincts not with a strategic retreat, but with a slightly suicidal tug to the tail of the beast.
“Oh? What time would work better for you?” she asked, opening her eyes wide and guilelessly, even as her subconscious streak of self-preservation had her backing up another step or two. Or four. “I’d be happy to take a look at my calendar and work you in—”
By the time she heard his warning growl, it was already too late. In the time it took for her synapses to fire, the werewolf had leaped across the distance separating them and slammed bodily into her, sending her careening into the wall five feet behind her. She hit the drywall with a thud and a hiss, the air in her lungs whooshing out and into the mouth of the beast.
She would have felt a lot better if she could have thought of him as beastly, if she could have mustered up something like outrage or indignation or even some judicious fear. But no. Instead, all she felt was a wave of intense dizziness and a weakening of every muscle in her body as it melted against his. Her lips put up no resistance as he forced them apart with his own and surged inside like a conquering chieftain. His tongue claimed her mouth with bold strokes, marking the sweet territory as his. His teeth nipped sharply at her lips, before soothing the brief pain with suckling kisses.
Moaning, she sank into him, letting her knees collapse. He didn’t seem to need any help keeping her upright. He had her pinned against the wall like a canvas, held in place with the weight of his body. It worked for her, leaving her free to do nothing but savor the surprising, intriguing, intoxicating flavor of him.
He tasted of rich, dark coffee, thick and heavy with sugar. Traces of spice and forest filled her senses and made her tremble as she dissolved in pleasure. Her hands slid up the cool surface of the wall and tangled in his hair, curling into fists and holding him tight against her lips. He didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere else, but at this point, Fiona didn’t want to take chances. She wanted to devour him. Or let him devour her. Either option would work so long as he never, ever stopped kissing her.
A low rumble, half growl, half purr, vibrated between them as he leaned more heavily into her, into the kiss, nestling his hips into the cradle of hers, pushing against the flimsy barrier of her gossamer gown until she felt the rough scrape of denim against the center of her need.
She moaned and wriggled against him, wanting to magic the barriers of cloth away, but she had used up her magic in the demon attack, and stars knew when she’d be able to get a refill. Probably not until she got back home.
Even as the thought brushed through the edges of her consciousness, Fiona became aware of the passion between them, shifting, changing, becoming something more. Sheer, teasing tendrils of magic began to form from the energy of their mutual desire. The tendrils swirled and danced in the pit of her stomach, then spilled out, finding the wound in her flesh and smoothing over it. The magic knit skin and muscle back together, found foul, oily molecules of poison, and wrapped around them, insulating and separating them from her bloodstream and dissolving them into individual atoms that could be benignly flushed from her system.
The healing magic filled Fiona with a rush of warmth and energy, replenishing her depleted stores of magic until her wish became a reality and the barriers of clothing between her and her werewolf disappeared, leaving him pressed hot and hard and naked between her thighs. She moaned and clutched him tighter, canting her hips invitingly, seeking to draw him inside her body, into the hot, moist depths that ached with emptiness only he could assuage.
Unfortunately, the brush of molten heat against the crown of his shaft seemed to snap him into some hideously noble sort of sense. He tore his lips from hers and grabbed her wrists, jerking her hands from his hair and setting her bodily away from him. Far enough that her blindly seeking hips couldn’t reach his and squirm their way past his guard.
He swore violently and stood glaring at her with eyes that burned with heat and frustration and a distinct sense of unease. Holding her at arm’s length, he struggled to regain his breath even as she struggled to free herself and press against him once more.
“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. His voice was so harsh, so low, and so animal that he sounded more like wolf than man. It took a few seconds for Fiona’s overheated brain to translate the question and even longer for her to understand what he meant. For some reason he seemed to be upset by the fire leaping between them.
Frowning, Fiona tested his grip on her wrists and found it just as steely as ever.
“I wasn’t thinking,” she said, impatient and uncomprehending. “I was too busy tasting you. But I don’t know what you have to be so upset about. I mean, it’s not as if—”
“Sweetheart, I almost fucked you up against a wall, and I’ve known you for all of seventy-two minutes, sixty-three of which you spent unconscious! You bet your ass I’m upset!”
Fiona felt her frown deepen. “But why? Is there something wrong with the wall?” She craned her head to look at the pale-cream-colored surface behind her. “It seems perfectly functional to me.”
Walker made an odd choking sound. “That’s not the point. Jesus, this is crazy. It’s completely impossible.”
Fiona let her gaze drop pointedly to his erection and felt her eyes widen. My, but he looked… enthusiastic. And impressive. Borderline challenging.
“It looks very happily possible to me. Probable, even, if you’d stop yelling for a few minutes and just let me get a little bit closer—”
She slid a bare foot up his muscular leg to hook behind his hip and urge him toward her. For one delicious moment, she thought she saw his eyes start to glaze over and his body begin to sway nearer, but then he caught himself, jerking back as if electrocuted and shifting farther out of reach.
“Would you stop that?”
If she hadn’t known the man in front of her to be a predator, Fiona might have called the look in his eyes just then hunted, especially once he glanced down at himself and really noticed that the reason he probably felt like she touched him through the fabric of his clothes was because he no longer wore any. But to be fair, neither did she.
His head snapped up, and his expression hardened. “Put them back.”
Fiona didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Instead, she sighed. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? I’m not the one around here who does magic, lady, and I’d sure as hell remember it if I’d undressed you, so I think it’s a pretty safe bet that you’re the one to blame.”
“Accusations are so not constructive—”
“Put them back,” he repeated, in a tone she bet made all the female werewolves swoon. “Now.”
“I told you, I can’t.” Since her gorgeous but grouchy companion had seen fit to kill the mood, Fiona gave up and leaned against the wall, which was not nearly as much fun as it would have been if he’d been pressing her up against it with that yummy body of his. The thought helped her muster up a respectable scowl of her own. “I don’t have the magic. I’m drained.”
Seeing the Lupine’s confusion and not in the mood to be accused of lying, which she felt sure would be his next step, Fiona explained. “Fae magic is different from the magic you have here. It’s an entirely different system, almost like another language, and the only language I speak is Fae. I might be able to puzzle out some of the important words if I concentrate really hard, but that would take more energy than I’d be likely to gather. Which means that if I want to use magic while I’m in this world, I need to use magical energy I brought with me from Faerie.”
“Then do that. Use what stuff you brought with you.”
“Like I just told you,” she said, glaring, “I’m drained. I used up all the magic I brought when I was trying to keep from being eaten by a demon with a serious case of the munchies. I don’t have anything left. That’s why you’re seeing what I really look like, instead of the glamour I had on when I got here. When I used the last of my magic, I couldn’t even keep that simple a spell cast.”
His expression reflected his skepticism. “If you can’t do any magic, where the hell did our clothes go in the first place?”
Fiona shifted uncomfortably. Somehow, she didn’t see Walker being all that comfortable with the idea that she’d basically fed off the energy created by their intimate encounter. It was one of the inherent talents of the sidhe branch of the Fae that sex fueled their magic, and while that failed to even raise eyebrows in Faerie, it occasionally proved a bit disturbing to inhabitants of the human world, Other or not. With that in mind, Fiona didn’t really want to be the one to have to explain it to this already-irritable Lupine. It would be enough of a challenge getting him to kiss her again as it was. If he reacted with the unease most of his fellow non-Fae felt for folk who replenished their magic with the energy of others, he’d probably never touch her again. She really wanted him to touch her again.
“That was the last of it,” she said, cautiously meeting his gaze. “I’m surprised I even had enough to manifest a thought like that, but there’s no way I can reverse it now. I’m tapped out.”
Walker’s expression remained suspicious, but he released one of her wrists and used the other to tug her along behind him. He crossed the room to a half-closed door Fiona had been much too occupied to notice earlier.
As they stepped into the other room, she looked from the enormous invitingly rumpled bed to the Lupine’s grim expression and made a face. It didn’t look like she should get her hopes up here, but she couldn’t stifle the disappointed sigh when he grabbed her by the shoulders and positioned her squarely in the center of the room, well away from any and all accommodatingly flat surfaces.
“Don’t move.”
Obediently, she stood still and watched him rummage through a chest of drawers. He pulled out a pair of jeans first and tugged them on roughly. With his back turned, he missed the wistful expression that crossed her face as the heavy cloth slid over and concealed his truly mouthwatering behind. She consoled herself by admiring the way the fabric cupped and molded to him, right up until a veil of blue-striped cotton landed on her head, cutting off her vision. She reached up to yank it away and heard the thud of another garment landing at her feet.
“Get dressed,” he growled, and stalked past her out of the room without another glance.
Sighing, Fiona picked up the sweatpants he’d left her and dropped them on the end of the bed while she slipped into the soft cotton shirt and went to work on the buttons. Sometimes, she really wished her instincts were a little less reliable. Because then maybe she wouldn’t be quite so convinced that sleeping with Tobias Walker would be the most exhilarating experience of her life so far, or that the man would rather chew glass than give in to their mutual attraction.
This vacation was turning out to be a lot less fun than she had planned.