Prince of Air and Darkness Page 14

  “And who the hell are the Deena Shee?” she asked, saying the words as if she’d never heard them before.

  Hunter looked perplexed. “Surely your mother has taught you something about your heritage, even if you didn’t believe it.”

  “I have,” her mother confirmed. “Kiera’s just being difficult because she doesn’t like what she’s learning.”

  “Will you two stop talking about me in third person? It’s irritating the crap out of me. And even if my father is the king of some kind of mythological elf warriors, what does that have to do with anything?”

  Hunter gave her a stern look. “The Daoine Sidhe are not mythological and they’re not elves.”

  “Okay. A very real band of fey warriors. Is that better?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this matters to me . . . why?”

  Hunter glanced at her mother. “Any chance you can convince the dog not to bite me again when I explain?”

  “I suspect I’ll be begging him to bite you by the time you finish!”

  “Mother,” Kiera said in a warning tone.

  Her mother sniffed. “I’m afraid I see an obvious and very nasty reason why the Queen of Air and Darkness would send her son to seduce Finvarra’s daughter.”

  Hunter bowed his head.

  “Finish the confession,” her mother insisted. “Tell my daughter just what you were planning to do, and see if she doesn’t want me to sic Phantom on you when you’re done.”

  He heaved a massive sigh and raised his head, sad eyes looking into Kiera’s. “I won’t blame you if you do,” he said. “My mother . . .” He swallowed hard, and the pain in his expression redoubled. “My mother wanted a child who would be heir to both the Seelie and the Unseelie thrones.”

  The blood drained from Kiera’s face, and her mouth went dry. “Oh, God,” she whispered, her throat knotting up as she realized what he meant. She shook her head, and tears spilled despite her best efforts to contain them.

  “Shall I have Phantom rip his throat out?” her mother asked quietly.

  The hurt crystalized into fury, at least for the moment. “I think there’s another part of his anatomy I’d rather have ripped out!” Phantom bared his teeth eagerly, as if he’d understood every word and was looking forward to obeying.

  Hunter let go of her hand and straightened his shoulders. He flicked his wrist, and suddenly there was a knife in his hand. Kiera gasped and realized that there was no way even Phantom could move fast enough to save her. But instead of attacking her or using her as a hostage, Hunter turned the blade around and handed the hilt to her.

  “Hold this for me,” he said. She took it from him almost reflexively, and he rose to his feet, favoring his injured leg as he turned to face the bristling wolfhound.

  “You want a piece of me, doggie?” he taunted. “It’s almost a fair fight now.”

  Phantom crouched as though ready to lunge.

  “All right, stop it!” Kiera cried before hostilities began. Hunter and Phantom continued to rake each other with alpha-male stares, but neither attacked.

  Kiera had been able to accept Phantom’s usual behavior as weird, but just barely within the realm of believable. But tonight, pieces were not adding up. How had her mother managed to get him into a no pets building? How come he was off the leash? How come he and Hunter had immediately started challenging one another when Hunter opened the door? How come Hunter kept making the snide dog comments? And how come Phantom seemed to take offense at them?

  She gave the wolfhound a stare of her own, remembering how it had shied away from the horseshoe at her mother’s house. She pointed at him and looked at her mother. “Is that something other than a dog?”

  Her mother grinned sheepishly but didn’t answer.

  “It’s a phooka,” Hunter said.

  Kiera turned her attention back to him. “A phooka?” Her mom had told her enough fairy stories that she’d heard of phookas, but damned if she was going to admit it.

  “A shape-shifter. He can do horses too, though dogs are his forte.”

  “Uh-huh.” She couldn’t help sounding skeptical, no matter how much evidence she’d already seen that some of her mother’s nuttiness wasn’t quite so nutty.

  “I’m sure he’d be happy to show you his human form, except, of course, that the only reason we’re even close to evenly matched is because he’s got those nasty teeth right now.”

  The phooka was apparently as easily baited as a human male, for suddenly the air shimmered like a heat mirage. Moments later, Kiera blinked to see a man standing where Phantom had been.

  He was not a particularly large man, his frame more agile than bulky. His long black hair was receding from his temples and pulled away from his face by a leather thong. Hunter’s blood still stained his chin.

  “Size isn’t everything,” the phooka said, looking like he wanted to burn holes in Hunter with his eyes. Kiera noticed that his lips were still pulled away from his teeth in a dog-like snarl.

  Hunter gave him a nasty grin. “You’d better hope not.”

  The phooka clenched his fists and crouched.

  “Oh, Conan, stop it!” Kiera’s mother said. “Why are you letting him get to you?”

  The phooka—Conan, apparently—straightened up, still eying Hunter with great hostility. “He’s Unseelie,” he said, lips curling again.

  “He’s also the Queen’s son. You don’t want to start a war, do you?”

  With a very canine growl, Conan backed off and plopped down onto the sofa next to Kiera. She couldn’t help staring at him. “So, what’s your story?” she asked.

  “Finvarra wanted someone to keep an eye on you,” he answered. “Your mother wouldn’t allow him to interfere directly with your life, so I’ve stayed with her, where I can keep tabs on you from a distance.” He turned another one of his chilling stares on Hunter. “Which is why I came here tonight.”

  Kiera now turned to her mother. “So my father knows about me? And you’ve seen him since I was born?”

  She shrugged. “If I’d had any reason to think you’d want to meet him, I would have introduced you. But Finvarra is . . .” She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “The fey are very different from mortals,” Hunter said, drawing Kiera’s attention back to him. “A very different moral standard. Mortals who tangle with them invariably come to harm, as your mother did.”

  “As I did,” she retorted.

  He flinched but held her accusing gaze. “I’m only half fey. My father was a mortal man, ensnared by the Queen’s magic. I’m not quite as foreign to you as your father would be.”

  “Half fey, eh?” Kiera’s mother said. “In other words, unlike Finvarra, you know what you did was wrong, and you did it anyway.”

  He nodded, eyes still meeting Kiera’s. “Yes, I know what I did was wrong. That’s why in the end, I couldn’t go through with it. If there was some way I could take back the pain I’ve caused you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  “I think we’ve heard enough,” the phooka said. If steel could talk, that was what it would sound like. “I think Finvarra would agree that your Queen’s actions justify a war. And, as you are at present unarmed . . .”

  The air shimmered again and Kiera started, seeing that the phooka had turned himself back into the snarling wolfhound. He leapt from the sofa, crashing into Hunter’s chest and knocking him to the floor.

  “No!” Kiera cried, and without a moment’s thought she was on her feet, ignoring her mother’s frantic warning.

  Hunter had grabbed Phantom by the neck, but Phantom was still snarling and snapping his teeth. The wolfhound looked even larger than usual, his body rippling with muscle. Though Hunter strained to hold the dog at bay, the razor-sharp teeth were getting ever closer to his throat. Kiera grabbed a handful of flesh and skin from the back of Phantom’s neck and pulled backward.

  “Get off of him!” she shouted.

  Phantom suddenly whirled on her, teeth still bared, eyes radiating f
ury. She stumbled backward, wondering what had come over her, and wondering how badly she was about to pay for her altruism. She heard her mom hurl a sharp command, but before Phantom even had a chance to act on it—if, indeed, he would have obeyed—Hunter grabbed hold of his tail and yanked him away from her, putting himself between them and holding out his arms.

  “Your quarrel is with me, you son of a bitch!” Hunter said. “Leave her alone.”

  Phantom did another of his transformation acts and stood with his arms crossed and fire in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have bitten her, you fool. I was merely warning her off.”

  Kiera wondered if now would be a good time to faint. Certainly her head was swimming, and her stomach felt kind of funny. She swayed dizzily and lowered her head.

  “All right, enough. Both of you.” Kiera’s mom knelt by her side, and she spoke with great gentleness. “My poor baby,” she said, putting a hand on her back and rubbing vigorously. “You’ve had enough for one night. Let’s get out of here, shall we? You can stay at my place tonight.”

  “And what about this Unseelie scum?” Conan growled.

  “He’s no longer our concern,” her mother answered in a flat and deadly voice.

  Kiera suppressed a hysterical urge to laugh. If only she thought she could dismiss Hunter so easily. Conan offered her a hand up, and she accepted without thinking.

  “Truly I would not have hurt you,” he said in a low whisper for her ears only.

  The shock had settled in firmly, and Kiera couldn’t find the energy to acknowledge the statement one way or another. She was still holding Hunter’s silver knife. Maybe giving him back his weapon wasn’t the brightest idea, but she certainly didn’t want to take it with her, so she dropped it on the coffee table. Feeling lost and disconnected from reality, she allowed herself to be steered out of the apartment.

  Chapter 10

  Hunter hadn’t thought he’d need to keep bandages around here in the mortal world, so the best he could do after he’d thoroughly cleaned out the phooka’s bite was to rip up a shirt and use the strips to bind the wound. As wounds went, it wasn’t too serious. The dog’s teeth had sunk into the fleshiest part of his leg, clear of vital arteries, and though it throbbed relentlessly, he had endured much worse.

  What ached far more was the wound in his soul.

  He would never forget the stricken look on Kiera’s face when he had admitted his mission to seduce her. Nor would he forget the even worse look when he’d said why. The despair that flooded him at the memory told him he cared about Kiera far more than he’d allowed himself to admit. But then, hadn’t his actions proven that already? He had endured a terrible beating for her sake, and had risked another more dire punishment for not taking her to bed when he had the chance. If that wasn’t evidence of how he felt, he didn’t know what was.

  After he’d cleaned himself up, he returned to the sofa where the fateful interview had taken place, bringing with him a bottle of Scotch. He steadily worked his way through the bottle. The alcohol did little to drown his sorrows, but perhaps if he drank enough he would eventually pass out.

  Kiera would have her revenge, if only she knew it. He hadn’t bothered defending his actions earlier, hadn’t told her what price he would pay for failure. That did not mean he had forgotten about it himself. He smiled grimly as he took another swig of Scotch. In the end, as badly as he had hurt Kiera, it was he who would suffer the most.

  Hunter fingered the blade of his silver knife, testing its edge. Perhaps his wisest course would be to slit his wrists and have done with it. Surely death by his own hand was more merciful than whatever the Queen would dream up for him. Blood beaded on his fingertip, and for about three seconds, the easy way out was almost unbearably tempting. Death by torture was a daunting prospect for even the bravest man.

  But though he might escape his fate by taking his own life, doing so might very well endanger Kiera. The man he had been when his mother had sent him on this mission would never, ever have given up, no matter how daunting the setback, and no matter how slim his odds seemed. If he showed any sign that he was giving up—and committing suicide was about an obvious a sign as he could imagine—the Queen would know that it was because of Kiera. And Kiera would pay for it.

  There could be no easy way out for Hunter. He had no chance of succeeding in his mission—even if he could have stomached the thought of trying again—and he didn’t dare risk Kiera’s safety by killing himself. All he could do was face his fate like a man.

  Hunter tossed his knife onto the coffee table and picked up the Scotch again. He doubted the alcohol would do much to dull his misery, but at least it made it harder to think. At the moment, that was the best he could do.

  ****

  Kiera nursed a cup of coffee as she sat at her mother’s kitchen table. She had slept like the dead last night, once she’d finally fallen asleep. Her head felt stuffed with cotton this morning, and it was hard to believe anything that had happened last night had not been part of a dream. But if it had been a dream, she would not now be at her mother’s house.

  “Talk to me, honey,” her mom prompted. “You must have more questions. Or even some harsh words you’d like to get out of your system. I’ll hold still for it, and I promise not to fight back.”

  Kiera blew on the coffee, producing a puff of steam that momentarily blurred her mother’s face. For one of the few times in memory, she honestly didn’t feel like yelling at her mother. How could she, after all? Her mother had proved that all of her fanciful, ridiculous notions—well, some of them, at least—hadn’t been so ridiculous after all. And she had revealed Hunter Teague for what he was.

  Kiera’s heart clamped down hard in her chest. She gritted her teeth against the pain. Why should she be surprised? Her common sense had told her from the very beginning that men like Hunter didn’t pursue women like her. If she’d listened to her damned common sense, she wouldn’t have let him hurt her like this.

  The heat in her cheeks told Kiera her face was turning red. She braced herself for more well-meaning maternal advice, but her mom merely poured herself another cup of coffee instead.

  “Conan has returned to Faerie to give your father a report.”

  Kiera tried to shake off the funk, taking another sip of coffee and burning her tongue. Conan, at least, was a relatively safe topic. “So, has Phantom always been a phooka, or was there a real wolfhound around here at some point that he just substituted for?” Kiera didn’t know why she bothered to ask. The dog had been weird from the moment she’d met him, and now she knew exactly why. But if she kept her mother talking about Conan, perhaps she could avoid talking about—or thinking about—Hunter.

  Her mother grimaced. “When you were away at college, I finally figured out how to get into Faerie—not an easy thing for a mortal to do, let me tell you. I went to tell Finvarra about you, thinking that even an immortal king might care that he’d fathered a daughter. Unfortunately, I was right.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  Her mother met her gaze, looking sad and wistful. “As Hunter said last night, mortals who tangle with the fey invariably wish they hadn’t. From the moment he learned of your existence, Finvarra has pressed me to take you to Faerie. He thinks a life of genteel captivity as a member of his Court is what’s best for you.” She swallowed audibly, and when she continued, her voice held the rasp of incipient tears. “If you go to Faerie, Finvarra could make you immortal. But he would never let you go, and I know you too well to think you’d be happy living in a cage.

  “Finvarra could never love you. He’s no more capable of love than any of the other fey. His interest in you is solely because you are his daughter, and therefore a potential political pawn.”

  Kiera reached over the table and clasped her mother’s hand. “Don’t cry, Mom,” she begged. “I couldn’t care less if my father loves me or not. I’ve never even met him. And I’m not about to go live in Faerie!” The very thought was absurd.

  Her mother shook her head
. “I know, honey. I’m just afraid he’ll take you away is all. I’m afraid he’ll keep you physically safe and you’ll live in Faerie alone and miserable.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Kiera said firmly. Despite everything she’d learned last night, she had every intention of living her life as if nothing had changed.

  “No, you’re not. Not if I have any say in it. But if Finvarra fears that Hunter can still get to you . . . He would never allow a child with Unseelie blood to threaten his throne.”

  Kiera frowned in puzzlement. “Finvarra’s not exactly a spring chicken, is he?”

  Her mom looked equally puzzled by her question. “No,” she said slowly, “he’s . . . ancient.”

  “So doesn’t he have lots of older heirs running around? How could a child of mine threaten his throne?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, but the Unseelie Queen seems to think there’s a way, and I tend to believe her. There is great significance and magic in fey blood. I imagine the mingling of those two bloodlines would create an unusually powerful child.”

  Kiera chewed on that a little while. Surely there was no longer any threat to Finvarra’s throne. Hunter would go home, now that he had failed. He couldn’t possibly believe he could get her to bed after all she’d learned, and though she supposed he might try to rape her, he could hardly guarantee that would get her pregnant.

  Unbidden, an image came to her mind of his anguished face as he’d told her the truth last night. Something within her thawed, just a little. The seduction had all been an act, but she suspected his guilt was not. Despite his terrible mission, he had indeed spared her when she would have gladly given her body to him, and there was no reason for him to fake his distress during his confession. For whatever reason, Hunter truly wasn’t anxious to hurt her, and so she pushed aside any thought that he might try to take her by force. If he was still around.

  A chill crept up her spine. If Finvarra knew Hunter’s mission, and if he was determined not to risk the possibility of her having Hunter’s child, there was an even more sure way of preventing it than taking Kiera to Faerie.