Bound by the Vampire Queen (35 page)

She was eyeing all of them warily as Catriona rose and moved toward the kelpie.

Jacob tried to struggle to his elbows, concerned for the diminutive dryad as she approached the horse’s massive shoulder. However, she crooned to him, and the sirens increased their song.
Oh, crap.

He’d forgotten and taken his eyes off Catriona, such that it made his head spin. He wanted to drag his body over to them and grovel at their feet. He wanted to immerse himself in their scent, those beautiful, fathomless eyes, the soft, willing flesh. It was appalling, to be standing in his own head, seeing himself react this way. One part of him wanted to resist with everything he had, while every other part wanted to go over and drool at their feet like a happy dog. If Lyssa was here, she’d just give him a good, sharp kick in the ribs.

What did it say about him, that he kind of wished for that at the moment?

When the groomswoman squatted next to Jacob, he barely paid her any attention. But she pinched his arm, hard, drawing his impatient attention. She held up two bal's of what looked like softened candle-wax. With a faint smile of amusement, she tucked them into his ears. Once she was done, the sirens’ song was a very faint, pleasant, yearning dream, allowing his will to return. Mostly.

Catriona had gone to her knees and bowed to Firewind. She was speaking to him as she removed Jacob’s tattered tunic from his head. When she was done, she held out the halter, bowing once again.

Firewind tossed his powerful head, which probably weighed twice as much as Catriona, but she took it as assent. Fitting the halter over him, she adjusted the reins on his neck, confirming the halter was an exact match for the blackness of his hair. The horse grumbled, but made no other protest.

Jacob gave the groomswoman a short nod of thanks. She was a wiry, pixie figure dressed in the court colors, the brief tunic and hose style suited to working with the mounts. Her eyes were a strong, mint leaf green, her short hair a glossy chestnut.

When she offered him a hand up, he shook his head, patting his ribs, indicating he needed to figure out the getting up part on his own. He expected it would involve something pathetic, like rolling over to his stomach and pushing himself up on his hands and knees to crawl a few undignified paces. Firewind would probably enjoy watching him fall on his face before trampling him.

Catriona handed off the braided-hair reins to the groomswoman and came to Jacob’s side. “Aren’t you healing?” she asked. “I thought vampires healed themselves.”

“We do. It’s just a bit slow right now.” As he managed to push himself up to his knees, the slim girl gently laid her hands on his chest and back, providing a surprising amount of support for his ribs.

He shamefully had to use her strength to get to his feet. Once there, he swayed a moment, then took a couple steps forward, toward Firewind. She stayed close at his side, steadying him.

“If you are determined to do this, you must touch the halter first.” When he took the wax out, keeping his gaze on her face with effort, she repeated it. “I have spoken to him. He will determine, by your touch, if you are worthy. If you had the power of magic to hold him, as the queen did, his approval would be irrelevant, but it is not the right way to do it.”

“No, it’s not,” Jacob agreed. “Did the groom…

Will she be in trouble for providing the halter?”

“No. She is an old friend, and the halter was not in the queen’s keeping. Yeshi simply knew where it could be found.”

He looked down at her. Her hair was spider-web soft against his bare upper body, her profile determined but so incredibly delicate it would stir the protective instincts of a stump, let alone him. “Are you doing okay? Since you got back?”

She glanced up at him, a flash of surprise in her gaze. But then it was gone and she nodded, her small mouth pursed. “It is… an adjustment.” Her gaze focused on the pendant. It seemed to please her that he was wearing it, and yet he sensed a wistfulness in her gaze. Clearing his throat, he untied it from his neck, offered it to her. “Since you just helped me, as much or even more than I’ve helped you, will you allow me to offer it back, as my gift of thanks to you?”

She glanced up at him, measuring. With a slow nod, she took it back, put it on her neck again, giving him that flash of vibrant green and amber light in the heart of the stone before it settled back into the polished earth color. “You are very kind,” she said.

Turning to the sirens, she spoke in a musical language. They nodded, gave him a detailed appraisal and several very come-hither, incredibly hard-to-resist smiles before they glided back toward the water, generous hips swaying. The cleft of their bottoms were framed and enhanced by the twists of seaweed and shells in their long hair. The breasts he’d seen before they turned had been full and ripe, sitting up high, the nipples pink and erect.

Puzzled, he looked down to find Catriona braced full 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 still braced on his chest, she tugged on his other arm, lifting it toward Firewind, a few paces away. The horse eyed him balefully. His upper lip lifted, showing teeth, the ears sweeping back.

“Wait.” Jacob shook his head, his other hand falling 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 alright. 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 allowed 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 disdainfully. 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-ball, 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'll 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 automatically 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 playfully 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 hill toward the stables.

Jacob looked at Firewind as the waterhorse turned his head, met his gaze. “Do I just tell 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 gallop?” 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 balls Catriona had tucked there. “So you don’t have to hear my screams of pain?” The horse laid back his ears and blew a small spout of flame out of his nose. “Wax gone,” Jacob said, tossing it. “At your pleasure, my lord.”

Chapter 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 specifically 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 stallion 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 tell she was proud of him, pleased he’d achieved Rhoswen’s quest.