Authors: Cindy Spencer Pape
“To the penthouse,” Axel instructed the valet. “Come back for the car.”
“Aye, sir.” Ric didn’t recognize the valet, but there was a distinct brogue to the voice. Brownie? Leprechaun?
His head throbbed and he squeezed his eyes shut. Time to think about that later. Right now he needed to get to a bed and collapse. With Meagan. He wasn’t up to doing anything tonight, but he wanted to know she was beside him and safe.
He allowed Axel to half-carry him through the empty lobby of Dee’s exclusive hotel. A gilded cage-style elevator waited and Ric knew from experience that the antique only stopped at one floor—Dee’s penthouse. She hadn’t lived here when they’d been involved, but the building had been the Chicago-area safe-house for over a century and was a fairly regular stop on Ric’s musical tours. Axel used his free hand to push the relevant buttons and the gold-plated gate slid shut as the cage slid into the darkness above.
“This place is incredible,” Meagan breathed at his side.
“We like to think so, my lady,” Axel agreed. “One hundred percent original décor, exactly as it was built in 1863.”
“Have you been here the whole time?” Ric could tell she was trying to make conversation, to stay cool. He felt a glow of pride that she’d seen through Axel’s glamour, recognized him as Fae.
“No, I met up with Lady Dee in Los Angeles,” Axel admitted. “I retired from football about the same time she stopped modeling.”
Ric heard a snort. “Modeling. Of course. What
could
I have been thinking?”
Ah, his kitten had her fur ruffled, did she? He could see in her eyes the moment she placed the name Diandra Knight. Dee had had a pretty good run in the fashion magazines a decade ago. He should tell Meagan that in his eyes she was every bit as gorgeous as the supermodel and lots more fun, but at the moment, he didn’t have the strength for nonessential conversation.
Meagan tried not to be awed by the grandeur of the hotel. The elevator gate opened into a stunning marbletiled foyer. The ornate plasterwork ceiling had to be at least thirty feet overhead and the center rose into a windowed cupola. At one end a wide marble stair rose to a wrap-around balcony and the other end led to an enormous pair of carved wooden doors.
The doors flew open and a couple rushed into the foyer. Meagan almost laughed. Somehow she hadn’t imagined the elven supermodel would be waddling. Of course she was still drop-dead gorgeous even at what looked like ten months pregnant.
“Holy shite, Dee!” Obviously Ric was surprised as well. His accent always thickened when he got distracted.
“Why didn’t you say something? We’d have never brought this trouble to your doorstep if we’d known.”
“And that would be why she didn’t say anything, my friend.” Blaine reached out a hand and shook Ric’s. “This is the most secure safe-house on the continent. You needed to come here.” He raked piercing blue eyes up and down Ric’s disheveled appearance, taking obvious note of the cuts and bruises and turned to Axel. “I’ll take over from here. You need to get back on the door. Full lockdown until further notice.”
Axel allowed his boss to slip in between him and Ric, so gently that Meagan barely felt the weight shift. “Aye, sir,” he answered. “Nobody in, nobody out.” He tipped his head at each of them in turn. “Good night, sir, my ladies, bard.”
“Good night, Axel,” Diandra said for all of them, as Axel stepped back into the elevator and closed the cage.
Nobody spoke until the elevator had disappeared from view, though Diandra smiled brightly at Meagan.
“Welcome to my home, Lady Rose. I’d shake your hand, but you seem to be using it. Let’s get Alaric to a bed, shall we?”
She led them back toward the double doors. “I’m Dee, as you probably figured out. This is my husband, Blaine Black. Or Blaine
the
Black, Underhill.” She flashed a glance of true adoration at her husband and her stunning features took on an even greater beauty.
Blaine the Black. Sort of a scary name for a magician, but Meagan assumed it referred to his looks and not to the type of magic he practiced. With unkempt dark hair and dark gray eyes, he looked positively normal compared to all the other elves she’d met so far. Oh, he was attractive enough in a craggy sort of way, but he didn’t have the uncanny beauty of Aidan, or even Ric. Meagan was glad.
She felt out of place enough among the Fae without being the only ugly duckling.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied mechanically.
“The good news is that Maeve is here.” Diandra went on, turning to Ric. “She’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
“Thank you, goddess!” Ric’s tension relaxed palpably.
He squeezed Meagan’s waist. “Maeve is Blaine’s sister and a top-notch healer. That’s a boon I hadn’t expected.”
They were led into a small but sumptuous bedroom where a dark-haired woman waited. She was obviously Fae, but like her brother, she was relatively plain.
Meaning she was only in the prom-queen category as opposed to her magazine-cover sister-in-law. She was dressed simply in jeans and a pink cotton tank top and was sorting through a basket of herbs on the bedside table.
Several fat white candles filled the room with a warm, soft glow.
“Fearghus called up to say you were hurt.” Her eyes assessed Ric as Meagan and Blaine helped him to the turned-down bed. “What happened?”
“Two of Owain’s thugs caught up with us at a truck stop,” Ric spoke slowly, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Since you’re here, you obviously won.” Blaine’s voice was dry as he stepped back from the bed. He glanced at Meagan. “Are you hurt, my lady?”
Meagan looked up at him, startled. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could have been hurt as well. All her concern had been for Ric. “No, they ignored me. Both of them went after Ric.”
“Which was their final mistake.” The pride in Ric’s eyes and voice warmed Meagan’s heart. “Meagan blinked in a baseball bat and got in a swing from behind. You should talk to her, Blaine. She’s had her powers for less than twenty-four hours and no instruction.”
“And she ’ported something?” Blaine raised one bushy black eyebrow and regarded Meagan more closely. “I’m impressed, my lady and I would like to talk to you when we get the chance.”
“Sure.” But she didn’t budge from Ric’s side.
“Meanwhile I need to clean out those wounds.” The healer interrupted the conversation with a wave of her hand. “And that means getting him out of his clothes. So one of you can stay to help with that and the rest of you get out of this room.”
“I’ll stay,” Blaine offered. “I’ve assisted Maeve often enough to be useful.”
Meagan shook her head. “I’m staying. No offense, but there are people out there trying to kill me and the only person I know in this room is him. I’m not going anywhere.” She crossed her arms and leaned in against the headboard.
A small smile curved Dee’s perfect rosebud lips. “As you wish, Lady Rose. Do I take that to mean you won’t be wanting the room we prepared for you?”
Ric groaned. “Knock it off, already. Dee, Meagan. Meagan, Dee. She’s not comfortable being ‘miladied’ yet.
And no, I’m not letting her out of my sight until that damned council vote is over, so cope with it. Blaine, take your wife to bed and let your sister get to work. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Blaine chuckled and his smile transformed his plain features to handsome. “Sounds like a plan. Good night, Meagan, Ric. Bathroom’s through there. Yell if you need something.” He pointed at a door across from the bed and took his wife by the hand and gently led her out of the room, closing the door behind them.
“Hand me that washcloth.” The healer got to work, giving Meagan cool, crisp instructions. “Next, get his boots off. I’m cutting the trousers, but you can help with the rest.”
Meagan did as she was told. Ric’s black Harley-
Davidson boots were splattered with blood and mud, but they could be cleaned, so she gently eased them off his feet and set them aside.
“Laundry basket.” Maeve gestured toward a wicker basket on the floor as she cut the side seam of Ric’s jeans, slowly and carefully. “Boots and all. Fearghus will have it all cleaned and mended by morning. Brownies love that kind of challenge.”
Ah
. Meagan moved the boots to it and added Ric’s socks after she peeled them off, trying like crazy not to jostle his leg as she did. The pants leg on his left side was completely soaked in blood and Meagan gulped. How much more could he have stood to lose?
“If you were human, you’d be getting a transfusion right now.” Maeve examined the sword cut she’d just unwrapped. “Actually, you’d probably be dead, because I’m guessing you used a hell of a lot of magic to slow the bleeding. Even for an elf, you’re damned lucky that he hit a secondary artery and not the femoral.”
Ric grunted, his face lined and white. Meagan wished she could absorb his pain into herself. It killed her to know he’d been hurt defending her. She held his hand, trying not to wince as he squeezed down in his pain.
“Can’t you use magic to heal him?” Meagan asked.
She watched intently as Maeve cleaned the angry gash with painstaking attention.
“I will.” The healer spoke without turning from her task, even for a second. “But you don’t want to close a wound with junk in it. That’s messy even when dealing with magic. The edge of the sword left bits of dirt, shreds of denim and whatnot in the leg. Once it’s clean, I’ll heal it.” Moments later, she laid the bloody washcloth in the basin of equally bloody water and placed both hands over the wound. The healer closed her eyes and chanted something in the language Meagan was privately calling Elfish. Meagan watched, her gaze never leaving the bloody gash as it drew closed and the skin knit together.
Finally, only an angry white line remained.
“Whew!” Maeve opened her eyes. “Give me a minute and I’ll get to the rest. Meagan, can you help Ric with his shirt? And maybe you could clean up some of the nicks on his chest and arms.”
Meagan remembered how Elise had nearly passed out after healing Jase and she understood. Without a word, she followed the healer’s instructions, pulling the polo shirt up and over Ric’s head as he raised his arms and leaned forward from the pillows to help. She took a clean washcloth and started rinsing out the smaller cuts with a bottle of drug-store antiseptic. She chuckled when Ric winced at the sting.
“You can stand a sword slash, but not a dab of alcohol? What a wuss.”
Ric smiled back. “Yep. Don’t even get me started on hypodermic needles.”
Why would an elf even have been exposed to syringes? Meagan didn’t want to go there, so she grinned and went back to playing Florence Nightingale. By the time she was done, Maeve’s color had returned and the healer moved up to the head of the bed.
“Concussion first, before I handle the worst of the scratches. All right?”
“Whatever you can do.” Ric lay back against the pillows, looking a bit better than he had when she’d started. “I can function now, if you need to stop. I’ll be at court tomorrow, anyway.” His expression grew serious.
“Is everything all right with Dee? I mean, I assume that’s why you’re here.”
“Dee and my nieces are doing fine.” The healer flashed a happy smile. “But it is twins and she’s close to delivery. They’ve been trying for years and Deirdre miscarried a couple of times, so Blaine’s a basket case.”
Meagan remembered Ric saying that elves weren’t a fertile people. She shivered, thinking about what Dee and Blaine must have gone through.
“I didn’t know,” Ric murmured. “That’s rough. We really shouldn’t have come here right now.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Maeve laid her hands on Ric’s forehead. “We’ll be safe here. Not even Owain is stupid enough to mess with Blaine. Now close your eyes so I can work on the concussion.”
When Ric opened his eyes a few seconds later, he felt like a spear had been removed from his skull. The sudden absence of his pounding headache left him almost giddy with relief.
“Ah, Maeve, you’re a goddess! The
Wyndewin
did what he could, but he can’t hold a candle to you. I’m in your debt, my dear. Any favor you ever need, let me know.”
Maeve laughed. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” She touched a few of the medium-sized cuts scattered over Ric’s shoulders and arms and each one instantly disappeared. She made him roll over so they could tend to his back. Once again, Meagan cleaned while Maeve healed. Soon, Ric’s skin was good as new, except for the stark white scar on his thigh. He lay back against the pillows in nothing but a pair of green cotton boxer-briefs, smiling at the women. Maeve smiled back and walked to the door. “Go take a shower, bard. Fearghus will come in and change the sheets while you wash.”
On her way out, she brushed a hand along Meagan’s shoulder and Meagan felt all of her aches and tension drain away. “Sleep well, my Lady Rose. You were a great help and I’m glad to meet you.”
“Thank you, Maeve. Thank you so much, for everything.”
“I’m only doing my job.” She smiled and shook her head in protest. “Now good night.” And with that she slipped out the door, leaving Meagan alone with a suddenly revitalized Ric.
Meagan looked down at the bed and saw the erection stretching the fabric of his briefs.
“Weren’t we supposed to take a shower?” Meagan asked, licking her lips. The sight of that bulge made her hot, made her wet. She squeezed her thighs together, but it didn’t help. She wanted Ric inside her with a desperation she’d never felt before.
“Later.” He reached out one hand and clamped it around her wrist. He drew her to the bed and pulled her down into his arms. “I need you
now,
Meagan.” His whisper was harsh as he pulled her face to his. “Let me inside you.”
“Oh yeah!” He let her say that much before his mouth covered hers, making speech impossible. His hands were busy too, tugging away her shorts and top, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. She was pretty sure he ripped her panties, but she was too far gone to care.
Ric rolled with Meagan, pinning her to the bed. His underwear had disappeared too and they lay pressed together, skin to skin. She loved the feel of his weight on top of her, flattening her breasts, pressing her into the mattress. His penis was hard and thick against her stomach, the rough thatch of pubic hair tickling the tops of her thighs. Meagan shifted, widening her legs, urging him inside.