Prince by Blood and Bone: A Fantasy Romance of the Black Court (Tales of the Black Court) (5 page)

From the long blond hair and almond-shaped glass green eyes, all the way down her very long legs in those ridiculously short shorts, she couldn’t have been any more tempting. And he’d been tempted. Tempted to rip off her clothes and see what her full breasts looked like below the low scoop of her tank top. Tempted to lick and taste and devour her skin all the way down to the soft indent of the belly button that had flashed him when he’d scared her. Tempted enough to take her, and ravish her, and jeopardize all chance of her good will.

The wench had no idea how close she’d come to being violated.

If she hadn’t turned out to be a witch, would he have been able to resist the lure of her femininity? He’d been alone with only Beezel and the goblins for too long. He didn’t think any man would resist a fantasy sex slave dropped into his prison. But she wasn’t a slave. She was his only hope, and he would need to woo her into helping him break the curse.

Kian crossed to the full-length mirror he forced himself to look into once a day, lest he forget how much his mother hated him. She had twisted his Gift, and it was twisting his soul. His magic was strong, a legacy of his royal blood, and she’d used it against him the way only his twisted mother could. She’d taken his Gift, a thing of beauty, the ability to take on any shape—a mouse, a troll, a wolf, anything at all—and she’d perverted it before imprisoning him.

He stared and brooded at his reflection in the mirror, at the worst motley of animals he’d ever seen. Himself. And wondered what the terribly young, terribly beautiful, terribly innocent witch would think.

The upright stance of a human, but the humped-up shoulders of a bear. The razor-sharp talons of an eagle, but the heavy, earthbound weight of a boar. Long tusks protruded next to his wolf-like muzzle, and if it weren’t for magic, his too long tongue and sharp fangs would make speech impossible. His mother had stolen all his shapes from him and left him a mess, but at least she’d left him the ability to communicate. Goddess only knew why.

No woman would want to look at a creature like him. No woman would kiss a man with a wolf’s face and tongue, and a boar’s tusks. No woman would be running her hands down his coarse, hairy chest, and when she discovered what lay between his thighs? No.

His fist lashed out and connected with the mirror. Gleaming shards of glass flew, catching in his short, scrubby mane and fur.

The girl would help him. And soon. He didn’t know how long he could restrain himself from burying his face in her hair, and his cock between those long, long legs.

A hesitant knock sounded on the door.

“Come in.”

Beezel entered and scrambled into a low bow.

“Enough of that.” Kian began pacing again, too restless to stand still. “Does she like her room? Do you think we should have put her in the one next to the library instead?”

The gnome’s accusing eyes took in the broken glass and the shattered mirror, but like the good servant he pretended to be, he kept his opinion to himself. Kian restrained the overwhelming urge to beat the gnome for the reproach he would never voice.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, Your Highness. She doesn’t seem to care.”

“Doesn’t care?” Kian crossed to the trembling gnome, who edged closer to the open door. “Explain,” he growled.

Beezel hesitated. “She threw herself on the bed, sobbing, as soon as she entered. She doesn’t want to be here, none of us do.”

Kian stalked up and down the large room, pushing chairs and tables out of his way. “She’s staying.”

“Sire, I doubt your mother will let her.”

“My mother!” Kian crossed the room and picked up the gnome, shaking him hard until his arms and legs flew as if on strings. “You will not tell the queen. You will not tell anyone about this girl. Do you understand?”

“B-b-but, I must.” The gnome’s knees knocked together.

“Beezel—” Kian lowered his voice and drew close to the gnome “—if you do, I will kill you.”

“If I d-d-don’t the q-q-queen will do much worse.”

The reek of the gnome’s fear overwhelmed his sensitive wolf’s nose.

“Beezel, the queen is not here. I am. The strength of the spell confining me here has left her blind to whatever goes on within the confines of my prison. She’ll never know if you don’t tell her.” He lowered his voice and whispered into the gnome’s bumpy, pointed ear, “But I’ll know if you tell the queen and the girl is taken away from me. And I’m sure you will still be here for me to punish.”

He lowered Beezel to the ground and patted his bald head. “Beezel, what do you desire? Jewels? Gold? An underground palace such as this one?” Kian swung his arm wide. The warren was falling apart, but for a cavern gnome such as Beezel, it would be more lavish than any other home he would have in his lifetime. “Once I am released I can give you all of that, and more. But only once the witch has freed me from this curse that binds my form and my powers. If you tell the queen and she takes the witch, I will still be stuck here, but without a chance of freedom, and whatever hold she has over you will remain.” He paused, and sighed. “Trust me, she never lets go. If you do this, I’ll set you free and make sure you’re well rewarded.”

The little gnome avoided his gaze. “Well, Beezel? What’s it to be? Do I reward you, or do I have to kill you now to gain some time?” Kian pushed out a frustrated breath. “Are you in?”

Beezel moved his head in a slow nod.

Kian’s muscles relaxed in a rush of relief. He didn’t know what he would have done if the gnome had refused. He likely would have had to kill him, and who knew what the queen would send next.

“Good,” he said. “Swear to me you’ll not tell anyone about our visitor, anything about the girl, nor my endeavors.”

The gnome’s voice came out almost too low to hear, but Kian caught the words. “I swear.”

For the first time in too long, the tell-tale energizing upswing of joy and anticipation tingled along his nerves. Finally, after too many years in this dusty abandoned place, he would have his own shape, his powers, and his freedom.

An enticing aroma of cooked meats and strange spices had Bryanna’s mouth watering. Her stomach gurgled. She covered the blue silk with her palm and stepped inside the dining room. The wide room could easily have held the entire Albuquerque house in its walls, and yet, Beezel had called it the “second dining room”, which must mean there was a larger one somewhere within the maze of underground walls. A large table with a pristine white table cloth and chairs for twelve held center stage. Four silver candelabras clustered at the near end surrounded by an array of polished silver-covered dishes. And a place setting for one.

“Please come in.” The golden voice of her captor came from the far dark corner.

Bryanna startled.

In another time or place, his elegant vowels and consonants would have had her melting. She loved British accents. But he wasn’t some kilt-wearing Highlander in a Hollywood version of history. Despite the elegant dinner setting and her fairy-tale ball gown, he was her jailer and therefore, her enemy.

She took a breath, gathered her skirts, and stepped into the room. The doors closed behind her, and she heard the lock turn.

Her palms went damp.

“It’s traditional to curtsey.”

Her chin shot up. “I thought you said you weren’t a king?”

“I’m not.” His shadowy figure seemed to grow taller. “But I am a Lord of the Fae, and you are naught but a gypsy witch.”

Her heart squeezed tight. He was not just her captor, and possibly insane, but he was also one of her family’s assailants. An
elf
.

“I may be nothing but a gypsy witch, but you won’t catch me bowing to an elf.” She hid her clenched fists in the folds of her skirt. “The fae have brought us nothing but trouble and murder.”

She braced for anger. Instead, his breath sighed through the room, bringing with it a deep feeling of melancholy.

“Let’s start over.” His voice was smooth and calm. “While I know your people use that term, it’s insulting. I’d prefer you stick to fae, elvatian, or my name. I am Kian.”

“Just Kian? Not Lord Kian? Or Your Highness?” She couldn’t help the note of sarcasm.

“For now, we’ll just go with Kian.”

She detected a slight undertone of humor that she didn’t understand and frowned.

“Sit down and enjoy your dinner,” he continued, gesturing at the table. “Beezel has worked hard to provide you with suitable food.”

“Aren’t you eating with me?” She took a cautious step and peered across the room where his dark cloaked shape lurked in the corner.

“No. I don’t think it would be wise. But you go ahead. I’m sure you must be starved.”

The tantalizing odor rising from the covered dishes had her stomach rumbling, but hesitated. “You’re not eating. Any of it?”

“I ate earlier.”

“Look, I don’t want to be rude but if this is Underhill maybe I shouldn’t eat the food. It could be magic or poisoned.”

He chuckled. “What reason would I have to poison you. I could kill you with my bare hands. It would have saved Beezel the trouble of cooking. And poison is messy and difficult to watch. I prefer cleaner ways of killing.”

It wasn’t reassuring, but he was right. He could have killed her as soon as he saw her. Why go to the trouble of poison?

“What about the magic? Some say you shouldn’t eat in Underhill, if you do you have to stay forever.”

“Those people are fools. If someone has the power to keep you forever, they will, and nothing you eat, or don’t eat, will change that. Be assured, your eating has nothing to do with my ability to keep you here.”

Even though she believed him, she felt less reassured than before. But the food smelled delicious, and she didn’t know when she might see it again. A lifetime of having to pick up and run had taught her to be practical. Escape on an empty stomach would be difficult. Escape while starving, impossible.

“At least come sit with me. It seems odd to be eating here, with you over there.” And maybe she’d learn more about him so she could get out of here.

“As you wish.”

She approached the near end of the table where her place had been set, but he stayed far away, seating himself at the opposite end where the light from the parade of silver candlesticks didn’t quite reach. She pulled out a chair and sat. The blue froth of her dress poofed out around her as she took her place at the gleaming table. The oddly-shaped forks and spoons were heavy, ornate silver, and she had no idea of which ones to use. There was more money laid out for her to eat off of than she had ever had access to in her entire life. She ran a finger along the fat line of gold that edged the goblets and examined the strange blue and gold picture of a stag in the center of her plate.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to serve yourself. I’ve sent Beezel away. I wanted to be alone with you.”

She pulled her starry wrap closer. She wasn’t sure if her shiver was from the icy cold that crept into the thin soles of her slippers, or the fact that she was alone with this strange man in a locked room where no one would come to her rescue.

She lifted the heavy silver lid off of the first dish, releasing a waft of savory herbs and meat. Colorful vegetables she couldn’t identify and warm bread and butter soon filled her plate, but she hesitated and glanced at her captor, a wash of hunger nearly making her faint.

“It’s all right, you may eat.”

“It feels weird, eating alone. Are you sure you won’t join me?”

A hollow laugh escaped from under his hood. “Thank you, no. But you should. Be welcome at my table, Bryanna.”

“Thank you.”

She dove in, devouring meat that was possibly deer or elk with a flavorful, unique sauce that tingled on her tongue and, just before she swallowed, burst into an unfamiliar citrus. She ate until she wished she could loosen her corset strings, washing it down with cool, clear water, and avoiding the large goblet of ruby red wine. Finally, she wiped her lips with the white linen napkin and laid it down next to her plate.

“It was delicious, thank you.”

“I’ll tell Beezel you said so.”

“Is he the cook?”

He snorted. “Of a sort. Kitchen magic is one thing Beezel has been granted use of. And the goblins sometimes help.”

She frowned. “Those white things?” Her food roiled in her stomach at the thought of the rubbery ghouls creating her food, and suddenly she wished she hadn’t eaten so much.

“Oh, those are just the hobgoblins, they’re more pests than anything else. The other goblins are more help, when they show up. Enough about the kitchens. Is your room comfortable?”

“Yes…thank you.” She laid a hand on her stomach and tried to convince it that goblin- made food was just food.

“Good. I want you to be comfortable.”

Bryanna played with her fork and wondered how to again broach the subject of her leaving. It seemed rude to do it now as she enjoyed his hospitality, but she needed to do it sometime. The complex was deep underground and the twisting stone hallways and corridors were confusing. She’d yet to see any sign of a door or a window that led out. If she wasn’t to be lost in the dark, she’d need a guide to find the exit.

“You’re a gypsy witch, correct?” he asked. “Have you been Underhill before? Tell me about your experiences.”