Prince of Air and Darkness (25 page)

The knowledge of how little time he had and how deep he was digging the hole should have been just the motivation Hunter needed to keep his distance from Kiera, emotionally and physically. And yet every time he saw her, it seemed that her gravitational pull held him more strongly, drew him closer . . . trapped him.

They went out in public, going for romantic dinners or out to the theater or just walking hand-in-hand through the square on the prettiest of winter days, all for the benefit of whatever spies the Queen might have set on him. But it was the nights they spent together that gave him increasing evidence of how very lost he was.

She touched him in ways that no woman before her had, broke down barriers he’d erected to protect himself. And with her innocent questions about the nature of the Unseelie Court, she gave him hope for the first time that redemption was possible. Hope that he knew better than to allow himself, but that persisted nonetheless.

The downside to his very public courtship of Kiera was that it wasn’t only his mother’s spies who could see the two of them together. Hunter felt sure he caught sight of Conan shadowing them one night as they walked home from dinner. Kiera was quite sensibly keeping her mother in the dark about their relationship, but if that really had been Conan watching them, then the secret was most definitely out.

The day after Hunter thought he saw Conan, his doorbell rang in the middle of the afternoon. At first, he assumed it was Bane, showing up for yet another status report. When he checked through the peephole and saw Cathy Malone standing in the hallway, he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He fought down an undignified urge to pretend he wasn’t home and braced himself for an unpleasant conversation as he unlocked and opened his door.

He was momentarily struck speechless when he saw the small silver gun pointed at his chest. Of course, she’d had that gun the night she’d forced him to spill his secrets to Kiera, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been abundantly clear she had no love for the fey in general, or him in particular.

“Back away slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them,” Cathy said with an almost feline growl in her voice.

Hunter admired her spirit and courage, if not her wisdom. “Please come in,” he said. “You don’t need to hold me at gunpoint.” He backed away as she’d demanded, though he didn’t do it particularly slowly, nor did he make any particular effort to keep his hands in sight. “I’m not unfamiliar with mortal weapons, and I’m afraid a .22 doesn’t have much stopping power against someone like me. It might as well be a BB gun.”

Cathy stalked into his apartment, letting the door slam behind her. The gun was still trained on his chest. “They aren’t ordinary bullets. They have a high concentration of iron in them.”

Hunter shrugged. “I’m sure it would hurt. It just wouldn’t stop me.” The iron would be highly caustic, and the bullet would burn an excruciating hole in him on its way out, but after a lifetime in the Unseelie Court, he was more than adept at functioning through pain.

Cathy’s eyes were granite-hard, not a hint of give in them. Her brow glimmered with sweat, betraying her nerves, but her hands were steady and her face determined.

She was going to shoot him, he realized. Conan had seen him with Kiera, and Cathy was here to save her daughter from what she thought was a fate worse than death. She was not a killer, but she would do whatever it took, and if he gave her enough time, she’d find the nerve to pull the trigger.

The bullet might not kill him, and he might be able to function through the pain, but that didn’t mean he was eager to get shot. As Cathy was still gathering up her courage, Hunter lunged at her.

Her finger squeezed on the trigger, but she hadn’t been prepared for his speed. By the time the gun fired, Hunter’s hand was locked around her wrist, pushing her arm up so the bullet lodged harmlessly in the ceiling. One firm shake was enough to send the gun flying free.

He was pretty pissed off that she’d just tried to shoot him, but he understood the impulse too well to blame her. He could have crushed her wrist with the strength of his hand, or he could have struck back at her. Instead, he merely let go and glared. Many a goblin had cowered before that glare, but not Cathy Malone. Instead of retreating, as any sensible person would do, she stood her ground and met his glare with one of her own.

“You stay away from my daughter!” she shouted, her hands curling into fists like she wanted to beat him into submission.

Hunter wasn’t sure whether to be amused or angry. Perhaps a little of both, tinged with a grudging admiration.

“I’m afraid staying away from her is not one of my options,” he said. He kept a wary eye on her as he picked the gun up off the floor. He popped it open, removed the second cartridge—touching it gingerly in case there was iron in the casing as well as the bullet, but there wasn’t—then handed the empty gun back to her. She snatched it from his hand.

“You may think you’re invulnerable, mister, but—”

“Not by a long shot,” he interrupted with a shake of his head. “I’ll explain why I can’t leave Kiera alone, but it’ll take a while, so why don’t you come sit down? Maybe you’ll be able to help me think of a way out of this mess that doesn’t endanger her.” He didn’t really believe that, but he hoped that the suggestion might help defuse some of her protective rage.

Her steady gaze told him she didn’t trust him for a moment—as if he didn’t know that already. “Start talking. I’m listening.”

Apparently sitting down and making herself comfortable was out of the question. Hunter supposed it didn’t matter, so he did as she commanded and started talking. He told her about his mother’s spies, including Bane, and he told her about his mother’s more sadistic inclinations. He also told her about the truth spells that would make it impossible to hide his feelings for Kiera if his mother ever had an inkling what questions to ask. He didn’t, of course, mention that his “charade” with Kiera to fool the spies had long ago stopped being a charade. That much he could never expect her to understand.

By the time he was finished talking, Cathy’s arms were crossed over her chest, skepticism seeping from her every pore.

“It’s a very convenient story,” she said.

Hunter restrained his urge to snap at her. How could he blame her for her skepticism? “Please, for the time being, at least pretend you believe me. Help me think of a way out. I haven’t been able to come up with one, and Kiera’s too fixated on trying to save me to focus as fully as she should on saving herself.”

“Maybe if you were so eager to save her, you should have just let me shoot you,” Cathy said with a curl of her lip.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “I told you, that wouldn’t kill me. It would just hurt like hell.”

“Another convenient story.”

Hunter swallowed hard, not looking forward to implementing the only solution he could see to Cathy’s disbelief. He dug the remaining .22 cartridge out of his pocket and held it out to Cathy.

“Fine. See for yourself, if that’s what it takes.” He hoped a second shot wouldn’t alarm anyone in the building, but the .22 really didn’t make a whole lot of noise, and most people would assume it was a nail gun or something of the sort.

Cathy reloaded the gun warily, clearly expecting some kind of trick. Hunter closed his eyes and put his hands behind his back, making himself completely vulnerable. He didn’t know why he was offering to put himself through the agony of an iron bullet just to win Cathy’s good opinion, but he felt no inclination to change his mind. Though if she didn’t get on with it, he might well run out of stoic acceptance.

The seconds ticked by, and still Cathy didn’t pull the trigger. It took an impressive effort of will for Hunter to hold himself still, but he managed it.

Eventually, Cathy sighed and Hunter opened his eyes. Her hand with the gun in it was down by her side, and her shoulders were slumped.

“It would have served you right if I’d shot you,” she said without looking at him.

Hunter didn’t disagree. “But it wouldn’t have protected Kiera, and that’s something we both want to accomplish.”

“So you claim.”

Hunter stifled a grunt of frustration. “I wish that little pea-shooter of yours
could
kill me. Both Kiera and I would be better off if I were dead.” He wasn’t eager to die, but there was no escaping the reality that a quick death here in the mortal world was preferable to whatever would happen to him when he returned in disgrace to the Unseelie Court.

Cathy’s mouth dropped open, and she regarded him with almost comical surprise.

“I’d have put myself out of both of our misery on the night you and Conan revealed my identity, only I fear my mother might draw the right conclusions and take her frustrations out on Kiera. You don’t happen to have a larger caliber gun with iron bullets stashed somewhere, do you?”

He wasn’t sure if even the largest caliber handgun could kill him, but maybe with an iron bullet, or multiple iron bullets . . .

But Cathy shook her head. “This is all I have,” she said, holding up the .22 for display. “Conan seemed to think it was plenty of firepower to stop any fey who might try to make trouble for me.”

Hunter shrugged. “Against ordinary fey, he’d be right. Most wouldn’t die, but the pain of the iron would be at least temporarily incapacitating.”

“But not for you?”

“I am not like other fey. I’ve had a lifetime of practice enduring what the Queen can dish out. Besides, my mortal blood gives me some protection.” Not much, to be sure. The touch of iron would burn his flesh like it would that of any fey, but it wouldn’t poison his blood at least.

Hunter was tired of standing in the entryway, so he strode into the living room. Cathy could follow him or not as she wished. He poured himself a generous dose of single-malt whiskey from the bar in the corner, and when he turned back to face the room, he saw that Cathy was sitting on his sofa.

“Would you like one?” he asked, holding up his glass.

“No. Thanks.”

Hunter sipped the whiskey, but though it was of the highest order, he couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for it. He put the glass down after a single sip.  He’d come into the living room because he’d wanted to sit, but now he found he was too restless to do so.

“Let me see if I understand what you’re saying,” Cathy said as he paced. “You think the only way Kiera can be truly safe is if you die, but you can’t kill yourself because you’re afraid your mother will figure out you did it to save Kiera and will come after her. Does that about sum it up?”

“That’s it in a nutshell.”

“But if someone else killed you, the Queen would never guess that Kiera matters to you, and my daughter would be safe.” There was a look of calculation on her face that sent a shiver of unease down Hunter’s spine.

“Yes,” he said more slowly.

“Someone like a phooka, who’d been sent here by Finvarra to keep an eye on his daughter?”

Hunter’s lip curled involuntarily. Of all the creatures in Faerie, phookas were no doubt the most annoying. They were tricksters by nature, although as Conan had proved, they were as capable as anyone of being dangerous. “A phooka wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

Cathy raised her eyebrows. “Even if he took you by surprise?”

Hunter’s immediate instinct was to say no, his ego insulted by the very idea of being taken out by a lowly phooka. Instead, he swallowed the denial and forced himself to think about it.

“He would have to be in canine form,” he mused. “And he would have to disarm me on the first strike.” Hunter flicked his wrist, and his silver knife slid out of hiding and into his hand. “Even wounded and taken by surprise, I would most likely kill him if I’m armed.” He allowed himself a fierce smile that was more of a grimace. “And I’m never unarmed.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Cathy said softly, and Hunter hated the hint of pity that now shone in her eyes.

Was he really giving this plan serious consideration? He was talking about arranging his own death. It seemed he should have more objections to the plan, that he should be desperately trying to think of some other way out of this mess.

But his every instinct told him there
was
no other way out. And really, when you got right down to it, was his life really worth saving? The only true happiness he had ever known were the few stolen minutes he’d had with Kiera, minutes when he’d allowed himself to forget who and what he was. The rest of his life was made up of suffering and death, of acts he knew were wrong and punishments if he failed. How could he go back to that after he’d had a taste of something different?

He met Cathy’s steady gaze. “Kiera will never forgive Conan and would probably never forgive
you
if she knew about this.”

Cathy winced, obviously hearing the truth in his words. “We’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t know. If you’re actually saying you’re willing to go through with it.”

Hunter thought about it a moment longer, trying to figure out how to cause Kiera as little pain as possible. She had already grown way more attached to him than was wise—as he had to her—and he imagined his death would sadden her even if she didn’t know her mother and the phooka were behind it.

Which meant the best way to protect her feelings was if she never had to know.

“I’ll tell Kiera that Conan has found some kind of sanctuary for me in Faerie. Somewhere I can disappear to and never be heard from again, where my mother will never find me.”

Cathy considered his words, then nodded. “Somewhere where Kiera can’t follow you, either.”

“Exactly.” The idea of lying to Kiera once more sat uneasily in Hunter’s stomach, but it was a necessary evil. It would hurt her so much less to think he had fled to safety, even if it was somewhere she couldn’t go, than to know he had died.

There was a strange burning sensation in his eyes, and his chest ached like there was a goblin sitting on it, crushing his sternum. If only he could have just a little more time with Kiera, a little more joy in his life before it ended . . .

But no. The longer he and Kiera spent together, the harder the separation would be. And the more risk that his mother would discover his weakness. If he was going to do this, then the sooner the better.