Лорел Гамильтон - A Kiss Of Shadows

"Would you prefer that we be out among the humans, working with them, mating with them like the fey that stayed behind in Europe? They are no longer fey, just another minority."

"Am I just a part of the minority, Doyle?"

A look passed over his face, some serious thought that I couldn't read. I'd never been around a man whose face reflected so many emotions, and yet been able to read so few of them. "You are Meredith, Princess of Flesh, and as sidhe as I am. That I will stake my oath on."

"I take that as a great compliment coming from you, Doyle. I know how much store you set by your oath."

His head cocked to one side, studying me. The movement pulled some of his hair farther out of his cloak to fold under but not fall free as he straightened his neck. "I have felt your power, Princess, I cannot deny it."

"I've never seen your hair when it wasn't braided or tied in a club. I've never seen it loose," I said.

"Do you like it?"

I hadn't expected him to ask my opinion. I'd never heard him ask anyone's opinion of anything. "I think so, but I'd need to see the hair without the cloak to be sure."

"Easily done," he said, and undid the cloak at his neck. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders, spilling it over one arm.

He was wearing what looked like a leather-and-metal harness from the waist up, though if it had been meant to be armor, it would have covered more. The colored lights played over the muscles in his body as if he were indeed carved of some black marble. His waist and hips were slender, long legs encased in leather. The pants clung to him and spilled into black boots that came up over his knees where the loose tops of the leather were held in place by straps with small silver buckles. The buckles were echoed in the straps that covered his upper body. The silver glittered against the blackness of him. His hair hung like a second black cloak boiling in the wind, tangling in long strands around his ankles and calves. The wind sent the feathers that edged his face across his mouth.

"My, look what you're not wearing," I said, trying for flippant and failing.

The wind rushed past us, flinging my hair back from my face. It rustled the tall dried grass in the near field, and beyond that I could hear the cornstalks whispering to each other. The wind blew down the avenue, channeled between the mounds so that it swirled around us like eager hands. It was an echo of that welcoming Earth magic that had greeted me when I first stepped on sidhe land tonight.

"Do you like my hair unbound, Princess?"

"What?" I said.

"You said you needed to see it without the cloak. Do you like it?"

I nodded, wordlessly. Oh, yes, I liked it.

Doyle stared at me, and all I could see were his eyes. The rest of his face was lost to the wind and the feathers and the dark. I shook my head and looked away.

"That's twice you've tried to bespell me with your eyes, Doyle. What's going on?"

"The queen wanted me to test you with my eyes. She has always said they were my best feature."

I let my gaze linger over the strong curves of his body. The wind gusted, and he was suddenly caught in a cloud of his own hair, black and soft, with the near-bare flesh almost lost, black on black.

My gaze rose up to meet his eyes once more. "If my aunt thinks that your eyes are your best feature, then… " I shook my head and let out a breath. "Let's just say she and I must have different criteria."

He laughed. Doyle laughed. I'd heard him laugh in L. A., but not like this. This was a rumbling belly laugh, like a peal of thunder. It was a good laugh, hearty and deep. It echoed off the mounds and filled the windy night with a joyous sound. So why was my heart thudding in my throat until I couldn't breathe? My fingertips tingled with the shock of it. Doyle did not laugh, not like that, not ever.

The wind died. The laughter stopped, but the glow of it stayed in his face, making him smile wide enough to show perfect white teeth.

Doyle slipped the cloak back over his shoulders. If he had been cold in the October night without it, he never showed a sign of it. He left the cloak flipped back over one shoulder and offered me his bare arm. He was flirting with me.

I frowned at him. "I thought we had our little talk, and we were going to pretend last night never happened."

"I have not mentioned it," he said, voice very bland.

"You're flirting," I said.

"If it were Galen standing here, you would not hesitate." The humor was fading to a dim glow that filled his eyes. He was still amused with me, and I didn't know why.

"Galen and I have been teasing each other ever since I hit puberty. I've never seen you tease anyone, Doyle, until last night."

"There are wonders yet to behold tonight, Meredith. Wonders much more surprising than me with my hair loose and no shirt on a cold October evening." Now there was that note to his voice that so many of the old ones had, a condescending tone that said I was a child and no matter how old I got to be, I would still be a child compared to them, a foolish child.

Doyle had been condescending to me before. It was almost comforting. "What could be more wondrous than the queen's Darkness flirting with another woman?"

He shook his head, still offering me his hand. "I think the queen will have news that will make anything I could say seem tame."

"What news, Doyle?" I asked.

"That is the queen's pleasure to tell, not mine."

"Then stop hinting," I said. "It isn't like you."

He shook his head, and a smile crept across his face. "No, I suppose it isn't. After the queen gives you her news, I will explain the change in my behavior." His face sobered, slowly, almost its usual ebony mask. "Is that fair enough?"

I looked at him, studying his face until every vestige of humor faded away. I nodded. "I suppose so."

He offered me his arm.

"Put the body away and I'll take the arm," I said.

"Why does it bother you so much to see me like this?"

"You were adamant that last night never happened, never to be spoken of again, now suddenly you're back to flirting. What's changed?"

"If I said the ring upon your finger, would you understand?"

"No," I said.

He smiled, gently this time, almost his usual slight twitch of lips. He flipped the cloak back over his shoulder so that his hand was all that showed out of that thick cloth. "Better?"

I nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"Now, take my arm, Princess, and allow me the pleasure of escorting you before our queen." His voice was flat, unemotional, empty of meaning. I'd almost have preferred to hear the thick emotion of the moment before. Now his words just sat there. They could have meant many things or nothing at all. The words without emotion to color them were almost useless.

"Do you have a tone of voice somewhere between utter emptiness and joyous condescension?" I asked.

That tiny smile quirked his lips. "I will try to find a… middle ground between the two."

I slid my arms carefully around his arm, the cloak bunched between our bodies. "Thank you," I said.

"You are welcome." The voice was still empty, but there was the faintest hint of warmth in it.

Doyle had said he'd try to find a middle ground, and he was already working on it. How terribly prompt of him.

THE STONE ROAD ENDED ABRUPTLY IN THE GRASS. THE ROAD, LIKE THE paths, stops short of any mound. We stood at the end of the road and there was nothing but grass beyond. Grass trampled down by many feet, but trampled down evenly so that no one way was more traveled than any other. One of our old nicknames is "the hidden ones." We may be a tourist attraction now, but old habits die hard.

Sometimes fey-watchers will camp outside the area, using binoculars, and see nothing for days, nights. If anyone was watching in the chill dark, they were about to see "something."