Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

I was in a hotel room, going by what I could see out of my oddly swollen eyes and the trickle of light coming from behind the wall of drawn curtains. The light’s sodium hue told me it was still night. As did the red electronic clock on the plasma TV opposite, which also told me I’d been here for a good hour.

On the plasma a large St Bernard was lolloping after a blonde standard poodle. The St Bernard was wearing a bow tie, and streaming from the poodle’s collar was something white and lacy . . . a bridal veil ? The sight was so surreal I stared until Mad Max grunted and pointed the remote. The TV flicked off.

In its place, spent magic drifted like dust motes, and the place smelled of herbs, treacle and something vinegary. The same fabric – ripped sheets? – that gagged me was tied around my wrists and ankles, with knots that tightened as I gave an experimental tug. Silver banded my head— silver that stopped me using magic. Not that I had any, other than my Glamour. Which had obviously been so successful – not! – at trapping Mad Max earlier.

I gave myself a quick mental once-over: as well as the silver burning my head, my skin itched from dried sweat, my body felt like a horde of Beater goblins had introduced me to their baseball bats, and the rawness in my throat suggested I’d been practising sword swallowing. The only part of me that didn’t hurt, or throb, was between my legs . . . numbed by whatever the warm wet thing was.

Which would’ve been a whole new worry, if not for the enforced calm.

Mad Max leaned over, poked my cheek. I glared up at him, wanting to knock his hands away.

‘Bleeding hell, love, you’re a hard nut to crack,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve met mountain trolls who break easier than you.’

I was going to kill the sonofabitch.

The white fire in his eyes faded. He settled into the chair next to the bed, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and stretched out long pale legs with an exaggerated sigh. All he was wearing was a pair of red boxers decorated with black coffins.

It hit home that all I was wearing was the cream bra. I couldn’t feel the briefs, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I was numb, or they weren’t there.

I lifted my head, straining to look. The wet warm thing moulded to me like a thick second skin was made of nubby towelling. It was pink-tinged, dotted with bits of green leaf and the magic in it glinted like the tiny chunks of glass of a smashed car windscreen. Did our mutual state of undress mean he’d had sex with me? After all, I’d been offering it to him on a plate – or the Sex-compulsion spell had. The panic and rage inside me threw itself against its cage, but the calm kept it contained.

I jerked my chin at him and tried to spit the gag out.

He got the message. ‘Start screaming,’ he warned, ‘and it goes straight back in.’

I nodded, and he pulled it out.

‘Why—’ I coughed, licked my lips, which were split and tasted of my own dried blood, and started again. ‘Why the hell am I tied up?’

‘Just keeping you out of my pants, love. Much as I enjoy a bit of the rough stuff when it comes to foreplay, you’re a tad too forceful for my liking.’ He spread his arms wide. Long bloody furrows ran down his chest and stomach, disappearing into his red boxers, as if some rabid animal had attacked him; only a hazy memory told me the rabid animal had been me. I almost apologised, but he added, ‘Of course, as a bit of slap and tickle was all that was on the cards, I have to confess I did rather let my frustration get the better of me when it came to subduing you. But y’know, Cousin, what goes around, comes around.’

The swollen eyes, split lip and various other pains made sense now.

I’d attacked him once – he’d been hurting my friends – and had beaten his face almost to a pulp almost with a backpack full of bricks. He’d obviously decided to return the favour.

‘Bastard,’ I spat out.

‘Payback’s a bitch! Oh, no, wait! This time payback’s a dog!’ He chuckled then growled menacingly exactly like a dog, which was eerily apt since his other form was an Irish wolfhound. Like the picture on the T-shirt he was no longer wearing.

‘Why aren’t you dressed?’

‘Just being practical, Cousin.’ He pointed at my bottom half. ‘That’s a wet towel and I’ve got a bath full of Poultice potion.’

Practical? Him?

‘But I ’spect you’re asking ’cause you’re wondering if I took you up on your offer to do the old in and out together,’ Mad Max continued cheerfully

I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes.’

‘Enticing as making the beast with two backs with you might be, a few too many interested parties would get a tad upset about it. My loopy fruitcake of a sister with her part-time goddess gig, for one – or two, depending which way you look at it.’

I wasn’t sure that his sister, a.k.a. my mother, Angel, would even notice, though she had spied on me magically in the past, but why was anyone’s guess. She wasn’t just loopy, but seemed to have the mental age of a five-year-old, so I doubted she even knew I was her daughter. Hell, I hadn’t even known she was my mother until I’d met her for only the second time three months ago. Until then I’d believed my mother died at my birth— all of which was something my head, never mind my heart, was still coming to terms with.

And as for Angel’s goddess hitch-hiker, The Mother, well no way could I predict how she’d feel; it wasn’t like she’d been overly concerned about me in the past other than to dump me with a problem she couldn’t be bothered to solve herself. Though Mad Max knew them better, so if he thought they’d be ‘a tad upset’, I was happy to go along with him. On that, anyway.

‘Then there’s the Turk’ – he gave a dramatic shudder – ‘I’d have to be insane and suicidal to get on the wrong side of the great and powerful Malik al-Khan. Oh, and let’s not forget His Royal Brattiness—’

‘The Autarch’s not coming here!’ I interrupted as a spurt of panic overcame the spell’s calm.

Mad Max waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Cousin. It isn’t worth sticking my head above the parapet to tell him about your little problems. He enjoys eviscerating the messengers too much.’ He cocked a finger and mimed shooting himself in the head. ‘So, unluckily for you, Cousin, you’re doomed never to know the magnificence that is my love wand.’

Relief flooded through me. Not that his self-serving restraint was going to stop me removing his love wand and shoving it, along with the rest of him, where the sun did shine, given half a chance.

‘Now, of course, you’re probably also wondering why we’re having ourselves a little bondage party here.’ He flashed a fang-filled grin. ‘I must admit I was too, for a while, since it’s unheard of for me to be so altruistic. But then I convinced myself that having everyone find out I’ve got more than one crazy relative was going to reflect particularly badly on me.’

And they say chivalry is dead.

‘So I magnanimously opted to save you from beating around your own bush until some poor unsuspecting human stumbled into your Glamour.’

The suspicious part of me wondered exactly how and why he’d been oh, so conveniently on hand to save me, but that thought was eclipsed by the horror of what could have happened. Humans can’t survive full-on sex with a sidhe outside of the Fair Lands. If a human had found me, I’d probably have fucked them to death.

‘I’m sure you can think of a suitable way to thank me later, Cousin,’ Mad Max said, a smug smirk on his face. ‘But I can’t always be waiting around to clear up your nasty little messes, so this lesson is by way of a heads up.’ He leaned forward in the chair. ‘So, listen carefully.’