Patricia Briggs - Iron Kissed

"Why did you kill him?" I asked.

"I thought the Hunter would take care of it, actually. O'Donnell was a weakness. He wanted to keep the ring—and threatened to blackmail me for it. I told him 'sure' and had him steal a couple more things. Once I had enough that I could do my own stealing without much danger, I sent O'Donnell after the Hunter. When that didn't work…well." He shrugged.

I looked at the silver ring. "A politician can't afford to hang out with stupid men who know too much."

"Take another drink, Mercy."

The goblet was full again though it had only been half-full when I'd set it down. I drank. It was harder to think, almost like being drunk.

Tim couldn't afford to let me live.

"Are you a fae?"

"Oh, no." I shook my head.

"That's right," he said. "You're Native American, aren't you? You won't find any Native American fae."

"No." I wouldn't look for fae among the Indians; the fae with their glamour were a European people. Indians had their own magical folk. But Tim hadn't asked, so I didn't need to tell him. I didn't think it was going to save me, him thinking I was a defenseless human instead of a defenseless walker. But I was going to try to keep any advantages that I could.

He picked up his fork and played with it. "So how did you end up with the walking stick? I looked all over for it and couldn't find the darn thing. Where was it?"

"In O'Donnell's living room," I told him. "Uncle Mike and Zee overlooked it, too." It must have been the extra drink, but I couldn't stop before I said, "Some of the old things have a will of their own."

"How did you get into O'Donnell's living room? Do you have friends on the police force? I thought you were just a mechanic."

I considered what he'd asked me and answered with the absolute truth. The way a fae would have. I held up a finger for the first question. "I walked in." Two fingers. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have a friend on the police force." Three fingers. "I'm a damn good mechanic—though not as good as Zee."

"I thought Zee was a fae; how can he be a mechanic?"

"He's iron kissed." If he wanted information, maybe I could stall him and babble. "I like that term better than gremlin because he can't be a gremlin if they just made up that word in the last century, can he? He's a lot older than that. In fact, I finally found a story—"

"Stop," he said.

I did.

He frowned at me. "Drink. Take two drinks."

Damn. When I set the goblet down, my hands tingled with fae magic and my lips were numb.

"Where is the walking stick?" he asked.

I sighed. That stupid stick followed me around even when it wasn't in the room. "Wherever it wants to be."

"What?"

"Probably in my office," I told him. It liked to show up where I was going to come upon it unexpectedly. But the need to answer him made me continue to feed him information. "Though it was in my car. It's not now. Uncle Mike didn't take it."

"Mercy," he said. "What is the thing you least wanted me to know when you came here?"

I thought about that. I'd been so worried about hurting his feelings yesterday, and standing on his doorstep I'd been a little worried still. I leaned forward and said in a low voice, "I am not attracted to you at all. I don't find you sexy or handsome. You look like an upscale geek without the intelligence to make it work for you."

He surged to his feet and his face whitened, then flushed with anger.

But he'd asked and so I continued, "Your house is bland and has no personality at all. Maybe you should try some naked statues—"

"Stop it! Stop it!"

I sat back and watched him. He was still a boy who thought he was smarter than he really was. His anger didn't scare me, or intimidate me. He saw that and it made him angrier.

"You wanted to know what O'Donnell had? Come with me."

I would have, but he grabbed my arm in a grip and his hand bit down. I heard a crack but it was a moment before the pain registered.

He'd broken my wrist.

He pulled me through the doorway, through the dining room, and into his bedroom. When he pushed me onto his bed, I heard a second bone pop in my arm—this time the pain cleared my head just a little. Mostly, though, it just hurt.

He threw open a large oak entertainment center, but there was no TV on the shelf. Instead there were two shoe boxes sitting on a bulky fur of some sort that looked almost like yak hide, except it was gray.

Tim set the boxes on the ground and pulled out the hide, shaking it out so I could see it was a cloak. He pulled it around himself, and once it settled over him, it disappeared. He didn't look any different from when he'd put it on.

"Do you know what this is?"

And I did, because I'd been reading my borrowed book and because the strange-looking hide smelled of horse, not yak.

"It's the Druid's Hide," I told him, breathing through my teeth so I didn't whimper. At least it wasn't the same arm I'd broken last winter. "The druid had been cursed to wear the form of a horse, but when he was skinned, he regained his human form. But the horse's skin did something…" I tried to remember the wording, because it was important. "It kept his enemies from finding or harming him."

I looked up and realized that he hadn't wanted me to answer him. He'd wanted to know more than I did. I think it was the "not intelligent enough" comment still bothering him. But part of me wanted to please him, and as the pain subsided, that compulsion grew stronger.

"You are much stronger than I thought," I said to distract myself from this new facet of the goblet's effect. Or maybe I said it to please him.

He stared at me. I couldn't tell if he liked hearing that or not. Finally he drew up the sleeves of his dress shirt to show me that he wore a silver band around each wrist. "Bracers of giant strength," he said.

I shook my head. "Those aren't bracers. Those are bracelets or maybe wristlets. Bracers are longer. They were used—"

"Shut up," he gritted. He closed the wardrobe and kept his back to me for a moment. "You love me," he said. "You think I'm the handsomest man you've ever seen."

I fought it. I did. I fought his voice as hard as I've ever fought anything.

But it's hard to fight your own heart, especially when he was so handsome. Until that moment, no man had competed with Adam for sheer breathtaking male beauty—but his face and form palled beside Tim.

Tim turned to me and stared into my eyes. "You want me," he said. "More than you wanted that ugly doctor you were dating."

Of course I did. Desire made my body go languid and I arched my back a little. The pain in my arm was nothing to the desire I felt.

"The walking stick makes you rich," I told him as he put a knee on the bed. "The fae know I have it and they want it back." I tried to brace up on my elbow so I could kiss him, but my arm didn't work right. My other hand did, but it was already reaching up to caress the soft skin of his neck. "They'll get it, too. They have someone who knows how to find it."

He pulled my hand away.

"It's at your work?"

"It should be." After all, it followed me wherever I went. And I was going to go to my office. This beautiful man would take me.

He ran a hand over my breast, squeezed too hard, then released it and stood up. "This can wait. Come with me."

My love had me drink some more from the goblet before we took his car to go to my office. I couldn't remember what it was that we were looking for there, but he'd tell me when we got there. That's what he told me. We were on 395 headed toward East Kennewick when he unzipped his jeans.

A trucker, passing us, honked his horn. So did the car in the other lane when Tim swerved too much and almost had a wreck.

He swore and pulled me off him. "We'll do that where there aren't so many cars," he said, sounding breathless and almost giddy. He had me zip his pants again, because he couldn't manage. It was hard with only one hand, so I used the other one, too, ignoring the pain it caused.