Dani Harper - Storm Bound

Because even though he’d been majorly preoccupied with Felicia, George couldn’t forget seeing Brooke and Aidan lip-locked in the middle of what looked like effin’ Armageddon. The scene seemed to be permanently inked onto his brain, and he found himself sketching it again and again with various couples from his comic books—and Dios help him if Brooke ever recognized the image in a future Devina of Hades . The image wasn’t compelling or unforgettable because Aidan was pretty much butt naked and Brooke nearly so. It was something about that totally amazing kiss…Like some wild affirmation, maybe even a homecoming, at-last-I’ve-found-you kind of thing. Hell, it was like the goddamn movies . Which made some sense from Aidan’s point of view, since he had thought Brooke was his long-lost woman at the time. But Brooke had poured herself into that kiss too. She didn’t know Aidan—nobody knew the guy at that point—but she sure as hell had recognized something .

Meanwhile, it had been pretty cool to have Brooke and Aidan staying at his mom’s house. She was obviously enjoying their company. Maybe it reminded her of when all of her kids were at home. And it certainly took the pressure off him —he worried about her being alone, and that’s why he volunteered to live there, and yet he wasn’t a stay-at-home kind of guy.

All that crap about fairies had been a surprise though. George had come home one night to find a thick layer of salt and marigold petals on his bedroom windowsill. At first he’d wondered if his mother had discovered the damned house was haunted after all. He’d warned her about that when he begged her not to buy the big old thing (although his main concern had actually been the heating bills, not ghosts). But nope, his mom had cited fairy problems of all things, and Brooke and Aidan had moved in the same day. The women had busied themselves with spells and charms to protect the house ever since. Aidan, thankfully, had spent his time doing something much more useful—taming that jungle of a yard. George had been afraid that daunting chore would fall to him.

Fairy problems, Dios . He shook his head. Tough to imagine a cute little fairy being dangerous.

George sat back on his heels to study the tire rim for any more offending grunge, and a thrill zinged through him like electricity as he heard the sultry stride of Felicia’s high heels on the pavement. He remained where he was, perfectly still until her long legs brushed his back and her fingertips played with his cropped mohawk.

“Hey, lover, are you ready to rumble?” She laughed as she said it. It was a unique sound, sort of like a cascade of little bells or something, and he’d heard it often in the middle of last night’s passion. In an instant he was on his feet, clutching her amazing ass as he kissed her hard.

“You know it,” he murmured.

“Then how about a little romp before we go?”

Hell yeah . It was going to be the best damn weekend of his life.

Celynnen had not been at Court since the day he’d sent her there without her fine clothes.

While it was possible that she’d experienced a certain amount of humiliation and might avoid the place for a time, Lurien found it difficult to believe that she would stay away this long. It was also exceedingly strange that she had made no attempt to visit some sort of revenge upon him. Perhaps she had, and he was simply unaware of it yet. More likely, the spoiled tywysoges was merely biding her time, waiting for precisely the right moment in order to gain maximum effect. She adored playing games, and plotting revenge for real or imagined slights was one of her favorite pastimes.

No matter. He did not fear her in the least. But the discovery of the Draigddynion scale in her clothing made it imperative that he find her and get some answers to his questions. Yet try as he might, he could not locate her in any of the Nine Realms—at least not by ordinary means. Neither could he draw too much attention to the fact that he was looking for her, in case he alerted whoever had given Celynnen that ill-starred scale.

He already knew she wasn’t in her chambers, but her servant, the orange-eyed crymbil, was always there. Lurien watched as the stubby-winged creature in baggy robes labored to scrub the glittering mosaic floor. A mote of dust hadn’t fallen in the realm in years (and if it had, a simple word of magic would eliminate it instantly), but Celynnen enjoyed giving impossible commands. It allowed her the opportunity to reward and punish—and from the look of the welts on its wings, the unfortunate crymbil—a female, as males could not fly—had been punished a great deal recently.

Lurien tried to soften his voice. “What is your name?” he asked gently, wincing as the creature jolted and cowered.

“N-Nyx.”

“Where is your mistress, Nyx?”

“I cannot say. I-I am very sorry.”

A crymbil couldn’t lie, but she was unlikely to offer the truth if she’d been instructed otherwise. Lurien considered carefully. “Nyx, I see plainly that you are not being treated well here. The queen would not want this for you. In her name, I have the authority to free you if you wish. Tell me where your mistress is.”

Her orange eyes widened, and for a moment, hope made her face almost beautiful. Then the light faded and she bowed low to the floor, shaking like a poplar leaf in a storm. “I cannot tell you. I cannot say.”

“Why? What will Celynnen do to you?”

“My children…”

Lurien was sickened. The Tylwyth Teg had once been honorable and just in their dealings with both fae and mortal. Are we nothing but bullies now?

“Give me your hand, Nyx.” He held out his to receive it. Trembling, she finally reached up and placed her long-fingered hand in his palm. It was clear she was expecting to be punished, and she was baffled as he carefully helped her to her feet. Still clasping her hand, he murmured an incantation. Immediately, a thin silver band became visible around the crymbil’s slender neck, and he shook his head. Like too many in the Court, Celynnen liked to use collars and slave rings and anything else that reminded the wearer that they were not only beneath her but owned by her. He touched the ring with his finger and it shattered like glass, its shards tumbling to the floor. Automatically the crymbil made a move as if to catch them, but Lurien’s grip on her hand kept her from doing so.

“You are not in the service of Celynnen anymore,” he said. “I know you cannot tell me where she is, Nyx, and I will not pressure you further. Go get your children and return to your lands.” He released her then. As an afterthought, he handed her a silver token. “This is my seal. Show it to anyone who questions what you are doing; use it to acquire anything you need for your journey. It should give you safe passage—I will know at once if anyone troubles you in any way. I will deal with Celynnen myself.”

Nyx put both of her hands over her face and wept copiously as she stammered her thanks.

“Thank me by going as quickly as you can,” Lurien whispered. He watched as she ran from the room, then left it himself at a more thoughtful pace.

The poor crymbil hadn’t told him where the princess was, and yet she’d given him the answer. The tywysoges liked to torment her servants? Then she’d be certain to be searching for the one that got away, the one she’d never had the chance to enjoy in the way she had planned.

Lurien didn’t need to look for Celynnen at all. He needed to find Aidan ap Llanfor.

Dios , he was over an hour late. Brooke would have words to say to him about that—although George could count on her to save them until they were alone.