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A shiver went through her. She knew he had only taken her hand because they were about to travel, and yet the contact flustered her. And then his compliment had made her hot from her toes to her … oh, yeah, hot was a good word for what she felt. She covered up the feeling by frowning and asked, “So, how do we do this?”
“We do not. I will do this—you will stay out of my way,” he answered.
“Oohh, now that was just … dismissive. Why are you so uncivil?”
“Uncivil? Am I?” He seemed surprised by the accusation. He shook his head. “You are mistaken, Jazmine Decker. What I am is a Royal Seelie Fae, and with that comes a sense of what I owe to my house and my queen. However, what I also am is, in the human vernacular, pissed off, very pissed off. Pestale killed my Lana, and when he did that, he made a lifelong enemy of me. I should have killed him, I had the chance, but … my queen deemed otherwise.”
“Your Lana?” She heard a possessive sound in the statement. She heard somethi
ng else when he said the name: feeling—he said the name with feeling. An odd twinge traveled through her system at the realization.
“Aye, we, Lana and I, had only just met during the battle with the Unseelie. She is—was—a Milesian. It seems so long ago but in fact was not. She killed Pestale’s brother while saving me, and Pestale killed her. We tracked him, we being her brother Chance and Red—Princess Royce—and I.” He looked away as though seeing another time. “Chance and I meant to slice him apart and feed him to the demons, but the Dark King interceded and took him back to the Dark Realm.” Disgust blanketed his last words.
“Why?”
“He wanted to start over with Pestale. He told the queen that he sensed Pestale was redeemable. He said it was his fault Pestale had turned into a monster. He said if Pestale, his eldest and most favorite son, drank from the Cauldron, he could start over with him, perfect his character, help him to evolve.” Trevor sneered. “All absurd. The Dark King doesn’t know what he needs to do to be a parent, doesn’t have the inclination, or the time, but our queen decided it would be better not to incur his … displeasure.”
“The Cauldron?”
“Like Lethe’s Stream, it holds the purest form of water known to Fae. It is from Danu, and it is never-ending in the Cauldron, always replenished.” He sighed. “But it wipes out a Seelie Fae’s memory. Our queen cautioned the king. She advised him, reminded him, that it might not work in the same manner on a Dark Prince as it does on a Seelie, but he took Pestale away, and as far as I am concerned Pestale got away with his crimes, got away with killing my Lana.”
Again, she felt a ridiculous twinge of something she couldn’t understand when he spoke of ‘his’ Lana. What was up with that? She shrugged it off and with brows upraised said, “I see, but now what are you doing? Going rogue and tracking him on your own?”
“No. The queen has the gift of ‘sight’. She can see limited things in the future, but those things don’t necessarily come to pass. She saw Pestale escaping the Dark Realm with some of his memory intact.”
“Ah … and your mission is to find and stop him.”
“A quick study,” Trevor said, coating the sarcasm with a winning grin.
She ignored this and said, “Okay, Royal, so it wasn’t Pestale who has escaped—”
“Yet,” he stuck in.
“Right, yet, but a brother of his, Hordly, but this Hordly seems like he’s more interested in playing around than taking over the world.”
“He is amusing himself until he can find a way out, nothing more. His purpose is very clear,” Trevor answered her grimly.
The next thing she knew, his arm was around her waist. Just before he shifted them, he touched her chin with one finger and murmured, “Don’t worry, Jazmine Decker, I will allow no harm to come to you.” Then they were traveling through space so fast that as she blinked they touched ground.
This time, she found herself still in his hold as they stood in a small village tavern, surrounded by locals.
The building was constructed of hardwood, its rafters of thick, round logs. A long mahogany counter that was well worn and yet well polished ran along part of one wall. Oak logs that stretched from the low ceiling to the wood floor made serviceable partitions for the many round tables that filled the huge chamber.
Jazz stepped away from him as she looked at the crowd of men, a mixture of peasants, gentry, and farmers, seemingly all bent on forgetting the hardships of the day as they enjoyed their food and drink. She couldn’t help but marvel to herself. She was standing in the past, watching history—1816, in fact. She had always thought she would like to live in the past; now that she was there, she wasn’t so sure. Ironic.
As Hordly was not present, she looked up at the Fae hunk who had reached for and was holding her hand and said, “Now what?”
“You are forever asking that question.” He gave her a rueful smile. “It may appear to you that I am all-knowing, but the sorry fact is that I am not. Capable, aye, but not all-knowing.” He sighed. “I suppose we play this one by ear. Come—we are invisible to this crowd.”
He pulled her along and saw her seated at a table in the darkest corner of the room. He pulled her chair close to his as he sat beside her so that their backs were against the wall and they had a view of the front double doors.
Jazz again looked up at him, and as their eyes met, something happened to her. She felt it whiz through her system, a sudden ‘feeling’ she could not explain, and that feeling was a connection. She felt connected to him.
She couldn’t explain it, didn’t know how it was, but it slammed into her head and stared down all other considerations. It was as though a fully charged wire reached out of her heart, wrapped itself around him, and returned to wrap itself around her. He felt it—she saw that he felt what she felt.
He bent his head in that one electric moment, and she was sure he was going to kiss her. She suddenly needed his kiss, wanted his kiss, and she waited for that kiss. She felt a tingle of anticipation, so sure he had bent to kiss her!
Regarding her as though he were looking at a madwoman, he said, “Jazmine Decker, your breathing is irregular—are you unwell?”
