Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (5 page)

Alex’s voice was seductive and enticing, luring everyone in the room away from the tension. Patrick would have to thank her later for diffusing the situation again. She’d been doing quite a bit of smoothing over his rough edges since the afternoon he awoke and realized Dahlia was gone. Glancing over at the usually stoic werewolf, Patrick noticed Dean’s eyes glared with the bright blue of his wolf, dangerous and close enough to the surface to be a problem if they weren’t
such good friends
. Something about the prospect of tearing his friend limb from limb seemed appealing to Patrick in a way that made his lips turn up slightly in delight. His fangs throbbed with the need for blood and vengeance.

“Is there an issue we need to be aware of?” Saeran’s bronze-skinned nephew, Fergal, Patrick believed his name to be, asked. Dahlia would have known his name, his tactical skills, and his weaknesses. He had counted on her for that information and so much more. He wouldn’t, couldn’t make that same mistake again.

The bronze warrior’s shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed down on Patrick and Dean then shot to the door. Patrick had noticed the last time the Fae had come, Fergal had kept a close eye on Dahlia. Perhaps too close. When he’d watched her tight little ass leave the room, Patrick had noticed. He didn’t smell anything but wariness from the Fae but they were particularly good at concealment and Patrick couldn’t smell anything over Dean’s rampaging emotions.

“We have nothing to discuss,” Patrick commanded through clenched teeth. His temper rose as the thought of another man with his hands on Dahlia’s soft skin burned through his mind. He fisted his hand on the desk, silently begging Dean to attack the Fae and rip his throat out.

“Now or later, it makes no difference to me,” the warrior said, and Patrick thought he’d seen the man’s skin ripple with magic.

“Later then,” Alex offered with a strained smile.

A soft growl rumbled through the room and before all eyes could turn on him, Patrick realized the sound was coming from him. His gaze had never left the Bronze Fae’s suspicious glare.

“Saeran,” Alex said, hopping quickly off the edge of Patrick’s desk. “I would like to discuss logistics and the needs of your Sidhe so the transition can go as smoothly as possible. Please, follow me.” She led Saeran and Fergal from the office as quickly as she possibly could.

“Are you positive that your colony is prepared to take on the burden of the Sidhe,” Fergal asked as the three descended the stairs. Behind them, everyone filed out, leaving Patrick and Dean alone in an increasingly shrinking office.

“Positive,” Alex confirmed before Kurt shut the office door behind him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean snarled, getting to his feet.

The large man rose from the sofa like a mountain shoving up through the ground and closed the distance to his desk. And for the first time in decades, Patrick looked at this man and wasn’t entirely sure he saw a friend anymore but a rival instead.

“Nothing,” he bit out. Nothing that ripping Dean’s throat out wouldn’t fix.

“Bullshit!” Dean snarled, forcing Patrick back in his chair.

Dahlia could swear like a sailor, Patrick enjoyed the occasional four-letter word when the situation called for it, but Dean didn’t swear. The man thought it showed a lack of civility.

Rising to his feet, Patrick glared at the man across the desk from him and let him see the anger percolating just below the surface. “You know nothing!”

“You’ll jeopardize all of us for some petty hurt feelings?” Dean’s growl of warning vibrated Patrick’s fangs.

“If you stopped thinking with your dick, perhaps you’d see that we can’t count on her. We’ve relied too heavily on her to fix our problems for us.”

The entire time Dahlia had been gone, the same thought had run through Patrick’s mind, again and again. If she were never to come back, would he and Dean be able to survive the coming storm? He wasn’t so sure. He loved Dahlia, but he didn’t trust her with his people. Not if she could leave without a thought for any of them.

“Look who’s talking!”

Patrick met Dean’s gaze, knowing full well it was a direct challenge. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Maybe if Patrick could hurt Dean, making his friend feel as horrible and retched as he did, the weight pressing down on Patrick’s chest would lighten and he could think about something other than how much he hurt.

“I’m thinking about my people. Maybe you should do the same instead of fucking a woman who doesn’t belong to you,” Patrick hissed, deliberately trying to goad Dean. His fingers itched for a fight, to purge this helplessness from him.

“She doesn’t belong to you either,” Dean said, his jaw tight with anger.

“Perhaps not, but at least I’ve had her, tasted her sweet abandon on my tongue as I licked her pussy and she called
my
name.” Before the last words could leave Patrick’s lips, his stoic and reserved friend disappeared, leaving a rampaging beast behind. As the smirk of pleased anticipation curved the corner of Patrick’s lips, Dean, or more accurately, Dean’s wolf, leapt across the desk.

A 250 pound shimmering silver wolf barreled into Patrick’s chest, knocking Patrick back into the wall. Adrenaline raced through Patrick’s veins as his fangs thickened and throbbed. Patrick swung, driving his fist into Dean’s kidney as the heavy wolf sat on Patrick’s chest. He ached to sink his fangs into the bastard’s throat but Patrick knew he’d never reach skin through all that fur. His only chance was to buck the heavy bastard off him and break his neck. His lips curled over his fangs in a snarl just before Dean’s maw bit into Patrick’s shoulder.

“Won’t even fight me like a man! Are you that concerned I might win?” Patrick sneered as he threw punch after punch into Dean’s midsection. Dean yelped as Patrick’s fist slammed against his hip and Patrick heard a snap of bone. The split second Dean was distracted by his broken hip, Patrick bucked, propelling the wolf into the air. Flipping up to his feet, Patrick turned to keep Dean in his gaze. In midair, the silver wolf changed, the form blurring into the large, tanned, naked man. Agile and ferocious, Dean landed gracefully in a crouch, his palm flat on the floor and his eyes focused on the ground.

A growl reverberated up Patrick’s throat as his hands balled into fists at his side. He came around the desk, kicking chairs and furniture from his path.

“This has been brewin’ for too long,” Dean’s deep rumble growled.

“Too long.” Patrick spat.

Bright blue eyes turned up to meet Patrick’s gaze. “Once this is over, it’s over.”

“Agreed,” Patrick sneered and ran at Dean.

The two men collided and power burned through the room, the scorching of Dean’s magic and the frostbitten caress of Patrick’s energy. Fists flew, cracking bones and bruising flesh. Tangled limbs and harsh growls filled Patrick’s ears until the two men finally broke apart. Patrick sat, feet flat on the floor and his back against the front of the black velvet sofa. He wiped blood from the cut on his bottom lip. Dean sat across from him, wiping sweat from his face and blood from his ear.

“Ya feel better?” Dean growled, reaching for his tattered shirt.

“No,” Patrick bit out, attempting to straighten his dress shirt which was now missing three buttons and bloody from Dean’s initial attack. Unsalvageable.

“You won’t. Not until you fix things.” He snatched his pants from the floor and slipped them on. Patrick watched him slip one shoe on and then the other, musing about how comfortable Dean seemed in his own skin, how confident he was in himself, his people, and in Dahlia. He’d felt that way once, now, he couldn’t tell up from down or how to gain back the control he possessed before Dahlia when he’d had to protect so many from Ethan’s wrath. He wanted that back.

“Get out,” Patrick said, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt from his ruined designer slacks.

Dean moved to the door, turning only slightly before leaving. “We’ve too much in the balance for you to be a dick much longer.” With that, Dean left, closing the door behind him. No, Patrick couldn’t go on for much longer like this. None of them could.

Chapter 3

Faerie, Date Unknown

Riona breezed into Milagra’s bedchamber, a ray of sunshine, alive and vibrant. Built from the living trunks and branches of Cyprus trees, Milagra’s room was covered with bright tropical flora and a soft cushion of moss littered the floor beneath her feet. Growing out of the floor, hardened vines and a mattress of the softest down made up her bed and sat in the center. The beauty of her home, draped in silks and furs left her speechless every day. Sunshine streamed down from the opening in the canopy above, shimmering off of Riona’s golden tresses as she approached.

Riona and Saeran had become the parents Milagra had thought she’d lost when her own mother had died. When her father had abandoned her. Sold her.

The Fae Queen’s skin shimmered as if her entire being was lit from within. Her hair was the color of summer wheat, trailing down her back in soft, bouncing curls. Her eyes were the blue of a warm summer sky with soft, pouty lips the color of a blooming red rose.

“Hello, my little Milagra,” Riona sang. Her voice was melodic, ringing clear and true. Milagra couldn’t help but light up with joy at the sight of her. She always did.

“Good Morning, Ri,” Milagra chirped. Her adoptive mother’s bright smile made her feel light in her own dark skin.

“Don’t you look lovely this morning in that beautiful yellow morning gown. The color suits you,” Riona cooed with warmth in her gaze, her proud motherly smile making Milagra tingle all over with joy.

Milagra understood deep in her bones that no matter what she did, she’d never be as beautiful as Riona. Her dark eyes, dark hair, and the bronze skin of her mother was nothing in comparison. But Riona made her feel beautiful just the same.

Milagra pushed her shoulders back, spinning in the gown to show it off. The skirts twirled and rippled through the air as she turned, making her feel light. Milagra stopped, almost dizzy from spinning, and giggled.

Riona laughed along with her, a joyous sound that filled her bedchamber with sunshine.

“I love your hair down. It’s so thick and lush,” Riona almost purred, running her delicate hand over Milagra’s head. Trepidation filled Riona’s deep blue eyes as she stroked Milagra’s hair. Milagra’s mother had stroked her hair in just such a way, and tears burned behind her eyes. It didn’t seem to matter how much she loved Riona. Milagra still missed her mother.

“It’ll be just you and me for a little while, Sweetling, so what would you like to do?” Riona asked.

The air was thick with the fragile scent of the disappointment Riona was trying to hide. Acrid to her senses, Milagra scrunched up her nose at the uncharacteristic scent in the air.

“Is Saeran going into the Outer Realm? Or to the human world again?”

Riona worried when Saeran left the safety of the Sidhe. As king, there were always threats to his life and Riona, as a seer, saw all of them in vivid detail. More than once Milagra had found Riona crying from the visions. But the future was always in motion, Riona had said nothing was set in stone. As the thought of Saeran out and away from the Sidhe rang through Milagra, she felt her face heat with excitement. A part of Milagra craved the freedom to roam, to know what the realm beyond and the world outside the Sidhe looked like.

“Yes, dearest, he is,” Riona whispered, brushing one of Milagra’s stray curls from her face.

“Oh, Riona, can I go?” Milagra blurted out, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. Her body practically vibrated with the electric emotion. “I would love to see Faerie. Oh please, can I go? I can watch over him for you.”

Riona stared back at her with a worried, horrified expression. Her eyes were wide, sparkling in an emotion Milagra could scent as fear and her lips disappeared into a thin red line.

“Can you go where, Darling?” Saeran asked from the door.

His rich, baritone hummed along her skin. Leaning casually against the doorframe in a deep moss-green tunic a few shades darker than his skin, he was the epitome of confidence and Milagra envied that self-assurance.

“I have the two most beautiful women in Faerie,” he said. A contented smile lit up his features, making the bright yellow of his eyes shine. “How can I be of service?”

“You can turn off the charm, Saeran, we’re immune,” Riona said as she crossed her arms under her perfectly pert breasts in mock protest.

Milagra hoped her own body grew and shaped like Riona’s long, lithe form one day, wanting so much to be beautiful. Somehow, she had her doubts.

“You’re immune, are you?” he asked, a smirk cresting his full lips. He stalked toward Riona with purpose in his glare and determination in his stride. Sliding his hands around her waist, he tugged her to him in a tight embrace, body against body.

Milagra had seen this a thousand times, wishing that someone would love her as Saeran loved Riona. He kissed her in a chaste brush of lips but Milagra could see how affected Riona was by the way her eyes fluttered open and her slender form melded to his.

Clearing her throat, Riona gazed up into his startling yellow eyes. “Completely immune,” she said with a small, almost imperceptible smile curling her mouth up at the corners.

Saeran peered down at his wife and queen with adoration and something else Milagra didn’t understand. She’d seen that particular look before though in the way her father had looked at her mother.

Milagra tried not to think about her father too much. She was happier when she didn’t.

“Can I go with you?” Milagra blurted out again, before she lost her nerve.

“To the Outer Realm?” Saeran asked, trepidation making his voice deep. His gaze darted to meet Riona’s as if in question.

“It’s not safe, Saeran,” Riona hissed.

“But you’re gone so frequently,” Milagra whispered. “I never get to spend time with you.”

“You know I have a large Kingdom to rule. Matters require my attention beyond the Sidhe,” Saeran said, his voice stern, but soft.

“Yes, Saeran. But I could help you,” Milagra said, eyes wide with hope as Saeran’s jaw loosened and she could see the hesitation waning as his posture relaxed. He had become a father to her and Riona a mother, the parents she had lost. Wanting to be everything they wanted and needed her to be, Milagra needed them to love her. She didn’t want to disappoint them and be less than they deserved. She had disappointed her father. She needed Saeran and Riona too much. She couldn’t disappoint them too.

“Help him?” Riona snapped. “Saeran?”

“Please, Saeran.” Taking a pensive step forward, Milagra rung her hands against her stomach, waiting.

“Riona, what do you see?” he asked, gazing into his wife’s grief stricken blue eyes.

“I don’t know. Her future is cloudy. Beyond my reach.” She closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.

When she opened them a few moments later, all Milagra could see were her blue irises swirling like a tide pool as the sight took over. Magic filled the room, heavy and burdensome.

“She is shrouded in darkness. So much darkness, I cannot see.” Riona spoke in an ethereal tone, as if she stood on a mountain top miles away from where her body rested. Her oracle nature always sent shivers through Milagra as the magic made the air thick to breathe and smell of burnt goldenrod. Trying to hide the chill crawling up her spine, she stiffened her back. Milagra couldn’t afford for Saeran or Riona to discard her as her father had so she hid her unease at Riona’s magic.

“What is it?” Saeran asked, stroking Riona’s soft, flushed face.

“I cannot say,” Riona whispered. “Baba has a hand in this, I think. The darkness, it feels familiar.”

Saeran glanced at Milagra and then back to Riona. “I’m torn between leaving her here and taking her,” he whispered.

“Taking her!” Riona snapped, her bright blue irises jolted back into place, clear and angry. “You have always underestimated Baba. I assure you, she is nothing to trifle with. If her dark hand is wrapped in Milagra’s future, we would be wise not to ignore the signs.” The liquid heat of magic flushed her already rosy cheeks as storm clouds gathered through the canopy above. Her power grew until the sky above was cracking with lightning and churning storm clouds.

“My love,” Saeran soothed, brushing her golden tresses back from her face. “We can’t keep her sheltered here forever. If she is to live among us, she needs to see the dangers in the world. Even in the Sidhe, she is not entirely safe. You know there are those who would see the Unseelie court revived. She would be used as a pawn to use against us.”

“But, Saeran,” Riona whispered as a single tear caressed her lovely cheek. “She’s just a girl.”

“She’s almost a woman now. Suitors for her hand will come from the Sidhe and beyond in a few years. She needs to know what to expect and how to defend herself. I would not have her helpless.”

Saeran released Riona’s hand, taking the three long strides to close the distance between he and Milagra. Standing tall before her, Milagra tilted her head up. His shoulders were back and his face grim as he met her gaze.

“If you are to go with me, you must do exactly as I say and when I say it. No questions. You will stick by my side at all times, no wandering and no whining. Do you understand?” His tone was forceful and resolute but excitement twinkled in his eyes.

Milagra nodded her head enthusiastically, leaping into his arms.

Saeran clutched her to him, lifting her feet from the ground in his embrace. “I won’t let anything happen to my little miracle,” he whispered into her hair.

“Promise me,” Riona snapped, her melodic voice strained. “Promise me nothing will happen to her or to you,” she begged. Her words caught in the back of her throat as she spoke and her eyes flooded with unshed tears.

Milagra was still clutched in Saeran’s embrace as he turned to Riona. “I vow to you no harm will come to her or I,” he said with confidence.

Setting Milagra back down on her own two feet, Saeran stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Get your things together, my dear, and pack warm. We leave at twilight.”