Embrace the Mystery [03] Blood Rose Series (4 page)

“She’s watching your home?”

“She’s waiting for me to lower my shields so she can bring in the big boys. You know those wraith-pairs you fought two nights ago?”

His brow rose. “Two nights ago? Sweet Goddess. I’ve been out that long?”

“Do you remember the pain?”

“Not really.” He shook his head slowly. “Just, I don’t know, I remember something entering my mind, a kind of ease.”

“That was me.”

“No wonder I slept and healed so damn fast. I really do owe you, don’t I?”

“Kind of. But do you think the ancient fae was really after me?”

“I do remember her words. She wasn’t expecting me to be there, so if it wasn’t me, then it had to be you.”

“I guess. I just don’t know what to do next. I mean if they were after me, because of what I can do, and they could take you down like that, where will I ever be safe?

“Besides, I’ve built a life here, one that I love.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on. “I don’t ever plan on living anywhere else, either.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “A real ex-pat.”

“Absolutely, and proud of it.”

His gaze skated away from hers. He sounded almost reverent as he said, “I can’t imagine living anywhere but in Grochaire.”

She felt a familiar twinge of guilt when she thought of the Nine Realms, especially in the face of Quinlan’s dedication to her birth-world.

“So let me understand something, Batya. You’ve got sufficient power to sustain an enthrallment shield around your entire building, for what appears to be an indefinite amount of time.”

“Pretty much.”

He released a sigh. “I had no idea you had this kind of power, but then it explains why the ancient fae would be after you.”

“I suppose.”

“I’ll pay for the window, of course.”

“It’s not necessary. The Invictus did this and that she-devil who created them. ”

He rubbed his thumb over what was now a crevice between his thick black brows.

Even upset he looked sexy as hell and it didn’t help that the sheet he’d just pulled up hung below his navel. She had a perfect view of a spectacular chest, tight abs, and heavy pecs that she wanted her mouth on.

His gaze shifted toward her and his hand dropped away from his face. “What’s with all the scent now rolling at me?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “You know, I’ve been thinking of changing that mural.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be a problem since you changed the subject as quick as lightning.”

She laughed and met his gaze once more. “You look good to me right now and before that goes to your head it’s only because I’ve come to realize that I’ve been without a man for too long and as soon as we get this situation sorted out, I’m going to start dating again.”

“Date me.”

She laughed. “That’s not dating. That’s sex.”

“Then sex me. Use me. I can handle it.”

She tilted her head. “I want more and I know you can’t deliver what I want.”

He sat up, grabbed her arm and let some of his wicked vibration float over her skin. She shivered, a full body shake that made her gasp. “How do you do that?”

He released her and sank back down on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head. He looked so smug, so self-satisfied. “I’ve had lots and lots of practice. Now just imagine all that vibration, elsewhere, in conjunction with other things. I wouldn’t dismiss a purely sexual relationship, Batya, not one with me.” His dark eyes glittered.

She stood up and let her skirts fall where they may. “I’ve been trying to avoid exactly this kind of liaison since you first started sniffing around here. But we don’t need to settle anything right now. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

“You changed the subject again.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at it.”

She didn’t wait for him to make another suggestive remark but headed toward the door. But before moving into the hall she said he could use Lorelei’s shower, that she’d find him some clothes, and bring him her special crème rinse.”

“Thank you, Batya. I mean it. You saved my life.”

Her throat tightened as she nodded. “Anytime, mastyr. Anytime.”

As she moved into the hall, she drew a deep breath. The ancient fae had intruded in her world and right now she had no idea how long her siege would last, or if her life would ever return to normal.

Chapter Two

Quinlan showered, washing the mass of his hair twice then applying Batya’s crème rinse so that he’d have a half-way decent shot at getting the snarls out.

Using her blow dryer, he cursed as he watched his long, thick hair fly around. Why couldn’t a vampire, especially a Guardsman, have some kind of preternatural power to remove tangles and dry his hair without electricity?

“Want some coffee with your ‘shits’ and ‘damn-all-the-elf-lords-to-hell’?”

He met Batya’s reflection in the mirror, and saw a mug extended in his direction.

He shut the dryer off, turned around, and took the cup. “Guess I wasn’t holding back much.”

Batya chuckled. “No, you weren’t.”

She had dimples, two of them. Not deep, but they were definitely there. He’d never really noticed before, but on the other hand most of his seduction work had taken place at a distance.

But right now, he sipped his coffee and had a good, long look. Her large, hazel eyes had to be her best feature, although her straight nose and striking cheekbones took a powerful second-best. Her chin angled to a lovely fae point.

Her gaze flicked over his hair. “Turn around. I’ll work the back section.”

Since she reached past him and grabbed the brush, he decided to take her up on the offer. That he didn’t hesitate resonated in his brain as a serious warning of some kind, but he wasn’t sure in what way.

She picked up a thick section and started at the tips. He couldn’t even feel the tugs so he drank his coffee and released a sigh.

His thoughts turned, as they so often did, to Grochaire. “I need to get word to Rafe, my second-in-command, to warn him about what he might be up against. But my telepathy isn’t working through your shield and my phone got blasted by one of those wraith-pairs.”

“You can try my phone, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get through, not with the shield I have in place. I can reach my Lebanon people, but I doubt you’ll get through to any of the realms. And, sorry, but I’m not letting the shield down, not for nothing. Staying alive has priority here.”

He smiled because he couldn’t have agreed with her more.

She brushed through another long length, hit a snag and started working it. He could see her in the mirror, brow furrowed. He’d seen that look already, more than once just conversing with her. She had a seriousness about her that he approved of, maybe because it matched his own.

He sipped some more and watched her. She was a beautiful woman and tall, maybe just under six feet. He wouldn’t have to lean too far down to kiss her. She wore her hair loose with clips holding it away from her face.

He knew her ancestry, half-fae, half-troll, her genetics having fallen on the fae side. Realm-DNA did that when the species mixed. The offspring landed one way or another, the same if more than two lines made up the code. Genetics always picked a lane.

But perhaps above all, Batya was an artist.

“Have you ever done a self-portrait?”

She picked up another long hunk of his hair and once more started at the tips, working swiftly. “I don’t really do faces. I’ve always been into landscapes and the occasional still-life if the objects intrigue me enough.”

“Do you go out, snap photos of woodlands, that kind of thing?”

“Sometimes.” She stopped brushing and scratched her cheek with her thumb. “But more often than not I’ll get these rich images in my head and that’s what I’ll paint.”

“Sounds fae.”

She started brushing again, making quick work as he continued to sip his coffee. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t think about it. I just paint and let the spirit move me.”

He smiled. “The spirit, huh?”

“It’s a good earth-saying, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. So you really like being here on human earth.”

“I do. In fact, I love it. I didn’t know what happiness or freedom was until I moved here.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “And I don’t plan on ever returning to the Nine Realms. The day that we made our treaties with the US turned out to be the best day of my life.”

“You run a free clinic. I know that much. What else?”

She shrugged. “I have my gallery and I teach classes on assimilation for ex-pats, currency, lingo, that kind of thing. Most stop saying ‘sweet Goddess’ by the end of the first year and use the more typical ‘OMG’.”

“And you really don’t miss Grochaire? Not even a little?” He couldn’t imagine how anyone could feel like that. Grochaire lived in his bones.

“No.” Strident tone, too strident.

“So, what happened that set you against your own world?”

“I’m not set against Grochaire.” She ran the brush down his hair, top to bottom, one section at a time. “I think I’m done.”

“What? That was damn fast.”

“You’d done most of the work already. You just don’t have enough patience.”

One side of his mouth curved. “You got that right.” Turning toward her, mug still in hand, he added, “Now tell me what happened, subject-changer. Why did you leave Grochaire?”

Lorelei called out that the food was ready.

Batya smiled. “Good-timing because I think the inquest is over for now. Get dressed.” She waved a hand over the towel wrapped around his waist, then left the room.

“I’ll be asking again,” he called out as she disappeared down the hall.

“Whatever.”

He set his mug down and drew his hair back, securing it in the traditional Guardsman’s woven clasp. He experienced a sudden and powerful need to get the hell out of Lebanon.

He didn’t like being away from Grochaire for any length of time. All his responsibilities were there, his commitments, his devotion. He would never understand the ex-pat mentality of those like Batya who turned their backs on the realm-world. And knowing the level of her power, that she could create an enthrallment shield strong enough to keep an ancient fae and uber-powerful wraith-pairs from busting through, meant that she could have been useful to their ongoing war against the Invictus.

Still, there was a story there and he liked enough about Batya to want to hear what she had to say to justify her decisions. Generally, as closed-minded as he was about ex-pats, he wrote them off.

But Batya broke the mold. She wasn’t into earth-based drugs, looking for a fix as many ex-pats were. She used her abilities for good and looked after the realm-community in Lebanon, she volunteered her powers, and she had a thriving business.

But what could have driven her out of Grochaire?

* * * * * * * * *

Batya didn’t go immediately to the oversized kitchen and dining area of her downstairs gallery rooms. Instead, she paused about ten feet down the hall and put a hand to her chest.

She realized suddenly that she felt oddly fatigued this afternoon and more than once her heart seemed to labor in her chest.

Maybe she was getting some weird version of a human virus, something that happened occasionally in her community, though rarely for her. She had a superb constitution, otherwise, and came from extremely long-lived stock. Her father was over two-thousand-years old, a famous troll in the Nine Realms, so she was a little surprised that she wasn’t in top form.

Of course, she hadn’t exactly gotten a lot of sleep over the past two nights and she’d donated quite a bit of blood to bring Quinlan back from the brink.

At least she wouldn’t be taking her usual appointments. As soon as Quinlan had been out of danger, she’d contacted their

sister clinic across town. She’d told the administrator about her supposed ‘burglary’, unwilling to upset her community until she better understood what needed to happen next. She could bring people in by extending her enthrallment shield, so food wouldn’t be an issue.

Lorelei, on the other hand, was strangely calm about all that was happening, which somehow didn’t seem right to Batya, as though Lorelei knew something she wasn’t sharing.

But as her heart continued to beat erratically, she tried to sort things out, to determine what if anything she could do about the ancient fae and the danger she presented.

Yet, as she rubbed her chest in a slow circle, she knew another kind of danger had invaded her gallery and it stood about six-six, had the body of a god, and smelled so incredible that the whole time she’d been brushing Quinlan’s hair, she’d wanted to sink her face in the mass, burrow through, then bite the back of his neck.

He just smelled so damn good, like wood smoke. Yes, that was what he smelled like, the burning of a rich bonfire.

She knew the rumors about his early life, that he’d killed his father. The Sidhe Council had exonerated him all those centuries ago, but the story still circulated and gave her pause. Quinlan had a darkness within, an almost tangible quality, maybe as a result of what he’d done, she didn’t know. She also didn’t know if she could trust him.

The level of attraction she felt for Quinlan mystified her. She’d known him since she could remember, but something must have changed recently to have brought him chasing her skirts. And why was the sudden attraction so mutual?

But if she was honest with herself, she’d always been drawn to him like most of the women she knew. However, until he’d begun this ridiculous pursuit, wanting to bed her, she’d always supposed her interest in him had its source in his obvious physical prowess. The man was built, gorgeous, and carried a kind of deadly air that got to her. If he became determined, she wouldn’t be able to fight him off, a thought that sent a shiver down her back and tightened things very deep.

Now, however, that she’d brought him back from the dead, shared a brief but lovely orgasm with him, and actually brushed out his really magnificent hair, she felt more in danger from him than ever before. He had the capacity to strip something vital from her, from her life, from her self-purpose as a troll-fae and as an ex-pat.