Harlequin Nocturne May 2016 Box Set (30 page)

“Gladly.” He held out a hand and Jethro clasped it. “You know where to find me.”

“Likewise. And thanks. For clothing me as well as saving my life.” Jethro plucked at the T-shirt that strained across his muscular chest.

Lorcan watched him walk away before hauling his backpack onto his shoulder and making his way up the beach toward the port. The resistance safe house was within walking distance, and he drank in the early morning sights and sounds of the city as he made plans. Shower and sleep were fairly high on his list of priorities. Then he had to get to Otherworld and find out what had happened to Tanzi. If anyone could tell him what was going on within the dysfunctional sidhe royal family, it would be Cal.

The safe house was in a decidedly seedy area close to the famous promenade known as the Ramblas. Lorcan followed a series of narrow lanes that led him behind a fish market, dodging prostitutes, drunks and rough sleepers as he went. The location of the safe house was a closely guarded secret and Cal himself had overseen the web of detailed spells that had been woven around it to ward off intruders. Lorcan was one of the few people who could walk up the steep steps and knock on the scarred panels of the door without hindrance. He was conscious of hidden eyes observing him for several minutes before the door creaked open just wide enough to allow him to slip inside.

“Hola, Pedro.”
The sidhe caretaker spoke very little and, when he did, only in Spanish. Fortunately, Lorcan had become fluent in that language over the years. Pedro had a reputation for never sleeping. During all the years he had been coming here, Lorcan had certainly never known a time, day or night, when the door was opened by anyone else. “How goes it?”

Pedro shrugged, closing the door behind him. From the expression on his face it might reasonably be construed that the world was about to come to an end.

“I'm going straight to my room.” Lorcan placed his foot on the first stair. Pedro and his wife, Maria, tried to keep one of the tiny attic bedrooms free for him. At times like this he was eternally grateful for their consideration.

“No, Senor Lorcan.
No es posible.
” Pedro's voice halted him before he could advance any farther.

“Why isn't it possible?”

“The house is full. We gave your room to the girl.”

“What girl might this be?”

“The one they found beaten and half-naked in an alley behind the Ramblas.” Conversing with Pedro was like wading through treacle at the best of times. Now, when he was bone tired, dirty and hungry, it was like having to wade there and back again.

“Pedro, try to remember I haven't been here for weeks. I know nothing about any girl.”

Pedro's smile was mildly triumphant. “No one does. She won't speak. All she will say is your name.”

“
My
name?”

“
Sí.
‘I need Lorcan Malone.' Two days and this is all she will say.”

Two days. He had left for Tangier five days ago. “I will go up and see this girl for myself.”

Pedro returned no reply and Lorcan made his way up the familiar staircase with its worn carpet and peeling paintwork. Money was always tight and renovations were a luxury of which the resistance could only dream.
How the hell did I end up in charge here?
No one else wanted the job. That was the obvious answer. Being bloody good at what he did was the other. Hating Moncoya enough to want to bring down his network of evil was probably closest to the truth.

Moncoya represented the Celtic sidhes. The opposing Iberian sidhes formed the main backbone of the resistance. Ancient animosities still burned deep. Even with Moncoya in hiding, his network of evil remained in place. The work of the resistance was more important than ever now that Moncoya's allies had been driven underground. Every penny was needed for the fight.

Lorcan paused with his hand on the attic room's doorknob. He had no wish to startle this girl, whoever she might be. Most of the people who sought refuge in the safe house had traumatic stories to tell. Moncoya's mortal residence, La Casa Oscura, was the most well-known of the dark houses. It was a portal to Otherworld, leading to the sleaziest side of the beautiful kingdom. Trafficking of substances and beings was rife, and La Casa Oscura was the conduit for much of this illegal trade. If this girl had been trafficked and used in ways Lorcan did not care to dwell upon, she would be disturbed. And rightly so. A man bursting into her room in the early hours was not going to help her recovery.

Yet this girl was asking for him by name, and he had no idea why. He needed to discover who she was in order to solve that riddle. Perhaps he could enter the room and get a glimpse of her without waking her? Gingerly, he turned the doorknob. It was locked. He felt a proprietorial sense of pride toward the unnamed girl who had the sense to protect herself against intruders. Feeling slightly furtive, Lorcan fished his own key out of his pocket. As the unofficial leader of the resistance, he was the only person with his own room, and his own key. After a moment's hesitation, he unlocked the door.

There was enough early-morning light sneaking through the thin curtains to allow him to assess the scene. The girl was lying on her side, facing away from the door. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Frowning, he entered the room and closed the door behind him, leaning his shoulders against its battered panels as he gazed down at her. Two things alerted him immediately to her identity.

It was the bright mass of wavy blond locks spilling over the pillow almost to the floor together with her unmistakable scent—a subtle floral mix of violets, lily of the valley and jasmine that smelled natural and was probably wildly expensive—that told him who she was.

Why would the Crown Princess Tanzi—spoiled brat sidhe royal, Moncoya's darling daughter, Valkyrie-trained warrior, Otherworld fashion icon—have turned up at this run-down resistance safe house? And why would she be asking for Lorcan when at their last encounter she had spent all her time looking down her dainty, aristocratic nose at him?

CHAPTER 3

T
anzi came awake slowly, blinking as she took in the shabby, vaguely familiar surroundings. Consciousness wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. She was in the safe house.
Safe.
That was the essential word. Her head still ached. Her knees, face and ribs were a rainbow of bruises, but at least Moncoya couldn't get to her here.

It must have been very early because the room was semidark and there were no noises, voices or footsteps echoing around the rambling house. She yawned, turned and stifled the startled cry that rose to her lips as her gaze took in a pair of long, denim-clad legs stretched out in the chair near the window. The lower body was all she could see. Whoever it was had fallen asleep with his upper half in shadow. It was definitely a he. She did a double check, and the larger-than-average bulge in the crotch of his jeans confirmed it. A blush burned her cheeks.
When there is an unknown man in your room, does size matter?

But I locked that door. I know I did!
Carefully, she felt under the pillow for confirmation. There was the key. Next to it was the carving knife she had stolen from Maria's kitchen drawer on her first night in the safe house. Her hand closed gratefully around the handle. Wincing as the movement triggered a sharp pain in her injured side, she slid stealthily from the bed with the knife extended in front of her. The only time in her life Tanzi had been caught unawares was in that alley two days ago. It would never happen again. This intruder was going to wish he had finished the job when he first broke in instead of taking time out for a nap. The thought jolted her. If he intended to harm her, why
had
he fallen asleep?

She paused, inches from him, trying to get a look at his face.
Hesitation
.
Bad mistake, Tanzi.
She could hear the words spoken in the voice of the Valkyrie mentor her father had employed to train his daughters. The intruder's hand snaked out and caught Tanzi by the wrist. There was a blur of movement and he was on his feet, his body colliding hard with hers. The knife went spinning across the room. With her weapon gone and her opponent so much taller than her, Tanzi resorted to street-fighting tactics. Keeping her head low, she aimed for his eyes with her nails, missed and pulled out a chunk of his hair instead. When he grunted in pain and responded by pinning her arms at her sides, she attempted to knee him in the groin.

Within seconds, it was all over. With no very clear idea of what had happened, Tanzi was sprawled on her back on the bed with her opponent straddling her and pinning her hands above her head.

“Considering you've been going around telling everyone how much you need me, this is not quite the welcome I was expecting.”

The words, and the Irish accent, acted like a spell on Tanzi and she stopped struggling. Following his naked, muscular torso upward, her gaze encountered the very pair of smiling blue eyes she had been seeking. Lorcan studied her face, his head on one side. There was a flash of something in his eyes that she had never seen before. It drove the laughter away, replacing it with a cold, hard fury that made her shiver.

“Christ, Tanzi, you look like shit.”

“So do you.”

It was true. His good looks always had a dangerous edge to them, as if he should be a bad-boy rock star or a Byronic hell-raiser. Today he was taking the cynical, world-weary look to extremes. His eyes were bloodshot, his chiseled jawline darkened with stubble. He didn't even bother to brush away the characteristic flop of dark blond hair from his brow. Clearly deciding she was no longer a danger to him, Lorcan risked letting her go and moved to sit on the side of the bed.

“I haven't slept in—” he paused and clearly had to think about it “—two nights.”

“So why did you break in here and sleep in the chair?”

A corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “You were in my bed.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Your need was greater than mine.”

Tanzi felt at a disadvantage lying down. She was also conscious that she was wearing nothing but her underwear and a very old, faded T-shirt that Maria had unearthed for her. She shuffled into a sitting position, wincing as the movement caused more pain in her ribs.

“Did I hurt you?” Lorcan's tone was apologetic.

“Yes. But I was going to kill you so I suppose it can be forgiven.”

He started to laugh. “Always so literal. Why are you here, Tanzi?”

“Pedro and Maria gave me this room.”

“You know that's not what I meant. Tell me why I shouldn't immediately suspect this is one of your father's tricks to infiltrate the resistance.”

She fiddled with a loose thread on the bottom of the T-shirt. It meant she could keep her head down and avoid looking at him. “On the battlefield that day, when you rescued me, you made me a promise. That you would be there for me if I needed you.” Suddenly the words were hard to say. Why hadn't she anticipated this? She took a deep breath and looked up. Lorcan's steady blue eyes gave her the confidence she sought. “I need you now.”

He didn't hesitate. “Then you have me. I'm all yours.”

An emotion she had never felt before tugged hard at Tanzi's chest. Was it gratitude? Tenderness? Empathy? They were all new to her. Moncoya discouraged mortal emotion, particularly where his daughters were concerned. Tanzi and Vashti were his finely tuned weapons. Their hearts should be encased in steel. It was an odd sensation to discover that her own steel casing might have a flaw. Tanzi's voice was husky when she spoke again. “Aren't you going to ask me why?”

“If you want me to know, I expect you'll tell me in your own time.” Lorcan stretched his arms above his head. “Right now, if I don't shower and then get some breakfast, I'll be no use to you or anyone.”

* * *

The square was crowded with students. Competing music blared from open dormitory windows and from the bars around the outer edge. Lorcan skirted around skateboarders, impromptu dancers and chattering groups, carrying beer and pizza to where Tanzi was sitting on the steps of the university building waiting for him. She wore leggings and a sweatshirt that was at least three sizes too big. Her hair was tied back and hidden under a black baseball cap, and her face was still swollen and bruised. Even so, when she looked up with a smile as he approached, he felt the full impact of the effect she had on him. It hit him somewhere just south of his abdomen. Whom was he kidding? The feeling began well south of his abdomen. He told himself it was what faeries did best. Their ability to enchant was legendary. Faerie glamor, his mother would have called it. The old-fashioned term and the memory of his mother made him smile. Moncoya's dislike of the phrase was well-known. The faerie king preferred to believe it was his personal charm that drew others to him. Dismissing the unwelcome intrusion of Moncoya into his thoughts, Lorcan joined Tanzi on the step.

“I thought you wanted to talk to me in private?” Tanzi leaned in close so that he could hear her above the noise. Her breath brushed tantalizingly close to his ear.

“I do.” He pointed with his beer bottle at the teeming square. “No one here is remotely interested in us or anything we have to say. They are all too busy having their own good time.”

She laughed, taking a slice of pizza from the box on his knee and biting into it with very white, very even teeth. He remembered another thing his mother used to say. “Are you claiming me for your own?” He nodded at the pizza. “Sharing food with me? In faerie terms, doesn't this mean I belong to you now?”

Tanzi blushed and glanced down at the slice of pizza in her hand. “I didn't think. I never meant...”

“I'm teasing you. In a way, I'm already yours to command. I told you that three months ago, on the day of the battle for control of Otherworld.”

She drew in a deep breath and, for a moment, he thought she was about to say something more. Instead, she nodded at the crowded square. “Is this what you mortals do?”

So she bought in to the pretense that he was mortal. Most people did. He was good at it and it was half-true, anyway. He didn't contradict her. “Have fun? Yeah, we try. Sometimes we even succeed.”

They ate and drank in companionable silence.

“What did you wish to say to me?” Tanzi turned to face him and Lorcan thought again how amazing her eyes were. The bright blaze of sidhe fire around her irises made the blue of her pupils appear darker. There was something slightly feline in the slant of her eyes and the finely arched brows above them. A man could drown in those eyes. Unless he was very careful.

“If you are to remain in the safe house, we must take great care not to let anyone know who you are.” The long lashes swept down, shadowing her cheeks, but not before he caught a glimpse of the pain his words had caused her.

“Because of my father.”

“Yes.” What else could he say? There was no way to soften the blow. She was Moncoya's daughter. If she was recognized, she'd be lucky to get out of the safe house in one piece. Moncoya had wrecked too many lives for anyone to forgive and forget. And Tanzi was no innocent. She had played a willing part in her father's villainy.

“Was I wrong to come here?”

“No. You were right to come to me. I will keep my promise and take care of you, but you need to face facts. Your name isn't going to win you any popularity contests among the Iberian sidhes.”

“So what story shall I tell? What must my name be?”

Lorcan frowned. He hadn't thought of her name. But there was only one Tanzi. She was as well-known as her father. The name had to go. “Keep it simple. You have no story because you have no memory. You don't even remember your own name.”

“I can't be nameless. You will have to call me something.”

He stared into those endless eyes. “I will call you
Searc
.”

Tanzi wrinkled her nose. “I'm not sure I like that. What does it mean?”

“Ah, some old Irish words have lost their meaning in the mists of time,” he lied. “Now, if you are to stay at the safe house, you must earn your keep.”

Tanzi started to laugh, the action bringing her shoulder into contact with Lorcan's arm. A warm feeling spread from his chest to his stomach. She was addictive. Perhaps he should allow himself these small doses of her touch now and then. Just to develop immunity and test his own strength. “I have not been trained to cook or wash dishes.”

“You should offer to help Maria with both. She'll refuse, but it will endear you to her. No, I think your fighting skills will prove more useful than your domestic talents.” How would she respond? He was asking her to take up arms against her father. It was the ultimate test of how serious she was.

Tanzi's face told him she understood. For a moment her expression was open to him and the anguish he read in her eyes shocked him. What had Moncoya done to her?

“Agreed.”

That single word said it all. Whatever had caused her to run to him, it was so bad she was prepared to change sides. Lorcan knew how that felt. It was the hardest decision in the world. Without thinking, he took her hand in his. Tanzi looked down in surprise. Briefly, she let her hand rest passively in Lorcan's palm. Then she turned it and twined her fingers between his. It was a touching, trusting gesture. They sat together for a long time, hand in hand, watching the lively display of life unfolding in the square in front of them.

“Tell me about the men who hurt you.” Lorcan broke the silence at last.

She let go of his hand, and it felt as if a spell had been broken. Perhaps it had. “I was foolish.”

“You trusted me enough to come looking for me. You can tell me about this.” Pedro said they had found her half-naked and beaten. That was bad enough. Was it even worse? His mind made a connection he didn't want. “Tell me they didn't—?”

“No.” She interrupted quickly. Her cheeks flamed. “They didn't rape me. Is that what you meant?” He nodded. “They were street performers. Dressed as a bullfighter and a bull. I suppose they thought I was just a naive tourist flaunting my expensive clothes. I think it could have been much worse, but I'd told them I was looking for you. They knew your name. They seemed to be afraid of you.”

“So they bloody should be.” His jaw muscles tightened.

“They called you a renegade. What did they mean by that?”

Lorcan didn't answer at first.
Renegade.
It was a word he hadn't heard in a long time. A word he had hoped never to hear again. When he did speak, it wasn't in answer to Tanzi's question.

“I know who they are.”

* * *

Tanzi regarded Lorcan thoughtfully. “You take your old room, I can sleep in here.”

She indicated the cramped space in which they were standing. It was the only other room on the top floor of the house and, until an hour ago, it had been used by Maria as a linen closet. After returning from the square, Lorcan and Tanzi had cleared it of its contents and carried a foldaway bed up the winding stairs all the way from the cellar. It just fitted into the cramped space. Maria, after eying the arrangement in disgust, was making her way—with much huffing and complaining—down the stairs with laden armfuls of bedding.

“Sure, isn't this the height of luxury after some of the places I've been forced to get my head down in my time?” He grinned and Tanzi's stomach responded by doing a strange little flip-flop movement. She wondered briefly if it might be some sort of necromancer spell. If it was, its purpose eluded her. “Go to bed,
Searc
.”

It must be a spell, she decided later. Why else would she be drifting aimlessly around her room in a giddy trance, listening to the sounds of Lorcan getting into bed in the room next door? Smiling to herself as she heard him bump his head on the low ceiling and curse? Picturing the tanned torso she had seen that morning and imagining running her fingers lightly over those interesting ridges of muscle? Discovering that she was not, as she had always believed, immune to the pull of sexual attraction that others found so enticing?