Read Old Dog, New Tricks Online
Authors: Hailey Edwards
Tags: #Black Dog Series, #Dark Fantasy, #Urban Fantasy, #Hailey Edwards, #new adult, #urban fantasy romance, #dark fantasy romance, #Coming of Age
Old Dog, New Tricks (28 page)
“Be that as it may...” his gaze sought out Mom and then slid back to me, “...I have other priorities now.”
She scooted closer to me, wrapped an arm around my waist and rested her chin on my shoulder. Mac took my hand and hers and squeezed them both. We sat there like that, almost like a real family, until the hand-rubbing next to me took on an uncomfortable urgency and the air between my parents began crackling like wild faefire whooshing through a forest after a drought.
I tried sticking it out long enough to ask Mac about getting my hand healed—it bled worse each day spent under the charm—but I conceded defeat once the kissing started. Shaw and I bolted for the exit from Mac’s underground tomb after their reunion noises shifted to a whole different kind of happy.
Shudder
.
“Well, girl, are you satisfied?” a loud voice rang out overhead. “Is he well enough for you?”
Squinting up the long flight of stairs ahead of me, I gave the Huntsman a wave. “I am, yeah.”
The warmth of Shaw’s hand at my lower back nudged me up the stairs and into the sunlight.
“I can heal that if you like, or you can wait for your father,” the Huntsman offered. “Your choice.”
I must have been rubbing the cut. Again. “Can you?”
Mac had made it seem like a difficult fix. Wouldn’t he have simply said,
My father can do it
?
“Oh, aye.” He stroked his muddied beard. “Long as I have the right herb, it’s easily done.”
I groaned and fell back against Shaw. “Tell me you’re not sending me on some epic quest.”
The Huntsman flicked a leaf from his braids and eyed me speculatively. “The kitchen’s there.”
My gaze traveled the length of his arm to a small circle of stones arranged around a roaring fire. The more I noticed about the layout and the supplies, the more it resembled an outdoor kitchen.
“You have everything you need?” Shaw sounded as doubtful as I felt.
“Your father picked agrimony for you from the Halls of Summer.” He set off toward the pit. “It must be hung to dry out in the sunlight. Given the situation, he felt it best I handle the preparations.”
That explained the plants Mac had shoved into his pants while I was working my mojo on the tether.
“I had forgotten about that,” I admitted, not having understood their significance.
Trailing after the Huntsman, I dropped down on the wooden stool he indicated with a jerk of his chin while he put a kettle on to boil over the fire. He crossed to a set of open shelves and grabbed bandages and a stone basin. He swung open a tree trunk like a cupboard and removed a clear jar filled with silver flowers.
The Huntsman grunted. “I understand you are to thank for our new consul.”
Deciding he didn’t sound angry, I owned up to it. “I might have encouraged him, yes.”
“His ideas are modern,” the Huntsman groused. “I don’t care for them.”
“Faerie wanted change.” I grinned. “They got it.”
Besides that,
modern
was generous when it came to Rook and his sentiments.
“So it seems.” He sighed. “The High Court is meeting again.”
My thoughts shot to Mac. “You mean Liosliath and Rook?”
His nod shook more leaves fluttering from his hair. “It seems the foundation for the new era was laid while your father slept.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that is for the best. He has other concerns now.”
“Mom,” I said.
“And you,” he replied.
Warmth spread through my chest. “Do you think he’ll come back with us?”
“Faerie isn’t ready to let him go yet.” He smiled as my shoulders drooped. “Perhaps a compromise could be struck?”
Six months spent in the fae realm and six months in the mortal realm?
The possibility of such a compromise blew my mind.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” Shaw said softly. “They’ll figure it out.”
When his hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed, I twined my fingers with his.
“There have been rumors of another half-blood queen rising.” The Huntsman eyed us curiously. “I heard it said she is Unseelie but that she has Seelie alliances, that she herself was once wed to a selkie chieftain.”
Turning my face into my shoulder, I masked my shock by kissing Shaw’s knuckles.
Branwen?
Queen?
“That’s, ah, interesting.” I tried for smooth, but my tongue kept getting tangled. “Really?”
He nodded. “The High Court is considering the benefits of such a union.”
I had to ask, “Is that what you meant by modern?”
“Putting a half-blood on the throne is an ambitious undertaking, but you set a precedent. Though you never wore the crown, you were given the blessing to ascend.” He rose to fetch the whistling kettle. “If you ask me, and no one has, the cooperation of both Seelie and Unseelie House has been bought with the whispers of a half-blood army.”
I blinked. “A half-blood— What?”
Not two hours ago I left Branwen with fair warning she had to decide if she was coming home with me or staying with Rook, and neither had mentioned these developments to me.
“Seems half-bloods are taking notice of one of their own being named as consul and are wanting to serve Rook to further his cause.” The Huntsman filled the stone basin with steaming water. “Some say he rallied them. Others say they rallied themselves. Me? I think he didn’t lift one feathery digit. I don’t think he had to.”
“Will this make the fighting worse?” I wondered.
“Aye, it will.” The Huntsman shook a liberal amount of flowers into the water. “Don’t frown so hard, girl. This is a good thing. Now the houses have a common enemy. Their fighting won’t last half as long when there’s a direction to aim all that fury. Besides, rumors aren’t yet fact. Remember that.”
After what Branwen had endured at her mother and Balamohan’s hands, I didn’t want to see her get hurt again. God, I hoped Rook wasn’t sweet-talking his sister into one of his half-baked schemes.
I worried my top lip between my teeth. “What if the queen and the army are more than gossip?”
Shaw’s fingers tapped mine. “Worst-case scenario, Rook and Branwen use the tether and seek asylum in our realm.”
I tipped my head back. “You wouldn’t have a problem with that?”
His lips smashed into a bloodless line. “No.”
“
Liar
.” I screwed my thumb into his side. “It would drive you nuts.”
Shaw grabbed at my hand, and I twisted aside, tumbling off the stool and landing on the ground. He covered me, his weight pressing me into the loamy earth, and my breath caught for reasons that had nothing to do with the fall knocking the breath out of me and everything to do with the punch of citrus tingling through my nose while Shaw restrained me. Good as it felt under him, I didn’t struggle.
“I was going to suggest you hold her still.” The Huntsman towered over me. “This works too.”
I wiggled as he knelt by my head. “Wait—why are we holding me still?”
“So you don’t run.”
He spoke the Word to rip the skin from my palm.
Blinding pain ricocheted through me, engulfing my hand, and I dug my heels into the soft dirt so I wouldn’t scream. Warmth encased my throbbing palm. Jagged spikes of agony shot from the edges of the never-blade wound. Hissing and shaking like a coiled rattler, I waited out the worst pain.
Shaw expertly adjusted his hold on my wrists, pinning them over my head while the Huntsman’s poultice made my fingers twitch and curl and burn like he had set fire to them. I actually twisted so I could make certain I hadn’t fallen into the freaking fire pit. No such luck. That I could have escaped.
This...not so much.
Slowly bleeding to death would suck worse than what I was enduring now. Right?
Right?
An eternity of swear words later, I remembered how to breathe. “I can’t feel my hand.”
Shaw shifted his weight and brought my hand with him as he sat upright. He examined my palm for signs it wasn’t done bleeding. Satisfied no leak was impending, he pressed his lips to my lifeline.
His husky voice whispered over my skin. “Can you feel that?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
His mouth traveled down to my wrist. “What about this?”
The skin stung where he had kept me pinned. “It’s hard to tell.”
His lips moved lower, over my forearm. “This?”
“You two can take it from here,” the Huntsman said on a chuckle I barely heard.
Shaw’s gaze held mine, never flinching as my grandfather rose in my periphery and left.
“I think I felt that one,” I said softly.
Lips curving, he pressed them in an agonizingly slow procession downward, toward the bend of my elbow and lower, to where my arm met my shoulder. He pressed kisses to those places, too, and I felt the burn through the fabric of my top. The warm Autumn day had coaxed me out of the leather armor Shaw insisted I wear when we crossed realms. I kept the pants, but the top was gone. Nothing but a flimsy T-shirt separated his hot mouth from my flushed skin.
His hand found the hem of my top and yanked upward. Fingers spreading over my abdomen, he swept higher until his fingertips brushed the band of my bra. I hissed in a breath and jerked my head to the side to make sure we were alone. Mocking me with his smile, Shaw conceded to my modesty. Or not. His calluses scraped over the tender skin of my navel as he sent his hand seeking lower. I was panting by the time his index finger eased under the waistband of the leather pants I should have ditched earlier. They were skintight and suffocating me.
“Are you feeling any of this?” His teasing finger withdrew. “Or should I stop?”
Screwing up my face in consideration, I wrested control of my arms from him. I worried the thin shirt from his pants and smoothed a hand over the bare skin of his lower back. Wearing my best
butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth
expression, I sent a pulse of magic rolling from my runes straight into his spine, and he arched above me, copper eyes rolling shut and lips parting as a groan tore from his throat.
When those molten eyes opened and fixated on me, I dug in my heels and scooted higher, but he still straddled me, and he had no intentions of letting little things like our clothes or my family, the lack of walls or the fact there were three purple-shelled garden snails (say that three times fast) with protuberant orange eyes on long blue stems ogling us like the best live pay-per-view event
ever
stop him from taking what he wanted.
Lucky girl that I was, the thing Shaw wanted was...me.
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Author’s Note
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D
ear Readers,
When I wrote
Heir of the Dog
as the first book in the Black Dog Trilogy, I planned Thierry's journey to span those three novels and no more. But then I attended the RT Booklovers Convention, and all that changed.
Heir
won the American Idol Contest, and that brought two agents with fresh ideas into the mix. The next thing I knew, the trilogy had expanded to include one more title –
Dog with a Bone.
Dog with a Bone
is a prequel to the series in the sense that the novella cuts a hole into the ceiling of Thierry's past and gives us a glimpse of those first steps that set the events of the trilogy into motion one year later.
With that in mind, I hope you have fun meeting Thierry as a bright-eyed cadet in
Dog with a Bone
and enjoy watching her mature through
Heir of the Dog, Lie Down with Dogs
and
Old Dog, New Tricks
into a woman who knows when laws should be upheld and when they are meant to be broken.
Best,
Hailey Edwards
About the Author
––––––––
A
cupcake enthusiast and funky sock lover possessed of an overactive imagination, Hailey lives in Alabama with her handcuff-carrying hubby, her fluty-tooting daughter and their herd of dachshunds.
Chat with Hailey on
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, or swing by her
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.
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.
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