Prince of Air and Darkness (9 page)

The doorbell rang at the crack of dawn, and Hunter steeled himself for what was to come as he flung the door open. Not surprisingly, Bane had brought backup in the form of two other goblins. Neither one looked delighted with his assignment. Hunter treated them to a chilling glare, and they looked even less happy. He’d killed more goblins than he could count—always on the Queen’s orders, naturally—and most of them were scared shitless of him.

Bane flashed a toothy grin. “Top of the morning to you, Prince,” he said as he shouldered Hunter aside and entered the apartment, his henchmen following reluctantly.

Hunter closed the door and turned to face the goblins. Bane dropped the glamour completely, standing before him in all his goblin ugliness, his body short and squat and powerful, his skin a dead-looking shade of gray, his eyes bulging and glowing with malice.

Bane pulled his lips away from his teeth, displaying his mouthful of fangs. “Well?” he asked with a sneer. “Any progress to report?”

Hunter crossed his arms and stood straight and tall, looking down at the goblin from his superior height. “No.” He could have tried lying, but the Queen had undoubtedly provided the goblin with a spell to detect lies.

“Such a shame,” the goblin said, his eyes even more eager. “Her Majesty will be most disappointed in you.”

Hunter unsheathed his knife with a flick of his wrist. Bane’s henchmen flinched, but Bane just looked amused. He chuckled and pulled a roll of duct tape from his oversized coat. “Hold out your hands with your wrists together.”

Hunter’s lips curled into a very goblin-like smile as he brandished the knife. “Make me.”

Bane rolled his bulging eyes. “You really want to make things worse?”

Hunter shrugged as though it didn’t matter to him one way or another. “I’m curious to see how you plan to restrain me without maiming me.”

“Easy. Three against one. You can count, can’t you Boyo?”

If he’d had his sword, the odds would be heavily in Hunter’s favor. But the little silver knife was only marginally useful against the three heavy, powerful goblins. Still, Hunter was in no mood to go down without a fight. Bane read his intentions and shook his head, tucking the roll of tape back into his coat pocket. His henchmen looked at Hunter nervously, and he scented fear in the air.

“One more chance, Prince,” Bane said. “Resist now, and I’m sure the Queen will make you pay for it later.”

Maybe so, but at least Hunter would still have his pride. “Come and get me,” he taunted, letting the adrenaline of battle overcome his own fear. He crouched at the ready, eager to spill some goblin blood.

Bane took a step toward him, but his henchmen held back. Hunter bared his teeth at them, reveling in their fear as he turned the knife in his hand, letting the blade catch the light.

Bane turned to snarl at his henchmen. “Who are you more afraid of? Him? Or the Queen?”

The reminder helped the goblins find their courage, and all three of them rushed Hunter at once. He slashed at the closest one, but Bane barreled into his legs at the same time, and Hunter managed no more than a shallow cut before he found himself buried under three stinking goblin bodies. They were too heavy pitch off, though that didn’t stop Hunter from trying. A knee pressed brutally into his groin, sapping his strength. A clawed hand grabbed his wrist and slammed his knife hand to the floor until he was forced to let go. After that, the goblins’ body weight and numbers made it impossible to resist as his wrists and ankles were bound by duct tape.

Bane screwed a large metal hook into the ceiling, then tied a length of rope over Hunter’s already-bound wrists. Hunter found himself being dragged to his feet, his arms stretched over his head by the rope, which was tied to the hook in the ceiling. He concentrated on calming the adrenaline surge that had sustained him through the brief struggle. Struggling now would only amuse his tormentors.

His fragile composure was tested when Bane pulled off another length of tape, reaching toward Hunter’s face with the obvious intention of taping his mouth shut.

“You don’t need that and you know it!” Hunter snapped. He had learned early in life that crying out during a punishment was the surest way to make it even worse. He had taught himself to endure in silence, and he had taught himself well.

The goblin just laughed. “Don’t want to upset the neighbors now, do we?” He moved in again, and slapped the length of tape over Hunter’s mouth.

“Let’s see what kind of fun we can have without marking or damaging you,” Bane said, his eyes glowing with bloodlust.

****

When it was over, Bane freed Hunter from the ropes, but not from the duct tape. The goblins left his knife and a vial of potion—a “gift” from his mother that would dull the pain of his internal injuries. He blacked out two or three times before he managed to saw the duct tape off his wrists. When he succeeded, he lay on his back on the floor, panting with the effort. Finally, he found the energy to haul himself back into a sitting position and free his legs. He grasped the little vial of potion his mother had sent him and staggered to the kitchen. He poured a glass of milk, then leaned on the counter and stared at the vial.

He had no doubt that the vial contained exactly what Bane had promised, nor did he doubt that the potion would ease his pain. Right now, he was barely capable of walking, much less making love to a woman, and the Queen needed him whole. What gave him pause was the inevitable speculation as to what was in that potion. He was sure he didn’t want to know.

Hunter unscrewed the cap and breathed through his mouth; if he smelled the damned stuff, he might not be able to force himself to drink it. He held the vial in one hand and the glass of milk in the other. Then, he tossed the contents of the vial down the back of his throat, hoping in vain not to taste it. The foul stuff burned and filled his mouth with the taste of rot and sulfur. Fighting his gag reflex, he chugged down the milk, which, while it didn’t do much to mask the taste, at least coated his throat and eased the burning.

The taste of the potion lingered on his tongue and in the back of his throat. Hunter feared his stomach would reject it if he couldn’t kill that taste, so he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and drank down a healthy dose as he headed to the bedroom. He kept the whiskey close at hand when he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, noticing that the potion seemed already to have dampened the pain.

Hunter sat up gingerly when the phone rang and was pleased to note that while his abdomen ached, it didn’t feel any worse than minor bruises. He reached blindly for the phone, assuming it was Kiera, for no one else knew his number.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” a man’s voice said with great enthusiasm. “Is this Hunter Teague?”

Hunter frowned. He didn’t recognize the voice. “Yeah,” he said after a brief, puzzled pause.

“Oh good! I was hoping I’d be able to catch you.”

Hunter’s frown deepened. Whoever this guy was, he had a naturally deep voice that he was clearly pitching to a higher octave, and his words had an exaggerated lilt to them.

“My name’s Lee Lovelace,” the guy said. “I’m a friend of Kiera’s. You know, Kiera Malone?”

“Ah. Yes, I know Kiera.” Although he’d never come across this Lovelace character in his research into Kiera’s life. He wouldn’t quite label her a recluse, but it was close. As far as he’d been able to determine, her only close friend was a guy named Jackson James. Hunter had investigated James, thinking him a possible romantic rival, only to discover he was gay. Maybe Lovelace was a friend of James’s. “What can I do for you Mr. Lovelace?” But internally, he groaned, having a suspicion what was about to come.

“Well, I was having dinner with our mutual friend the other day, and I was telling her about all these problems I’ve been having with my back, and she told me she was working for a massage therapist, and I told her I thought it was an act of fate, so I was wondering if I could make an appointment.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. Lovelace sounded overly excited about this little coincidence, and it was a wonder he hadn’t passed out from breathlessness. “I’m afraid I’m not open for business yet, Mr. Lovelace,” he said, sure he was crushing the poor guy’s hopes into the ground. “But I can refer you to some excellent therapists in the area if you’d like.”

“What a terrible shame!” Lovelace said, sounding as though life as he knew it was ending.

It occurred to Hunter that Lovelace would relay this conversation to Kiera, and it might be inconvenient to have her thinking he wasn’t open for business yet. He had every intention of getting her onto his table, the sooner the better. But he was damned if he was going to lay hands on anyone else, much less this blatantly gay flake. “So sorry to disappoint you,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as insincere as he was.

“Oh, that’s quite all right. I understand. When will you be opening?”

Hunter rubbed his eyes. He didn’t need this, not now. “I’m not sure of the exact date,” he hedged. “I’ve got some supplies on back order, and I’d like to at least have my website up. If you’ll give me your email address, I’ll be sure to let you know when I have a firm date.”

That seemed to satisfy the pest at last, so Hunter pretended to write the address down.

Chapter 5

Kiera stood outside her mother’s house, thinking that the only sensible thing to do was turn around and high-tail it out of here. But she had promised Jackson she’d consult her mom if Hunter turned him down, and she always kept her promises. Irritated at herself for the hesitation, she reached out and gave the gargoyle-shaped door knocker a couple of firm raps.

Long before she heard her mother’s footsteps approaching, she heard the distinctive clicking sound of dog toenails in the entryway. The fact that Phantom never barked when she knocked had always unnerved her—he barked at everyone else. He was by far the strangest dog she’d ever met. Hell, he didn’t even make her sneeze like every other animal on the planet did.

Moments later, the tapping of her mother’s high heels drowned out the doggie footsteps, and the door swung open.

“Kiera, honey, what a surprise!” her mother exclaimed with great cheer.

Kiera noticed at once that her mother’s cheeks were flushed. Then, she noticed the dark red circle at the base of her neck that looked suspiciously like a hickey. She tore her eyes away, hoping her mother hadn’t noticed her noticing.

The door swung open wider. “Well, come on in, honey. It’s cold out there.”

Kiera was now even less sure that she wanted to be here, but it was too late to back down, so she smiled and stepped through the doorway. Phantom stood a respectful distance away and stared at her, his tail sketching a single wag, which was his idea of an enthusiastic greeting. He was a monster of a dog, an Irish wolfhound that stood as tall as Kiera’s waist. She hated the way he stared at her, for his solemn eyes always had a reproachful, disapproving look to them. And he stared a lot.

“Glad to see you too, Phantom,” she muttered.

Her mother laughed as she breezed by. “He’s just wary, Kiera. He knows your visits often lead to fireworks.” She scratched behind his ears, and he turned his attention away from Kiera to look at her mother with an expression of whole-hearted adoration.

“It must be tough to be worshipped like that,” Kiera said, feeling strangely jealous and drawing another of Phantom’s disapproving looks. She crossed her arms and glared at him. There were times she could have sworn the damn dog understood her.

“Go lie down, Phantom,” her mother said. “You make Kiera nervous.”

Kiera could have sworn the dog rolled his eyes before he trotted off to do as his goddess commanded. Kiera was trying to figure out how she was going to broach her ridiculous subject with her mom when she finally realized they weren’t alone.

The man stood uncertainly at the base of the stairs, leading up to the den—and to her mother’s bedroom. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, his dark hair touched with gray. He wasn’t handsome in any traditional sense of the word—he was too short, his belly a bit too pronounced, his nose definitely too large—but there was something strangely sensual about him. Perhaps it was those lips, full and curved, or perhaps it was his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Kiera,” her mother said, “I’d like you to meet Alonso. Alonso, this is my daughter, Kiera.”

Alonso moved away from the stairs, smiling and holding out his hand for Kiera to shake. The smile lit up his face, adding warmth to the sensuality, and Kiera could definitely see how he’d attracted her mother’s attention.

“Nice meeting you,” she lied, hoping her smile didn’t look forced. The last thing she wanted right now to make this visit even more complicated by having to meet her mother’s “Mr. Right,” but she tried to stifle her annoyance. She’d make friendly with Alonso, and come back some other time to talk to her mom in private about her own situation. And next time she’d call first.

Phantom reappeared from wherever he’d disappeared to. Alonso cast the wolfhound a nervous glance before returning his attention to Kiera. “Your mother’s told me a lot about you,” Alonso said, looking vaguely amused.

Kiera almost groaned. “I can only imagine.” Phantom padded closer, eyes fixed on Alonso, a none-too-friendly expression on his face.

“Well,” her mother said, too brightly, “I’m glad you two finally got a chance to meet.” She turned and glared at Phantom, who stopped in his tracks. If he’d been human, he would have started whistling in casual innocence. “It was so nice of you to stop by,” she said to Alonso.

Kiera recognized the dismissal and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to escape the conversation she’d come here to have. “Really, mother, you don’t have to toss Alonso out because of me. I should have called before I came over. We can get together some other time, when it’s more convenient.”

“No, no,” Alonso said. “I had to go anyway. I have a restaurant to run.”

Kiera averted her eyes when he gave her mother a gentlemanly kiss. A very faint growl emanated from Phantom’s lips, and Kiera noticed the brute was bristling and glaring. Her mother walked Alonso to the door, Phantom’s eyes following their every move, and Kiera was aware of them whispering to one another before Alonso kissed her again and slipped out. The thunk of the closing door made Kiera feel trapped. Her palms were sweaty, and though she knew her agitation was ridiculous, she couldn’t seem to still it.