Burning Desire (35 page)

“Another mated,” Con said as he stopped beside him.

Rhys lifted his glass in salute when Kiril looked at him. With a smile on his face directed at Kiril, Rhys told Con, “It’s unstoppable now. We went through thousands of millennia without mating. Perhaps it’s time.”

“Are you next then?”

His smile disappeared as he jerked his gaze to Con. “Doona even jest. It’s no’ for me.”

“Nor me,” Con agreed. “Yet the others seem happy.”

“Let’s hope they remain that way.” Rhys downed the whisky in one swallow. He glared at Con when he found him staring. “The pain is minimal tonight.”

“We willna be able to keep it from everyone for much longer.”

“We have to,” Rhys said urgently. “I doona want anyone to find out. At least no’ until we know what’s going on.”

Con’s lips flattened into a line. “I’m working on it, though it would be easier if I could have others looking into it as well.”

“It’s bad enough you mentioned it to Phelan.”

Con faced the festivities as music began to blare. Kiril and Shara were in each other’s arms dancing in slow circles beneath the moonlight. “He willna say a word to anyone. He’s trustworthy.”

“I’m finding it hard to trust anyone,” Rhys admitted. “A King did this to me, Con. I want to know who.”

Con grimly watched him disappear into the night. “I do too, my friend.”

*   *   *

Rhi opened her eyes only to be blinded by bright, beautiful sunlight. She squinted against it, her fingers moving in the warm rays. She rolled over onto her back and realized she was in her cabin. Her private place. A place no one else was supposed to know about—not even her queen.

Rhi sat up and looked down to find herself covered only by a coral-colored blanket spun of the softest cashmere. Her skin was clean and there were no manacles around her wrists. Yet she knew without a doubt she had been in Balladyn’s prison. It hadn’t been a dream.

And neither was this.

She had experienced those “dreams” while chained, and during that awful time she had been deluded into believing the dreams were real, but now that she was free of the Chains of Mordare, she could tell the difference.

Which begged the question: who brought her to her cabin?

Rhi stood, carefully keeping the blanket wrapped around her, and walked out of her bedroom expecting to find someone sitting on her sofa. But there was nobody there or in the kitchen.

Her gaze went to the door. She walked silently to it and threw it open before she walked onto the porch and found him sitting in the rocker.

“It’s about time you woke up. I was getting concerned,” Ulrik said, looking up at her with his golden gaze from the small piece of wood he had been carving.

She drew in a shaky breath. “What are you doing here?”

Ulrik folded his knife and tucked it into his pocket before he got to his feet and faced her with a smile. His black hair was long and loose, giving him a dangerous look that was accentuated by the black shirt with a large silver fleur-de-lis on the front and dark denim on his legs. “The correct response is to thank me.”

“For what?”

His smile slipped and a frown emerged. “You doona remember?”

“I suppose you got me out of Balladyn’s?”

“Interesting,” he said, more to himself than to her. He took a deep breath and flipped the piece of wood in the air before catching it again. “You blew up his fortress.”

Rhi closed her eyes. Not again. “I see.”

“You broke the Chains of Mordare with that little show. They’ll never be used on anyone again.”

She opened her eyes and looked anywhere but at him. It was too difficult. “So what do I thank you for?”

“I pulled you out of the rubble and brought you here.”

“You?” she asked with a snort. “You want me to believe you found your way into a Fae doorway and just happened upon me?”

“I went looking for you.”

She kept her face averted. “You should’ve left me there.”

“Because that’s what the Light Fae do?” He made a sound at the back of his throat. “I doona do that.” He moved in front of her and she turned her head the other way. “You think ignoring me will work?”

“What do you want?”

“To help,” he said in a soft voice.

Rhi pulled the blanket tighter. “How did you know of this place?”

“I’ve always known, Rhi.”

“Thank you for what you’ve done, but I don’t need your help.” She turned on her heel and walked back into the cabin where she slammed the door behind her.

She stopped, waiting to hear him leave. Minutes ticked by before she heard him expel a loud breath. Then, his voice came through the door. “You’ve been asleep for a few weeks. Everyone’s been looking for you since I brought you back.”

The sound of footsteps told her he was walking away, and then they paused.

“By the way,” Ulrik said. “Con saw me take you.”

“Wonderful,” she whispered to herself.

She waited until Ulrik was gone before she released a pent-up sigh. She looked around at the frilly, ridiculous things she had accumulated through the years and anger seized her.

Rhi didn’t stop it, didn’t restrain it. She let it free as she went from room to room destroying everything. Not even the bottles of nail polish she had meticulously ordered by color were spared.

By the time she finished, she was breathing hard as she stood in the middle of the cabin. She no longer knew who she was. Balladyn had gotten into her mind and obliterated the person she had been.

She was wrecked, damaged.

Shattered.

The Fae she had been was gone.

Who she was now … well, she’d have to find out.

*   *   *

Con leaned his arms on the stone wall and stared off at the Chinese landscape beneath the night sky. He was on a portion of the Great Wall of China not open to visitors, as if that would stop him.

But he hadn’t come for the sights. He’d come for a meeting.

The click of heels on the stones made him smile. “Do you go anywhere without those damn high heels?”

Usaeil leaned on the wall beside him and grinned. “Never.”

She was in a good mood, and he hated to disappoint her, but there was no use putting it off. “I’ve no’ heard anything of Rhi or from her.”

“Us either.” Usaeil linked her fingers together as if she were praying and looked at the land. “How many more weeks will we have to worry?”

“Perhaps no’ long at all.”

She turned her head to him. “Ah. You want to ask the Warrior Broc.”

“Only if you agree.”

Her silver Fae eyes regarded him silently for a moment. “You have concerns about involving Broc?”

“I do. If Rhi wants to be found, she will. She may need some time.”

“And the fact she’s with … Ulrik … doesn’t bother you?”

“I didna say that. I’m merely pointing out that we doona know what torture Rhi withstood. The Chains of Mordare are enough to bring most Fae to their knees.”

“And Balladyn messed with her mind,” Usaeil said with a grim nod. “I just want to know she’s safe.”

Con couldn’t give her that, because he wasn’t sure himself. Not one of the cameras he had watching The Silver Dragon, Ulrik’s place of business in Perth, had shown him bringing Rhi there.

But where had he taken her?

“I’m not the patient sort,” the Queen of the Light said.

Con chuckled. “That I know.”

She straightened from the wall and dusted off her hands. “I did always find those tattoos stunning,” she said and ran her finger down his dragon tat on his back. “You flew here.”

“How else did you expect me to come?” he asked and turned to face her.

Her smile was slow and deliberate. “I certainly don’t mind seeing it in the buff.”

Con chuckled but didn’t take the silent offer.

Usaeil licked her lips and slid her gaze to the countryside again. “If Rhi joins Ulrik, we could have a problem.”

“She willna.”

“You’re so sure of her,” the queen said with a shake of her head. “I wish I had your confidence.”

Con opened his mouth to reassure her, but she disappeared before he could. He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. Ulrik and Rhi were just one of many problems he had. The most pressing one was Rhys.

He jumped onto the side of the wall and leapt into the air, shifting into dragon form and heading back to Dreagan and the mountain of enemies that continued to grow.

Read on for an excerpt from the next book by
DONNA GRANT

HOT BLOODED

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks!

Laith set Keith’s ale in front of him and caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye. He turned with a smile, ready to pour them a drink, and then stopped cold.

Her lips, wide and tempting, were quirked in a half-smile giving her an air of mystery. Her shoulder-length wavy blond hair was wind-blown, as if she had been walking among the heather.

She was tall and slender, her white shirt just tight enough to cling to her breasts. There was a smudge of dirt on her elbow as if she had been lying upon the ground recently.

His gaze returned to her face as she claimed a stool at the bar. She tucked her hair behind an ear and glanced down at the bar before returning her coffee-colored eyes to him. Her skin held a golden glow, denoting that she was often in the sun.

Laith took a step closer to her, noting the sprinkle of freckles over her nose. “Welcome to The Fox and The Hound. What can I get you?”

“Your best ale,” she said, her lips curving into a deeper smile.

Laith was powerless not to respond. He returned her smile and turned to get her ale. Surely it was a trick of the light or something to cause him to react in such a way. Once he looked at her again, he would see she was like every other female who walked into his pub.

He finished filling the glass and hesitated for a moment. Laith twisted to the newcomer, and was hit once again by her earthy appeal. If someone had asked him, he would have called her a child of the forests.

Her smile fell a bit as he stared. Laith shook himself and set the ale in front of her. Their eyes met again, held. He felt an uncontrollable, undeniable pull to this woman. It was more than just lust. This … feeling … was on another plane all together.

“Thank you,” she said and reached for the ale.

Their fingers touched briefly, but that was all it took for a current of pure, utter desire to heat his blood. She jerked her hand away, proving she felt it as well. Her eyes darted to the left before skating back to him.

“You’re new here,” he said, even as he put together who she was in his mind. Iona Campbell.

She nodded and took a sip of the ale when he released the glass. “Yes. I’m Iona Campbell.”

“My condolences about your father. I liked John a lot.”

“It seems everyone did,” she murmured with a hint of confusion.

Laith knew he should walk away, and yet he found himself asking, “Do you intend to remain in town long?”

“Actually, no. Once everything is taken care of I’ll be back to work.”

“And where is that?” Laith couldn’t begin to understand why he kept asking questions. He told himself it was information for everyone at Dreagan, but in reality, he was more than curious about her.

She laughed softly, the sound shooting straight to his cock. He glanced around and noted that he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t take their eyes from her. The rest of the patrons were staring with interest.

“I’m a photographer. I travel the world taking photos of people and events.”

“I’m impressed.” And he truly was. It couldn’t be an easy life, but she obviously loved what she did. “The arts run in your family.”

It was the wrong thing to say because a small frown formed on her brow and the smile disappeared. She ran her fingers along the condensation of the glass. “I guess it does.”

Laith gave a nod and returned to his other customers. Several times he caught her staring at him through the mirrors behind the bar.

A little later he saw her with a camera as she scrolled through photos. Somehow he managed to keep his distance until her ale was almost finished.

“Would you like another?” he asked.

She glanced up and smiled. “Please.”

He poured her another ale and placed it before her. Just as he turned to leave, she caught his eye. “What is it?”

“How well did you know my father?”

Laith shrugged. “Pretty well. He came in twice a week every week.”

“I’m having a bit of trouble reconciling who I thought my father was to who he really was.”

“Your father spoke of you often.”

A slight blush stained her cheeks. “You mean you knew I was a photographer?”

“I did. John showed us your work on several occasions. You’re verra good at what you do.”

She took another long swallow of the dark ale. “You seem to know so much about me, and yet I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Laith.”

“Laith,” she repeated, letting it fall slowly from her lips almost like a caress.

He was instantly, painfully hard.

“An unusual name.”

“It’s a family name.”

Her brows rose. “Do you have family around here?”

“No’ for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” She turned her glass around. “Can I ask you something?”

He gave a nod. “Of course.”

“This pub borders Dreagan. What do you know of them?”

Laith was completely taken aback by her question. He thought she might ask something about her father, but never about Dreagan. “They distill the best whisky around, and they’re good to the people.”

“And my father knew them?”

“He did. John knew everyone.”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “It’s odd, isn’t it? To think you know someone, only to learn everything you believed was wrong. Scotland isn’t my home. Hasn’t been for twenty years. I don’t want to stay here.”

“You doona find it beautiful?”

Iona smiled. “I took plenty of pictures today to prove that I do, but I don’t have time to take care of land.”

“You inherited your father’s land,” he said, putting enough inflection in his tone so that she might believe he just guessed it.