Ever After (11 page)

“I didn't touch her!” Georgie cried. “I swear it! I was just there to get the jewelry.”

“Then I suggest you fill me in on what else you know about the Huntsman and are clearly keeping from me,” I replied with a shrug.

Georgie wiped his forehead with his sleeve, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “All right. He—”

Georgie's words were cut off suddenly as his head snapped backward. For a split second, I didn't realize what had happened, but then the report of the shot sounded just as Georgie fell, the top of his head blown away.

Arabella cried out at the same moment, ducking into a crouch and pulling me down with her, but not soon enough. White-hot pain seared my bicep where another of the assassin's bullets grazed my skin.

“Go!” I winced, holding my hand against my arm. “Shift!”

Her eyes were wide with concern for me, but she did as I asked and vanished in the next instant. I started to follow, instinct telling me she'd gone back to Chicago to the safety of her theater. But a sudden prickling of dread hit me at the back of my neck. Fearing the worst, I shifted back to Guinevere's house.

“Guinevere!” I called out when I found the bedroom empty. I thundered down the steps, calling for her again. As I made the foyer, I slipped on something thick and wet and slid across the tile, slamming into the wall. I cried out as the pain from the gunshot wound lanced up my arm and into my spine. When my vision refocused, I saw the source of the puddle.

Lying on the floor was Guinevere's maid, a deep gash across her throat, her eyes staring wide and sightless.

I scrambled to my feet and ran into the sitting room, still searching for Guinevere. But the room was empty. I called out again and stood still, silent, waiting for a response. To my relief, I heard a whimper not far off.

I rushed toward the sound, at last locating her in the dining room. She lay on the rug on her side. She'd put on a white bathrobe after Georgie's botched burglary, thank God. I dropped down beside her and rolled her over, cradling her in the crook of my arm. And had to bite back the gasp that rose to my lips.

Her face was covered in blood from a deep, jagged gash that ran from her forehead, across her brow, and down her cheek. Worse, though, was the blood that soaked the front of her bathrobe. Frantic to find the source, I pulled back the edge of the robe, revealing at least three stab wounds to the chest.

“Oh, shit,” I breathed. “Hang in there, my lady. I'll get you some help. Just hang on.” I reached into my suit pocket and dialed the FMA's emergency number, praying they would arrive in time, muttering, “Pick up, pick up, pick up, come on . . .”

“Fairytale Management Authority,” the operator answered. “What's your emergency?”

I closed my eyes briefly and sighed with relief. “There's been an attack on several Tales,” I explained in a rush. “Two are dead, one is still alive, but has at least three stab wounds.” I rattled off the address, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could use my free hand to put pressure on what looked like the worst of the injuries.

“We're sending a team right away,” the dispatcher assured me. “Are you in danger where you are? Are you able to stay with the victim and keep me informed of the situation?”

I didn't immediately respond.

“Gideon,” Guinevere gasped, grasping my hand. “Please, don't leave me.”

My instinct was to run now that I knew help was on the way. I was afraid for Arabella, desperate to know if she was okay. My need to know that she was safe was on the verge of full-blown panic, a persistent itch just beneath my skin that was impossible to scratch. And I was wounded and covered in the blood of two of the victims. Not to mention, I had a questionable history that might not play out so well for me if I stayed. But I couldn't leave. Not when my staying might be the difference between Guinevere living and dying.

I swore under my breath and cursed my conscience, hoping it wasn't leading me down a path toward certain damnation. I cradled Guinevere closer and swallowed the fear and apprehension that rose in my throat, hoping like hell I was making the right choice, then ground out, “I'm not going anywhere.”

“S
o, I have two dead Tales, another on life support, and a wounded and bloody fairy bodyguard who thinks he can feed me a line of bullshit and that I'll be too stupid to notice he's lying out his ass.”

I heaved a sigh, but didn't bother to lift my head to meet the accusing gaze of Tess “Red” Little, the Assistant Director of the FMA. It'd been a long flight from Guinevere's back to Chicago and I'd been in the holding cell at FMA headquarters for a couple of hours already. I couldn't even guess what time of morning it was at this point, but I knew it wasn't Red's typical hours. The cup of coffee she'd brought with her was about twice the size of her usual.

Definitely not the time to become confrontational with her. The fact that she and her husband were good friends of mine didn't make her any less pissed off with me for getting into this mess and for dragging her from her bed in the middle of the night to deal with the cleanup. Not to mention, the woman had proven on numerous occasions that she could take down creatures twice as dangerous as me without breaking a sweat—and I had no intention of making an enemy of her. I liked her. She was tough, intelligent, and funny as hell. And I could appreciate the fact that she didn't take shit from anyone—even if at that moment I was the one on the receiving end of her iron will.

“I didn't injure Guinevere,” I assured her. “You know I wouldn't hurt an innocent person, Red.”

I heard her take a deep breath and let it out slowly before she dragged a chair over and set it directly in front of me. She sat down and rested her forearms on her knees, clasping her hands. “Gideon,” she said softly, “you're a good man. I know that you'd never do anything like this. But the Tribunal has been looking for a reason to bust your ass ever since you got off scot-free for your relationship with Lavender back in the day. They're gunning for you, big guy. And I can only do so much to protect you.”

“The evidence will speak for itself,” I insisted.

“Yeah, about that . . .” she began. “Here's the thing. Your signature is all over Georgie, and his blood's on you.”

“We had an altercation,” I replied. “I told you that.”

“And he's dead now, Gid.”

“But he was shot,” I reminded her. “And there's no evidence that I fired a weapon. Your people checked me for that already.”

“And you're a powerful fairy who's done a lot of dirty work for your employer over the centuries. You know how to hide shit like that, Gideon—either with the tricks the Ordinaries use or with your own magic. That's what Mary Smith is going to say if she has to prosecute you for this.”

I closed my eyes, realizing how the circumstantial evidence was piling up. If anyone could build a case out of a lot of flimsy evidence and make it stick, it was Mary “Contrary” Smith, the FMA's prosecutor.

“You've
got
to give me something here,” Red pleaded. “Please. Let me help you.”

I lifted my head at this, touched by her friendship and willingness to put her own neck on the line. “I've told you everything I can.”

“Give me the name of the person who was there with you,” she said. She must've seen the wariness in my expression for she added, “Yeah, we know about her. Her magical signature is all over the house, too. And on the arrow that Georgie had sticking out of his arm. Is she the one who took them all out? Are you protecting her?”

“It's not like that,” I assured her, shaking my head. “She shot Georgie with the arrow to protect
me
.”

Red ran a hand through her thick black hair and let it fall onto her shoulders as she flounced back in her chair, muttering a string of curses. “You're killin' me here, guy. If you want to help yourself and your little girlfriend, you've got to tell me what you're holding back.”

I wanted to. I wanted to let Red know that the Huntsman was to blame, but I couldn't prove it. All I had to go on was the information from a two-bit thief whose gray matter was scattered on the ground in the woods near Guinevere's home. Besides that, Red had a husband, kids, people who counted on her and loved her. I wasn't about to put her in danger by setting her on the trail of the Huntsman.

“I can take care of it,” I told her. “Just let me out of here, and I'll bring whoever did this to justice. I swear to you.”

She regarded me for a long moment, her blue eyes narrowed in scrutiny as she weighed her options. I could feel her coming to a decision about what to do with me, but a sudden pounding on the holding cell's door interrupted her thoughts.

She got up and patted me on the shoulder before stepping outside to see what was going on. I listened intently, trying to catch a bit of the quiet conversation outside the door, but the walls and door of the cell were thick lead and infused with magic that dampened the abilities of anyone held within.

A few minutes later, she came back in and unlocked the heavy shackles around my wrists. “Mary's agreed to let you go for now because we don't have quite enough evidence to formally charge you with anything. But I can't promise that'll be the case after Trish's team finishes going through the evidence.” When she saw my questioning frown, she explained, “Trish had to take herself off the investigation. Everyone knows how close you two are. She didn't want there to be any question about the validity of the test results. But she'll be supervising to make sure there're no mishaps or tampering.”

I nodded, understanding. “Thank you, Red.”

“Don't thank me yet,” she drawled. “You'd better bring me something I can work with before Mary finds something to stick you with. Otherwise, there's not much else I can do.” She gestured to the door. “Now, go ahead and get outta here. Someone's already here to take you home.”

When I'd reclaimed my things from the desk clerk, I expected to see one of the king's servants or perhaps one of the guards waiting for me. I frowned when I saw who it was that had actually come for me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I grumbled.

“You're very welcome,” Merlin shot back from where he was leaning against the wall. “Glad to see a night in the joint hasn't affected your good humor.”

I sent a scathing look his way but said, “Thank you. I owe you one. How'd you even know I was here?”

Merlin glanced around casually before saying, “A little bird told me.”

Robin.

“She's safe then?” I asked, eager for confirmation.

Merlin nodded. “Not a scratch. She waited at the theater for you, but when you didn't return, she went back to the crime scene and saw them taking you away in handcuffs. She came to me straightaway and we hopped my private jet to Chicago.”

“Where is she now? Back at the theater?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, considering what she told me, I thought perhaps it might be best for her not to return home. Who can say how much this”—Merlin glanced around again and lowered his voice—“
Huntsman
knows about you and about her.”

“Take me to her,” I demanded. “I have to see her, Merlin.”

 

The moment we entered Merlin's Chicago loft, I could feel Arabella's presence, caught the honeysuckle scent of her made more potent by her anxiety. And if I'd missed any of that, the quick rhythm of her feet as she ran in from the other room at the sound of the door opening would've clued me in.

The moment I saw her sweet face, her dark eyes wide with tentative relief, my soul was at peace. She was safe. I rushed toward her, meeting her halfway as she ran to me, and gathered her into my arms, holding her so tightly it must've been difficult for her to breathe. But she didn't protest. She just clung to my neck made wet by her silent tears.

After several longs moments, I set her down on her feet and took her face in my hands, pressing kisses to her cheeks and lips, my resolution to keep my distance crumbling in an instant.

“I'll just let you two have some time to yourselves,” Merlin called out from the doorway. “I have something ... to . . .
do,
I guess. Yes, I'm sure I'll figure out something to occupy myself for a while.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, Arabella pulled me down to her for a proper kiss that was slow and sweet and oh-so-inviting, but I drew back after a few moments, disgusted by the blood and grime that still covered my clothes and skin.

“I need to get out of these clothes,” I told her.

She lifted an eyebrow, a slow grin curving her lips. “Aye, that you do, love.”

She took my hand and led me toward the bathroom and turned on the water in the walk-in shower, positioning the multiple showerheads. It was as she was bent over adjusting the temperature controls that I noticed she was still wearing the jumpsuit from the night before. The sight of her perfectly rounded bottom wrapped in that tight black leather was almost more than I could stand.

A low groan of desire escaped me before I could stop it.

She slowly straightened at the sound and turned to face me. For a long moment we just stood there, our gazes locked, the tension in the air between us mounting to the point that I half-expected to see sparks of electricity popping all around us. Then she placed a booted foot on a low stool to her right and slowly unzipped it, tossing the boot aside before she unzipped the other boot, discarding it as well.

“What are you doing, Arabella?” I asked, more of a warning than an actual question. There was no doubt in my mind what she was doing—or that I desperately wanted to indulge her until she screamed my name.

“I'm not happy with this outfit anymore, Gideon,” she whispered. “I think I'll let you give me what I want after all. . . .” She grasped the zipper of her jumpsuit and slowly pulled downward as she came toward me, baring her beautiful full breasts to me inch by enticing inch.

Ah, hell . . .

I might've had a chance before then. I probably could've continued to hold fast to my resolve to not give in to my urges and keep my distance. But the moment I saw the soft swells of her breasts, the pink nipples going hard, darkening with desire even as I looked on, I was lost.

I grasped the nape of her neck and dragged her to me, capturing her mouth, my lips far too harsh, I knew, as they crushed hers. But her answering whimper was one of desire, not pain. Her kiss was as hungry as my own, her tongue eager and teasing as it swept across the seam of my mouth. I deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of her, determined to reacquaint myself with every mystery those sweet lips could unlock.

I peeled the jumpsuit off of her shoulders and down her arms, completely baring her to the waist. She made short work of my tie and jacket, and my button-down followed soon after. When she clawed at my T-shirt, I broke our kiss just long enough for her to pull it over my head and toss it aside before claiming her mouth once more.

I wrapped my arms around her, my hands smoothing over her back, my strokes commanding, demanding, just the way she wanted them to be at that moment. I pressed her into my body, reveling in the warmth of bare skin upon bare skin. When the tantalizing pressure of her breasts against my chest was too much to resist any longer, when the way they tingled, longing for my attention, made my mouth water, I grasped her shoulders and eased her away from me so that I could capture one of the tight little pebbles in my mouth.

She gasped with pleasure when I grazed it with my teeth, the sound heating my blood to a boil. Her arms went around my neck, her fingers twining in my hair, keeping me where I was as I teased and nipped at her skin, but I wasn't going anywhere. The way her pleasure buffeted my senses was intoxicating, increasing my own until I felt drunk on it. When I shifted my attention to the other breast, she moaned, arching upward toward me, urging me on.

I backed her toward the wall, allowing her to lean against it as I pressed kisses to the valley between her breasts, then made my way along her clavicle to her shoulder. My hand slid down her belly then around to the small of her back. When my hand traveled lower to smooth the roundness of her bottom, she mewled with pleasure, arching against my palm, her body telling me what she wanted when her voice failed. And I was more than happy to give it to her.

“
Dolcezza,
you will never believe—”

Arabella shrieked in surprise at the sudden intrusion—or perhaps it was the murderous look on my face and growl of frustration that rose up in my chest just before I turned to face the intruder who'd popped into the bathroom mirror unexpectedly.

“Fabrizio,” I snarled, “this had better be seriously fucking important.”

The man was staring off to his right, studiously trying to avoid getting a glimpse of Arabella as she worked to slip back into her jumpsuit from behind the shield of my body.

“A thousand apologies,” Fabrizio said, his gaze briefly flicking our way. “I did not mean to interrupt. It never occurred to me that you would be having the passion so early in the morning. Perhaps I have misjudged you, yes?”

“What do you
want,
Fabrizio?” Arabella demanded through clenched teeth, zipping up her jumpsuit with an angry pull and stepping out from behind me.

“Ah, yes,” he mused. “As I was to say, I have found the location of the shield of Arthur Pendragon.”

Arabella and I shared a glance and said together, “Where?”