Shadowlander (3 page)

For years he’d followed her, learning her movements, the certain sparkle she’d get in her eye as she contemplated doing something she knew she shouldn’t. He longed to run his fingers along the smoothness of her skin. All this time he’d held back from truly touching her, afraid it might not be all he’d built in his imagination.

Just watching her interact with her sisters, the closeness and caring they shared, triggered a deep ache inside of him. And yet, there was an impending war and invasion to consider. He needed to get back to court. He had a duty to his people he could not shirk to indulge in his fondness for Catherine O’Connell.

He glanced at the other Uplanders in the park, all of them oblivious to his presence, and none as enthralling as Catherine. By all rights he shouldn’t find her so appealing. As the Prince of Shadows, he could have his pick of females in Shadowland, and perhaps even a few of those from Wyldwood as well.

But there was an indefinable allure about Catherine. He was so intent on her as he walked through the grass, he didn’t notice a round disk flying at him until it nearly hit him in the head. With fine-tuned reflexes, he caught it midflight and flung it away in irritation.

The Uplander who’d thrown the disk frowned. “Dude! Did you see that? It’s like a freak gust of wind caught my Frisbee!”

“What wind? Your aim just sucks.” The two Uplanders bantered with each other as their game of catch continued unabated by Rook’s presence.

For a mere instant he thought about glamouring himself to appear in their limited vision. It would be briefly amusing to see their shock, but hardly fulfilling. He had much bigger conquests on his mind.

He wanted to capture Catherine.

He wanted her for his own.

Rook hesitated. Where had that thought come from? She could never be his. Once he brought her into his world she’d be treated as a slave, passed about the palace to whomever had need of her. He couldn’t bear to have that happen. Her scent, her very laughter was indelibly imprinted upon him, like an inkmage’s mark. Just the sight of her was enough to fuel his erotic dreams.

And he so dearly loved to feature her as his sensual imaginary plaything.

Rook walked slowly around her as she sat, determining the best way for him to reveal himself in a glamour to her. His current form didn’t even cast a shadow as he stood between her and the sun. He crouched down beside her and stared for a moment.

Her long, dark lashes formed feathery crescents along her smooth cheeks, and her full lips, the color of lush rose petals, parted slightly as she sighed. An image of her in his arms looking much the same as he took her filled his mind. A blinding rush hit his blood, firing him from the inside out.

Once he transformed himself through a glamour, how long would it take before she let him kiss her, touch her? He leaned in just a bit closer, bringing his mouth dangerously close to hers. Catherine was pure temptation. Enough to make him forget himself and his responsibilities when he was this close to her. Perhaps he should kiss her first, before he glamoured, just to be sure the wait wouldn’t kill him.

“I’m still breathing. You don’t need to resuscitate me with mouth-to-mouth.” Her tone was smooth and even, her eyes still shut. Until he glamoured there was no danger she could see him. Perhaps she’d felt the warmth of him beside her skin and assumed it was another Uplander?

Rook’s fingers itched to touch her. He reached out, running the tips of his fingers down the smooth length of her throat and over the tip of one of her breasts.

She gasped and grabbed his hand, her green eyes, the color of the midsummer leaves, snapping open. “You’re awfully bold, considering we haven’t even been introduced.”

At first Rook was too stunned to speak. She had hellishly fast reflexes for not being able to see what was touching her, and yet she still held fast to him in an iron grip. He found it somewhat endearing that he could get a reaction from her, despite her not being able to see him, and he let his mouth lift with satisfaction.

Her gaze locked with his. “And you can wipe that cocky smirk off your face. Just because I wasn’t watching didn’t mean I gave you permission to feel me up.”

The smile died on his lips. Shock rippled through him, turning his muscles rigid. “You can see me?” His voice cracked.

She gave a subtle nod, her gaze darting toward the other Uplanders around her. “But they can’t. So rather than risk looking like an idiot talking and feeling myself up at the park, I’m going to let you go.” Caution, hard and cold, laced her words like frost over autumn leaves.

Catherine released her grip on him, but Rook still couldn’t feel his hand. Hell, he couldn’t feel anything, because he was still reeling. If she could see him it meant only one thing.

She was a Seer.

Rare as Glaxon teeth, Seers were few and far between: Uplanders who had been gifted with the fae sight. It passed down through families, sometimes skipping generations. She’d hidden it well. Not once in all the years he’d followed her had she given any indication that she was aware of him beside her. Of any fae for that matter.

He rested back on his heels, weaving his hands together to keep himself from touching her to ensure she was still real. She was a Seer? How could the stars have aligned more perfectly? A Seer would certainly ensure their victory in the coming invasion. The last time a Seer had been uncovered by the fae, the Wyldlings had captured her. This could even their chances against the Wyldlings in the battle for the Upper Realm. While the fae agreed it was past time for them to take back what had once been taken from them, they had yet to determine which kingdom would lead the assault.

But the same thing that would make her a boon to his country made her off-limits to him personally. As a Seer, she was in a higher caste. He’d never be able to pursue her if he took her back with him, yet he had to. It could make all the difference to the Shadow Court.

“Have you always seen me?” He deliberately kept his tone casual while the knowledge of the power he had within reach vibrated through him. A slight buzzing filled his head.

Catherine worried her bottom lip with her teeth, which brought to mind thoughts of exactly how she might taste if his lips were in that same supple spot.

She shrugged. “Only since I turned sixteen. Have you been around longer than that?”

He gave her an enigmatic smile. He’d been around far longer than fourteen Uplander years—hundreds of years longer—but it had only been in that miniscule span of time that he’d noticed Catherine. Never had he believed he’d be holding a nearly normal conversation with her, and certainly not in an unglamoured state. She was intoxicating and beautiful and…a Seer. Utterly off-limits.

He glanced around and noticed the two Uplanders playing their disk game had stopped and were gazing in Catherine’s direction. A possessive rage simmered in his belly. He resisted the urge to tackle them and thrash them soundly for eyeing her so. It was more important for him to get her to Shadowland, the sooner, the better. Regardless of his attraction to her, it was more important than ever to bring her to the Shadow Court.

“Your name’s Rook, isn’t it?”

He raised a brow, surprised at how attentive she’d been to him without his knowledge, and gave her a curt nod. “Rook Blackwood, and you are Catherine O’Connell.” He glanced toward the two men playing nearby, who seemed far more interested in Catherine than in their silly disk-slinging game. “Our conversation is being noticed.”

Catherine followed his gaze, and a delicate blush infused her skin to a delectable pink. “Will you walk with me?” He offered her his hand to assist her from the ground.

For an instant, time stretched and slowed as he waited for her response. Even the glittering trails of the smallest fae, who looked like bits of dandelion fluff on the wind, appeared to hang suspended in midair. Once she slipped her hand into his, there’d be no going back. He’d have her.

§

Cate knew it wasn’t the slight breeze off of Puget Sound that started the shiver along her skin, but Rook’s offer. She needed him to make the first move, or he would have been suspicious. One simply didn’t walk up to a fae and say, “Hey, I can see you; how about you take me on a tour of your world?” and expect them to be ready and willing to comply. She turned back and glanced at Rook’s large hand, the blunt-tipped fingers held out to assist her from the grass.

She had to find a way through that rift if she was going to help Maya. And right now, seducing Rook was her best option.

Still, she hesitated, a flood of memories assaulting her. Gran telling her how tricky the fae could be. The worn picture of her mother she kept tucked beneath her pillow. The hot spill of tears against her cheeks as she’d cried her eight-year-old self to sleep. How could she willingly leave her family?

Cate ruthlessly shoved the thoughts aside. She was running out of time. If she was smart enough to wheedle her way into the fae world, she was smart enough to find a way back. And at least Maggie would know where she’d gone. It wasn’t as if she were abandoning them.

Cate slipped her hand into his. The rasp of his skin against hers was warm and dry, but the electric quality of it tightened her skin from her scalp to her toes.

She locked gazes with him, staring at him boldly. A lazy smile curved his mouth with blatant male appreciation. He liked the way she was looking at him, liked the response he caused in her, and knowing it made her stomach flip.

In the past, she’d always been so intent on not looking at Rook that she’d never had the opportunity to fully drink in the sight of him before. Intense eyes the color of coffee were flecked with bits of gold. His strong jaw was balanced by a slight indentation in his chin and sculpted lips made for slow, sensual kisses.

When they were teenagers, she and Maggie had giggled under the covers at night about what it might be like to kiss a fae—but since it was never going to happen if they followed the rules, it had never been a real possibility before. Thinking about it now made her lips tingle.

He was a hell of a lot bigger, and more muscular, than she’d anticipated. She seriously doubted if she could fit both hands around his biceps or wrap her arms fully around his chest. Her curiosity spiked. Did fae have to work out or were they just naturally built like a WWE wrestler?

Cate tore her gaze away, her heart pounding hard in her chest. “You don’t look much like the other fae I’ve seen.” It was the understatement of the century. She fell into step beside him. He didn’t look anything like that scaly little blue bastard that’d wrecked the truck or the little bits of fluff fae in their dandelion skirts that drifted around them.

“Difficult for you to judge when you’ve only seen me fully clothed,” he teased.

A rush of awareness pooled low in Cate’s belly, followed by an insistent throb in response to the erotic image her mind painted of precisely what he might look like beneath his ordinary-looking faded jeans, tight forest green T-shirt, and dark boots. “You don’t look like a horse on the bottom half, do you?”

“A centaur? No. But I assure you the men of the Ragnor caste are far superior to other fae in every way.”

He said it so deadpan it was obvious to Cate he’d missed her humor entirely, but she shrugged it off. She’d never been able to find a man who was a match for her personality. Either they were turned off by how direct she could be, or they were convinced she was lying to them about something. Why should Rook be any different?

They turned off the asphalt path onto one of gravel that wound deeper into the trees and away from the Japanese gardens. The leaves shifted and swayed, rustling lightly like music in the breeze. Cate saw small faces of tree fae here and there, with their leaflike manes of green circling their faces. They blended in far too well to catch more than a glimpse.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled in warning. Was she crazy? She and Rook were alone in the middle of the arboretum, and if he took her, no one would know. Maybe it wasn’t a good plan after all. Maybe her sister was right. He’d practically been stalking her since she was a teenager, for God’s sake. But then the fae had a very different view of personal boundaries. Maybe for them he’d been downright standoffish. As much as she knew about them, she felt like she knew nothing at all.

Cate frowned, Gran’s voice pounding at the base of her skull. She should not be holding his hand. She shouldn’t be talking with him. And she sure as hell shouldn’t be walking into the woods with him when he could do far more than just harm her physically.

She abruptly stopped and tried to pull her hand away from his, but he held it firmly. Cate gazed up at him, her eyes narrowing. “Why have you been following me all this time?”

His free hand caressed her hair, tenderly tucking her dark, chin-length curls behind one ear like a lover. She shivered, and he leaned closer. His warm breath stirred a sultry breeze across her skin and skimmed the curve of her ear. Her heart beat harder, nearly in her throat, and her blood turned hot and thick, flowing like heated honey in her veins.