The Hob (The Gray Court 4) (21 page)

Robin was not amused.

The cost for repairing her car was approximately a month’s rent and not covered by her insurance, as she had only the basic necessary in order to drive, and the car was long out of warranty. Another thing Robin would address when she was his. His mate would not drive a beat-up orange Jeep.

To top it all off, the elevator had broken down and she’d twisted her ankle taking the stairs down to the first floor.

Then it started raining.

“Seriously. It’s okay.” She grinned at him. “I’ve had much worse shifts, believe me.”

Robin was beginning to wonder what she considered a
bad
day.

Robin moved from the doorway and placed his arm around her waist, willing her to lean on him. He nearly sighed in relief when she put her arm over his shoulder with a quiet thank you.

There was no way he was taking her to a restaurant with both a sprained ankle and wrist. With a move too swift for her to protest, he swept her up in his arms and carried her into his apartment.

“I feel like a bride.” Michaela wrapped both arms around his neck and giggled.

Robin smiled. If only she knew. He held back a laugh with some effort. “I like the scrubs.”

She plucked at the dark pink, damp fabric. He would have to do something about that. He couldn’t have her catching cold. “You like Hello Kitty?”

“It’s…charming.”

“In that case, you’ll love the set I have in lavender.”

He shuddered, delighted when she giggled. “My dear, we must really do something about your fashion sense.” Then again, she could wear sackcloth and ashes and Robin would want her.

He would always want her. His prick was already throbbing behind the zipper of his slacks, eager to join with his bondmate.

“We need to get you in some dry clothes, my dear.” Robin placed her in one of Kael’s kitchen chairs, and then darted quickly into his bedroom. He called forth a comfortable terrycloth robe for her to wear, and fuzzy slippers to warm her feet.

If things went the way he hoped they would, she would need no other clothing for the rest of the day. Indeed, he planned on whisking her away to his home in Colorado before the day was through, to ensure neither McNeil nor Raven could lay a single claw on her.

“Here you are, my dear.” He came out of the bedroom to find her hobbling around Kael’s tiny living room. “What are you doing?”

“Exploring.”

Robin shook his head and swept her into his arms again. “To the bathroom with you.”

“How did you know I have to pee?”

He shook his head at her antics and deposited her just inside the door. “Change, if you please.”

“Yes, sir.” She smartly saluted him, laughing when he shut the door in her face.

Robin waited impatiently until the door opened again. He damn near groaned at the sight of her in the sapphire blue robe. She was naked under there, and he could not be happier about it.

He carried her into the dining area again and placed her in one of the chairs. He wanted her where he could see her as he cooked. She tended to get into trouble when he wasn’t around. As good at it as she was, he wouldn’t put it past her to somehow find trouble even within his temporary domicile. After all, she’d managed to attract not only Raven’s attention, but that of McNeil as well.

He’d rather have Raven chasing after his woman than the water horse. While they weren’t on the water front, it would take McNeil only minutes to have her by the river. If he got her there, nothing would be left of her, not even bones.

His hands clenched. Robin would kill McNeil before it came to that, Oberon be damned. He glanced at her and shook himself, reassured that, at least for the moment, she was safe and sound. He began to gather pots and ingredients. “Do pancakes sound good?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. Carbs. They go right to my hips.”

He cocked eyebrow at her. Her expression was far too innocent. His mate wanted to play, and Robin was willing to indulge her. “Fruit or syrup?”

“I see how it’s gonna be. I say jump, and you keep right on walking.”

He began cracking eggs into the flour mixture. “Or flying. Maybe even swimming. I’m flexible that way. Again, I ask you. Fruit or syrup?”

Michaela chuckled and propped her chin on her good hand. “Butter and syrup. Please. You don’t use buttermilk in your pancakes?”

“I prefer not to.” He set aside a portion of the batter and added blueberries to it. “So. Tell me about the gentleman you met yesterday.”

She started, looking guilty as hell. “Jaden told on me? Dirty little snitch.” Her expression was disgruntled, but the wary look she shot him belied the playful tone. She was worried and did not want him to know it.

Robin thought she looked utterly adorable. “Yes, but he is supposed to be.”

“Jaden works for you?”

“Indeed. And he is quite good at his job.”

“So I was ratted out by a
professional
snitch. That makes it so much better.”

Robin bit back a grin as he ladled batter into the hot pan. “I think I detect some sarcasm in your speech.”

“I can see why you’re so good at your job too.”

Robin shot her a look, but she hardly seemed intimidated. No, his truebond was silently laughing at him, her eyes sparkling, the corners of that full mouth curving upward. He flipped the pancake and pointed the spatula at her. “You are changing the subject.”

She crossed her arms and her pouted. “I met several people yesterday.”

He shook his head. As much as he wished to press her on the matter, he did not have the right to do so. While he knew she was his truebond, no promises had yet been spoken. By human standards, she still had the right to see anyone else she wished.

By his standards, he would eviscerate anyone she so much as touched.

“Fine.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and looked even guiltier than she had earlier. “I did meet someone.”

Very carefully he took the finished pancake out of the pan and placed it on the plate. “Oh?” He ladled more batter into the pan. Soon she would understand, and there would be no more fear, no more guilt.

He would allow Michaela to come to no harm, even at his hand.

“I don’t even know his real name, just the name he uses at the con.” She bit her lip, looking more like a naughty little girl than a free-spirited woman.

“Oh? What name did he give you?” Robin pretended a nonchalance he wasn’t feeling.

This was it. This was the moment when she’d say his name, and he’d end the lies once and for all.

She sighed. “Robin Goodfellow.” She must’ve taken his silence for accusation, because she began to babble. “See, I’ve been fascinated by Robin Goodfellow ever since I was little girl. I would devour anything written about him, memorize anything I could find. I had this vision built up in my head of what he would look like, even what he would
smell
like. I’ve…” She gulped. “I’ve been dreaming about him since I was small, and I swear, that guy looks just like the man in my dreams.”

Robin felt dizzy. He hadn’t known that tidbit. No wonder she’d been as drawn to him as he had to her. The attraction would have been overwhelming when she saw him in his preferred form.

It had to be the fae blood in her, that she would dream of him like that, and from such an early age. But the only ones who created a dream link with their mates were… All but one of them had died out long ago. Was it even possible? His hands shook as he placed the spatula on the spoon rest. “And this man, he met your expectations?”

“Yes.”

That last was said in such a small voice that Robin had no choice but to go to her. He moved the pan off the heat and turned off the stove, then pulled her from her seat and into his arms. He picked her up and carried her to the sofa, settling down there with her in his lap. One last question, then, before he revealed the truth. “Did you think he was the real Robin Goodfellow?”

She eyed him warily. “I’m not sure there’s an acceptable answer to that. Also, you’re taking this remarkably well.”

“Tell me. I give you my word, I will not judge you any less for it.” Robin was practically holding his breath, wondering what her answer would be.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.” The wariness was back, as well as fear.

“I will not, this I vow.” Robin would put her fears to rest, of that he had no doubt. He leaned close, his lips brushing against hers. “Robin Goodfellow is as real as you are.”

She whimpered, her lips puckering, begging for a kiss. “You’re humoring me, but that’s okay.”

“You wanted him.”

She pulled away, her eyes wide, tears gathering to fall down suddenly pale cheeks. “I—”

“Shh. I am not angry.” Robin shook off the deeper tones he’d adopted as Ringo, allowing his true voice to shine through. His eyes turned from brown to blue instantly. “I wanted you, too, from the moment I saw you.”

She gulped and licked her lips. “What’s going on?”

Fear was beginning to replace wariness, another emotion that should never have hold of his bondmate. He smiled, his fangs showing, his eyes flashing iridescent green. “I think you know.”

She made the most adorable sound, somewhere between a meep and an eek, that Robin had ever heard. She touched his fang with a trembling finger, whimpering when she realized they were real. “Who are you?”

Robin allowed the change to flow over him, adjusting her in his lap as he lost two inches and several pounds. Her weight did not disturb him, but now she was farther away from him than he liked. He pulled her closer, damn near moaning at the sight of his hair flowing over her arms and hands. This was the way it was meant to be, holding his bondmate as he truly was, not the illusion he’d shown to her before.

“Oh. My. God.” She was shaking like a leaf, her hands fluttering over him as if dying to touch but afraid to do so.

He took hold of those butterfly hands and placed a kiss on each wrist, lingering as the scent of her skin burrowed into his psyche, forever a part of him. He looked at her through his lashes, grinning at her as she gaped at him in astonishment.

“Why, as you see, I am Robin Goodfellow. And you, my dear, are mine.”

Chapter Seventeen

Oh, thank fuck, she wasn’t insane. She cuddled in closer, burying her face in his neck. His warmth surrounded her as he hugged her tightly to him. “Jesus. It really
is
you. I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Indeed, and I am sorry for that.” He placed a soft kiss on top of her head in apology.

“I dreamed of you.”

“I believe you.”

She smacked him on the chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

He laughed. “Saving the world, of course.”

“Hmph.” She wanted to pinch herself, just to make sure she was awake. It was entirely possible she’d fallen asleep on the bus, and now she was nuzzling some poor schlub just trying to get to work.

“My apologies. I was unaware I was running that late.”

She sniffed, hoping he didn’t feel the way she was trembling against him. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

He was chuckling and undoing her robe at the same time. “I promise, if only because I don’t want to be one of the thousands who live in fear of your mighty fists of death.”

“Aw, you remembered.” It really
was
him, Robin fucking Goodfellow. “Wait. Why were you walking around as Ringo?”

He cupped her bare breast. “I told you. Work.” He sounded completely distracted, and his gaze was fastened on the gap in her robe his hand had disappeared behind. With a flick of his wrist the material parted, exposing the breast he was toying with while leaving the other still covered.

She pinched him through his silky shirt as hard as she could.

“Ow!” Robin stared at her, shocked. “What did you do that for?”

“I just wanted your undivided attention.”

One brow quirked upward. “You had it.”

She pointed to her face. “Yes, but my eyes are up here.”

He kept his gaze firmly on her eyes and cupped her breast again. “As I said, you have it.”

She made a disgusted noise that had him laughing silently. “Men. All the same, no matter the species.” Her eyes went wide as a sudden thought hit her. “Robin? How many different species are there, by the way?”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

She hadn’t asked the question she’d meant to, and if she wanted an answer she’d better ask it quick. “Robin?”

He smiled sweetly and ran his claw over her nipple. “What did you wish to know?”

Whether or not that monster digging into my hip is as big as it feels.
It figured that someone nicknamed Puck would have a hockey stick in his pants. “What are you working on? And how are Jaden involved, and Raven, and creepy guy?”

“McNeil will not lay a hand on you.”

“Ow, pinchy!” She slapped at his wrist until he loosened his grip. She rubbed at her breast and glared at him. “Fine. I’m awake.”

He tilted his head. “You thought you were dreaming again?”

She shrugged. What did he expect her to say? “The thought had crossed my mind.” She grabbed his hand and ran her fingers across his claws. And yes, the black nails he usually sported were normal length. These, however, were true claws, black and lethal and curving away from the tips of his fingers. “I like the manicure.”