Tithed to the Fae: Fae Mates - Book 1 Read online

  Well, this is off to a wonderful start.

  “Wait!” The human woman intercepted him as he started toward his opponent. “You can’t face him like that. He’s a walking steel tank! This isn’t a fair fight.”

  Marvelous. Even a mundane human who had been in the fae realms for all of five minutes had managed to deduce the odds at a glance. That certainly boosted his confidence.

  If I am about to die, I may as well make best use of my last few moments…

  He held out one hand to the woman, palm up. She stared at it, then up at him. From her expression, he might as well have offered her an armadillo.

  “My lady,” he murmured. “I cannot touch you without your permission.”

  Slowly, like a mouse edging toward a baited trap, she lifted a hand. Her palm hesitated above his for a moment, so close that he could feel the warmth of her skin.

  Then her fingers curled around his. Heat shot through his body at the contact, so shockingly swift that it felt like she’d enchanted him.

  It was likely to be the only time he ever touched her.

  It was worth it.

  “I wish that I was a champion worthy of you, my lady.” He tightened his fingers on hers, wishing he could hold on to her forever. “I can only swear to you that I will fight for you to my last breath. I will not yield.”

  Her worried eyes cut from him to Eogan and back again. “Look, I’m still not thrilled about being a prize in some macho pissing contest, but between you and the other guy, I know who’s got my support. So far you’re the nicest elf I’ve met, not that that’s a high bar to clear. I don’t want you to get yourself killed over me.”

  “I will not yield,” he said again, and let her go.

  Chapter 5

  He’s going to get cut to shreds.

  Tamsin expected her knight-without-shining-armor to last a whole five seconds. Facing off against his hulking opponent, he looked ludicrously under-equipped, like a man going up against a tank with a toothpick.

  Nonetheless, his face was calm and certain as he settled into a fighting crouch. His curved swords swept up, crossing in front of him.

  It must have been some sort of signal, because his opponent roared and charged like a bull. For a man wearing twice Tamsin’s bodyweight in steel plate, he moved terrifyingly fast. Tamsin didn’t even had time to gasp, let alone shriek, before the black knight’s broadsword swept through her hero in a lethal arc.

  Or…through where he’d just been.

  He moved with cat-fast reflexes. He made no attempt to block the blade with his own curved swords—Tamsin was pretty sure it would have smashed through them like a wrecking ball. Instead, he ducked, springing forward, the black knight’s sword passing an inch over his head. He came up inside his opponent’s guard, silver scimitars flickering out in a lightning-fast blow.

  “Yes!” Tamsin cheered—but too soon.

  Her champion’s scimitars skidded off the knight’s armor in a shower of sparks. The knight snarled, lashing out with a mailed fist. Her hero was forced to dodge away, leaping back out of reach once more. He’d barely landed before the knight was on him again, sword a black blur through the air.

  Tamsin’s hands flew to her mouth. She watched, not even daring to blink, as the two men clashed again.

  Her champion whirled and danced, staying just ahead of the knight’s sword. A single mistake, a single hesitation, and he would have been sliced in half—yet again and again, he ducked past his opponent’s guard. Again and again, he landed a furious flurry of blows on the knight’s armor, always in precisely the same place.

  Tamsin’s breath caught as she realized what he was doing—weakening the joint where the collar that protected the knight’s neck linked to his breastplate. Already, the black metal was dull with scratches, starting to distort out of shape.

  The knight’s attacks became clumsier, his ability to turn his head hampered by the bent metal. With a snarled curse, he yanked off his helmet, hurling it to one side. The other man attacked immediately, scimitars moving so fast Tamsin could barely see them. This time, it was the knight who had to jump back, going on the defensive as the silver blades leaped for his now-exposed face.

  He’s going to win. Tamsin’s heart pounded so hard, she thought it might burst from her chest. He’s going to win—

  Her champion lunged—and his left leg folded underneath him. The knight reacted instantly, plunging his blade down with a roar of triumph. Tamsin’s hero flung himself into a desperate roll.

  Not fast enough.

  “No!” Tamsin cried out, as blood ran red down the edge of the black knight’s blade.

  She would have run forward—though what she could do to help, she had no idea—but hands grabbed at her. The guards restrained her, despite her best efforts to twist free.

  Her champion rolled back to his feet, his leather jerkin slashed and torn. His face set in grim, determined lines. Despite the crimson dripping down his leg and side, he went on the attack again.

  Even wounded, his speed was breathtaking. He got past the knight’s sword again, blades leaping once more for his opponent’s throat, and for a shining instant Tamsin thought everything would be all right after all.

  Then the knight barked out a harsh, incomprehensible word.

  The swords hit his neck—Tamsin saw them hit—and…bounced off.

  The knight’s skin had taken on the rough, gray texture of granite. The angular black tattoos on his face glowed, shimmering with power.

  Face distorted in a snarl of triumph, the knight head butted Tamsin’s champion, sending him reeling. Before he could recover, the knight was on him, smashing the pommel of his sword into his shoulder.

  “Cheat!” Tamsin whirled on Maeve, fighting the guard’s holding her. “He’s cheating!”

  The elf queen lifted an elegant, unconcerned eyebrow. “In what way?”

  “He’s using magic! This was meant to be armed combat, he’s cheating! You have to stop him!”

  Maeve laughed, low and cruel. “Oh, sweet summer child. We are high sidhe. We are magic. Would you wail that a lion was cheating if it raked you with its claws?”

  Tamsin flinched as the broadsword whistled through the air again, leaving another bloody stripe across her champion’s side. “But it’s not fair! He doesn’t have magic!”

  “Oh, but he does, little human. And he could yet use it to save himself, and you.” Maeve’s cold smile widened. “If, of course, he is willing to expose his true nature to the entire court.”

  Tamsin stared from the elf queen to her champion. He was struggling now, chest heaving for breath, entirely on the defensive.

  The black knight’s broadsword swung downward like an executioner’s axe. In what was clearly a desperate, last-ditch move, Tamsin’s hero caught it between his crossed scimitars. The impact drove him to his knees, but he held the broadsword trapped, every muscle straining to keep the blade from cleaving him in half.

  She knew that he’d keep his word. He would fight to the end. He was going to die for her.

  “Hey!” Oh, this was stupid, she didn’t even know his name- “Hey you! Whatever magic you’ve got, whatever it is, use it now! Please!”

  His eyes found hers. Despite the deadly sword barely inches from his face, she could read hesitation in them, and something more. Whatever strange power he had, he was…ashamed of it.

  “Please,” she repeated in the barest whisper. “For me.”

  His eyes hardened. For the barest instant, she thought she saw something else in them, a sudden blaze of gold—and then he was rolling away, so fast his shape seemed to blur.

  No. His shape did blur.

  The watching fae gasped as one, a mass in-breath of shock. Tamsin gasped too, unable to believe her eyes.

  The man was gone. And in his place…

  A massive stallion reared up, mane tossing, teeth bared in fury. The black knight didn’t stand a chance. His sword whirled through the air, smashed out of his hand by those iron-hard hooves
.

  An instant later, the knight himself followed. Fae shrieked and pushed to get out of the way as he smashed down into the crowd.

  The stallion leaped forward, tail streaming like smoke, hooves cracking the marble tiles. The proud arch of its neck, the pure midnight gleam of its hide—Tamsin couldn’t breathe, lost in sheer wonder at its beauty.

  Elves screamed and scattered as the horse plunged after the knight. For a second, Tamsin thought it was going to trample straight over its fallen opponent—but as it charged, its form shimmered again, swirling like smoke, shrinking.

  A huge black-furred wolf landed on the knight’s chest, massive jaws clamping down on the man’s exposed neck. The knight froze, staring up into the wolf’s burning golden eyes.

  “Yield,” the wolf growled, in the voice of Tamsin’s champion.

  The black knight’s face darkened, contorting in frustrated rage…but his left hand tapped once, grudgingly, against the marble floor.

  “Shameful,” one of the guards holding onto her muttered as the wolf released the knight. “A true high sidhe would have died first.”

  Her other guard made a disgusted sound. “He’s no high sidhe.”

  Tamsin glanced back at them, surprised. They both wore identical expressions of revulsion, lips curled in contempt. She’d thought they’d been talking about the black knight’s surrender…but they were staring at the giant wolf, loathing clear in their eyes.

  The wolf shimmered into the form of the dark-haired man. For a moment, he just kneeled there, head bowed, tattooed arms shaking with exertion. But when he raised his head at last, his leaf-green eyes were as steady as ever, despite the blood running down his face.

  “Sir Eogan.” The man got to his feet, tottering a little. It was clearly an immense effort for him to remain standing, yet he offered the fallen knight a deep, polite bow. “A good fight. I am honored to have crossed blades with you.”

  The knight spat at the man’s feet. Without a word, he stalked off. A group of armored elves followed, murmuring to him in low, soothing tones and staring daggers back at the man who’d defeated their friend.

  “Well, that was a surprise,” Lady Maeve drawled. “Who’s next?”

  Outrage gave Tamsin the strength to jerk free of her guards at last. She rounded on the elf queen, fists clenching. “You can’t make him fight again straight away! Look at him!”

  Maeve scrutinized the swaying warrior with clinical detachment. “I suppose it would be less amusing to watch him faint straight onto his next opponent’s blade. Very well. He may have a day to recover.”

  “A day-?” Tamsin started furiously—but a hand closed over her shoulder.

  “My lady is most gracious,” the warrior said to Maeve. His fingers tightened on Tamsin’s shoulder in silent warning. “I will endeavor to entertain you equally well tomorrow. May I take my leave, if it pleases you?”

  “Of course, my dear beast.” Maeve dismissed him with an airy wave. “Rest. Recover. And Cuan?”

  The warrior, who’d been steering Tamsin toward an archway, paused, glancing back. “My lady?”

  “Enjoy your prize.” Maeve’s eyes gleamed, red as the blood pooling on the pale marble floor. “While you can.”

  Chapter 6

  Enjoy your prize.

  In the giddy relief that her mysterious champion—Cuan, the elf queen had called him—hadn’t gotten his head sliced off, Tamsin had almost forgotten why he’d been fighting for her in the first place. But now, as the warrior led her deeper into the warren of stone corridors, the reality of her situation returned again.

  Cuan hadn’t fought the duel to free her. He’d done it to claim her.

  He swore he wouldn’t touch me. Tamsin swallowed hard, commanding her racing heart to slow. He asked permission before he even took my hand. He seems to be a good guy. He’s not going to do anything without my consent.

  And she definitely wasn’t going to consent to anything. Nope. No way. No matter how good he looked.

  Which was almost offensively good. Even wounded and exhausted, the man exuded raw, animal sex.

  Just a trick, she tried to tell herself. She hadn’t forgotten the mind-control magic that the other elves had used to keep her calm when she’d first fallen through the portal. He’s making himself seem super-attractive so I won’t want to run away.

  Knowing that it wasn’t real…didn’t help in the slightest. Her body was still more than willing to fall under his spell.

  Tamsin set her jaw. She stared at the back of Cuan’s dark head, not letting her gaze drop to the broad sweep of his muscled back. She couldn’t let his panty-melting magic and chivalrous manner distract her from the truth. For all that he’d defended her, he was still her jailor, as much as the other elves. She had to remember that he was her enemy.

  Admittedly, a smoking hot enemy.

  In leather pants.

  With a fabulous ass.

  Damn it. She jerked her eyes up again.

  “Hey,” she said, adopting a stern, no-nonsense tone to cover the way her hormones were shrieking take me now! “Slow down. We need to set a few things straight between us.”

  Cuan didn’t respond. He kept limping down the corridor, his strides uneven but rapid. He never looked back at her. Either he was simply assuming she would follow…or he was very, very certain that she couldn’t escape. Given the way that he’d flattened the armored knight, Tamsin was betting the latter.

  She tried again. “Look, I’m, uh, really grateful for what you did back there. But I meant what I said earlier. This doesn’t mean that you own me.”

  Cuan still didn’t look back at her. He lurched sideways, disappearing through an arched doorway. Tamsin followed on auto-pilot, and found herself in a dimly lit chamber. Her attention immediately snagged on one thing.

  A bed.

  A very large bed.

  Covered in deep, lush furs.

  She jumped as the door shut behind her with an ominous, very final-sounding thud. Cuan stepped out of the shadows, looking down at her at last.

  “You belong to the fae.” The elf warrior’s green eyes burned with hungry fire. “You belong to me.”

  Uh oh, whispered Tamsin’s common sense.

  Hell yeah! cheered a much more primal part of her.

  She swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the captive part of an insanely sexy fae warrior with incredible shoulders is holding me captive. This was alarmingly difficult. The feral intensity in the way he was staring at her, the broad expanse of his chest, even the barbaric streak of blood smeared across his face…it all added up to an intoxicating cocktail.

  Cuan stalked toward her, every muscle moving with smooth power. Despite her predicament, a jolt of pure lust spiked through her veins. Mouth dry, she stared up into those hard green eyes.

  He bent down, slowly, holding her gaze the whole time. Closer, his eyes filling her world, so close that she could feel the harsh rasp of his breath against her parted lips…

  And then, with a sigh, he collapsed.

  She barely managed to stop him from face-planting straight onto the floor. The sudden weight of his body knocked her off balance as she caught him. He ended up sprawled across her lap, head on her shoulder, eyes closed.

  This is my chance.

  Cuan was out cold. There weren’t any other elves around; the corridors he’d led her down had been deserted. She’d never have a better opportunity to escape.

  Gingerly, she lowered the elf warrior to the floor. He didn’t stir as she let go of him. Holding her breath, she backed away…and stopped.

  He was so still. She couldn’t even see him breathing. He looked so hurt, so helpless…

  “Tamsin, you’re an idiot,” she muttered, and kneeled down next to him.

  She reached for Cuan’s neck, searching for his pulse. A strange tingle shot through her fingertips the moment they made contact with his bronzed skin. She could feel his heartbeat; faint, but there.

  Succumbing to fascination, she trace
d the swirling indigo markings that ran down his neck. Cuan let out a soft sigh, and she jerked away—but he only frowned a little, head turning as though searching for something. Hesitantly, she laid her palm against his cheek, and his brow smoothed out again. He fell back into that deep, boneless stillness.

  There was a purpling bruise on his forehead where the black knight had head-butted him, but she didn’t think that was the injury that had made him fall unconscious. She prised at the complicated system of buckles and straps that held his armor in place until she could peel back the chest piece.

  She instantly knew that he was going to need more than her limited first aid abilities. A lot more.

  From the deep slashes across his side, it was a miracle he hadn’t collapsed halfway through the duel. His undershirt was soaked in blood, clinging to his muscled torso.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. Out of habit, she fell into the low, soothing tones she used with injured dogs. “Okay, big guy. Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Cuan stirred again as she stood up, one hand twitching as though to reach after her. Much as she hated leaving him alone and hurt, she didn’t have a choice. She had to find help for him.

  Swallowing a flutter of nerves, she opened the door. She half-expected to be met by a wall of sneering, smirking elves—but the corridor beyond was empty. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing from the stone walls.

  “Hello?” All her instincts screamed that it was a bad idea to venture back into those dangerous, alien hallways. She edged out anyway, raising her voice. “Hey! This man—uh, Cuan—he’s hurt! He needs urgent medical aid! Hello?”

  “Hello,” said a voice, right in her ear.

  She nearly had a heart attack. Whirling, she found a tall, muscular man standing just behind her, way too close. He didn’t have glowing tattoos like the other fae she’d seen so far, but he definitely wasn’t human. His white hair stuck up in tousled, unruly spikes, revealing pointed ears.

  He was dressed all in white, with loose pants and a round-necked tunic with frayed, ragged edges. His skin was pale as chalk. His eyes were shocking in contrast; sharp and black as obsidian. If she hadn’t been able to see him breathing, she would have seriously wondered if he was a ghost.