Tithed to the Fae: Fae Mates - Book 1 Page 5

  “Where did you come from?” she blurted out.

  The man cocked his head to one side, the movement strangely birdlike. “Through the door. Of course.”

  She stared from him to the doorway behind. It was the only one he could mean, and yet she could have sworn there hadn’t been anywhere someone could hide… “You were in the room the whole time?”

  “No.” He turned around, poking his head through the doorway—and his shoulders stiffened in sudden alarm. “Cuan!”

  Tamsin followed the strange man as he hurried to the fallen warrior’s side. From the clear shock on his face, he really couldn’t have been in the room before…but then, where had he come from?

  She set that mystery aside for now. “You know this guy?”

  The pale man nodded, his swift, agile hands patting at the warrior, seemingly at random. “Yes. Cuan. He’s my friend. I think. Wait.”

  The man reached into a hidden pocket. Tamsin caught a brief glimpse of something small and bright cupped in his palm. The man stared at it intently for an instant, then nodded, apparently satisfied.

  “Yes.” He made the whatever-it-was disappear back into the white folds of his loose shirt. “Good friend. Best friend. Yes. Are you a friend?”

  “I’ve only just arrived here,” Tamsin said, deciding that honesty was the best approach. “I don’t really know Cuan yet. But I don’t want him to die.”

  “No.” The strange man fixed her with that curious stare once more. For all his odd manner and alarming appearance, there was a strange innocence in his eyes. “I mean, are we friends? Do I know you? I forget.”

  Okaaaaaaaay.

  “We haven’t met before,” Tamsin said carefully. “But I would like to be your friend. Can you help Cuan?”

  “Not a healer. But know someone. Will go get him. Back soon. If I remember.” The man frowned, looking worried. “Wait. Need something.”

  The man yanked a blood-stained strap from Cuan’s armor. He held it up, the brass buckle glinting in the light.

  “Yes. Good. That will work.” The man wound the strap around his own wrist, paying no attention to the way it stained his pristine white clothes. “Will remember now. Back soon.”

  “Wait!” Tamsin called after the man as he strode for the door. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  The door was already open, but the man reached for the handle anyway. “Most people call me Motley. When they aren’t throwing things.”

  “Is that your real name?”

  Motley stilled for an instant. “I don’t know.”

  Without waiting for a response, he swung the door closed—with himself still in the room. Before Tamsin could ask what on earth he was doing, he jerked it open again. She caught a brief, impossible glance of pale tree trunks, stars caught between moonlit leaves—and then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

  Tamsin stared at the door for a moment. Going over, she opened it herself, and found herself looking at the familiar empty stone corridor.

  No sky. No forest. No Motley.

  “Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” she muttered to herself.

  Saying the name of the dog from the Wizard of Oz reminded her of her dog, still back in the real world. Angus wasn’t a clingy dog—he was far too full of his own self-importance for that—but even he had to be worried by now. The thought of him tied up all alone, barking and barking for her as the hours wore on and the night grew colder…

  “Hang on, baby,” she whispered. “I’ll come back to you soon. I promise.”

  But first she had to make sure Cuan would be all right. Motley didn’t seem like the most reliable of allies. She had no choice but to trust that he was indeed getting help, but she also didn’t know how long it might take to arrive.

  “Compression,” she muttered, remembering her first aid training. “Got to stop the bleeding.”

  She looked around for something she could use. The hall where she’d first arrived had been ornately carved and decorated, but this room was plain to the point of bareness. No embroidered hangings, no colored murals; just the bed and a few simple, utilitarian pieces of oak furniture. An odd wooden frame in one corner puzzled her for a moment until she realized it was a rack for holding armor.

  There was no dust, yet the whole place had the feel of a hotel rather than a home; sterile, orderly, bland. If this was Cuan’s room, she got the impression he didn’t spend much time here.

  “Wonder where you usually hang out.” Tamsin opened a drawer and found a row of neatly folded linen shirts. “Wow, Marie Kondo would love you. Who knew elves would be so organized?”

  She grabbed one of the shirts, pressing it to the worst of Cuan’s wounds. He didn’t so much as twitch. His bronze skin had taken on a sickly pallor that she didn’t like at all. Even his tattoos seemed to be fading.

  “Hey. Hey. Stay with me, big guy.” She stroked his dark hair back from his clammy forehead. “Cuan! Don’t you dare go and die on me now, you hear?”

  His eyelids flickered at the sound of his name, just a fraction. His out-flung hand twitched. She took it, winding her fingers through his, and felt the tiniest, lightest pressure in return.

  “That’s right. I’m here,” she murmured. “Hold on. Help is coming.”

  She didn’t know how long she crouched there, babbling soothing nonsense. By the time the door creaked open again, the wadded shirt was soaked through.

  “Ugh.” A tall blond man stood in the doorway, wearing brown robes and an expression of distinct exasperation. “Don’t tell me he’s already dead, and I came all this way for nothing.”

  “Are you the healer?” Tamsin didn’t dare lift the pressure she was applying to Cuan’s wound. “He’s still alive, but barely.”

  “Pity. I was just starting to hope I could turn around and go home.” With an irritated sigh, the man strode into the room, the hem of his robes sweeping across the floor. Like everyone else she’d seen so far, he had sharply pointed ears. “Well, let’s have a look at him. The sooner we can get this over with, the better.”

  Tamsin drew back a little to give him access to the wounded warrior. As the healer bent over Cuan, she glanced at the open doorway. Once again, it framed a view of wild woodland. A faint breeze blew into the room, carrying the wet, green scent of soil and leaf litter.

  Tamsin jumped as something white burst through the portal. A huge bird swooped twice around the room before landing on the end of the bed frame in a flurry of wings. The albino raven cocked its head in a strangely familiar gesture, staring at her with a gleaming, jet black eye.

  “Motley?” Tamsin guessed, uncertain.

  The raven let out a harsh caw. Then twinkling lights shimmered around its feathered body. When they faded, Motley’s lanky form perched on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, still watching her with the raven’s bright, enigmatic gaze.

  Tamsin stared from him to Cuan, and then at the healer. “Does everyone around here turn into an animal?”

  “No,” the healer said in curt, irritated tones. “I turn into a man. Obviously.”

  “His name’s Aodhan,” Motley volunteered. “He’s a unicorn.”

  Aodhan cast the other man a pointed glare. “Unicorns are self-important snowflakes with ridiculous sexual hang-ups and good PR. Do I look like I have a virginity fetish?”

  “Um.” Tamsin wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “So if you aren’t a unicorn, what are you?”

  “A librarian,” Aodhan snapped. “And also, at the moment, thoroughly annoyed. Stop asking silly questions, human. Unless you want this overgrown idiot to expire at your feet.”

  Tamsin shut her mouth.

  “It’s all right.” Motley was still hunched on the bed frame, his bare toes gripping the wood. “Aodhan’s not as bad as he seems.”

  “No, I’m worse.” Aodhan stood up, folding his arms and glaring down at Cuan as though his wounds were a personal insult. “Unfortunately, I also owe this cursed mutt a debt. Everyone back up. I need space
for this.”

  Tamsin retreated. Aodhan made a sharp, impatient gesture, shooing her further away. He waited, foot tapping, until she’d squeezed herself right into the corner.

  “Good enough,” he grunted at last. He shook back the sleeves of his robe, exposing muscled forearms. “Now stay there, and stay still. Also, you might want to close your eyes.”

  Tamsin started to ask why—and then a flare of golden light blinded her. She threw up her hand, shielding her face.

  After a second, the glare stabbing through her closed eyelids faded to the warm glow of summer sunlight. She risked a peek—and her jaw dropped.

  “You are a unicorn,” she blurted out.

  The creature’s sapphire eyes rolled, shooting her a dirty look. With a pointed snort, it spread its wings.

  “Oh,” Tamsin breathed. She reached out, unable to help herself, toward those gleaming golden feathers. “Oh. Can I…?”

  “You most certainly may not.” The winged unicorn’s muzzle didn’t move, but the voice was unmistakably Aodhan’s. It folded its wings again, the feathers lying flat against its sleek white flanks. “Now shut up so I can work.”

  The alicorn’s silky golden mane swung forward as it lowered its head. The tip of its long, spiraling horn brushed Cuan’s wound. The sunlight glow brightened. Light ran from Aodhan’s horn, pooling over Cuan’s motionless form.

  Cuan’s chest rose abruptly. He sucked in a great, gasping breath, as though he’d been drowning. Color returned to his face. His tattoos—or whatever they were—shimmered brighter blue, once more standing out bold and vibrant on his skin.

  Another bright flash made Tamsin squeeze her eyes shut. When she opened them again, Aodhan was standing there on two feet again, straightening his robes. He held up his hands in front of his face, turning them over as though inspecting them.

  “It’s impossible to get the fingers right first time,” he said grumpily. “I’d finally tweaked them to the perfect length and position, and now I’m going to have to start all over again. You humanoids have no idea just how complicated your bodies are.”

  Tamsin knelt down next to Cuan. Drying blood still coated his side, but underneath were just pink, fading scars. The bruise was gone from his temple too. His eyes were still closed, but at least he looked like he was sleeping rather than dead.

  “He’s going to be okay?” she asked Aodhan.

  “Well, I couldn’t do anything about his tragic lack of common sense, but the rest of him is back in one piece.” Aodhan dropped his hands back to his sides. “He’ll be unconscious for some time, though, while his energy recovers. When he wakes up, tell him that this pays off my debt. Next time he decides to walk onto someone else’s sword, he can fix it himself.”

  “I can’t wait around until he wakes up. I have to get back home.” Tamsin looked hopefully at Motley. “Can you make a magic portal for me, like you did to go fetch Aodhan? One that will take me back to the human realm?”

  Motley shifted his weight from foot to foot, like a bird balancing on a swaying branch. “Not supposed to.”

  “But can you? For me? Please?”

  Motley still looked uneasy, but he nodded. “Yes.”

  “No,” Aodhan said.

  Tamsin’s heart, which had been rising, sank straight back into her shoes. Even in this form, Aodhan looked like he could hold her off with ease—and that was discounting the fact that he could turn into a huge winged horse with a great big spike sticking out of its forehead.

  She couldn’t possibly fight her way past him. And from what she’d seen of him so far, she didn’t think she’d be able to appeal to his sense of compassion.

  “Please,” she said, trying anyway. “I left my dog behind, he’ll have no idea what’s going on. He’ll be cold, hungry…I’m begging you, please let me go!”

  “I can’t do that.” Aodhan’s tone was as sharp as always, though she thought his sapphire eyes had softened, just a little. “I can sense the chains around you, human. You were tithed to the fae. You’re bound to the unseelie court. To the high sidhe.”

  “Those are Maeve’s people, right? But you aren’t one of them.” Neither Aodhan nor Motley looked like the elves—or high sidhe, she guessed she should call them—who’d captured her. “You aren’t part of this court. Why do you care if I escape?”

  “Oh, believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to see those insufferable high sidhe lose one of their precious games.” Aodhan shrugged. “But you can’t go back to the human world. Or rather, you can, but I don’t think you’d enjoy the experience much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you were tithed to the fae,” Aodhan repeated, and there was definite pity in his eyes now. “You’re bound to this realm. And if you leave, you’ll die.”

  Chapter 7

  He was having a marvelous dream.

  A goddess bent over him, tenderly sponging his bare chest with a warm, damp cloth. He drifted, limbs heavy with exhaustion, surrendering to the comfort of her touch. Her voice was the most beautiful music, murmuring sweet, strange incantations: lord have mercy, and well hello sailor, and holy beefcake batman…

  It was all so pleasant, it seemed a shame to wake up. But through his muzzy fog of contentment, duty prodded him, sharp and insistent. There was a reason he could not allow himself to relax and enjoy the novel experience of being cared for like this. A very urgent, pressing reason, if he could but remember it.

  Something important. Someone important…

  He snapped back into consciousness with a gasp, to find himself lying on his own bed, a blanket draped over him. Curiously, nothing hurt. He brushed a hand down his side and found nothing but the slight ridge of a new scar.

  Apparently, he wasn’t dead.

  But that would mean nothing, if she was gone.

  He jerked upright, his panicked gaze sweeping the room—and his taut shoulders relaxed. The human woman lay curled on the floor next to his bed, head pillowed on a russet fox fur, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

  Cuan sank back into his pillows, letting out a relieved sigh. She was still here. And, even better, she was still asleep. If he’d awakened to find her already staring down at him, before he’d had time to mask his true visage…he flinched from the mere thought.

  He summoned his magic, setting his usual glamour back into place. It took rather more effort than usual. His mystic energies had been drained and weakened by his injuries as much as his physical body. From his soul-deep weariness, he truly had been brushed by the Morrigan’s dark wing.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. He took brief stock of himself. His injuries were completely healed, even the bites he’d taken from the seelie fae hounds no more than old scars. He still wore his torn leather leggings, but the rest of his gear lay in a haphazard pile a little way off. That told him that he hadn’t undressed himself.

  He gazed again at the human woman, wondering if it had been her soft hands that had loosened his armor and removed his shirt. The thought was instantly arousing.

  And also extremely unlikely, he reminded himself. Given her experience with fae so far, no doubt the only desire in her mind is to brain you with a blunt implement.

  That cold truth was as effective as ice water on his body’s rising interest. Why hadn’t she finished him off while he lay unconscious and helpless? Why was he still here? Why was she still here?

  It was a mystery even greater than his healed wounds. When he’d passed out, she’d had the perfect opportunity to escape. Why hadn’t she?

  Or…had she tried to run? She wouldn’t have been able to get far. Maybe she’d been caught and returned by the sidhean guards…

  His fists clenched in fury at the thought of another fae daring to lay hands on her. Sliding out of bed, he kneeled down next to the woman, searching for any sign of bruises.

  To his infinite relief, she seemed unharmed. He knew that he should draw back, to leave her to rest in
private, yet he couldn’t tear himself away.

  From the lush curve of her plump shoulder to the tender line of her wrist, her entire body enchanted him. He marveled at the deep brown hue of her skin; the dense, perfect curls of her midnight hair. She looked like some slumbering summer goddess, ripe and rich and fertile, waiting to be worshipped.

  She didn’t stir as he leaned closer. Her full lips were slightly parted, moist and maddening. She sighed in her sleep, her sweet breath ruffling her fox fur pillow. Wrong, this was wrong, yet he couldn’t help himself—

  Two things happened, at the same time.

  It occurred to Cuan that he did not own a fox fur pillow.

  And the pillow opened beady black eyes, let out a scream like an enraged banshee, and went for his throat.

  With a startled yelp, Cuan scrambled away from the gaping maw of razor-sharp teeth. The snarling thing changed target, shooting straight for his groin. Cuan leaped for the top of his dresser, pressing his back to the wall and fumbling for his swords. The thing bounced in gravity-defying arcs, snapping at his ankles, all the while shrieking fit to raise the dead.

  “Angus! Off!”

  The demonic horror backed off at the human woman’s call. She swooped on it without the slightest trace of fear, scooping it up in her arms.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” the woman said to Cuan. “You surprised him.”

  Cuan lowered his swords, still breathing hard. “I surprised it?”

  “Him, not it.” The woman cuddled the creature as though it was an adorable infant rather than a ball of fiery fur with fangs. Her voice dropped to a fond croon. “Angus was just trying to protect me, weren’t you, sweetie? Who’s a good boy?”

  Incredibly, it appeared that she meant the vicious monstrosity.

  Cuan maintained his grip on his swords. “Where in the name of the Shining Ones did that creature come from?”