Carnal Magic: The Wraith Accords, Book 1 (5 page)

Aed’s face was savage as he slammed into her. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his chest, then he too came, back arched, muscles clenched. Isabel drank in the sight of his completion. Every muscle clenched, his hands digging into her hips, her name escaping his lips on a puff of air.

When it was done, he positioned her in the center of the bed and then collapsed down beside her.

Isabel took a moment to regain control—Aed had touched her more intimately than she’d planned, but it wasn’t the physical touch that scared her, it was the emotional connection.

She looked over at Aed, brushed a lock of hair from his face. There was more to the quiet warrior than met the eye.

“The humans have a saying.” She traced the line of his cheekbone.

“Hmm?”

“Still waters run deep. And your waters run very deep indeed, Aed mac Goll.”

He pulled her tighter against his side.

Isabel stroked the muscles of his chest, then traced the defined lines of his abs. “I see why the Fianna are such renowned warriors.”

He snorted. “War and sex are not the same thing.”

“Aren’t they?”

“No. War is far less dangerous.”

At that she laughed. Rolling over onto him, she propped her chin on his chest. He opened one eye and looked at her.

“I must say I am very glad about that Fianna rule.”

He raised his brows. “We have many rules.”

“Oh? Well, I once read that a Fenian, a warrior of the Fianna, could not refuse a lady’s advance.”

His mouth opened, then closed. “Uh, you knew about that?”

Isabel laughed. “So it is true?”

“Not any longer. That rule caused us much trouble in the past.” He grabbed her ass. “Is that why you invited me in, because you thought I couldn’t refuse?”

“No. I would have invited you in anyway. It just made you a sure bet.” She wasn’t sure he’d understand the somewhat modern phrase, but the way he rolled his eyes said that he understood enough.

“Look at it this way—now you can tell them I forced you.” Isabel sat astride him, rubbing her sex on his semi-erect cock. She shivered as it brushed her clit.

Aed tightened his hold, stilling her hips. “I thought this was our secret?”

She smiled. “It is.”

Isabel rolled off him and then off the bed and onto her feet. Old habits died hard and she liked to bathe after sex. “I’d like to wash. Is that a water closet?” She pointed to a door beside the fireplace. She hoped that the castle boasted running water. Surely a people with the power of the Tuatha de Danaan
would have amenities.

He nodded and closed his eyes.

As pleased as a cat with cream, Isabel strolled into the bathroom.

Aed yawned and rubbed his forehead. As the last reverberations of pleasure faded from his body, exhaustion stole over him. He’d been tense for days, preparing for Isabel’s arrival. After that bout of truly incredible sex, it was hard to be anything but relaxed. Out of habit he rose and redressed, using a little puff of air to quickly thread the laces Isabel had pulled out.

He’d had sex with a vampire.

She was nothing like he’d expected.

Both those thoughts merited further contemplation and study when he had time. He finished tying the laces by hand, then called back his armor. The weight of the metal settled on him, while the weight of the magic he’d used to vanish it lifted from his mind. He dismissed the dark coating that he used to camouflage the shine of metal when he was out at night, leaving his armor gleaming silver with gold inset patterns.

A wave of weariness washed over him. Aed frowned. He shouldn’t feel so tired. Maybe the tension of the past few days had taken more of a toll than he’d accounted for.

He rubbed his head again, releasing some of the other enchantments and wards he’d enacted in preparation for meeting Isabel. The less magic he was using, the less drain there’d be on his energy.

It was stuffy in the room. The banked fire seemed to roar with heat, and the air smelled like stale sex and sweat. His armor tripled in weight between one breath and the next. He tried to vanish it but didn’t have the mental strength. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He was roasting, like a pig in an oven.

Just outside the room the cool, sweet air of Tara was waiting, ready to soothe him.

Open the door. Open the window.

Aed went to the door, throwing it open. Dawn light filled the courtyard, making the lemons and grapefruits hanging from the trees gleam yellow and pink.

He took a breath of cool, fresh air, but the heat was still there, burning him from within.

Too hot. You’re suffocating.

In ten long strides he was across the room at the shuttered window. He grabbed the heavy, carved wood cover, but the cross bar had been welded to the stone. He dug his fingers in and heaved. Metal groaned and crystal hissed as the Fenian pitted his strength against structures that had been welded with both iron and magic.

Hurry. Hurry.

He heaved again, his whole being focused on opening the window.

A hiss was all the warning he got before Isabel slammed into him.

Aed hit the floor, his armor ringing against the marble. The impact rattled through him, the suffocating heat that had filled him gone in a moment.

She was naked, wet hair clinging to her face and breasts. The vampire was a study of dark and light with her pale skin and dark hair. Her eyes were black, her red lips pulled back from her long, white fangs.

Aed blinked, then looked at the sunlight spilling in the open door.

What had he done?

Before he could say anything, Isabel grabbed his breastplate at the neck and waist. Lifting him, she threw him across the room. He crashed into the doorframe. He was stunned both from the impact and from the fact that she was strong enough to do it. In the next second she was behind the door, shoving it closed and pushing him out into the corridor along with it.

“Isabel, wait.” He was still disoriented from what he now suspected was a spell. He struggled to get to his knees, but she kicked him. For a moment her leg was in the dawn light, the sun’s rays seeming to shine not on but
through
her flesh. He saw dark pink muscle, blue veins, red capillaries and the white twine of tendon.

Isabel screamed in pain.

Her kick knocked him into the corridor where he landed heavily on his ass and hands. Before he could get to his feet the door was closed with him on the outside. The heavy bar on the inside fell into place with a thud.

“Isabel!”

There was a crash followed by an enraged scream from inside. Aed stepped back, prepared to ram the door. She was in danger, he had to protect her.

But he’d been the one who’d opened the door. He was the one who had hurt her. The danger was not inside the room with her, it was outside in the corridor with him.

Taking a step back, Aed called on his training. Putting aside his feelings, he focused on what he knew. Someone had just tried to kill the vampire ambassador, using him as a weapon. He slammed his mental and magical defenses into place, wincing as they settled in the back of his mind, almost a physical weight in his skull. No one could break his mental barriers, but they had not been breached—he’d been tricked into dropping his shields, opening the way for someone to use magic on him.

Aed looked at the door, pictured the woman on the other side. He’d felt something with her he never had before, the intimacy between them was rare and special. But he’d betrayed her. Though he was the weapon, not the assassin, Aed knew that didn’t matter. He could pound on the door and demand that she let him explain, but what was the point? He needed to focus on his job, which was protecting her.

Aed braced his feet, laid one palm on his sword handle and scanned the courtyard.

He was a Fenian, and would not fail a second time.

C
hapter Five

I
sabel hobbled into the bathroom and turned on the cold water, sticking her burned leg under the stream. She beat her fist against the wall as pain washed over her, but after twenty minutes the fire had dulled to an ache and she shut the water off.

Either she had just been taken in by the most skilled liar she’d ever known or Aed was a pawn in a larger scheme to kill her.

Isabel dropped down onto the bed, willing her leg to heal. When she’d opened the bathroom door and seen Aed tugging at the window covering, there’d been something wrong with his face, almost as if he were wearing a mask—a mask carved in an exact replica of his features, but with none of the life of a real face.

That made her think that Aed’s actions were not his own, but the result of either orders or manipulation. And if that were the case, what else was a lie? Had he been ordered to sleep with her or merely ordered to give her what she wanted?

Isabel rubbed the heel of her hand up and down her breastbone. She hated that what had just happened between them was nothing more than a game, an intrigue.

Rolling herself up in the blanket, Isabel closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, praying she didn’t dream about Aed.

T
he throne room of Tara was a place of unequaled beauty. The massive room was built of pale green and white crystal and stone. Towering white columns supported virescent marble beams on which huge curved ceiling panels of cream and pearl quartz rested. The double doors at the entrance were carved with Celtic patterns and phrases in a script and language Isabel didn’t recognize. The view from the threshold was breathtaking, with a smooth expanse of white marble floor guiding the eye to the dais at the far end. The support columns marched down either side of this pathway, obscuring the true breadth of the room.

Had she come here under other circumstances, Isabel would have loved to explore the space, to remark on the proportions and the materials. Her long life had given her opportunities to explore many interests, and in the last three hundred years that had included architecture.

But the vampire’s awe was hidden behind an impassive mask. Danger was all around her. She’d made one mistake since coming here yesterday, and trusting Aed had nearly proven fatal. She had not survived this long by making such a mistake more than once. She hadn’t slept well after the confrontation with Aed, but luckily she’d arrived a day early, meaning last night and today she’d been able to hole up in her room and rest in preparation for her meeting with the Tuatha de Danaan court.

“Isabel.” Aed spoke from just behind her. He’d been her escort to the throne room, but unlike their first night’s trek this one had been done in silence. “Be careful what you say. Do not show your strength. Do not make promises or accept gifts.”

Isabel ignored him, as she had since emerging from her chamber. He’d tried to start a conversation when she first opened the door, but she’d made it clear that she did not want to hear anything from him.

“You must protect yourself. There are those here who can influence your thoughts. Do not let your mind wander.”

His words had the ring of truth, his urgent tone that of a man imparting some secret wisdom. His warning reminded her of the strange look on his face when he’d tried to so clumsily kill her with sunlight. Maybe this was his way of telling her that he’d been influenced by someone else, or maybe he only wanted her to think he was innocent of any ill intentions as a way of luring her back into trusting him.

“Thank you, Sir Aed.” Isabel’s tone was formal and distant.

Aed shifted, metal clacking softly. “There are things I would say to you.”

Isabel’s heart clenched. “No, Aed. No more lies.”

“I have never lied to you.”

“You mean you have never spoken a lie. I heard about your people’s trick of always speaking the truth, but there are more ways to lie than with words.”

She’d lingered too long on the threshold. It wouldn’t be good to appear reluctant or hesitant. Skirt swishing over stone, Isabel started walking. The size of the chamber meant she couldn’t clearly see the throne, or the people seated there.

The closer she got, the more wary Isabel became. She’d assumed distance hid the occupants of the room from her view, but that was not the case.

The thrones—one made of gold set with pearl, the other made of silver set with emerald—were empty.

Isabel’s visit had been negotiated for weeks. Everything from the time of her arrival to the day and time of her meeting with the High King and Queen had been arranged far in advance.

Where were they?

“It appears I’m early.”

“No.” Aed, who had followed her, stepped up beside her. “The Tuatha de are here.”

Isabel examined his profile. Treacherous he may be, but the strong yet vulnerable warrior persona was still appealing. She still wanted him.

“You should announce yourself.”

Isabel looked around again, this time spotting the long banquet tables on either side of the hall in the space between the columns and the walls. Sparkling crystal goblets were filled with blood-red wine, and bowls of fruit glistened in the light of hundreds of pure white candles. The table was ready, the wine already poured, but where were the diners?

Isabel examined Aed’s profile again, debating what to do. She had every reason not to trust him but no other source of guidance.

Reluctantly taking his advice, Isabel stepped forward until she was standing on a large silver circle in the floor just before the lowest step of the dais.

“I am Isabel Santiago, Sage of the Bucharest Cabal, Counselor to Duke Drakul, leader of the Vampire.”

Light flared, so bright she could not keep her eyes open. Though every instinct she’d developed since becoming vampire begged that she run, Isabel held her ground.

When she opened her eyes, Isabel couldn’t stop herself from falling back a step, her fangs elongating as fear spiked through her. The once-empty throne room was now full.

Each chair at the banquet tables was occupied and the space between the columns was crowded with tall, pale people. While their sudden appearance was alarming, the most startling figures were those on the dais.

High Queen Albha sat in the gold-and-pearl throne, the colors the perfect foil for her red hair and creamy skin. She appeared no older than a human of thirty-five. Her tawny gown was made of brocade and velvet, the lines clean and sharp. A gold diadem decorated her brow. The white statue was a very good likeness of this formidable woman.

If the queen was warm gold, the king was polished steel.

High King Cormac appeared much older than his queen. His hair was gray and there were lines at the corners of his eyes. He wore medieval-style dress—a long emerald tunic embroidered with silver thread. His boots were black leather and worked with the same patterns as his tunic. Like his throne, the king was all tones of silver and green, his shining argent crown and jade eyes the final touches.

“Lady Isabel.” The High King’s voice was smooth and powerful. Though he hadn’t yelled, his words echoed throughout the room. “Welcome to Tara. You are our most honored guest.”

“Your Majesty, the honor is mine.” Isabel curtseyed. “I bring you greetings from Duke Drakul.”

The corner of Cormac’s mouth twitched. “Tell your duke that I too send my regards and regret that he was not able join us here.”

Isabel smiled demurely. The Warrior of Bucharest would never have let Drakul come to Tara. It was far too dangerous. Plus, Drakul hated politicking. He was good at it, but would much rather make someone else do it. “I will carry your message, and wish to extend an invitation for you and your most beautiful queen—” Isabel smiled at Albha, “—to join us, either on the Plains of Moytura or at one of the Vampire palaces in the human world.”

Mutters ran through the assembled onlookers, the first sound any of them had made. The queen’s brows rose and Isabel heard Aed groan. Let them wring their hands and whisper. Isabel was not their subject, and the invitation was not so shocking.

Cormac’s lips twitched again. “A most intriguing invitation, which the queen and I must consider.”

Isabel inclined her head to the monarchs.

“Lady Isabel.” High Queen Albha’s voice was higher pitched than Isabel had expected, younger sounding than the age and wisdom in her eyes. “May I introduce my children?”

Four people appeared on the dais, one step down from the rulers. This time Isabel was not startled by their sudden materializing and was able to keep a pleasant smile locked on her face.

Three men and one woman, each breathtaking in their beauty, stared down at Isabel. She recognized Cairbe, who wore a pale green jerkin and tawny pants tucked into rich leather boots. A half-cape hung from one shoulder, the elegant and pale garments showing off his gold hair.

“This is our oldest child, Prince Cairbe, Lord of Spring.”

Lord of Spring? She’d never come across a mention in literature or mythology of the prince referred to by that title, though Aed had used it when they encountered him. She’d assumed it was a title used only by the Fianna, but it seemed it was not. Once she was home she’d have to investigate the issue.

Cairbe bowed, his eyes glittering as he smiled, seemingly daring her to mention that they’d already met. She was once more stuck by an intense desire for him, but now that she knew it was born of some magic it was easy to control the feeling.

Isabel curtseyed and said nothing.

Beside Cairbe was a man whose features were practically a mirror of his, save for a scar that cut across his lower lip. It was crude in an otherwise refined face, pulling his lip down on one side so that his mouth didn’t quite close.

“Prince Oisin, Lord of Summer.”

The scarred man bowed. His gold hair, three shades darker than his older brother’s, was pulled back. He was the most modern of them, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt open at the throat. A heavy amber velvet cloak hung from his shoulders. Besides the cloak, his garments were hardly court-worthy, and his bow was short and perfunctory. The Lord of Summer hadn’t dressed for the occasion and didn’t want to be here. Another interesting note.

“Prince Fionn, Lord of Autumn.”

Unlike his brothers, Fionn had rich, red-brown hair and a close-cut beard. He looked the most like the queen, but like his father he wore garments reminiscent of the medieval era—hose, tunic and boots. A sword hung from his hip. He had the air of a warrior, like Aed.

Fionn bowed solemnly.

“And my youngest child and only daughter.” Albha’s voice changed, tinged with both affection and weariness. “Princess Niamh, Lady of Winter.”

The princes, for all their size and strength, did not feel like a threat. Isabel could not say the same about the princess. Everything about her set Isabel’s nerves on edge.

White-blonde hair hung to her knees, blending with her snowy-white silk dress. She was the coldest day of winter made flesh, her cheeks and lips holding only the barest hint of pink. The only relief from the whiteness of her appearance was her eyes, which were such a dark blue that they were almost black.

When Isabel curtseyed in acknowledgement, she didn’t drop her gaze. Niamh returned her stare, her face impassive, giving no hint to her thoughts.

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highnesses.” Isabel curtseyed one last time, choosing her words carefully, grateful they were using elegant Old French, which made niceties easy.

“Lady Isabel, will you join me for a meal?” Cairbe descended from the dais and offered his arm.

“She doesn’t eat, Cairbe. She’s dead.” A hush settled over the hall at Niamh’s words.

Isabel turned slowly, focusing on Niamh. With great deliberation, she let her gaze roam from the princess’s head to her toes and then back, ending her study by focusing on her neck.

Isabel smiled wide, making sure her fangs, which were fully extended, showed. “You’re concern touches me, Princess. I will not eat, but I enjoy the company of those who do. I’ll settle for having some wine.”

Again the onlookers whispered amongst themselves. Oisin and Fionn shifted, looking between their sister and Isabel as if they weren’t sure if Niamh needed their protection. Isabel turned back to Cairbe, placing her hand on his arm.

“Your Highness, thank you for your most gracious offer.”

Cairbe grinned, the expression without subtext. He went from handsome to breathtaking, as if honesty increased his appeal. “I’m going to enjoy your visit, Lady Isabel.”

A
ed positioned himself against one of the columns. There were other members of the Fianna there, warriors who like him didn’t partake in the revelry—they were there as guards. Some were protecting heads of their own houses, though they’d renounced allegiance to any but the Fianna when they joined the band of warriors. Others were here taking the place he usually held—guard to the High King and High Queen.

Members of the high houses were seated at the tables closest to the thrones. Those from the lower houses stood until the royal family was seated at a table that appeared in the middle of the hall. If Isabel was startled by its appearance she gave no indication.

Aed doubted she knew how shocking her words and behavior were. He was both terrified for her and proud of her. She was stronger than he’d thought, and so it was likely that others would underestimate her, but that element of surprise would not save her—the strength of both will and magic in the princess and princes was fearsome.

When she’d finally opened the door to her chamber, the anger and hurt in her eyes had stilled the explanations and warnings he’d prepared. He should have forced her to listen so she would know to be on guard against an enemy strong enough to enchant him. As Cairbe guided her up the steps to the royal table, he whispered something that made her laugh. Heads turned at the sound of her mirth.

Isabel waited with the prince while the king and queen took their seats. Once she too was seated Aed stepped forward, taking a position ten feet back from her chair. He’d been awake for nearly three days straight, and his stomach rumbled at the smell of food, but he would not rest or give in to weariness. Whoever had orchestrated the attack would be looking for an opportunity to strike again, and if this banquet was anything like past events, there was a very real possibility that things could quickly turn bloody.