Hecate's Own: Heart's Desire, Book 2 (20 page)

Jo watched out of the corner of her eye as Lana went toward
the double doors and out of the ballroom. Zach was making his way across the
dance floor to where she was with Chris. “Here he comes.”

Chris winked. “I’m going after Lana.”

“Heading out?”

“Yup.” Chris’s grin was wicked. “I have plans.”

“I’m sure you do.”

She felt strong arms wrap around her. “Mine.”

Chris nodded and clasped Zach on the shoulder. “Yours.”

Zach’s lips brushed against her exposed mark. “Go get your
own.”

“Good idea.” The brothers exchanged hugs. “We’re heading
home in the morning.”

“I know.” Zach gave Chris one final hug. “We’ll be back for
Labor Day.”

“Or sooner.” The words popped out before she could censor
them. Why she’d said them she didn’t know, but she knew they were right. They
would
be back in Pennsylvania before Labor Day.

The men exchanged a glance. “Go get Lana before she gets in
trouble.”

Chris practically ran from the dance floor. Jo frowned.
“Geez. How much trouble can Lana get into?”

Zach laughed. “Don’t ask.” He twirled her around. “Ready to
blow this joint?”

Jo stretched her arms above her head, pleased by the instant
heat in Zach’s eyes. “I don’t know. I haven’t danced with Roland yet.”

The music changed to something warm and sultry. Zach pulled
her closer, nuzzling her neck. “I think I can handle one more dance.”

“Cool. Let me go find Role.”

His arms tightened. His teeth nipped at the side of her
neck. “Nope. You’re dancing with me.”

“Oh. Well. I suppose.” Jo wrapped her arms around his neck
with a weary sigh.

She could feel him grinning against the side of her neck.
“What a hardship, huh?”

“Totally.”

He lifted his head from her shoulder and smiled down at her.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you, Jo.”

She sighed, utterly content. Jo settled her head against her
mate’s chest and allowed the music to flow through her. Tomorrow Zach might
have to go face the bad guys again, but for now, she had her Own in her arms.
She sent up a prayer of thanks that she’d been blessed to find someone to love
like Zachary Beckett. “I love you too.”

“Hah! Fork it over, sucker.”

Jo jumped. Behind her, she could hear Roland grumbling.
“Damn sneaky witch. You danced us over here on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Yup. Now hand it over, Mr. McDoubty.” The greedy glee in
Ari’s voice was telling. She only sounded like that when she’d won a bet.

“Shit.” She could hear the rustle of paper, but damn if she
was giving up this floaty feeling. Besides, from the way Zach had gone rigid
she had the feeling she didn’t
want
to know.

“Best ten bucks I ever won.”

“Who knew Johra Yashodhar would go soft on me?”

Jo’s head lifted. She turned in Zach’s arms, scowled at
Roland, and broke out her Brünnhilde voice. “Soft?”

Wide-eyed, Roland backed away slowly, hiding behind
Arianna’s skirts. “Nope. Not soft. Not at all.”

She cocked an eyebrow at her Prince while she watched him
scurry away, Arianna laughing like a loon the whole time.

“I think you’re soft,” Zach whispered in her ear. She
shivered at the feel of his breath across her flesh. “I think you’re soft, and
sweet, and perfect.”

She snuggled back in his arms. “Well, at least you got one
out of three right.” She rubbed his arm as he chuckled against her. “Ready to
go home?”

“Mmm.” He licked a long line up her neck, and she knew that
whatever they did once they got home it would have nothing to do with sleep.
“Like I said. Perfect.”

About the Author

Dana Marie Bell wrote her first short story when she was
thirteen years old. She attended the High School for Creative and Performing
Arts for creative writing, where freedom of expression was the order of the
day. When her parents moved out of the city and placed her in a Catholic high
school for her senior year, she tried desperately to get away, but the nuns
held fast, and she graduated with honors despite herself.

Dana has lived primarily in the Northeast (Pennsylvania, New
Jersey and Delaware, to be precise), with a brief stint on the US Virgin Island
of St. Croix. She lives with her soul mate and husband, Dusty, their two maniacal
children, an evil, ice-cream-stealing cat and a bull terrier that thinks it’s a
Pekinese.

You can learn more about Dana at
www.danamariebell.com
or contact her
at
[email protected]
.

Robin Goodfellow has met his match.

The Hob

© 2013 Dana Marie Bell

The Gray Court, Book 4

When the Black Queen kidnaps one of the White Queen’s
nephews, Robin Goodfellow is sent to ensure that the young prince safely
returns to the bosom of his family. True to his role as Oberon’s Hobgoblin, he
is ready for anything…except meeting his truebond, the very delicious, very
human
Michaela Exton.

Michaela has dreamed about a flame-haired rogue named Robin
Goodfellow since she was a little girl, but everyone knows Puck doesn’t really
exist. In real life, it’s a dark-eyed man named Ringo who makes her heart beat
faster.

She is closer to her dream man than she thinks, and nobody
knows it better than Robin, who wears the guise of Ringo. But there’s
competition for her love in the form of Lord Raven, who holds a secret that
will rock the foundation of Robin’s world. As a Black Court delegate does the
unthinkable, leaving an enraged, grief-stricken Robin hanging onto his humanity
by a thread, only Michaela has the power to bring him back from the killing
edge—if she survives.

Warning: This book contains explicit sex, graphic
language, Robin Goodfellow and… Really. Do I need to say any more?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Hob:

“Hell and damnation. The man is becoming a master cock
blocker.”

Robin Goodfellow strode briskly down the marble encased
corridor, his boot heels clacking on the dark hardwood beneath his feet. Being
summoned by his king mid-seduction was becoming more and more common. If Robin
got interrupted one more time his balls were going to fall off from lack of
use.

Not that they hadn’t been emptied recently. They had. Just
not into a willing woman.

Whatever was going on, why he was having the most erotic
dreams of a dark-haired lovely, Robin didn’t know, but he was willing to bet it
had something to do with the sculpture Shane Joloun Dunne, a hybrid with the
power to see the future, had created. It graced Robin’s private chambers, a
taunting reminder that his bondmate was out there somewhere, waiting for him.

Ever since he’d placed it on his mantelpiece, he’d been dreaming
of her. Dreaming and spending into his sheets.

Today, for the first time in months, he’d seduced someone,
if only to get some damned relief. And even that was to be denied him as he
answered his king’s summons.

He paused briefly at the door to the library, captivated by
the sight of a dark head of hair with a rooster-like ruff peeking over the edge
of his black leather wingchair. Why she insisted on wearing her headbands that
way he didn’t know. Was it a sea nymph thing?

The moment she saw him she growled.

He bowed deeply, amused that such a homely face hid the
heart of a lioness. “Lady Cassandra, how do you fare this fine day?”

Cassie grumbled and glared at him. She’d been with him for
two months and had learned his ways. Surprisingly, like the Blackthorns and
Dunnes, once she became used to him she was unafraid of him. “I thought he
wasn’t going to come here!”

It was a shame, really, that she did not belong to him.
Robin could see past the too-long, almost homely face to the sweet, determined
strength she bore like a badge of honor. Her hissed indignation as she sank
lower into her seat had him chuckling in earnest.

“I swear, Robin, if he sees me I’m doomed.” Bright turquoise
eyes dominated her face, paler than usual.

“Hide then, if you must, but if you asked for sanctuary it
would be granted.” Robin would give his word, if need be, and tie her to his
house. Not a thing he did lightly, but since she’d saved a dear friend of his
Robin owed her.

The Hob
always
paid his debts.

She shot him a look so full of sorrow he tensed. “No. It
wouldn’t.” She sank down in the chair. “I’ll just stay here, if you don’t
mind.”

One day he would get her to tell him what was wrong, but
he’d learned not to push. To hear a siren sing her sorrow was to have even the
staunchest heart break in half. “Not at all. Shall I shut the door?”

He could barely see the negative shake of her head over the
top of the chair. “No, but thanks anyway.”

“As you wish.” Robin left the room, puzzled once more by the
mystery of his guest. She intrigued him in a way that few did, and he found
himself loathe to leave her side, even at the behest of his king. He hated to
admit it, but the woman’s dry wit and glowing smile had grown on him in the two
months since she arrived, but Shane, acting as the Child of Dunne, had declared
that Cassie was not to be his. Therefore, Robin was free to do as he wished
despite her presence in his home, hence the pretty dryad who had just left his
bed and home.

He’d served his lord for more centuries than he cared to
count, and would continue to do so for centuries more, despite untimely
interruptions and uncomfortably tight leather pants.

Still, having his fun interrupted had done nothing for his
temper, something that showed in the formal bow and razor sharp grin he greeted
his liege with at the front door.

He ignored the brief, indrawn breath behind him as he
escorted Oberon past his library to his study. Cassie would disappear soon
enough, eager to hide from the High King. Why she feared Oberon so was part of
the mystery that surrounded her. Once more, he found himself intrigued, but he
had little time to figure out the vagaries of the sea nymph. If Oberon had come
to Robin rather than summoning him to the Gray Palace, the situation was not
only dire but required the utmost discretion.

Robin closed the door, certain that Cassie would not dare
eavesdrop on Robin and the High King. As to the dryad in his bedchamber, she
was long gone, having used the portal therein for just such emergencies. Only
Robin could activate that particular portal; not even Oberon could enter his
bedchamber without an invitation.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, my lord?”
Robin swept his long auburn hair behind him with an almost effeminate gesture,
one that wouldn’t fool Oberon for a second. Anyone daft enough to think that
the Hob was weak would get what they deserved, and Oberon had never been a
dimwit.

“I need someone I trust to go to Philadelphia.” Oberon’s
waist-length silver hair gleamed in the reflected moonlight coming in through
the huge wall of windows that showcased the rugged, snow-covered Rocky
Mountains. He’d chosen a truly inhospitable place to put his Gray Palace, and
had allowed Robin to build his home beside it. Robin loved it, loved the view
of the mountains and the lake, the freedom to run as he wished, when he wished,
as did several of his people.

“You need me to check out those rumors we’ve been hearing?”
Robin accepted the glass of cognac Oberon handed him. He swirled the glass in
his hand slowly, warming the amber liquid. They’d made themselves at home in
each other’s places far too long for him to be offended that Oberon had gotten
into his liquor. Robin watched his liege through his lashes, observing the
nearly imperceptible movements of frustration and annoyance that anyone not
closely associated with his king would have missed.

“Titannia is up to something.” Oberon faced the windows once
more, and Robin hid a wince at his arctic tone. Oberon had adored his ex-wife,
been devastated when she’d betrayed him. Her duplicity had cost him,
emotionally and politically. He’d lost a piece of himself when the gods severed
their bond, and he was darker for the loss. “Gloriana’s nephew has been taken.”

Well. Titannia had certainly upped the ante this time.
“Shall I retrieve him, sire?”

“No. Not yet. For one, we don’t know where she’s stashed
him.”

Robin prayed she had not taken the boy to the Black Court,
but chance would be a fine thing. Titannia would do anything to achieve power,
even take a naive, innocent boy and twist him into her own image. Whoever she
had been before the betrayal, she was undeniably evil now. Her pact with the
demon had whittled away at her until Robin doubted she had anything left of her
soul.

When Titannia betrayed Oberon it caused a rift in the Fae realm
that would never be healed. Titannia, now the Dark Queen, ruled what had become
known as the Unseelie, or Black Court. Gloriana, the White Queen, ruled over
the Seelie, or White Court. By decree of the gods themselves, Oberon ruled over
both Courts as the High King of the Gray Court, the final arbiter of justice
when Titannia and Gloriana could no longer contain their hatred of one another.
Oberon’s task was to see to it that all-out war did not erupt between the
kingdoms and ensure the safety of Fae-kind everywhere by maintaining the
Seeming. The gods had decreed it; indeed, the gods were the only thing that had
stayed Oberon’s (and thus Robin’s) hand at his faithless wife’s throat. Their
bond had still been in place, and though it had hurt Robin grievously, he had
thought it would be better that Oberon die than Titannia live. Oberon had
agreed, but had been spared the loss of his life at the price of Titannia’s.

Both lived, and only one suffered for it.

Still, Titannia sought to overcome the decree handed down by
the gods, turning this way and that to try and unseat both Oberon and Gloriana.
This, the kidnapping of one of Gloriana’s royal house, was but the latest move
in a never-ending chess game that Robin was growing weary of. Perhaps Oberon
would allow him to change the rules.

He’d always been fond of backgammon.

“Find out what Titannia is up to, but do not attempt to
extract the boy unless all other hope is lost. Delegates have been sent to
negotiate his release, arbitrated by one of our own.” Oberon finally turned
around. Robin wasn’t surprised to see his king’s eyes had turned silver-gray,
almost white. They only changed that way when he discussed the Black Queen.
“The negotiations cannot be interrupted for any reason. Titannia must return
Gloriana’s nephew before the next full moon or we’ll have full-out war.”

“I can retrieve the boy.” Robin laughed. “It would be fun.”
He shot his liege a wicked glance.

Oberon sighed. “If it becomes necessary, yes. For now, I’d
prefer to use diplomacy to achieve the same result.”

“And Gloriana would owe you one?”

Oberon raised a weary eyebrow, his eyes returning to their
normal, stormy gray. “I don’t really care one way or the other, Robin. Just see
to it the boy is returned, preferably unharmed.”

Robin bowed his normal, mocking bow. “Do we know who holds
the boy?”

“No one is sure. That is another reason I need you there.
Find out where the boy is being held, and by whom. If necessary we
will
retrieve him ourselves.”

Robin shook his head. “What does she think to gain by this?”

The stormy gray eyes turned silver once more. “I have no
idea, but she won’t succeed.”

Robin took a sip of his cognac, thinking. “I can easily
infiltrate the Black Court contingent if it’s large enough. If she’s decided to
send only a few delegates, then things become…trickier.”

“I leave it all in your capable hands.” Oberon turned once
more to the windows of Robin’s study.

Robin interpreted this as a dismissal and began backing out
of the room. Oberon would leave when he was ready, and welcome he was to the
little warmth Robin had to offer.

After all, had it not been for Oberon, Robin would not
exist.

“One more thing, Robin.”

Robin halted at the soft tone of Oberon’s voice. When Oberon
spoke that way, all listened with respect, even Puck.

“You’ll have assistance with this assignment.”

Robin was certain he’d misheard. “My liege, I work alone. I
always have.”

“Not this time.”

Oberon’s back remained turned to him, but Robin could hear
the faint smile in the king’s voice. “All the times, my king.” Even when he
assisted his Blades, Robin worked alone.

“Do not defy me in this, Hobgoblin.”

Robin sighed. When the king called him that, he was
displeased, a state of affairs Robin actively avoided. “May I ask why, my
liege?” He was careful to keep his voice neutral.

Oberon waved his hand.

The chair, the white-on-white chair that Robin hadn’t even
noticed was there, shifted slightly, shocking him. The chair stood and
stretched, its arms elongating, its legs growing, until before him stood one of
the shape-shifting pookas. The pooka smiled at Robin, his shimmering, golden
eyes with their horizontal, slit–shaped pupils watchful in his narrow,
aristocratic face. He wasn’t much taller than Robin’s five foot ten inches, and
he was graced with a fall of blond hair that would make a Sidhe lady weep.
Ridged gray horns curled up from his forehead and blended into his hair.
This
one must be a master shifter indeed, to hide itself from me
. He saw at once
why such a talented shifter would be useful in his upcoming mission. If the
delegation were smaller than hoped, who would notice one more chair? And if the
pooka could fool the Hob, he could more than likely fool the Black Court idiots
Titannia would be sending.

Then again, Robin had not been expecting a spy in his own
study. The Black Court delegation would be on their guard for tricks,
especially if they knew Robin would be there. And how could they not? He was
Oberon’s Blade.

“This is Lord Kael Oren. He will be coming with you. He is a
cousin of the missing Prince Evan.”

Oh, this should be fun! Not.
Robin smiled at the
other man. He remembered the scandal following Prince Edmond Yate’s mating of a
pooka commoner. The White Court had been utterly appalled that one of
Gloriana’s brothers had lowered himself so, forcing Gloriana to raise the
girl’s family to the peerage. Prince Edmond had told them all to go pound sand
and declared that he was abdicating any right to the throne of the White Court
to be with the woman the gods had declared was his.