Ink Exchange (21 page)

Irial didn’t touch her. He walked beside her. In the darkest corner of the room, he snagged two bottles of water from a waitress.

“So, how are you feeling after Bunny-boy’s work?” He stood between her and the rest of the club.

She cracked the seal on the bottle of water and leaned against the wall, reveling in the feel of the bass thumping inside her skin. “What?”

Slowly, he reached out toward her. He slid his right hand up the back of her shirt along her spine to rest atop her still-tender skin. “The ink. Our tattoo.”

“
Our
tattoo?”

He leaned in closer and whispered, “I know you heard me, saw me watching when Rabbit drew on that delicate skin.”

He pressed his fingers over the tattoo until she winced. Her heart raced as if she’d been running for hours, as if the things in her nightmares had stepped into the room.
He’s lying. Crazy…He’s…not.
His words tasted true, felt right as they seeped into her mind.

“I felt each touch of the needle, drawing us closer and closer together. My eyes, Leslie, on your skin. My essence, love, buried inside you.” Irial leaned back, giving her a scant bit of space, making it possible for her to look into his eyes. “You’re my Mercy, my Shadow Girl, my banquet. Only mine.”

She slid partway down the wall and would have hit the floor if he hadn’t pulled her closer.

“That terror you feel right now”—he spoke softly, lips hovering over hers. “I can make it stop, just like that.”

As he said
that
, he inhaled, and she felt perfectly calm, as if they’d been discussing nothing special.

Her mind couldn’t process it—
refused
to attempt to make sense of what he’d said. Clarity filled her: all the weirdness of the past few days had brought her here.
He’s what’s changed. He’s why I’m…wrong.

“It’s not possible,” she said to him, to herself.

“You picked me. Rabbit told you it would change you.”

“So Rabbit drew your eyes, my bad luck.” She slid to the side, moving a little bit away from him. “That doesn’t tie us together. It’s just ink.”

With sinuous grace, he turned to lean on the spot she’d
just vacated, putting them side by side. He didn’t look at her but watched the dancers instead as he said, “You don’t believe that. You know better. Somewhere inside, you
feel
different. I know that, as clearly as I know that you’re watching for Niall, hoping he’ll actually strike me this time.”

She turned to look at him. “What?”

“He won’t. Can’t. There are only a few who can touch me, and he’s not one of them. But”—he drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, stirring tendrils of her hair—“I do like that you’re wishing it. Healthy feelings, those ones—rage, dismay, fear, and a bit of guilty temptation. They taste good.”

He laughed, a smoky sound curling around her like shadows taking form, like the shadows she’d imagined—
not imagined, but truly seen
—hovering over the bottle of ink at Rabbit’s shop. She looked then, and saw shadows flowing through the room, crawling toward her from the bodies on the dance floor, stretching themselves out like they had hands that would stroke her skin—and she really didn’t want them to.
Do I?
She licked her lips, tasting honey—
longing
—and pushed away from the wall.

Coming through those shadow-draped bodies were Keenan, Aislinn, and Seth. None of them looked happy, but it was Seth’s worried expression that made her falter. She didn’t want them to reach her any more than she wanted the shadows to. Rage at Keenan spiked, matching
the cloud of salt-soaked anger that came through the air in front of him like fog coming in from the sea.

Irial twirled her into his arms and gave her a look that made her shiver with longing.

“Mmmm, I like that one, but”—he kissed her forehead tenderly—“I need to deal with business now. We’ll have plenty of time for that soon enough.”

She stepped away from him, stumbling into the crowd, where Keenan caught her without looking away from Irial. But being in Keenan’s grip made anger flare purer than she’d thought she could feel, replaced the blood in her veins with salt. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “Don’t you
ever
touch me, kingling.”

“I’m sorry, Les. I’m so sorry,” Aislinn whispered to her. For a moment it looked like golden tears slid down her cheeks, but then she turned away and said, “Seth?”

“I got her.” Seth pulled her away from Keenan and tucked her under his arm protectively. “Come on, Les.”

Keenan put a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Take her to Niall.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she told the assembled group. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m—”

“Go home. You’ll be safer away from this rabble.” Irial inhaled again, and Leslie thought she could actually see shadows crawling across a twisting vine of ink—with feathers where leaves should be—that grew from her skin and vibrated in the air between them. When that shadow
vine stilled, she suddenly felt calm again, at peace, quiet.

And she didn’t want to be there any longer.

She didn’t speak to any of them as she turned her back and left.

C
HAPTER
25

Irial watched Leslie walk away with the Summer Queen’s mortal.
What would he tell her?
It didn’t truly matter, not now; she was his. Whatever they said or did wouldn’t undo that.

“If anyone tries to take her from me, to come between us”—he pulled his gaze from Keenan to look at the Summer Queen—“
you
understand, don’t you?”

She looked reluctant to answer.

“Aislinn?” Keenan took her hand in his.

She didn’t react to either faery. “She’s my friend. Leslie is not just some mortal; she’s
my friend
. I should’ve acted when I saw you at the restaurant.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. She was already mine. That’s why I was there.” He reached out as if he’d touch her cheek, hand hovering by her sun-kissed face, and whispered, “What would you do to keep your mortal safe, Ash? Your Seth?”

“Anything.”

“Exactly. You don’t want to try to take Leslie from me. Your little kingling
did
tell you who it was that bound him, didn’t he?” Irial waited for the flood of worry, of anger, of despair, and was surprised to find that the Summer Queen was in reasonable control of her emotions.

Looking rather like Gabriel’s daughters, the Summer Queen cocked her head. “He did.”

She stepped forward. Keenan didn’t move to stop her. Instead he watched her with confidence, his emotions calmed. The Summer Queen let a trickle of sunlight seep into her voice, a tiny reminder of what she was, what she was capable of. She was close enough that the desert heat of her breath scorched Irial’s face when she whispered, “Don’t threaten me.”

Irial held his hands up. “I’m not the one starting quarrels. I had business here: she’s my business now.” He felt ill at ease talking about her that way, his Leslie, his vulnerable mortal. So he changed the subject. “Thought I’d pay my respects to you while I was in the area…and check in on our Gancanagh. I find myself missing him lately.”

Neither of the summer regents moved.

“To think of all the years he’s wasted with you…” Irial shook his head. “What do you suppose it’d take to call him home to me?” Then he waited, looking forward to sating his hungers well enough to buy Leslie a few more hours to adjust before he started funneling the full weight of his appetite through her.

As the burst of Keenan’s emotions seeped into Irial, the Dark King walked toward an open table. Keenan and Aislinn followed, as he knew they would, and sat down across from him. He traced a finger over the names—signs of mortals trying to leave a mark of their passing—that were carved into the surface. A waitress paused to offer them drinks, calling Aislinn and Keenan by name.

Irial accepted. “Whatever they usually have and coffee for me. Dark black.”

The girl left, smiling a little longer than necessary at him.

If I could feed on them without an intermediary, like Gabriel’s daughter had…
He paused at that thought.
Had I known about Ani sooner…
But he hadn’t. He was on this path, had found a solution. He’d look closer at Ani later.

First he’d get things with Leslie settled. If she was strong enough, she’d survive awhile, but in the end…in the end mortals always expired before faeries. They were such finite creatures. Their first heartbeat and memory were but a blink from death. To add the weight of nourishing his insatiable court in a time of peace was to hasten that unconscionably. Peace would kill his Leslie too soon, but war was never wise. It was a balance he needed. Being on the edge of violence but not down in it was what the Dark Court needed.

Irial returned his attention to the pair across from him. Aislinn was murmuring to Keenan, soothing him. “Calm down. Niall’s not going anywhere…especially not to the Dark Court. He’s safe—”

“Precious, you wound me.” Irial laughed, immensely pleased by such naive belief, a true rarity in the courts. “Niall and I were
close,
if you will, before the young kingling was alive.”

Keenan’s anger flared. His fists were clenched so tightly, he was hurting himself. “And he’s spent centuries suffering for it.”

Irial leaned across the table. “Do you know how he struggles to deal with his yearning for Leslie? How very difficult…” He paused, pleased to see the tightening expression on Keenan’s face. “But perhaps there’s a reason he didn’t tell you? Perhaps he’s still more
my
court than yours. Perhaps he’s been mine all along….”

“Stay away from Niall,” Keenan said. Waves of desert heat radiated from him, pulsing against them all.

Beside him, Aislinn absorbed that heat as quickly as Keenan released it. “Keenan. Damn it. We need to discuss Leslie’s situation. Calm down or take a walk.”

What a nice idea.
Irial smiled at Aislinn. Then he turned back to Keenan, holding his gaze as he said, “He could reign in my court. What do you offer him? Servitude? Faeries? He’s a
Gancanagh
, Keenan. He needs mortal touch or some focus to assuage the yearning. He has denied himself for centuries to protect you. What’s he to do without a cause? Play nursemaid to the Summer Girls?”

Keenan struggled—and failed—to hide a flash of despair. A tiny rain shower began on the dance floor. The patrons squealed and laughed, no doubt explaining it away
with a mundane answer—a faulty sprinkler head or leaky pipe.

“Niall is better off with me. His loyalty is to
my
court; that’s cause enough,” Keenan said.

“Did you know that he has seen Gabe of late?” Irial lowered his voice conspiratorially and added, “He’s been under watch by Bananach. Do you think
she’d
bother with him if he weren’t a part of my court?”

The heat radiating from Keenan’s skin made the water in the room hiss into a steam. “He’s not Dark Court. He belongs among faeries who don’t torment him. He’s happier—”

“No. He’s not. The best we can hope for, kingling, is to find ways to be at peace with what we are. You understand that, don’t you? He’s teetering on the edge. You’ve given him the keys to his own destruction.” Irial watched Keenan, saw the acknowledgment he knew he’d find if he pushed hard enough.

“Don’t go there.” Keenan was carefully not glancing at his queen, carefully not admitting that he’d manipulated Niall and put Leslie at risk.

“Walk away from this, kingling,” Irial warned. “This isn’t a conversation you really want to have. Is it?”

The Summer King lashed out, a sharp wind that burned across Irial’s face, drawing blood to the surface. The intensity of the fury made it all the more nourishing for Irial.

Aislinn kissed Keenan’s cheeks. “Go on. I can deal with him.” She waved her hand at the crowd of mortals. Too
many of them were watching, curious and eager. “They don’t need to see this.”

Keenan made an abrupt gesture toward several of the rowan-men, and the guards—who looked like nothing more than the ominous young men in the dark alleys of most cities—moved closer. They leaned against a nearby wall, shooting menacing looks at Irial. It was a charming little show, their posturing—as if any Summer Court fey could daunt the head of the Dark Court. Without another word, Keenan vanished into the half-drenched crowd on the dance floor.

Irial smiled at the young Summer Queen. “Now that he’s gone, let’s you and I get to know each other.”

Aislinn gave him a smile that was caught between mortal innocence and faery cunning.

I could grow fond of this one.
She was a more challenging adversary than Keenan right now.

“You shouldn’t try Keenan like that. I’m not sure what secrets you two were exchanging, but this is
my
court now. Needling him isn’t going to help.” She didn’t bother to keep the heat out of her voice, but unlike her king’s, Aislinn’s temper wasn’t a concentrated slap. Instead the blistering summer heat pushed against Irial like a sudden gust, causing him to swallow hard against the taste of sand on his tongue.

Delicious.
He drank down her acrid temper with relish. “Secrets? Keenan was brought up longing for power—power I took from him under the will of the Winter Court. We have a history…not quite as fulfilling as my bond
with Niall, mind you, but the kingling has impotence issues with me.”

“I know what your court is. I know what you do. You’re responsible for the evil—”

“Evil?” He laughed then, letting every bit of his court’s true nature into the sound.

The Summer Queen caught her breath. Her face flamed red, and the waves of anger radiating from her brought blisters to his skin.

“Not evil, child, and I’d rather you didn’t insult me so”—Irial leaned closer, watching her face as she wrestled her emotions back into place—“because as much as I like your reaction, you’ve too many complications to interest me that way.”

“If Keenan hears—”