The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (16 page)

She laughed, a golden, poignant sound he’d love to bottle up forever.

Butterfly that she was, he could only keep her so long in his jar or she’d become brittle and cold, a human stolen out of her time. And he’d be no better than any other thieving member of the dark court.

Logan leaned on his folded arms and closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of his prize twirling in the sun, and savored the sting of his remorse.

Trina reveled in the clean clothes, clean hair, and underneath it all, clean underwear. The new dress was a too-thin white cotton with a longer skirt that flared with each luxurious spin. She never thought she’d be so happy to see her skin through fabric, but after two days sweating, fighting, and riding a horse, she was grateful for anything that smelled of fresh laundry.

She snuck a peek at the dark open doorway of the cottage. Two days down and three hundred sixty some to go…without tasting him again.

Not having sex was the right decision. It respected her integrity, her tribe, and her mission. She would stick to it if she had to repeat all of this out loud, every day, of every morning, of the entire year.

Back ramrod straight, she headed into the cottage. Logan still sat on a kitchen chair turned the wrong way, resting his arms on the back. He whistled an appreciative wolf call, but his eyes retained an unusual pensive expression.

“It’s a good fit,” he said.

She shifted uncomfortably under his close scrutiny. “Do you think so?” she asked, touching the skirt, not sure why she cared.

“You ran out of here so fast, I didn’t give you the shoes.” A pair of leather ballet flats dangled from his long fingers. Worn, soft, and brown, they were well made and well used, but still in great shape.

She tried them on. “Perfect fit, thank you.” She wiggled her toes in the butter soft leather. “Should I even ask what happened to the original owner?”

“You can ask, but you can’t ask me. They came from the attic of the other house, just like the dress and everything else. I’ve no idea whose they were, but if I were you, I’d simply be grateful and say ‘thank you’ to my uncles when you see them next.” His pensive look returned. “Our kind are mostly benevolent, but gifts are a funny thing with the fae. Sometimes when you question too much, they end up turning around and biting back.”

His eyes dropped to her lips and the space between them seemed to shrink. Trina’s breath hitched.

Her tongue flicked out in a fast, reflexive pass. His nostrils flared. A small tremor vibrated deep inside her. Awareness of his predatory nature rushed through her veins.

Too late, she tried to move.

He reached for her, pulling her in close. “What the hell have you done to me, woman?”

The wooden chair back pressed against her stomach. She kept her voice quiet. “What are you doing?” She didn’t want to challenge him and risk waking the beast that lurked in his strange eyes. “We agreed, no more sex.”

“One kiss,” he murmured, his expression dark and hooded. He held still, waiting for her. He spoke, a warm breath passing between his lips to touch hers. “One kiss won’t hurt.”

Her lips parted. Her muscles loosened, growing warm and ready. She knew she shouldn’t, but she leaned in anyway.

One kiss wouldn’t hurt. Shouldn’t hurt.

Their lips brushed, barely touching. The pressuring need for more built inside her. She pushed closer, silencing the tiny voice that whispered “stop” in the back of her head. His hands closed in light restraint on her upper arms, his thumbs stroking her skin. She could still pull back. If she wanted to.

She opened her eyes. His eyes were right there, looking deep into her soul as the touch of his lips feathered hers. The tension in his body, the way he held her arms, the dark, dangerous heat in his eyes told her, he was near the breaking point. She started to give in, then reason flooded back.

She lurched away. And he let go.

Loss coursed through her and she started to shake. The loss of his lips and the loss of him. The loss of a piece of herself, tiny, small, and gone. She backed into the door frame and hit her head.

Bold, white lines formed on his knuckles as he held onto the chair back like a lifeline. He rested his forehead on the wood, his breathing rough and ragged. “Why don’t you step out onto the front porch Trina, and give me a moment.”

She hesitated.

His brogue deepened. “If you don’t go, I will assume you have changed your mind.”

She fled.

Chapter Ten

Logan shifted on the porch railing and tried to remember what he’d been saying before a flash of Trina’s cleavage in the dip of her bodice had distracted him. He’d recovered his restraint and they were discussing their plans while she sat in the sun on the bottom step of the cottage, struggling to work a comb through tangled, wet hair, and he perched on the rail, reminding himself of all the reasons why he should stay controlled.

His resolve fled as she lifted her arms high and the white cotton of her damp dress pulled and stretched, the thin material molding to the shape of her soft stomach, slim waist, and every detail of her lacey bra.

He leaned on the post behind him and imagined touching the tiny swirling details, his tongue tracing the rough lines of leaves and vines across the full sides of her breasts and over the hard pearled nipples, until he reached the soft skin of her cleavage swelling above the wet cotton.

Damn.

He was hard again, and he needed to stay away from her to win her trust. His plan would work, was working, he just needed to hold out a little longer and she would be the one begging to climb into his bed.

If he could hold out.

“You stopped talking,” Trina said.

The sun-heated smell of lavender rose from her skin, and a physical memory of her rising naked in the water wafted on the breeze. He shifted on the wooden railing, trying to make his hardened dick comfortable.

“Yesterday was the first night of the meet,” he said. “And there are six nights left. I’ll go tonight, and if needed, I can go again. My uncles have pledged to keep you safe whilst I’m gone.”

Her outraged hiss dragged his attention away from her breasts and up to meet the furious green of her cat’s eyes. Frowning, he tried to figure out what he’d just said, or why it could possibly have made her angry.

Dropping the comb, she stood up, the sunlight shining through the white dress and outlining her luscious legs. “There’s no way you’re going without me.”

How was he supposed to listen to her when all he could think about was fisting his hand in the fragile fabric of the front of her dress and tearing it down the middle so he could see her skin, caress the bell of her hips, and dip his tongue into the dent of her belly?

“You need me!” Her voice rose, her chin lifted, and her fingers pressed deep into her hips.

He swallowed.

“These are my people. I have a better chance of finding out what we need to know. You can’t hide being fae among the talented of the tribes. They’ll sniff you out from a hundred yards away.”

“I hadn’t planned to hide. If there are any of the queen’s spies, they will expect me to try to find the rest of your family, and what better place would there be to find a gypsy than at the meet?”

“Are you trying to track my family down?” Trina’s voice tightened. Frightened, angry, or betrayed, he couldn’t be sure. What was clear were the tears that glistened in the corners of her eyes.

He jumped off the railing and crossed to her side, his need to touch and soothe pushing all his plans of abstinence out the window. She whirled away, her dark, wet hair flying out in a circle and slapping him in the face.

His anger volcanoed up, but he pushed the rise down and kept his words level. “Trina. I promise you. I’m not trying to hunt down your family. If I wanted to, it would have been easy for me to do it while your house was still standing. Trust me, the hounds of the Wild Hunt can sniff out any prey I choose.”

His muscles tensed for action, but he hesitated, letting her appreciate his forbearance. She was sure to know stories of the ferociousness of the hounds of the Hunt, and while they appeared to be lazing around the clearing like regular dogs, they were far from ordinary. His command of them was more restrained than previous masters. It was better that she not know of their true darkness. Or his.

“Why hasn’t the queen loosed you on us before?” Her body tensed for flight, but she still stood within his easy reach, quivering with anger. “Why not use your hounds and track down all of the MacElvy’s, one by one?”

Hot fury flashed through him at her supposition that he was the queen’s to use.

“The queen and I do not agree on my role in her court.” The words pushed through his teeth. He unclenched his hands, forcing himself to relax into a semblance of control. A cloud floated across the sun. What was wrong? Where was his discipline?

Logan exhaled and rubbed his tense forehead.

“The hounds haven’t always been mine. The mantle of Huntsman fell on me when the previous one died. Since then, her majesty and I have disagreed as to what the title means.” He wasn’t ready to reveal to her all the sources of his anger with the queen.

He took a second, deep breath. “I’ve never been in her favor, but I’m an asset she refuses to relinquish. She only took the risk of releasing me now because her other methods have failed.”

“Why are you helping me?” Her eyes sparked.

He couldn’t help but admire her pluck. She was afraid of him, but she refused to back down. “Why am I helping you?” All the selfish reasons and justifications he had told himself for taking her prisoner ran through his mind, but one-by-one, over the last two days, they had fallen away. Only one reason stood out now, staggering in its simplicity.

“You need me.”

They stood separated by a few feet, but at the complete truth in his statement, her energy flared out and touched his, just as if she stood in the circle of his arms. Anger ebbed from her face. He crossed the grass to her and slid his hands up her slender neck, his thumbs resting on her collar bones. She curved toward him, her hips bumping into his. Their mouths met, and his need rose, raw and hungry and ready for her to yield.

He worked his hand down her damp skin, over her bodice and the swell of her breast. Her nipple beaded under his palm. He squeezed the flesh lightly, then tighter when Trina moaned and pushed closer. She gripped his ass, his throbbing erection pressed between them.

“Whoa, lass,” he said and pulled back. “I’m on the edge of throwing you down and fucking you raw, and you and I both deserve more than that this time around.”

Her hands relaxed, sliding and stroking up and down his hips and he was able to breathe.

Leaning back, he traced along the tempting curves of lace he’d imagined under her dress. Following his fingers with his mouth, he tongued her nipples through the wet cotton while she arched, moaned, and yielded.

Trina fumbled at the myriad of small buttons that ran up the front of the dress.

“No.” He took two handfuls of the cotton, just over the rise of her breasts, and gripped them hard, his knuckles pressing into her flesh.

“What…”

“Hush,” he said, and ripped. Tiny buttons flew through the air, exposing her bra, her skin, and the innocent, white panties he’d chosen for her just that morning.

Logan pulled off the dress, skimming her back and arms and tossing the rent fabric to lie in the grass with the lost buttons.

He stripped off his own clothes. She tugged the bra down and her breasts fell out like ripe fruit. He came in close for a taste. He groaned, his breath causing her already tight nipples to furl even tighter. He teased the peaks, lightly licking and blowing on the tips, growing harder with every pleased mewl in her throat.

She pulled on his shoulders, trying to take him down to the grass with her.

“Wait, lass, I want to look at you.”

Heat flushed along her face, down her neck, all the way to her pink nipples rising and falling with every quick nervous pant. He savored the moment. The light breeze cooled the surface heat of his skin, but inside, he boiled for Trina, a human. Impossibly young, gorgeous, and frail.

Something strong and unfamiliar rose under his lust. He pushed it away, deep down in the dark, closeted somewhere unwanted and unidentifiable. Instead, he took his time following her curves from the dark, wet hair clinging to her shoulders to her damp, full breasts all the way down to the lickable dent of her navel. She had a slim, strong waist and a soft, slight belly. He reached out, stroking down the slope, following the path that dipped between her thighs. Toying with her dark curls, he raised his eyes to her face as she shifted and flushed.

“Please,” she said.

“Please what?”

“Please suck my nipples like you did last night.”

He growled, “Is that all you want?”

She panted as his fingers slid between her curls and along the outside of her folds. “No, I want more.”

“Tell me.” He rubbed, pushing deep into her warm, wet center, and she tumbled to the grass, her legs falling wide to receive him.

“I want you to touch me, lick me, here, now.”