The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (8 page)

He’d gambled all and he would get the most out of this bargain. This was a precious opportunity handed to him by the Fates. And he wanted it. Wanted her. Not just as a bargaining chip against the queen, not just as a way to achieve his freedom, not just as the closest piece of ass. He wanted her so he could feel like this, aroused and alive.

Her lids fluttered. She was about to wake and he was back under control. He stroked her sleeping cheek, sure now that his taking her was worth the risk.

Trina dreamed of green woods and the smell of hot smoke and leather. Deep blue eyes floated in the smoke, dominating the dreamscape, their seductive intent luring her deeper into the dream. A tendril of smoke caressed her skin, slid down her face and along the bottom of her lip, teasing her mouth open. She licked out, and tasted heat.

Real strokes on her cheek permeated her sleep, coaxing her awake. She resisted, holding on to the trailing edges of the dream as long as possible.

And opened her eyes.

Her kidnapper sat next to her. His warm skin and leather-clad body leaned dangerously close to her dream-heavy limbs. She stared into his eyes, his lids low over his hot, crystal gaze as he drew down her cheek with a long, careful finger.

Desire formed hot and low in her pelvis, heating her from the inside out. In the back of her mind, a small voice reminded her. This was only magical chemistry. She shouldn’t want this one.

She sat up fast, ending too close, with her face against his neck, tangled in his long, black hair. His heart beat pulsed in the skin of his throat and her mouth opened in anticipation, her wayward tongue reaching for the salty hollow of his neck.

Trina pressed her lips together, hard, to avoid the temptation of his throat and fell into her next mistake. She looked down at his hard muscled thighs clad in soft touchable leather. Her fingers twitched with the need to stroke. She clenched them into white knuckled fists. Her nipples hardened.

What was wrong with her? She had to stand firm against his fae charm. She would have no bargaining power, no pride left, if she jumped his bones now.

She jerked back, hitting the headboard. Pain jolted the back of her head, but she wasn’t far enough away. Away from the temptation of black hair, touchable leather, and hard muscles inches from her fingertips. She could almost taste the smoky saltiness of his skin. Her mouth softened.

Scrambling off the bed, she tugged the blanket in frantic desperation to escape her own wanton desire. He leaned on his arm and raised his body up, letting her take the blanket, his eyebrow curved high in amusement. She wrapped the blanket in a tight shield around her nudity and arousal and prayed to the Goddess he hadn’t seen her hardened nipples and flushed skin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Observing my new servant.” He reclined on the bed, a lazy smile playing on his lips as his gaze slid down the length of her body.

Her pulse jumped and she pulled the blanket tighter.

Despite his confidence, there was no way he could know the trail her sensual thoughts had taken down the skin of his throat. And along his long, leather-clad legs.

She raised her chin. “And here I thought this was some weird vacation.”

There could be no delusions now. This was no dream, no vacation. Reality was this hot, hot man lounging on her bed, regarding her from under a fall of perfect black hair with predatory eyes.

And she’d better remember that he was a predator. He was fae.

“I may be your servant for a year, but you’ve no right to enter my bedroom, damn it!” Her voice hitched, ruining her attempt at authority.

“Actually, this isn't your room,” he said, the soft, animal smile dropping from his lips. “And even if it were, I have every right. Indentured servants have little right to privacy.”

A hard, cold lump formed in her chest and expanded until she struggled for her next breath. “I can’t be hearing this right. An indentured servant? No such thing!” She stepped back. “That went out of style two hundred years ago.”

It hit her like a son-of-a-bitch that she was alone with him upstairs. She couldn't hear anybody else in the house. Who would come if she screamed?

“What sort of servitude did you think we bargained for last night? You indentured yourself to me for a year.” His tone was light, but his implacable eyes were steady as he lazed on the bed, a big cat in the sun deciding on his next move.

“No way.” Fragments of scattered homeschooling flashed in her head. “I know what happens to indentured servants and it’s not good. I will clean your house or wash your car, but I have rights. I will have all the rights a person has in this country!”

“And what country do you think you’re in?” He murmured, so low she had to take a reluctant step closer to hear his next words. “Do you think you’re anywhere close to home?”

Trina’s throat tightened, her saliva dried up into the Sahara. She had no clue. They could be anywhere in the world. Maybe not even in her world.

“Well then, where are we?” she squeaked out.

He stood up and stalked toward her, a small side braid glinting silver as it swung. “You might ask when we are as well, but it will do you no good.”

His ears seemed more pointed, his eyes sharper. The room, and all the oxygen in it, shrank with each step he took. He spoke in a low, assured voice that screamed he was up to no good. “You made a bargain with me, Alice. Too bad you didn't stop to read the contract. It clearly states you’re indentured to me for the period of one year and a day.”

“Stop calling me that! I have a name.”

“And?”

“It’s Trina. Trina MacElvy. No more of this Alice crap.”

“Well, Trina MacElvy, then this is something you should see.”

He snapped his long, elegant fingers and a rolled-up piece of parchment appeared in his hands. He extended it out to her.

She swallowed, trying to move the sand in her throat. She’d never seen anyone do magic like that. Like breathing. She took the parchment.

Securing the blanket under her arms and keeping a wary eye on the elf, Trina moved over to a small table in the corner of the room. His negligent position, hands clasped behind his back as if he had all the time in the world, set her teeth on edge.

She struggled to untie the stiff black cord with one shaking hand. The paper was made of thick vellum and reluctant to unroll. The swirling writing and atrocious spelling written in a thick, black, textured ink were difficult to decipher. It started with yesterday's date and “
To whome it maye concern…
”

It stated she was Logan Ni Brennan's indentured servant for one year and a day, and she was to give service of any sort he required in exchange for her life. He was to provide two sets of clothing, one pair of shoes, food, and shelter, as well as any medical care she might need. At the end of the time period the contract could be renegotiated, or she would be free to go. At which point, Logan would be required to bring her to the location of her choice. Above her signature, it stated if at any point she violated the contract, her life was the penalty.

The tightness in her chest threatened to rise up and swallow her whole. The room grew dim.

Trina took a breath, then another. The parchment rattled in her grip as the third breath wheezed out of her lungs and the room faded back in. Elbows tucked tight to keep the blanket in place, she shook the contract in his arrogant face.

“I didn't sign this!”

Chapter Five

“Are you trying to break our bargain?” Her captor’s brogue grew heavy and strange as he stalked toward Trina, all pretense of indolence gone. She shrank back into the corner while he sucked up the room’s space and left her nowhere to hide.

He leaned in, forcing her retreat. Her back pressed into the hard wooden knobs of the dresser.

“You agreed. Your signature was placed magically. You, Trina MacElvy, signed to prevent your death, so if you go back on your word the final outcome would be that which you signed to prevent.” He swooped in, so close she could taste the smell of green mint on his breath and see the intensity of his eyes. “Death.”

Power swirled through her bones, building up in response to his threat.

He placed his cheek next to hers and breathed warm words into her ear. “Think carefully of what you do, witch.”

The parchment rattled in her shaking hands. He moved his mouth away from her ear, skimmed her cheek, and hovered over her lips. Sweet, soft breath caressed her face. Her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips and his gaze flicked down, his large pupils darkening with arousal.

A mix of fear and sexual desire coursed through her bloodstream, speeding the pounding of her heart, her blood roaring hot in her ears. His cock pressed against her thigh and she almost keened with the knowledge that she wanted to look, wanted to touch, wanted him hot and hard inside her.

Her enemy.

His blue, blue gaze penetrated deep into hers, reflecting acknowledgment of her excitement, and her fear.

He straightened up and snatched the contract back. Trina sagged against the dresser, bit her lip, and attempted to regain her balance, her breath, and her brains.

“It seems I have little choice,” she finally got out, “I should have known a fae wouldn’t bargain fairly.”

She had to keep him at arm’s length for her own sanity and safety. Not only did she have to spend a year with him fighting off his innate elven attraction, but she would be dependent on him for everything.
Everything
, she thought, refusing to analyze the responding quiver deep inside.

“It says shelter in there. I require my own room to feel sheltered. If this isn’t it, then you have to provide it.” She waved, indicating the contract and pretending to have some sort of control.

“You are anxious, aren't you?” The corners of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. Trina’s cheeks burned and the grin widened. “I’ve made arrangements for us to stay elsewhere in the forest. We shall go immediately, as you desire.” He held out an arm, elbow crooked, as if they were going to a ball.

“Not so fast. Clothes. That contract stipulated clothes.” Something hot slid across his eyes, gone as soon as it appeared. Her voice shook. “I’m not leaving without something to wear.”

“Of course.” He crossed the room. “One moment.” He stepped out and shut the door.

Trina leaned against the dresser, her legs and breath shaky.

Returning before she got her equilibrium back under control, he handed her a silky, soft green garment. Then he winked and held out a wicked, black lace thong on the tip of one long finger, and all her control fled. She snatched the thong, and the matching bra dangling from his other hand, pushed him out, and slammed the door on his sly laughter.

Standing and holding her new clothes, she waited, wanting to be sure he wasn’t coming right back to surprise her while she was naked.

“You don’t have much time, Alice.” He mocked through the solid wood door.

She ground her teeth and got dressed. Everything fit perfectly, the silk dress molded tight to her breasts and waist and poured into a fitted flare of a skirt. Cut a generous smidge low in front and way too short in length, it was one of the nicest pieces of clothing she’d ever worn. But she’d trade it for old comfy jeans and a t-shirt in a hot second, if he’d given her an option.

The door opened.

“Very nice,” he said. His long stare skimmed up and down her body, reigniting her flush. “Green suits you.” He crooked his elbow and arched a brow. “Ready now? It’s time we were going.”

Ignoring his pseudo-courtly gesture she sidled past, careful not to touch him, and proceeded down the stairs and out the front door.

Outside, the ferocious red hounds gamboled like puppies in the morning sunshine. They seamlessly streamed around her, avoiding any touch as they surged to Logan. He tugged an ear here, slapped a flank there, as if their sharp teeth and slitted yellow eyes weren’t something from a child’s nightmares.

The evil horse-creature stood in the middle of someone’s prized flower bed, using his large, strong teeth to pull up the plants by the roots. His jet black coat gleamed, his long mane and tail flowing in a non-existent breeze. He might have been mistaken for a valuable stallion, until he looked up. Trina glanced away from the uncanny intelligence lurking in his red malevolent eyes and shoved one more queasy feeling down into her stomach. She was a MacElvy. She would not fall apart.

“Do you have to eat these flowers, Solanum?” Logan asked as he mounted the creature. “Can’t you eat the wild ones by the side of the lane?”

The beast shook his head. “These taste better. They’re flavored with care and concern.”

“Maybe Eirc will think it’s the deer eating them.” The elf held out his hand. “Come on lass, hop up.”

“Where are you taking me? Do we have to go through another portal?” she asked, angry that she couldn’t control the wobble in her voice.

“No. It's not so far as that.” He sat, hand out, as Solanum ripped up clumps of purple asters.

Trina studied Logan. Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been a complete stranger and someone whom she wouldn’t have volunteered to stand next to. Now, he was her only safety net, a slender buffer between herself, the queen, and certain death. He waited, while she made her decision and weighed her options.