Seducing the Sun Fae: A Fada Novel Page 2

  And it had been a long time since a man’s touch had affected her so strongly. A very, very long time.

  She drew in a breath. “Well, Dion of the River, will you come with me? Of your own free will, you agree?”

  “Sim.”

  “Say it. Say you will come with me freely.”

  “Yes.” She watched as those firm lips spoke the words. “I come with you of my own free will.”

  3

  Dion settled onto the bike’s pillion and placed his hands on Cleia’s waist.

  The queen was clever, he’d give her that.

  She lured a man with that seductive glamour—he’d sensed her turn up the power and had had to draw on his own strength to resist falling under her spell—and then she drew promises from the unlucky bastard’s own lips. Binding him as securely as if her surly blond guards had wrapped him in iron chains.

  But Dion, a powerful lord and alpha in his own right, wasn’t so easily bespelled. And wise to the tricks of the purebloods, he’d been careful to promise nothing but the truth. He was going with her of his own free will.

  What he planned to do with her once they were alone was another matter.

  She set her helmet on her head. This close, he could see her bright hair was made up of strands of gold, platinum, and copper braided into a single gleaming plait. He nudged the braid out of the way and set his lips to the downy skin beneath.

  She stilled, and then with a low laugh, put the bike in gear and roared off.

  They rocketed up a hill and he tightened his clasp on her, intensely aware of her lithe, warm body. A sun fae’s metabolism burned hot and fast. He could feel her heat through his jeans. His muscles tightened and his cock, already half-hard, lengthened even more.

  He gritted his teeth and leaned into a curve as she accelerated into it with a dizzying nonchalance. He’d been surprised to see a fae on a motorcycle, but the metal frame was encased in plastic and she wore leather pants and gloves to further protect her skin from iron’s poisonous effects.

  She took another sharp curve and for a heart-stopping second, they hung on the edge of a ravine with nothing before them but blue sky and a steep drop to the boulders below.

  She tossed him a taunting glance. “Having fun?”

  He grinned back, enjoying himself more than he cared to admit. Like her, he preferred motorcycles to cars, and he could tell she was in complete control of the speeding machine.

  “Faster,” he growled against her velvety nape.

  With a delighted gurgle, she opened the throttle. “You asked for it.”

  His mouth took a feral curve. “I did, didn’t I?”

  They crossed the Susquehanna River and entered the Rising Sun Fae Clan’s territory. The very atmosphere changed, growing brighter, airier.

  They zoomed through a patchwork of rolling hills, green forests and newly planted fields, and then turned up a smooth dirt road flanked on either side by fruit trees. To the left was a cornfield with the plants already knee high and to his right marched rows of plump red strawberries.

  Everything reeked of fertility, promising a bountiful harvest. The contrast to Rock Run’s struggling lands left an acrid taste in his mouth.

  He wanted to wrap his hands around his hostess’s pretty neck and demand she cease whatever she was doing to his people. But her big blond guards were right behind them and even though he was pretty sure he could take them, they’d be enough of a distraction that she’d escape and then he’d never again get within a mile of her.

  “Here we are.” Cleia drove up the hill to the compound he’d seen the other day and halted before a mansion of cream-colored granite.

  Dion dismounted the bike and looked up—and up. Set on a circular foundation, the mansion rose four stories, each layer a circle smaller than the one below and set with rows of windows crowned by gilded arches. From a pole at the top, a flag fluttered—a gold sun spreading its rays across a midnight-blue field.

  It figured. He set his hands on his hips and took in each of the four cream-colored layers. The woman didn’t live in a sensible, easily defended cave or bunker, she lived in a damned wedding cake.

  She parked the sport bike herself in the garage. A surprise, that. He’d have figured she’d leave it for a servant. When she returned, they walked together up the mansion’s wide marble steps and into a huge circular foyer. Large windows let in bright sunshine and a door marked each of the four cardinal directions.

  Presiding over the foyer was an enormous gold-and-crystal chandelier. The thing had to weigh several hundred pounds. Sunlight sifted through the dancing crystals, casting rainbow shards across the walls and the floors.

  He followed the show with his eyes, entranced, even as his lip curled at yet another example of sun fae excess.

  Two women crossed the foyer toward them, Cleia’s housekeeper and the copper-haired fae she’d been with two weeks ago.

  “This is my cousin, Lady Olivia,” she told Dion.

  The fae lady favored him with a curt nod before pulling Cleia to one side. “What are you doing?” she demanded, low-voiced. “He’s not what he seems. The man reeks of power. You can’t mean to take him to your apartment. Especially tonight. Have you forgotten what time of month it is?”

  Dion tensed, but Cleia just retorted, “Of course not.”

  The two engaged in a whispered argument. With his shifter hearing, he could hear every word. They had to know that, but apparently didn’t care. Idiotas.

  “This one’s even more dangerous than that one a couple of years ago—that do Mar man. Damn it, Cleia, you’re playing with fire.”

  Dion came alert. Rui do Mar had been his second-in-command before he’d fallen prey to the fae queen’s glamour. The man had been Rock Run’s best hunter and tracker. Now he was fit for little but wine and women.

  “But you’re forgetting one thing,” Cleia retorted. “I’m a sun fae. I like the heat.”

  “You’re going to regret this—”

  “Enough.” Cleia’s power flared, turning her face blindingly beautiful—and as cold as a marble statue. And then as quickly it subsided and she patted her cousin’s arm. “I know what I’m doing. Do you really think he’s stronger than me—even at this time of month?”

  Olivia shook her head. “If you say so.”

  “We’ll have dinner in my apartment,” Cleia told the housekeeper while Dion scrutinized her surreptitiously, unsure if that flare had been as powerful—and dangerous—as it appeared. “Don’t disturb us unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Very good,” the housekeeper replied.

  Lady Olivia’s mouth firmed but she remained silent.

  Cleia reached for Dion’s hand. Again, there was that small shock as their skin touched. Her expression didn’t change but he scented her jolt of arousal. It acted on him like an aphrodisiac. His grip tightened on her fingers, but he kept his face blank.

  “This way.” She indicated a spiral staircase that ascended through the mansion’s center. Together, they mounted to the top, the guards on their heels.

  Her apartment took up the entire fourth floor. Built on an open plan with only a few low partitions between sections, it was large and airy with pale yellow walls, billowing white curtains and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the cave-dwelling fada in him uneasy.

  The furniture was a warm oak with curving legs and carvings of flowers and trees. At one end of the apartment was a large bed, its headboard carved with a rising sun picked out in gold leaf.

  He was aware of the queen’s gaze on him as he released her hand to walk onto the balcony. This high up, the view was dizzying. He instinctively looked southwest. He could see all the way to the Susquehanna, eight miles distant, and the place where Rock Run territory began.

  He gazed at the shining ribbon of water. It steadied him, bringing home what was at stake here—and it was not this constant, inconvenient hum of attraction between him and the sun fae queen.

  When he came back inside, she was sending her guar
ds to dinner.

  “We’ll station someone outside the door.” The big blond men scowled at Dion.

  She shrugged a shoulder. “As you wish.”

  They bowed and left. A wave of her hand locked the door behind them.

  She turned to him. “Welcome to my home, Dion do Rio.”

  He inclined his head. The best way to induce Cleia to let down her guard was to appear harmless. He wanted her to think of him as just another adoring slave. “Thank you, my queen.”

  To his surprise, disappointment flitted across her face. She dragged a hand down her braid.

  “Erika will bring dinner in a few minutes. Would you like to clean up in the meantime?”

  “I would.” He was dusty from the ride and besides, a river fada rarely turned down a chance to get into the water. He stepped closer, traced a finger down her cheek. “Why don’t you join me?”

  Her eyes drifted shut. Her lashes were a dark brown tipped with gold, as if they’d been dipped in fairy dust.

  His heart thumped. He cupped her nape, pressed a kiss to each soft eyelid. “Por favor, my beauty?”

  Her pulse thrummed under his thumb, but she shook her head. “You go ahead. I’ll wash up and see to your dinner.”

  “Very good.” He stepped back.

  Careful. Remember what she is.

  The bathing room could have been designed by a water fada. The tinted blue-green windows cast a calm light, and the bathtub was the size of a small pool. The walk-in shower was made of earth-toned tiles with shower heads that rained water over him from five different directions.

  Dion took his time. There was no hurry. Best to wait until full dark when the queen would be at her weakest.

  By the time he rejoined her, twilight had fallen and the apartment was lit by golden balls of fae light floating near the ceiling. A table had been set with a heaping platter of fish and a basket of crusty bread. Salad, fruit, a cheese board, and several bottles of Rock Run’s own vinho verde rounded out the meal.

  His stomach contracted. He was always hungry these days. Whatever food there was went first to the women and children.

  Cleia stood on the balcony gazing out over the fields, so he helped himself to a chunk of bread and some cheese and fish. Hunger assuaged, he poured two glasses of wine and took them to the balcony.

  The queen had freed her hair from the braid and changed into a dress the intense blue of a summer sky. A storm was coming. Far-off thunder rumbled.

  She gripped the rail and raised her face to the wind, hair streaming behind her in a glossy flag. Her round bottom faced him, the flimsy blue skirt whipping about her thighs to expose tantalizing glimpses of smooth golden skin.

  Holy mother of Deus. She was naked under the dress.

  Dark talons of lust sliced at him. His eyes went night-glow, his animal rising to the surface. He fought the desire to bend her over the rail and take her, hard and furious as the coming storm.

  And if her people saw, well, it would only demonstrate that her unchecked reign was at an end.

  He drew a breath, took that single step forward. Then halted, hands tight around the wine glasses.

  Rein it in, you idiot. Wait for night.

  Cleia glanced at him over her shoulder, a tiny line between her brows.

  He shuttered his eyes and offered her the wine. She accepted it unsmiling, her wariness palpable.

  He went back inside and sat on the floor, pretending to be calm while inside, his mind worked overtime. If she called her guards, he could grab her and escape down the wall. But it would be a hell of climb, four stories down and with a struggling woman over one shoulder—not to mention the fact that she had her own powers to call on.

  Cleia had that faint frown on her face again. His weak smile was only partly feigned. She returned it with a half-hearted curve of the lips.

  Outside, the wind blew harder and the sweet scent of rain filled the air. Inside, his heart slapped in hard beats against his rib cage as he waited to see what she’d do.

  She glanced around one last time and came back inside. “It’s going to storm soon.”

  He released a breath. “Sim.”

  She relaxed onto a nearby chair, one leg slung over the chair arm in a pose so casual it was insulting. “Did you eat?”

  “A little. But food can wait—unless you’re hungry?”

  “I had something while you were in the shower.”

  She propped her head on one hand, sipping wine and studying him as if he were a tasty fillet about to be served to her on a platter.

  He tamped down his power even further, sending it instead into the gathering storm, which would also increase the cover for the two Rock Run warriors stationed just outside the compound. The sun fae hated getting wet. Everyone but the guards would’ve taken shelter by now.

  Cleia sighed and suddenly he understood what was wrong. She didn’t want harmless. She wanted danger.

  The lady was bored with men who danced to her tune.

  Ah. He’d be happy to provide the queen with a little…excitement.

  He crouched before her and put out a hand. “Give me your foot.”

  She hesitated and he waited, unmoving. In this dance, she would learn that he was the leader, she the follower.

  She slanted him a look from under her lashes, then set her wine on the floor and placed a slender foot in his palm. It was clad in a jewel-encrusted sandal: rubies, emeralds, diamonds. A good-sized family could live on the proceeds of those pretty stones for a year.

  It was yet another weakness, something he could use against the shallow, party-girl queen.

  Right now she wasn’t thinking about jewels, though. Her gaze was all for him. Her hands clenched on her lap, but she held still, waiting to see what he’d do next.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he undid the sandal strap and slid his finger under her arch, tracing a slow path down the sensitive skin. Her breath hitched.

  He removed the sandal and pressed a kiss to her instep, then placed her foot on the chair seat so that her knee was bent, opening her to him.

  “Keep it there.”

  Her throat worked but she obeyed.

  He removed the other sandal and kissed that instep as well. Her breath released in an audible whoosh.

  His lips curved against her soft skin. “You like that.”

  Their eyes met and he inhaled sharply. Deus, her irises were beautiful. A tawny, sun-touched brown.

  “Mm,” she murmured. “More.”

  Their gazes locked, but when he simply stared at her unmoving, she added, “Please.”

  Triumph streaked through him. He’d won. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “As you wish, querida,” he said, and sucked her big toe into his mouth.

  4

  Cleia moaned and gripped the armrests.

  By the sun and all the stars, could anything be more erotic than the sight of the big man crouched at her feet, suckling her toes?

  He hadn’t put his shirt back on after bathing, leaving him naked from the waist up. Dark hair curled over his broad chest and arrowed down the warm olive of his abdomen. His erection strained against his pants.

  One hand held her foot while the other caressed her calf. With each pull of his mouth, electricity arrowed straight to her womb.

  His gaze collided with hers…intent, crystalline blue touched with silver.

  A predator’s eyes. Wild. Dangerous. Untamed.

  His eyes went night-glow. The silver deepened, blotting out the blue as his animal rose to the surface.

  Even as a sensual shiver skated down her spine, she knit her brows. What was going on? One minute he seemed so unassuming, almost weak; the next hard and powerful.

  And there was something familiar about those eyes…

  He nipped her toe and she gasped and forgot everything but the sensations he was inducing. Her hips rocked, her skirt bunched up around her thighs. She burned for more, was desperate for his touch—there, between her legs.

  She opened h
er mouth to tell him so, then closed it again.

  He’d made it clear he liked to be in charge. She’d never admit it, but it was exciting to have him direct her, to allow him to decide when and where to pleasure her.

  The dark, hard-faced fada seemed to read her mind. He draped both of her legs over the armrests so she was wide open to him, then pushed her skirt up and studied her, his gaze hot.

  “You’re wet. I can see your heartbeat…here.”

  He touched a finger to her throbbing clitoris and she sucked in a breath as another bolt of electricity shot through her. He smiled but kept his gaze on her flushed, glistening labia, sliding the finger through their center, stroking in and out of her sex, before bringing it to his mouth.

  His lids lowered and he sucked the finger clean.

  She moistened her lips. “Please,” she rasped, forgetting to power her glamour, forgetting Olivia’s warning to be careful, that this man was more than he seemed. Forgetting everything but the desire searing her in slow, sweet waves.

  “Please—?” he prompted huskily.

  He touched a thumb to her clit. She waited for him to move—to slide, circle, anything—but he held still.

  He was playing games with her. He wanted her to beg; she’d played such games herself countless times, although usually with herself as the tormentor.

  She should resist. Who was he to toy with her?

  But she couldn’t stop herself from giving him the words. “Please touch me.”

  “Here?” His thumb circled once, teasingly.

  Her stomach muscles jumped. “Yes. Right there.”

  But maddeningly, he stilled again. She flexed her hips, silently asking for more.

  He leaned forward to give her a light lick. She felt his breath, cool against her burning cleft, and nearly shot out of the seat.

  “Yes,” she managed to say. “Do that, please.”

  “Good girl,” he purred against her skin, his accent thickening. “I like to hear you beg. Tell me. Tell me what you want.”

  A small voice cautioned that this was risky, that she shouldn’t allow him to seize too much power. But she was safe on her home grounds, a guard stationed outside the door. What could happen?