Inked Destiny (29 page)

Color exploded beneath their palms and spread across the
expanse in a swirling capture of power, a mix of elements that told him nothing about himself though the wild, unbound nature of the movements vibrated like a precursor to violence and made him want to take Etaín to the estate, willing or not.

“Hoping to see the Dragon?” she joked.

“Hardly.” He let the spell go and reluctantly pulled from her sheath, guiding her to the shower.

A hand on his chest prevented him from joining her beneath the spray of water. “The tattoos shouldn’t get wet.”

“Easy enough to prevent.” He modified a defensive spell so a shield formed to cover skin and ink. “One of the many benefits of magic.”

“And this is another one?” she asked moments later, when water and the rub of her slick skin, the touch of her hand had him hard again, ready again.

“A delay tactic, Etaín?”

Her husky laugh might be acknowledgement or invitation. “And if it is one?”

With strength unaided by magic, he lifted her and felt the ever-present thrill at her responsiveness when sleek legs wrapped around his waist, wet opening and hot female flesh made available for him. If he allowed it, she’d tease and torment before ultimately satisfying the fierce craving her presence in his life had created in him.

“Put me inside you,” he ordered, voice a harsh whipping wind. “Or we’ll go downstairs without finishing this.”

Desire was a flash of fire in her eyes, the promise of sexual retaliation in the future and one he looked forward to. She gripped his cock, obeyed, but on her own terms, allowing only inches into her slit, her hand a warden preventing him from escaping into complete ecstasy.

He slammed his mouth down on hers, demanded she take him all the way in with the thrust of his tongue, with a hand going to
her breast as he held her pinned to the shower wall. His fingers captured a nipple, pain in the pursuit of pleasure.

The jerk of her hips and grind of her pelvis signaled her need for deeper penetration. It was a prelude that moments later had her freeing him, legs a tight clamp, holding all of him inside her as she clung, writhed, and finally came, the ripple and squeeze of her sheath a demand he answered with head thrown back and near violent release.

“Delay it is,” he murmured, lingering in the shower, the strike of water against his skin a sensual refilling, the intimacy between them pouring into the wellspring of his soul. Desire reawakened when finally they left the shower, and she took her time dressing, making him envious of the clothing he’d purchased for her, making him fantasize about removing it in a fire-flash of magic.

“Ready?” he asked.

Etaín took his offered hand, remaining silent rather than lie. Ready? No. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be, but that didn’t change a damn thing.

They rode the elevator to a lower floor. “A little detour,” he said, guiding her into what was clearly his office given the quality of the artwork. Extensive windows along one wall were a summons she couldn’t ignore. When she stopped in front of them, it wasn’t the view of San Francisco that drew her attention, but the private terrace below, every table occupied by the wealthy and powerful, with some of the famous thrown in for good measure.

Not her world. Even when she’d lived with the captain, she hadn’t been a part of it. Physically present, yes, when she was young there hadn’t been a way to avoid it, but mentally, she’d learned at eight it was better to retreat. No knife was sharper than words wielded by jealous girls or hate-filled stepsisters, and for a time, she’d been vulnerable.

Perhaps if she’d been a boy, or homely, but she’d been neither.
And then the call to ink had come, and with it, unknown then to her, Elven allure, and that had only made things harder at school and at home.

Eamon came up behind her, enfolding her in a hug and chasing away thoughts of the past. “You stepped through my wards on that first visit, interrupting my work and drawing me to the window. The moment I looked down and saw you, I knew you’d be mine.”

“Despite the fact I was with Cathal.”

“A minor complication.”

“Fighting words if he heard you say them.”

“Perhaps.” He touched his lips to her neck and she felt him smile as he added, “Probably.”

A sucking bite followed, then another, and a third, before he sighed, murmuring, “You have a disastrous effect on my intentions.”

She laughed. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Those who know me best would say yes.”

“The bodyguards?”

“And my second in command, Rhys.”

Warm lips were replaced by the cool touch of a collar-like necklace.

The switch didn’t go unnoticed.

Like a heated charge of electricity down her arms and around her wrists, the alien awareness of the Dragon came, there long enough to determine no threat existed but even that was long enough to make her pulse beat against the collar like a prisoner against a cell door.

Eamon’s mouth brushed her ear. “Relax, Etaín. It’s merely a piece of jewelry, something enhanced by your beauty, an item to complement the outfit, nothing more.”

“You didn’t sense the flare of magic just then?”

“I am always aware of your magic. It constantly twines with mine.” He kissed her neck. “But it was the rush of your heartbeat that gave your nervousness away. For you, perhaps it was accompanied
by a different sensation. For changelings especially, emotion and magic are often experienced together.”

A hand at her elbow guided her to an attached bathroom. Her breath caught at the sight of opals inlaid into an intricate twist of gold, dark stones that reminded her of the mirror with its captured fire and water.

“And here I was worried about it being a studded dog collar,” she said to mask a sudden nervousness at seeing a woman who looked like she belonged among the restaurant patrons, instead of one who enjoyed talking trash with clients and fellow artists.

His tender smile made her heart flutter. “A studded dog collar? I’d worry your friend Bryce might decide to claim my gift if you happened to take it off at the shop.”

Her eyes jerked upward to meet his, happiness spreading through her at what his words implied. “He does have his moments when he goes full punk. And his girlfriends almost always have the look.”

“Then no studded dog collars for you.”

Eamon touched his cheek to hers. “I’m tempted to return to the bedroom and strip you out of everything except for the necklace.”

“I could be convinced that’s an excellent idea.”

“If we return to the suite, you won’t meet anyone until tomorrow, especially if Cathal joins us.” He gave a small, teasing suck to her neck then stepped backward and snagged her hand.

On the first floor the elevator door opened in a discreetly placed alcove between public area and private, as if occasionally humans were allowed deeper into Elven territory.

Eamon guided her toward the back, the kitchen, she presumed, given the deepening scent of food and the cadence of called-out orders interspersed with status updates. A waiter passed, as enticing as the food he’d collected from the counter where it waited to be taken to diners.

It occurred to her that all the Elves she’d seen at Aesirs were men. “Do you allow females to work here?”

“Some.”

“Why only some?”

The question held an edge of militancy. She’d been lucky in her chosen profession. Her talent, her looks, and though she hadn’t been aware of it at the time, magic and Elven allure, meant she’d never experienced discrimination in the same way other female tattoo artists had. She’d brushed up against assholes, and men with a boy’s club mindset, but they’d held no power over either her advancement or her earning a good living.

“Peace, Etaín, peace,” he said with a laugh. “I’m glad you so readily champion our females. Those who wish to serve here do so at one time or another.”

He opened the door to the kitchen, allowing her to precede him. The moment she did, all motion and conversation ceased. Their wariness slammed into her, unmitigated by the smiles that quickly followed because of Eamon’s presence, tentative on several faces and forced on others.

In a rush, the desire to escape into comfortable reality returned. Her gaze went to the outside world visible because of a service door propped open for a delivery.

A boy stepped through the doorway, carrying a crate. Lost in thought, he didn’t immediately notice them, but when he did, his attention was solely on her and stark terror filled his features.

“No!” he cried, dropping the crate. Fish spilled across the floor as he turned and fled.

“Farrell! Stop!” Eamon ordered, and she felt magic across her senses.

The boy—the changeling he’d told her about—only barely got outside before the door slammed shut.

“I’ll go after him, Lord,” one of the kitchen workers volunteered.

“No.” Eamon grabbed Etaín’s arm, turning her to face him. “Do not leave Aesirs.”

Denial was her kneejerk response to his command, to the autocratic
ruler who had replaced teasing lover. She remained silent, offering neither promise nor protest as the door he’d closed with magic flew open and then he was gone.

As if summoned by Eamon’s absence, Liam was suddenly at her side, his arrival releasing those in the kitchen to go back to their tasks, though with fierce concentration instead of the easy glide and cadence they’d had moments earlier.

The urge to bolt through the open door was nearly impossible to resist. She didn’t belong here any more than she did in the elegant dining area serving men and women she had nothing in common with—not even being human.

Ignoring the Elves who were steadfastly ignoring her, she turned to Liam. “Why was he terrified?”

Terrified enough to ignore Lord Eamon’s order, and she couldn’t imagine those he ruled often did. Scratch the surface and Eamon was more like Cathal’s family than Cathal was. She had only to look at Liam to know Eamon was capable of ruthlessness. Why else would he have an assassin serving him?

“That’s for Lord Eamon to answer.”

Liam’s response was a scrape over raw nerve-endings.
I’m out of here
.

The compelling need to run and keep running increased with the first step, done in fuck-me heels that suddenly seemed meant to hobble her as thoroughly as the tight skirt and the lack of transportation. Panic swelled with the sense of being out of control.

Until she’d been taken by the Harlequin Rapist, and then rescued from him, she’d lived life completely on her own terms, trusting in herself and her gift and confident in her ability to survive. Could she even leave, given Eamon’s command to stay?

Her skin felt unbearably tight. It occurred to her that she hadn’t been back to her apartment in days, and as quickly as the realization came, she craved being alone in her own space, at least for a little while.

Without a word to Liam, she headed for the public area, strategy rather than any desire to see and be seen. It’d be harder to stop her from escaping where there were witnesses—that is, if she could pass through the wards at all.

Only those guarding the terrace could contain you if triggered,
the Dragon’s voice whispered through her mind, the sound of it increasing her urgency to leave.

Maybe once outside she’d consider herself a coward for not forcing herself to stroll through the restaurant as if it were hers, to imagine herself at Eamon’s side, or Cathal’s. She wasn’t foolish enough to think this was anything more than a temporary reprieve.

The maître d’ stand came into view. Seeing the three women who’d just entered Aesirs only solidified her determination to leave this place she didn’t belong in. It’d been a year and a half since she’d had the misfortune of encountering the captain’s wife and daughters.

Like piranhas zeroing in on some hapless living creature dropped into the water, they noticed her. Lips painted bright red tightened and eyes narrowed to accompany expressions of disdain that were really only polite masks for a voracious hate.

Turning tail and heading in the opposite direction wasn’t an option. She’d never give them that much power over her.

Liam moved ahead of her. Protection? Or merely to position himself to prevent her from leaving?

She’d fight that battle after she dealt with the one in front of her, because there was definitely one brewing given the way the three women had moved to block her exit, forcing her to stop and interact.

Twenty-two

S
till trading on your looks, I see,” Portia, Parker’s older sister, said, eyes making a sweep over the outfit then returning to stare at the necklace.

Etaín touched the cool stone. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

The maître d’ came out from behind his stand. “If you’ll follow me, ladies,” he said firmly enough to imply that patrons involved in unpleasantness would be escorted out rather than escorted to a table.

The captain’s wife stepped into Etaín’s personal space, her voice a whispered hiss. “You’re dragging my husband and son through the mud with your antics and your association with gutter trash. I want you gone from their lives.”

Etaín shrugged, refraining from pointing out that Parker and the captain were the ones who called her, who involved her in their cases. “Nothing new there.”