Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) (19 page)

I tapped the bronze Fae on the shoulder with a light tap of my index finger. The Bronze God jumped out of his skin as he realized he’d been caught unawares. He didn’t like I was behind him and he hadn’t noticed. Narrowing his eyes on me, he realized he’d seen me already and discounted me. My maniacal little smile certainly didn’t help his anxiety level.

Snatching his bowstring from his shoulder, he clutched the weapon in his tight grip. I trailed my finger down his shoulder and over his bicep. He had overlooked me once. Now he’d know better. Death came in all kinds of packages.

“Now that’s not nice,” I said as I circled around the buff, bronze Fae.

Patrick extended his arm out, leaving his hand open to me. I circled around the other five Fae and took his hand in mine. I turned to face the six Fae with Jackson at my back. I didn’t like not having him in sight but I could live with it, as long as Dean and Alex were also behind me. Saeran took my free hand in his and brought it to his soft full lips. He held my hand just a bit too long, rubbing his thumb over my skin. I tugged my palm away, uncomfortable with the length and intimacy of his touch. He peered up at me with curious yellow eyes.

“Patrick, if I had known how pretty your Blushing Death was, I would have tried to recruit her for myself,” he flirted shamelessly.

“Dahlia is a free agent. Her allegiances are her own.” Patrick chuckled.

“Now,” Saeran said with a sweeping bow, “that is not entirely true, either.”

“I’m afraid it is,” I bit out. “I come as I please and I go as I please. I choose to be here.”

“I think you really believe that,” he said as his daffodil yellow eye fell on me. “None of us can help what we are, can we?” He swept that comment away before I had a chance to answer. “Let me introduce my companions,” he said with a gracious smile.

I couldn’t trust his shift in emotion or the cordial tone in his voice. It happened too quickly, in the blink of an eye, giving me whiplash. I had the feeling he was trying to cajole me into something I didn’t want to do. I tightened my grip on Patrick’s hand as I allowed my unease to flow through me to him. Patrick rubbed his thumb across the top of my hand in a soft caress, attempting to soothe my distress.

Searan held out his hand to the beautiful creature next to him. “This is Aoife.” She was tall enough to meet my eyes and I was in four-inch heels. Her skin was pale blue, like the color of the sky on a warm spring day. Her hair was long, stretching down her back in shimmering silver waves. She was thin, barely a whisper, dressed in a gown of white chiffon with nothing underneath the fabric but the flicker of permanent shadows to hide her modesty. Her warm silver gleaming eyes hid an edge of sadness.

I’d reached out to touch her, and Patrick gripped my hand just a bit harder, encouraging me back. I remained as still as I could until the urge passed, gathering the icy-hot surge of power from both Patrick and Dean into me, expelling the cloud in my mind.

“I am glad to meet you,” she said.

I nodded and turned my attention to Saeran. Watching me with interest in his daffodil yellow eyes, he motioned to the giant behind him.

“This is Feoras. He is one of my most trusted guards,” Saeran offered. Feoras was a gray-skinned monster the color of charcoal after it has been burnt. The light caught white-and-black highlights in his skin, causing a marbling effect across his body. He was silent and imposing, taller than everyone around him and bulky with thick muscles. Dressed merely in a loincloth, his strong, muscular legs were exposed, along with the calf sheath strapped to his thigh, and the ax hanging on his back. He remained immobile, like a stone wall, until Aoife brushed her fingertips across his forearm. She wasn’t a delicate woman, but next to him, she seemed small and fragile. He glanced down at her with warmth and admiration in his gaze that spoke of intimacy. He took her hand in his, which was missing two fingers on the left hand, and squeezed. He was battle worn and ready.

“I’m so glad we made weapons stipulations, too,” I said under my breath as I eyed Feoras’s ax.

“We did,” Patrick breathed against my ear, kissing my hair, “the same as yours.”

I rolled my eyes. Stupid word games.

Saeran smiled back at us and then turned to his left.

“This is Meara,” he said with the same pleasant smile he’d used with each introduction. Meara was smaller than the others, about half the size with rich, dark skin the color of milk chocolate. She radiated happiness and buzzed with excitement. She had soft features framing her bright, enthusiastic smile. I didn’t even notice that she was missing an eye until several minutes after she’d started talking.

“I am so glad that Saeran decided to bring me. I haven’t been away from home in quite some time. My brother loves to disappear from the Sidhe for days on end, but I wouldn’t dare. You’re pretty and I like your outfit,” she rambled on, speaking continuously without taking a single breath.

“Meara,” Saeran chastised with a soft, but stern, voice.

She glanced at him and giggled as she moved into the background.

“I apologize. The brownie is young. They can be . . .” Saeran said, “rambunctious.”

He held out his hand for the beauty next to him. “This is Cianna.” There was a reverence and admiration in his eyes that hadn’t been there when he had introduced the others. He respected this woman, was maybe even a little fearful of her. She was small, petite, but not as short as Meara. Her hair was the color of new-fallen snow in the sunshine, almost blinding, piled in complicated twists on top of her head. Her skin was just a little darker than mine but with a pearlized sheen to it that made the human coloring of her pink undertones shimmer. She was dressed in a pale pink rose floor-length satin gown with spaghetti straps that showed her perfectly perky body underneath. Her eyes were a deep cerulean blue, glowing with wisdom and age beyond centuries.

Saeran held Cianna’s hand as he introduced the Bronze God behind them. “This is Fergal, my nephew and primary guard,” Saeran said with a sadness I suddenly understood.

I evaluated the man with a quiver strapped to his back. The similarities between he and his uncle were many and striking but he looked at me with the same inquisitive fascination Byron had.

“Should we move this party to the VIP Room?” I asked, trying to get us out of the middle of the humans.

“Yes, of course,” Patrick agreed.

“The Blushing Death is correct,” Saeran said with a mocking glint in his daffodil yellow eyes. “A more intimate setting would be more appropriate.”

“My name is Dahlia.” I didn’t particularly like the moniker the preternatural world had given me. It was embarrassing. I never thought I’d prefer my own name to something else.

“Please, follow me,” Patrick said as he turned into the crowd.

Alex, Dean, and Jackson followed, creating a wall between Patrick and the Fae. Saeran and his entourage followed Jackson through the crowd. Niyati and I took point at the rear behind Fergal. He didn’t appear happy to have me at his back. He scanned the crowd and me over his shoulder every step and a half as we made our way across the dance floor.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t stab you in the back. That’s cowardly,” I said with a small snarl curling my lips.

“A warrior then?” he said as Patrick disappeared through the purple velvet curtain behind the DJ booth.

“If you like.”

“I would not trust my uncle to anything less,” he said, striding through the curtain.

“Making impressions everywhere you go,” Niyati said under her breath with a smile my way.

“Ha ha.” I laughed, heavy on the sarcasm. “Now get in there,” I ordered. She couldn’t help but obey. I made one last weapons check and took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold and letting the curtain swish closed behind me.
Nervous?
Me?
No way.

Patrick had rearranged the furniture in the VIP Room to create a comfortable conversation area with several large red-leather couches facing each other. An oversized round glass top coffee table sat in the center. The bar was along the South wall just inside the door.

Patrick and Dean sat on one couch with Jackson on the door we’d all just come through. Alex sat prettily on a bar stool with Niyati at attention to Dean’s right. I stood behind the couch that Patrick and Dean sat with my back to the wall. The emergency exit was on my right. I could see the entire room and all the possible attack points. With the lights on, the room was painted a deep purple with red leather furniture and a shiny crystal bar. The wall behind the bar was floor-to-ceiling mirrors, lined with bottles of top-shelf alcohol, glasses, and stock. The walls were soundproofed with a separate sound system. The heavy thump of the base from the club outside was almost forgotten except for the heavy thump of my heart in time with the beat of the music.

I stood with my arms loose at my sides, watching the Fae arrange themselves on and around the sofa. Saeran sat on the sofa in-between Aoife and Cianna. I’d never seen so much beauty collected in one place before. My heart ached a little to know that I’d never compare to them. No human would.

Feoras, the giant marbled man, found the far corner where he could see the entire room, both exits, and my hands behind the couch. He positioned himself like a giant roman statue. Fergal took his place behind Saeran with his back to the curtain, mirroring me, while Meara sat on the floor to Cianna’s left like a pet.

I couldn’t get over how much Saeran resembled Byron. Both of Saeran’s forms, his Fae and Glamour forms, were attractive but his real face was stark, his features sharper and more intimidating. There was warmth and authority in his eyes, though, that wasn’t captured in the picture.

“It was very gracious of you to see us on such short notice,” Saeran said with a flippant wave of his hand.

“You are most welcome. How could I have turned down so honored a guest?” Patrick purred with the velvety voice that would be dangerous for anyone he considered prey.

Aoife shivered as Patrick’s voice, filled with his power, caressed her skin as if he’d actually touched her. She clearly wasn’t accustomed to interacting with vampires. Even if she were, Patrick was better than any vampire I’d ever come into contact with.

Saeran’s eyes met mine again in wonder and an inquisitive cock of his eyebrow. His eyes danced with unidentified possibilities.

“Most would not have taken the risk,” Saeran admitted as he focused his complete attention on me.

I met his daffodil yellow eyes with defiance. If he wanted to prove he was scarier than me, he was going to have to show me.

The warmth of Dean’s power and the Pack flared around me, caressing me as it filled the room with his musky woodsy scent. Saeran turned his gaze from me to the annoyed Gaoh in the room. Don’t ever ignore the annoyed Gaoh.

“I mean no disrespect, Gaoh,” he said, a worried expression furrowing his green brow. “She intrigues me, for a human,” Saeran said by way of an apology. He shifted his gaze to Patrick. He probably thought Patrick was safer than Dean.

I think he was asking for help.

“Why?” Patrick asked. “She is, as you said, only human.” His soft voice was prodding, begging the Fae King to say something to give himself away.

Saeran glanced about the room at the members of our party. Dean bristled with power. Alex teetered on the edge of her seat ready to pounce, feigning boredom. Jackson stood at the ready but had a look of ambivalence and Niyati had her hand clasped around her wrist so tight her knuckles turned her dark Indian skin white from the pressure. The only one who seemed unaffected was Patrick. I knew better. His anxiety sat like a chunk of ice in my gut.

“She stands at your back as a warrior but she
is
human,” Saeran said. “She watches me as if she knows me.” He narrowed his gaze on me.

“You remind me of someone,” I admitted.

“Ah, she speaks freely in your presence,” Saeran said, sitting back between Aoife and Cianna, seeming more relaxed. “Not many rulers would allow their warriors free reign to express their thoughts in front of company.”

I wasn’t sure if he was chastising or not. 

“Yes, Dahlia is human, as you so kindly pointed out,” Patrick said with a shrewd tone to his voice. “She is also one of my most trusted advisors and a warrior who has proven herself in battle many times over.”

I could hear the smile of pride in his voice without having to see his face.

“I would be honored to hear such tales but that does not explain the Gaoh’s protectiveness,” Saeran said with a goading smile.

“She is Pack,” Dean growled.

“But she is human?” Aoife asked, directing her question to Saeran.

“She is Pack,” Dean reiterated.

“Interesting.” Saeran tented his fingers before his lips and watched all of us for a long moment. “What could you have done to warrant the respect of an entire wolf pack including the Gaoh?” He attempted to hide his caution with a respectful smile but the swirling glint in his eyes gave him away.

“She fought and killed Middonaitoshoo Asshu,” Alex whispered.

Saeran sat up, his eyes darting from Alex to Patrick and then finally to me. There was concern in his gaze and, I thought, a hint of relief.

The muscles along Fergal’s shoulders tensed but his eyes remained neutral. I envied the mask of indifference he wore.

Saeran sat back, trying to regain his composure as his eyes met mine, the pupils making his daffodil eyes enormous.

“Of whom do I remind you?” he asked with a slight quiver of uncertainty in his voice.

For the first time, I thought I might be looking at the real Saeran. His eyes were open to all emotion and his hands trembled as his façade of royal condescension cracked. My gut clenched in agony as I thought of Byron begging me to take his life, begging me to free him. I turned clear eyes up to meet Saeran’s piercing daffodil-colored gaze.

“He said his name was Byron.” My voice sounded as if it was filled with gravel.

Saeran’s eyes closed and he exhaled in audible pain then raised his hand to cover his nephew’s, which had landed on Saeran’s shoulder in an odd display of comfort. It was a gesture of sentimentality and emotion I hadn’t expected from their stiff exteriors.

“What happened to him?” Fergal asked.