Peyton's Ride (Riding With The Hunt, #1) (5 page)

“You’re healed.”

She frowned. “Oh. Yeah. My head feels fine. My elbow too. But why are you naked?”

He swore in a long string of Fae curse words under his breath and kissed her forehead. Persistent. But she needed to come to the conclusions and truth on her own. “Think harder love.”

“You have a very dirty mouth. I like it.”

A smirk twitched his lips, but he shut it down. “Try to remember. It’s important.”

She twitched and flexed her feet. “I fell. Howie came and got me and gave me an ice pack. I glanced through the door and saw you . . . No wait, it was you, but you were different. And there were men with you, big ones. But they weren’t men either. There was a ram...and twins...and a green man and a man with a big bloody knife...a massive...massive...”

He nodded in encouragement, despite the fear trickling into him. Gods, let her react without running from him. “Think harder. It’s important.”

The pulse in her throat fluttered, she shook, and tried to get closer to him. “Fae. You’re a Fae. A phooka. And that thing was going to eat me.” She curled her arms in to her chest, trapping his arm to her breasts, and quivered. “What . . . Why did I forget?”

“I’m not sure. It was probably the magic of the Hunt. Daegus and I used it to cleanse your body of the neural toxin. It might have driven out other things as well.” He patted her shoulder, awkward, and unsure of his welcome. He’d much rather caress one of her full breasts. So fucking sick, thinking about her tits when she’d barely recovered from the attack. But his magic only registered
want
and
need
. Propriety didn’t mean shit. “I’m so sorry.”

“What happens now?”

All the things he knew he should tell her got caught in his throat. A deep snarl rolled out instead.

The reaction didn’t bode well for whoever claimed her for their mate or for him. This might be the final episode that dragged him into madness. The rut wanted her.
He
wanted her.

“I am Fae, Peyton. Not human.” The magic of the Hunt washed over him and bathed her in its embrace.

Her form glimmered and seemed to flex when the energy hit her aura. “I know.”

Surprise and a small ember of hope alight in him at the reaction. “You’re a Fae too.”

She shook her head, lines creased the skin between her eyebrows, and a frown dragged the corners of her mouth down. “I’m a lawyer.”

The
clomp-clomp
of heavy boots stomping across the floor moved closer. He gently moved away from her and surged to his feet.

F
rom her perspective on the floor, the view approached legend, even with all the blood on him. Pierced nipples, tattoos up both arms, washboard abs bisected by a trail of dark hair to his groin, broad shoulders, thick thighs, and an erection whose tip bobbed above his navel.

An erection that boasted a silver stud at the tip. Right where a woman would feel that piece of metal stroke her G-spot.

Mother. Of. God.

Pure, clean, mouth-watering, pussy swelling lust crashed over her.

Ian Coghlan naked was something to behold. Her mouth watered, and her nipples hardened. Holy shit... Maybe he’d be super kinky.

She sighed and muttered under her breath without thinking. Was it true? Was she Fae? She stuck her fingers in the blood and goop congealing on the floor around her. Her clothing was destroyed and stuck to her, but her skin showed no sign of injury. She’d drunk from the horn...a sacred Fae object if the books were true...if nothing else, according to legend, she’d live well past one hundred.

Of course, that only worked if she was human. He said she wasn’t.

A male voice she didn’t recognize spoke in the Fae language to Ian. “Ian, it has been long since we last met. I have come to welcome you back to the ranks of the Hunt.”

Ian’s posture changed from one of alert and watchful for danger to stiff, tight, and rigid. Formal. He answered in English. “My Lord Manannan, I have no desire to return to the ranks.”

“Why don’t you say what you’re really thinking, Coghlan, and tell me to go fuck myself?” Humor laced the words, but the presence of the Fae crushed her, made it difficult to breathe, and panic sent her heart tripping.

The name, Manannan, triggered something in her. An old memory of something she’d read.

She clambered to her feet, that damn curiosity driving her. Hopefully, it didn’t get her head and neck separated. “You’re the lord of the Wild Hunt.”

Ian positioned himself in front of her, but she peeked out from behind his arm. An enormous, red T-shirt covered broad chest filled her vision, and she looked up. And up. And up. A neatly trimmed goatee covered a square jaw. The newcomer’s straight nose and thick black eyebrows contrasted with the red hair on his head. A single braid from his temple down to his jaw hung in front of shoulder length, wavy hair. Several silver hoop earrings marched up his ear lobes. He studied her with large brown eyes framed by thick, luxuriant lashes women would kill for.

When their gazes locked, a sensation like lightning zapped through her nerve endings and rooted her to the spot.

“Peyton Reynolds. Merry meet.” Manannan Mac Lir, Lord of the Wild Hunt, extended one huge hand across the counter toward her, his face creased with smile lines, and brown eyes glittering with dark power.

Ian widened his stance and used both arms to guide her backward. “You’ll not touch her.”

Irritation and bravado propelled her from behind his back. Her boot squished when she stepped, and she recoiled. Blood filled her footwear. But damn it, no one maneuvered her around and kept her from talking to whomever she wished. “What do you think you’re doing, Ian? You don’t get to treat me like I’m a chair or pair of jeans. I’ll go where I want, speak to whom I wish.”

He grasped her hand and stopped her forward momentum to speak close to her ear. “If this . . . it’s just. There’re things you don’t know about.” He swallowed hard and averted his stare to the floor. “Please, don’t go to him.”

But the curiosity to meet this being, a legend written about for centuries in books and poems, overrode her need to soothe Ian. She’d believed her whole life in the hidden people. Studied them, fascinated and enchanted. No one knew it, but she’d planned to stop in several places on her trip she believed to be sacred to the Fae. Even though she lacked evidence, a tug in her belly when she studied maps or saw photographs pointed the way. And now, all that she’d seen and done that evening, hell her whole life, seemed solidified in the truth of the tall, heavily muscled man only a few feet away.

Ian told her he was Fae, that
she
was Fae, and she’d seen him in his other form. The evidence of the attack had gone, but she saw the changed skin on her hands, chest, and even legs through rents in her clothing. She understood the Fae language, and had spoken it herself. Something moved within her and responded to Manannan, towed her in like a car on a cable.

She inserted her fingers between Ian’s. Reassured by his presence at her back, she nodded toward the Lord of the Wild Hunt. What did one say to the Lord of the Wild Hunt? Several lines stolen from geekdom bubbled up, and she swallowed them all. Manannan at best probably wouldn’t know what she was talking about or at worst would be offended. Best to keep it simple.

“Hi.”

“Are you ready to join the ranks of the Hunt, Ms. Peyton Reynolds?” Manannan retracted his hand and leaned on his elbows. The change in position brought his head closer to her height, but still above her.

“And what would that entail?” She took a half step back until she collided with Ian and groped for his other hand. He wrapped both arms across her chest in a living, muscular shawl, and she kissed the nearest forearm without thinking. A little zap pricked her lips, seared right to her clit, and a profound throb pulsed. 

Manannan cleared his throat and tapped the counter in a quick off beat drum roll. The crafty expression on his face raised her lawyer’s antennae. “Oh, nothing much. Meet the other members. A few of them are present here now. A simple blood test to determine who your father is.”

Oh, he was smart. Everyone knew making deals with the Fae was a bad idea. But he’d dangled the one thing she wanted so bad it carved its own hole in her soul. To know her father’s identity. Right to the end, even in her mother’s darkest days, Edith had never shared the secret of her paternity.

Ian inhaled, but a sharp quelling look from Manannan stopped him from speaking. The undercurrent of context and unspoken consequences ran thick as hot tar.

“And then what?” Negotiations without having all the information bordered on monumentally stupid, but what choice did she have? Despite her upbringing in the human world, the evening’s events had happened to her. And she’d changed, she felt it; a river of magic flowed in her and around her. Between her and Ian and even this man.

Manannan chuckled and winked. He banged one fist on the counter top and stood upright. “Oh you will be a delight in our ranks. And after the blood test, we will see what clan you belong to. Help you discover your magical talents and leanings. Perhaps you’ll fall in love and have some children.”

“That’s it?” She clamped her hands over the top of Ian’s and searched the statements for double meanings and omitted information.

“Aye. That’s it.” The Lord of the hunt spun one finger in the air and a light-blue gown shot through with glittering stones materialized. “Here. Take this. Your clothing was destroyed by the troll.”

“If I accept this, do I owe any obligation to you or yours? Is this a gift freely given, Manannan Mac Lir?” The gown was too beautiful for a simple replacement for her riding gear.

“Oh, what a handful you are. Yes, it is a gift freely given. No expectations of anything in return.”

The soft silk garment had slits up both sides to what she surmised to be hip height, and thin spaghetti straps made up the top. Perhaps she’d be better off in her own clothing. The dress resembled a negligee more than a proper outfit.

She chanced a peek at Manannan, and knew a refusal would not be accepted lightly. Looked like she’d be showing off her ample curves.

“It’s lovely. I’m going to the bathroom to get cleaned up.” Ian released her, and when she spun to face him, desolation and loss were etched on his face. She ran her fingers down his cheek. He kept his eye on the other man the whole time. “I’ll be right back. Thank you for saving my life.”

He grunted and gave her a tight smile in reply.

Wow, guess all that kissing was just part of the whole death-or-drink-from-this-cup package. Burn.

***

H
e stared after her as she ghosted away through the door to the employee break room. Sadness jabbed him the heart. He’d never gotten a chance with her and was about to lose her.

She peeked out from around the door jamb, a distinct green tint to her features. “I found what’s left of Howie.”

The urge to protect her compelled him to stride over and hug her. The rotten meat smell of evisceration permeated the air. His fixation on Manannan had clouded his judgment, and he hadn’t listened to what his senses were telling him. Most of the dealership’s manager was gone, only a few chunks and the more unsavory organs had been left behind on the floor near the snack machine.

“Don’t look. One of the guys will clean it up.” He draped his arm over her shoulders and led her into the rest room.

“One of the guys I saw out in the garage with you? Are they your friends?”

“Once upon a time. I’m not sure now.” A lock of her hair slipped over his arm. “Don’t worry. They’d never hurt you.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” She stepped away. “Just let me clean up a little, and then I’ll be out.”

“Alright.”

The door shut with a soft snick, and he forced himself to walk away, to not wait right outside like a hovering, love struck teenager. He was halfway back to where Manannan waited when she screamed.

In three running strides, he closed the distance. He yanked the door open so hard the hinges exploded from the wood, and the slab flew across the room and embedded in the far wall.

“What’s wrong? Is something trying to hurt you?” He crowded into the box-like like room and searched for danger, every sense alert. “Are the damned pixies in here bothering you?”

“No. I’m . . . I’m sorry, Ian. I saw myself in the mirror, and it surprised me.” She toyed with her hair and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Long blonde strands glittered under the fluorescent light as she touched her head. “I thought I’d accepted the whole Fae thing and had seen enough of my skin to know it had changed. But seeing my face in the mirror, my hair, it sorta knocked me for a loop. Plus, all the blood...”

He looked her over from head to toe and back up again. She shuffled her feet and chewed on her lip.

“You’re lovely.” When she flicked her eyes up to his, he winked. “But I’ve always thought so since the first time I saw you almost destroy all those motorcycles.”

She clapped one hand over her mouth, eyes huge and eyebrows raised. “You saw? Fuck.”

“Yep. And you say I have a dirty mouth.” Unable to resist any longer, he claimed her mouth in a long kiss. Their tongues tangled, plunged, and parried. He caught hers and sucked it before releasing it with a light graze of his teeth. His heart hammered as though he’d run at a full-out gallop for miles. “You look different because the magic of the Hunt coursed through you and unveiled your Fae blood. You were born part human, but the longer you’re immersed, the more Fae you’ll become.”

“Truly?” Fear and excitement blazed in her eyes.

“Yes.” He groped down and got rewarded with a handful of firm, decadent flesh. A soft moan composed of need and want slid from her. A good—no, a great—reaction. His cock loved it. “Get cleaned up. I’ll wait for you outside.”

“No pixies?” She crinkled her nose, eyes darting to take in all the corners of the room.

“No pixies.”

W
hen he emerged, his friends had joined the Lord of the Hunt at the counter. A pair of boots, socks, leather pants, T-shirt, and jacket sat folded in a neat pile in front of Daegus. The message was clear; it was his time to return to the ranks. As a Fae birthed of the Hunt itself, any offering from Daegus could not be refused by a member of the Hunt.