The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (19 page)

He lifted his lantern high, the light trickling into one of the many off-shoot tunnels. Trina leaned cautiously over the hole she hadn’t even suspected was there and a chilly breeze wafted up and stirred her hair. The hole was deep. So deep, the soft lantern light faded long before it reached the bottom. Logan kicked a pebble in and they both held still, listening. It was a long time before she heard the quiet plink of it hitting bottom.

She went weak and pulled back from the sudden drop.

“Don’t go off into any of them alone. You won’t know where you’re going or where you’ll end up. And it’s for sure you’ll not enjoy it.” He started off again and she followed, closer than before. “There are many secrets, many traps in here for the unwary or the unwelcome. It’s a tremendous gift Rinnal has given you, the knowledge of how the last of the Fir Bolg have survived and escaped their nemisis.”

“Why is he doing this? Why would he trust me? How can he be sure I won’t use this information to bargain with the queen for my life? My people’s lives?”

“Once you have endured the annihilation of your race, you never forget. You are the enemy of his enemy.”

The Fir Bolg were Logan’s race as well as the Tuatha De Danann. Was he torn between his two halves?

They reached the end of the passage, which dead ended at a rock-fall. Logan whispered to the stones and they groaned open, fresh air and the smell of her own earth washed over Trina’s face. She breathed deep.

“We’re here,” Logan said. “Are you ready to face your people?” He didn’t wait for her answer as he strode away from the rocks to a large drainage pipe and ducked inside.

Was she ready? No. But since when had that ever mattered? She crossed to the pipe and followed him.

Logan helped Trina out of the drainage pipe into the dark, moonlit shadows of a copse of trees and let his hands linger on her narrowed waist. Taking a moment before she pulled away, he admired her breasts heaving up and down as she gasped for air.

“This corset thing is too tight.”

“I disagree. It could be a little tighter.” He eyed his work, as she pulled the sapphire out of her cleavage, and decided he’d done a fair job. He still had the knack of lacing up a woman. Some things you never forgot. “That sapphire catches the moonlight with every breath you take. Too bad it stopped glowing. I think it enhanced your assets.” It was a good thing the witch couldn’t shoot him with her eyes.

“I’m relieved.” She gave another nervous pull to the bustier, but it didn’t budge. “I’m worried enough someone will recognize me without glowing gems making me stand out like a neon hooker.”

He didn’t want anyone following her at all, but he’d agreed to the plan. Now he was stuck with it. He swallowed at the thought of all those male eyes pulled by the sapphire to Trina’s breasts. “Here, tuck that inside where no one will see it. I don’t want someone following you for your jewels.” He reached over and pushed the sapphire deep into the bustier, ignoring her indrawn breath and clamping down on his cock’s response. “And while we’re at it, hold still and I’ll strengthen the glamour before we go in. I’m not sure how thorough their security will be.”

A quick pass of his magic touched her image up. She didn’t look like Trina, didn’t smell like Trina. She looked like a woman out for a good time. He frowned.

In the cottage, he hadn’t thought about how increasing her full pout and adding a slant to her eyes upped her sexuality. Now, he had second thoughts.

“Is that it down there?” Trina pointed at the lights in the distance. She stepped onto the paved road that led from the curving foothills down to the edge of the city.

“Yes. Angus came here earlier today and scoped it out. Funny location for a get together.” He caught up to her and moved into the lead down the hillside and through the brushy trees, the lights getting closer and brighter as they approached the parking lot. “Why would your people choose a dog track outside Denver?”

“It’s vacant, cheap to rent, and the Boyd’s like Denver. Host tribe gets to pick the location. Weather in September is usually good, too.”

“I thought you’d never been to a meet.”

“I haven’t, but Aunt Theresa talked about them all the time.” Trina kicked a rock off to the side. “She missed them terribly. The fun, the politics.”

Campfire smoke drifted on the breeze, carrying the noise of a thousand-plus partying people. Earthy rhythms of the drums, doumbaks, and bodhrans, mixed with different pipes, flutes, harps, and rock-and-roll.

“Logan, listen to the music.” Trina’s hips swayed, her shoulders undulating with each step closer to the camp. “It’s forever since I’ve danced.”

Her laugh sparkled and his stomach clenched.

His beautiful witch glowed for the music, her people, and the party, but not him. He wanted to snatch her away from the meet, take her back to the fields, and ravish her in the grass. But he had to let her take her open sexuality and troll the fair like a common harlot.

Tension spiraled from his clenched stomach out through his body, every male instinct he possessed telling him to drag her back to the cottage.

He stopped and watched her dance her way down the road, his brain spinning as he confronted his jealousy. If they continued down this path his beautiful witch would be out of his sight and out of his control, loose among a camp full of drunken, reveling men. He hadn’t fully realized the risk he ran of losing her to something other than the queen. It burned him hollow inside.

Trina moved a few extra steps ahead turning to look back over her shoulder. Her face lit like a flame. “Come on Logan. The party is on!”

He broke, took three long strides, and grabbed her arm.

“Ow!”

One-by-one he forced each finger to relax, but he didn’t let go.

“Don’t get distracted, my witch.” He ground out his words through a tight throat. “We have a job to do tonight.”

“Don’t think for a minute I’ve forgotten why we’re here.” She lifted her chin and tossed her newly lightened locks. “It’s for my family, my tribe, and my life. My tribe is almost gone, if we don’t find out the queen’s plans these tribes may well be next. I know I have a mission tonight but this might be the last time I can enjoy myself with my people for a long time. Maybe forever.” The flame in her eyes sparked higher. “Don’t tell me not to steal a few moments of fun. I’m well aware of what I’m doing and that I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be doing this, if it weren’t for your kind.”

Before he could open his frozen mouth, she tore away from him and into the first circle of RV’s and motorcycles. The jealous beast inside urged him to go after her, stop her, make her listen. But he gritted his teeth, and stayed put, shaking from the tension shooting up his spine and down his tendons as her sexy black boots and curvy ass disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter Twelve

It was five long minutes before Logan dared move. Wreaking destruction on the meet would serve nobody’s purpose. He released air in slow calculated breaths as he avoided the sentries and stalked around the perimeter looking for another entrance.

What was it about Trina that loosened his control? Caused him to forget lessons hard earned? He had nothing to fret about. If she stuck to the plan, she was headed for the Boyd’s leader. She wouldn’t go to the fires, wouldn’t flirt with men in exchange for information.

A sudden, vivid image of her sparkling like the moon at some other man freed the beast and his tension roared back to life. Thunder growled low in the distance, reminding him his powers would stand out like a spotlight if he didn’t get his emotions battened down.

When he’d calmed, he slid in between two rusty RV’s and entered at the edge of the camp. He worked his way into the heart of the gathering, wondering what power this tiny woman had over him and how he’d gotten ensnared.

The hot smell of frying food and too much beer and liquor pressed in on him like the heavy air before a hurricane. He rubbed his forehead and tried to ease the pressure.

He’d forgotten what it was like to move through the oppression of humanity. His imprisonment had left him ill-equipped to be in a crowd this dense. Every step into the crush made his next breath seem heavier than the last. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he began to pant as he grappled with his panic.

Stepping behind a food vendor’s tent, he had enough space to firm his aura into an invisible shield held out from his body. The noise and pressure retreated and he could breathe easier as the crowd walked large, whispering semi-circles around him, the freak show.

“Are you a real elf?” A barely twenty-something girl in a low-cut shirt swayed close, teetering on impossibly skinny high heels. He put out a reflexive hand and ignored her slur. She caught his arm and pitched toward him, tilting toward horizontal in the treacherous shoes. She blinked overly made-up eyes too close to his face and exhaled eau de lite beer. He ramped up his aura and held his breath.

“Hey Jenny, leave him alone.” Large, tattooed biceps barely covered by a torn muscle shirt pulled her off. The dark-haired youth stepped in front of her and demanded, “Are you an elf?”

“Nah, he can’t be, he’s too short!” another girl said. “My Granny knows Lord Talan and he’s much taller than him. Skinnier, too.” The group crowded around him, their auras pressing against his while they argued his parentage.

His heartbeat quickened, lightning cracked overhead. But his shield held. He exhaled. He could do this. He was capable of walking among the drunken horde without losing control.

“Hey come party with us.” Jenny slurred and stumbled. “Rafe, he should party with us.”

Rafe shored her up, took a long pull from his beer, and eyed Logan. “Sure man. What the hell.”

He sounded less than enthused, but Logan returned the barracuda smile and joined them in weaving through the maze of vehicles and tents. It was good fortune to have the camouflage of a group surrounding him. He’d have less trouble this way.

“We’re heading for the main loop, over by the track. Some friends of ours are hanging over there.”

They moved off in a ragged group. Jenny and the other girls watching him with hungry, mascaraed cow eyes. He let Jenny latch onto his arm, testing his shields, relieved when they held. Despite Rafe breathing heat down his neck, Logan began to relax.

They moved from group to group, showing him off and drinking hard. He let himself be drawn along until he spotted what he’d been looking for. He disengaged from Jenny, gave a curt nod to a still-angry Rafe, and eased into the cluster of old folks tucked around a fire pit made out of an old, industrial oil can. Taking the proffered camp chair he settled in and wished he’d brought some liquor to share. Nothing like bringing a six-pack to grease conversation..

They were drunk enough not to ask who he was and old enough to be happy about having new blood for the gossip mill. Rumors of the MacElvys ricocheted around the fire.

“I heard they’re all dead, the entire tribe. The queen, you know.” Several of the oldsters shot Logan nervous glances. Someone offered him a beer. He leaned back and sipped, letting them know he wasn’t going to get mad at the conversation’s trend, letting them get comfortable again.

“Well, I’m sad about it, but the territories were getting too full. Nowhere to roam anymore without bumping into someone. We can spread out now.”

“We’re all next, you know.”

“I remember Theresa MacElvy and her sister.” A grizzled old man waggled to his musical memories, the camp chair creaking from side to side. “Ah, Theresa could really shake it.

“Where are Theresa and her sister?” Logan asked, and took a sip, blocking the mouth of his bottle with his tongue so only a few drops of beer leaked through.

“You should know more than me about that. You being an elf and all. Your queen’s the one who’s marked them for the last twenty years.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been out of circulation. I’ve missed the story.”

“Well now, we aren’t really sure what went on.” The old man exchanged looks with his compatriots around the fire before settling back in his chair. “It seems like Lady Aoife tried to find out, but I don’t think I’ve seen her around since that time. Darn shame, too. She used to like to come to these things, and she was a lot of fun! But, of course, she hung out with the MacElvys.” The old man took a swig of beer and smacked his lips. “And they don’t come anymore.”

Logan feigned relaxation and took another pretend swig. If he was correct, he knew of an Aoife, a member of the Gold King’s court. He wasn’t welcome in Oberon’s court, never had been even on his few visits with the prince. He wasn’t sure they’d even let him in without Kian, Black Court bastard that he was.

“What happened to Lady Aoife?”

“Well now, I’m not sure.” The geezer took another swig, and seemed to forget the question. Logan restrained himself from shaking it out of the old man.

“You know,” the oldster finally said, “she wouldn’t let the MacElvy thing drop. Just kept after the queen, trying to get her to stop.”

“I haven’t seen her since ten meets gone.” Another oldster chimed in.

“She might just have retired beyond the veil. Anyone known to be helping the MacElvy’s is fair game as far as the queen goes. Remember when Olaf tried to help…” Logan tuned out the old man’s ramblings about the unlucky Olaf. He didn’t care about Olaf. He had more urgent concerns. Dismemberment, torture, death.