Shadowfever

“Have you always moved like that in front of me and I just never noticed? Was I oblivious?”

“No and yes. You were oblivious. Head up that tight pink ass. But I never moved this way in front of you.” His look dripped sexual innuendo. “I might have moved this way a time or two behind you.”

“Not hiding anything from me anymore?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“What does someone like you conceal?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His glittering eyes raked me with a hard once-over.

It had been nearly a week since we’d killed Fiona in the Silvers, and my wardrobe was giving me more fits than ever. I was wearing distressed black leather pants with a tattooed gray grunge element and my favorite baby-doll pink tee that said I’m a JUICY girl across the front and had chiffon cap sleeves. I’d tied a Goth scarf around my blond curls and had on a pair of Alina’s dangling heart earrings. My fingernails had grown out and I’d done a French manicure on my hands, and but I’d painted my toenails black. The dichotomy didn’t end there. I had on a black lace thong and a pink-and-white-striped cotton bra. I was having issues.

“Identity crisis, Ms. Lane?”

There was a time when I’d have fired back a pithy retort. But I was drunk on the moment: sitting in my bookstore, sipping hot cocoa, staring across a coffee table at Barrons by candle and firelight, with my journal and iPod handy and the assurance that my parents were well and my world was mostly fine except for my own little personality crisis. Friends and loved ones were safe. I breathed. So did the people that mattered to me. Life was good.

Not long ago, I’d thought I would never step foot in this place again. Never see the faint, sexy lift of his lips that told me he was amused but still waiting to be really wowed. Never bicker and banter and argue and plan. Never bask in the knowledge that, so long as the previous owner of this establishment was alive, this place would stand bastion in far more than mere latitude and longitude, keeping Dark Zones, fairies, and monsters at bay. It was the place of last defense in my heart.

Although I hated him for letting me grieve, I couldn’t be more grateful that he was unkillable, because it meant I would never have to grieve him again.

I could never be broken about Barrons. Nothing could hurt me where he was concerned, because he was as certain as the nightfall, he would recur as eternally as the dawn. I still had questions about what he was and concerns about his motives, but they could wait. Time might sort things out in ways pushing and prying never could. “I don’t have any idea what to wear anymore, so I tried to cover all bases.”

“Try skin.”

“Little chilly for that.”

We looked at each other across the coffee table.

His eyes didn’t say, I’d heat you up, and mine didn’t say What are you waiting for? His didn’t reply, Fuck if I’m making the first move, so I was careful not to say, I wish you would, because I can’t, because I’m … and he didn’t snap … choking on your pride?!

“As if you aren’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“Really, Barrons,” I said drily. “I’m not the only one who didn’t just not have that conversation, and you know it.”

There was the faint, sexy lift of his lip. “You’re a piece of work, Ms. Lane.”

“Right back at you.”

He changed the subject. “The Keltar moved their wives and children into Chester’s.”

“When?”

Our sojourn in the White Mansion had cost us nearly five weeks, Dublin time. We’d stopped in the libraries on the way out and taken as many of the Unseelie King’s books as we’d been able to wrap up and carry out along with Fiona’s body. I’d not only missed Dani’s birthday, I’d missed my own, on May 1. Time sure did fly.

“About three weeks ago. Long enough that they’ve settled in. They refuse to leave until we give them the queen.”

“Which will be never,” I said.

“Precisely.”

“How many kids?” I tried to picture Chester’s with families living on the cool chrome-and-glass top floor. Towheaded tots carrying blankets and sucking their thumbs, walking along the balustrade. It seemed terribly wrong—and laughably right. Maybe it could eradicate some of the fundamental badassness of the place.

“The four Keltar Druids brought their wives and children. They breed like it’s their personal mission to populate their country in case somebody attacks again, as if anybody wants the bloody place. There were dozens of them. Everywhere. It was total chaos.”

“Ryodan must be losing his mind.” I had to bite my lip not to laugh. Barrons sounded downright consternated.

“A child followed us on our way to see the queen. Wanted Ryodan to fix a toy or something.”

“Did he?”

“He got upset because it wouldn’t shut up and tore its head off.”

“The child?” I gasped.

He looked at me like I was crazy. “The bear. The battery was dying and the audio file was looping. It was the only way to make it stop.”

“Or put a new battery in.”

“Child screamed bloody murder. Army of Keltars came running. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“I want to see my parents. I mean, visit with them.”

“V’lane agreed to help the Keltar get Christian out of the Unseelie prison. He has them rebuilding the dolmen at LaRuhe he crushed for you.” He shot me a look that said, Too bad you didn’t think before you did that one; would have saved time. “He believes that once it’s complete he can reestablish the connection and bring him out.”

So V’lane was playing nice, batting hard for the team. We had serious unfinished business, but I no longer had his name in my tongue and I suspected he was avoiding me. I’d been in no mood for confrontations in the past week. Confronting myself was hard enough. “If you don’t arrange it, I’ll go by myself.” We’d have Christian soon! The moment I’d returned from Fiona’s mercy killing, I’d begun lobbying to get Christian out of the Unseelie prison. I would have begun my campaign sooner, but finding out I was Not the Concubine had thrown me for a wicked, mind-numbing loop. “When will he be back?”

“Your pretty college boy isn’t so pretty anymore.”