“It’s awful to think they’re out there somewhere.” She looked past him to the darkened streets, looking for faces in the shadows as he’d seen her do so many nights when he’d walked invisibly at her side. “I never know. I don’t remember some of their faces…I was drugged when they…you know.”
“Raped,” he said gently. “And yes, I know exactly.”
Her hand traced over one of his scars again, more hesitantly this time. The stunned look on her face confirmed that she understood. “You?”
He nodded. “It was forever ago.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “Does it ever go away? The panic?”
And she looked at him with such hope he wished that fey could lie. He couldn’t. He said, “It gets better. Some days, some years, it’s almost gone.”
“That’s something, right?”
“It’s almost everything some days.” He kissed her gently, just a brush of lips, not seeking passion but offering comfort. “And sometimes you meet someone who doesn’t see you any differently if you tell them. That is everything.”
Silently she rested her face against his chest, and he held her and admitted the truth to himself: For this mortal I would disobey my queen, abandon my king, the court that has protected me all these years. All of it. If he took her into his arms, he would keep her. He wouldn’t let her suffer the way the other mortals had when he’d left them. He would keep her, with his court’s permission or without it. Irial wouldn’t take her, and Keenan wouldn’t stand between them.
CHAPTER 19
Leslie woke in the middle of the night to see Niall lying next to her, feverish, his skin damp with a sheen of sweat. He wasn’t thrashing; he was perfectly still. His chest didn’t appear to be moving at all.
She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Niall?”
He blinked at her, but it didn’t take long for him to sit upright and look around. “Are you injured? Is someone here?”
“No.” The skin under her hand was hot to the touch, far hotter than seemed possible. “You’re sick, Niall. Stay here.”
She went to the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel. After soaking it with cold water, she came back. Niall had closed his eyes and was lying back on Seth’s enormous bed. If he hadn’t looked like he was near passing out, it would have been a lovely sight to see. She knelt on the bed and wiped his face and chest with the icy cloth. He didn’t react at all. His eyes stayed closed. His heartbeat thudded rapidly enough that she could see the pulse in his throat.
“Do you think you can walk to the front room? I can call a taxi,” she murmured, glancing around the room to find her cell phone.
“Taxi to go where?”
“To the hospital.” The wet cloth was already warm to the touch, and his body wasn’t any cooler.
“No. We’re not going there. Stay here or go to the loft.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was no mistaking that look for anything remotely reasonable.
She sighed but kept her voice gentle as she said, “Sweetie, you’re sick. Do you know what’s wrong?”
“Allergic.”
“To what? Do you have one of those pens for a shot?” She picked up his shirt from the floor and looked in the front pocket. There wasn’t anything. She dropped it. Where else? There was nothing on the bedside tables. She reached down and felt inside the pockets of his jeans—which were still on him.
Niall grabbed her hand. “I did not bring you here to have sex, and I feel far from well enough to do so, but”—he pulled her forward until she was sprawled on his chest—“that doesn’t mean I’m immune to your touch.”
Using one hand on the wall to steady himself, he stood. “Help me get outside. I need air. Clear my head before I say something I can’t.”
“Something you can’t?” She came to stand beside him, though, offering him her support. He draped an arm over her shoulders; she put her arm around his waist.
Mostly talking to herself, Leslie said, “Seth. Ash. Everyone’s keeping secrets.” She looked up at Niall. “I ought to keep asking you questions until I get a few answers out of somebody.”
She concentrated on getting him through the train and to the door. He hissed when he reached a hand out and brushed the door. They both stumbled when he recoiled.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” he said. “Not so much. But I will be.”
Not knowing what to say or do, Leslie looked around. She saw one of Seth’s wooden chairs. “Come on,” she said.
Niall leaned heavily on her as she dragged the chair far away from the train into the shadows of the yard. It was awkward, but she had plenty of practice maneuvering her drunken father into his room. Niall sat in the chair. She had just stepped away from him when Keenan appeared. He seemed to materialize out of the shadowed lot. He hadn’t been anywhere in sight, and then suddenly he was in front of them—and angry.
“What were you thinking?” Keenan asked.
Niall didn’t reply.
Leslie tensed, feeling an urge to run when he approached. She wasn’t sure where he’d come from or why he was here. She couldn’t wonder how he’d arrived so unexpectedly or why she felt so disquieted by his presence. All she knew was that he frightened her and she wanted him gone.
“I didn’t know he had an allergy to”—Leslie glanced at Niall—“what are you allergic to?”
“Iron. Steel. He’s allergic to iron and steel. We all are.” Keenan scowled. “This serves no purpose, Niall.”
Leslie stepped closer to Niall, decidedly uncomfortable with the hostility in Keenan’s voice. Salt for fury, like briny water in my mouth. She touched Niall’s shoulder and found his skin much cooler now.
“This is not the place,” Niall muttered.
But Keenan continued, “If Irial wants her—”
Leslie lost her temper. “I’m standing right here, asshole. And where do you get off talking to him like that? You’d think—”
“Leslie.” Niall laid his hand over hers.
“No. Why are you putting up with that?” She turned her glare briefly on Niall and then back to Keenan. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not standing here. Don’t act like some psycho friend of yours hitting on me means—”
“Just be silent for a change, would you?” Keenan stepped closer to her; his eyes seemed to glow with tiny flames. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Piss off.” Leslie tried to raise her hand to slap the condescending look off his face, but Niall was now clutching both of her hands.
“I’m not sure why he wants this one, but”—Keenan shrugged—“if she’s important to him, I want to know why. Your injuring yourself for her would upset Aislinn and serve no purpose for me.”
Leslie’s mouth gaped open as Keenan spoke: he sounded nothing like he did when he was with Aislinn, nothing like he had when he’d attended Bishop O.C. for those few weeks in the fall. He sounded old, far older than he could possibly be, and callous.
“Be more careful and enjoy your time, my Gancanagh friend.” Then, after giving Leslie a brief once-over that made her feel so exposed that she wanted to hide her body, Keenan walked away.
Leslie stared at the shadowed yard. Despite the darkness, she could see the faint outline of Keenan’s body as he strode off.
Beside her, Niall watched the shadows in silence.
Leslie stood next to him. She touched his forehead, his neck, his chest: the fever had broken. He seemed physically fine—tired, but fine.
“Keenan means well, but he has worries—”
“He’s rude. He’s demeaning. He’s not the person he pretends to be when Ash is around. He—” She stopped herself and adjusted her tone. “If there’s a reason to be nice to him, now might be a good time to tell me what it is.”
“I can’t. He’s under a bit of stress. Aislinn helps, but there’s so much I can’t tell you. I would if I could. I’d tell you everything. You might not want to see me afterward, but…” He pulled her into his lap and stared at her.
“But what?” She wrapped her arms around him. And her anger at Keenan, her distrust, her unease—they all slid away.
Niall said, “I hope you do want to see me after our secrets are spilled. It’ll be your choice, but I truly hope you still want to be near me.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she needed to. She liked Niall, far more than she should after so short a time, but she wasn’t interested in getting further involved if he was mixed up in something criminal. She’d had enough of that in her life already. “Are you involved in anything illegal?”
“No.”
“No drug deals?” Her body tensed as she waited.
“Not me. No.”
“Keenan?”
Niall snorted in laughter. “Aislinn would never tolerate that, even if he had inclinations that way—which he doesn’t.”
“Oh.” She thought about it: the fact that Keenan rarely went anywhere alone, the weird club, the strange allergy, the secrecy Aislinn and Seth were somehow a part of. None of it fit together right; it didn’t add up, no matter how she looked at it.
Which should terrify me. But her emotions weren’t quite cooperating with that thought. Which should also frighten me.
She held Niall’s gaze and asked, “What did he call you?”
“Gancanagh. It’s a sort of family name. But I can’t explain beyond that right now.” Niall sighed and pulled her close. “Tonight I’ll do my best to answer your every question, but Aislinn…She needs to speak with you before I can. No more questions until tonight. I’ll explain to her, that we, that you…She’ll understand. Meet me at the Crow’s Nest? We’ll talk to her.”
She wanted to push him to tell her immediately, but she could tell by his tension and his worried tone that he wasn’t going to. She turned so she was facing him. “Promise you’ll tell me everything? Tonight.”
“Promise.” Niall smiled then.
Leslie kissed him cautiously. She knew he would tell her, felt certain of it, of him.
But he pulled back from their kiss almost immediately and asked, “So can I see what you have so far of the tattoo? Or is it somewhere improper?”
She laughed. “It’s up by my shoulders…. Subtle topic shift.”
It had worked, though—or maybe it was his kiss that made her feel so relaxed. Even though he was holding back, she felt her body responding in a way she hadn’t thought she ever would again.
“So can I see the tattoo?” He started to tilt her forward, still holding her.
“Tonight. Rabbit is finishing it tonight after work. Then you can see it—when it’s all done.” She wasn’t sure why, but from the moment she’d walked out of Rabbit’s shop, she’d had a strong aversion to showing anyone her ink. Not yet.
“Another reason to look forward to our date, then. Talking, looking at your art, and”—he gave her a look that sent her pulse racing—“anything else that makes you happy.”
He gently kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes, her hair.
“I don’t want you to go away,” she whispered, finding it easier to admit in the darkness. “But Keenan’s comments. The way he…I want you with me right now. I’ve wanted you with me for months.”
He kissed her for real then, not gently as he had before, but fiercely.
Afterward he told her, “I’ll leave Keenan and Aislinn’s side if I need to. I’ll walk away from everything, everyone, just for the chance to be with you….”
While she didn’t understand much of what was going on, she did understand that he was offering to give up his family for her. Why? Why would being with me mean that? She traced her fingertips over his face.
He said, “If you want me in your life, I’ll be here. As long as you want. Remember that. It’ll be okay. I’ll stay with you, and we’ll be fine. No matter what else happens or what you learn, remember that.”
She nodded, though she felt like she’d wandered into a weird world where everything she thought she knew had faded away. But even with all the weirdness, being in Niall’s arms made her feel safe, loved, like the world wasn’t awful. She couldn’t stay in Huntsdale, though, not living with Ren and her father, not where everything had gone so horribly wrong. “I can’t ask you to give up everything when I’m not even sure where I’ll be next year. College. And we don’t know each other, not really. And—”
“Do you want to get to know each other?” he asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll find a way.” He stood then, with her in his arms, and walked toward the train. A yard or so away from it, he put her down. “Go in and sleep. I will be here when you wake. Tonight Aislinn will talk to you…or I will.”
And when Leslie curled up in bed, she felt herself believing in Niall, believing in them, believing it really could be okay. Those dreams of finding someone who cared about her, who saw her as a person—maybe they weren’t as impossible as they’d seemed.
CHAPTER 20
The morning was barely upon him when Irial walked into Pins and Needles, watching the mortals outside the shop with a new interest. Leslie would give him enough of her mortality that he’d be able to feed on them, to grow stronger. It had worked for a few of the thistle-fey, had worked for Jenny Greenteeth and her sisters. He couldn’t grow weak. He couldn’t allow his fey to grow weak and be ended by mortals. That wasn’t an option. He’d have his mortal, nourish himself—through her—to feed his court. If they were strong enough, he and his mortal, they could survive it. If she was not as strong as he thought, she would die or slip into madness; he’d starve, fade, or worse—fail his court.
But she’s a strong mortal. He hoped they would both survive. He’d never cared for one of them; there were a few halflings, like Rabbit, who’d mattered—but no true mortals.
“Iri.” Rabbit’s face lit with the inexplicable happiness he seemed to feel when Irial visited.
“Bunny-boy.”
Rabbit scowled. “Man, you really need to stop calling me that. Ani and Tish are around somewhere. You know how they are.”
“I know.” Irial grinned. He couldn’t see Rabbit as a grown man, despite the proof in front of him. “How are the pups?”
“Troublesome.”
“Told you. It’s all in the blood.” Irial pulled out the book he’d brought with him. “Gabriel sends his best.”
“He has a best? Been nice if they’d inherited it.” Rabbit took the book, flipping it open as eagerly as he had the first time Irial had given him images of the more reclusive fey. The symbols and crude sketches were the start of what would be tattoos tying mortals to the Dark Court. Rabbit would re-create them in ways that faeries could not, capturing the flaws and beauties until they were pulsing on the page, seeking the mortal who could wear them. It was a disquieting skill—one neither of them spoke of.
Then Ani and Tish flew into the room, squealing in that eternally hyper way they had. “Iri!”
“How’s Dad?”
“Did he send anything? He was here.”
“He met Leslie.”
“Rabbit won’t let me go to the square anymore.”
“Have you seen the new queens? We know the one, the Summer Queen.”
“We don’t know her. We met her. It’s different.”
“Isn’t.”
“Let Irial talk.” Rabbit sighed. He might scowl a bit, but he watched the girls with a care their father wouldn’t have. Halflings were typically too fragile to live in the Dark Court, too mortal, but the High Court would’ve broken their spirits—impeded their natural passions with unnatural restraints. Sorcha’s court took the Sighted ones and all of the halflings—unbeknownst to the Winter and Summer Courts—but the Dark Court tried to keep their mortal offspring out of that rigid realm. Rabbit had repaid that secrecy by looking after the other halflings Irial’d found.
“There’s trinkets from the Hounds.” Irial held out the bag. “And one of Jenny’s kin sent those garments you wanted.”
The girls snatched the bag and scu
rried away.
“Exhausting beasts.” Rabbit rubbed a hand over his face, then called out, “No clubs tonight, you hear me?”
“Promise,” Tish yelled from somewhere in the back.
Ani ran back in. Grinning madly, she skidded to a stop a hairsbreadth away from Irial. “Did you like Leslie? I bet you did. Very hot.” Her words all tumbled together. Then she stuck her tongue out at Rabbit. “We’ll get to go tomorrow, then. Promise?”
As Rabbit put a hand over his eyes, Irial found himself offering, “I’ll take them.”
Rabbit made a shooing motion at Ani. Then he flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED. “Now, let’s give this a try.”
The room was exactly as it had always been, immaculate and unchanging. Rabbit had aged some, not as fast as mortals, but he looked closer to early twenties than teens now.
Rabbit motioned to the black chair where his clients sat. “You okay?”
Irial squeezed Rabbit’s forearm and admitted, “Tired.”
After he handed Rabbit the cords Gabriel had sent, Irial sat down in the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“I heard about Guin.” Rabbit pulled out three needles and as many vials.
“Gabriel’s got the Hounds patrolling; they think they’re immune still. The leannan-sidhe are to stay out of sight.” Irial leaned back in the tattoo chair and closed his eyes while Rabbit bound him with the cords. Irial always found himself talking freely with Rabbit. In a world of careful deceit, there were so few people Irial could trust without reservation. Rabbit had inherited all of his father’s loyalty, but also the mortal sense to think things through, to talk rather than fight.
“I think the ink exchange will help.” Rabbit rolled up Irial’s sleeve. “It’s going to hurt.”