“That hardly answers the question. You promised me answers.”
Hunter shook his head and turned away from her, his movements jerky and agitated. “I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did. It will be unpleasant, but I’ll survive. It will hardly be the first time I’ve displeased her.”
“So she won’t kill you?”
Hunter’s brief hesitation before answering spoke volumes. “No.” She stared at him hard, and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “All right, maybe. I honestly don’t know. I’ve been useful to her in the past, so if I convince her I tried my hardest, she’ll probably let me live. But with the Queen, you never know.”
Kiera couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Hunter to grow up in the Unseelie Court knowing his own mother might torture and kill him on a whim. She was still reeling from the pain he had caused her, but she couldn’t help wondering . . . if their positions had been reversed, if she’d been ordered to do something so heinous, would she have bravely defied the Queen’s orders? She had an uncomfortable suspicion that she wouldn’t.
“It still doesn’t matter,” Hunter said quietly. “I have no control over how she’ll punish me for failure. All I can do is try to make sure she never knows I’ve let myself become . . . attached.”
Attached. Was he genuinely attached to her? Everything inside Kiera screamed that the answer was yes. She’d been in his bed last night, not only willing, but eager to let him take her. Perhaps it had been some kind of strategic move, but she honestly couldn’t see how. If he’d gone through with his plan, she could have been pregnant even now, and he could have been assured success. What reason could he possibly have had for letting her go, other than that he cared?
He was still the enemy. He was a member of the Unseelie Court, and the son of evil personified. One show of genuine human emotion didn’t suddenly make him into a good guy. There was no reason whatsoever she should feel the urge to wrap him in her arms and tell him everything was going to be all right.
“So, you’re going to just . . . keep up the charade?” she asked before she could do something truly stupid.
Hunter nodded. “For as long as I can get away with it. She’ll eventually get impatient with my lack of progress and recall me to Faerie, but until then, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” He looked uncomfortable. “If there’s any chance you could act like you don’t hate my guts—at least in public—I’d be forever grateful. My mother has spies watching me, and if I can put off being recalled to Faerie . . .” He shivered. “Well, I don’t suppose that would make anything better for me, but I’m in no hurry to face whatever punishment she decides to dish out.”
“Couldn’t you just . . . run away, or something? Go into hiding?”
He smiled, but the haunted look in his eyes told a different story. “I’ve tried before. It hasn’t gone well. My mother has a very, very long reach.”
Kiera wished there was something she could do to help him. It didn’t matter what he’d done to her—he’d been in an awful situation from the start, and it was very much worse now. She wasn’t even sure she felt angry at him anymore. The sense of hurt and betrayal was still there, but the anger seemed to have fizzled and fled.
“I’ll get out of your hair now,” Hunter said. “Thanks for giving me a chance to talk to you. I know I can’t ever make up for what I’ve done—”
Kiera cut him off with a shake of her head. “No, you can’t. But I understand why you did it, and I’ll try not to do anything to get you sent home early.”
Hunter’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, and he swallowed hard. He blinked a couple of times, and his expression returned to something like normal. She thought he was about to say something, but her doorbell sounded before he started to speak.
Kiera frowned. Who the hell could that be? She wasn’t used to having unknown visitors at her apartment—the front desk usually called to let her know someone was coming up.
Unless that someone already lived in the building, like Hunter, or was on the short list of people who were allowed to come up without notice, the list that consisted of her mother, and Jackson. Period.
The doorbell rang again, and to her surprise, Hunter moved first, taking a step in front of her and glancing out the peephole. The puzzled frown on his face when he turned to her told her it wasn’t her mother. Which left—
“It’s your friend, Jackson,” Hunter said in a voice just above a whisper.
Kiera narrowed her eyes at him and put her hands on her hips. “How come you know Jackson by name and on sight? I’ve never introduced you. And why were you looking out my peephole?”
Hunter raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’d come after you and not know who your friends are, do you? And I wanted to make sure your visitor wasn’t one of my mother’s servants. I haven’t given them any cause to come after you, but it’s a good idea to be cautious when the Unseelie Court is involved.”
The doorbell rang again, three times in quick succession.
“Come on, Kiera!” Jackson called from outside. “I know you’re in there.”
She couldn’t imagine what Jackson was doing here on her doorstep without having called first, but it would be wishful thinking to hope he’d go away if she kept ignoring him. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
“He’s been dying to meet you,” she told Hunter, then braced herself and opened the door.
Jackson worked as a vet tech for his day job—the pet-sitting business was merely a side venture—and he’d obviously come straight from work, still dressed in hospital-green scrubs. He didn’t wait for an invitation to come in, just swooped in and gave her a rib-crushing hug she wasn’t expecting.
“What the hell, Jackson?” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “What are you doing here?” She tried to extricate herself from his arms, but he didn’t let go.
“Your mom called me,” he said, and she groaned. “She said you needed a friend right now, so I—”
His voice cut off suddenly, and Kiera figured that meant he’d finally noticed Hunter. She couldn’t imagine what Hunter was thinking, or what kind of look he was giving her best friend. Then again, considering the fact that he’d apparently stalked her before making his first move, Hunter probably already knew Jackson was gay.
This time, when Kiera tried to slip from Jackson’s arms, he let her.
“Well, this is awkward,” Jackson said brightly, his eyes a little too wide as he looked back and forth between Hunter and Kiera.
Kiera risked a glance at Hunter and saw the chilly stare he’d fixed on Jackson.
“I recognize your voice,” Hunter said, still staring daggers at Jackson. “You called me to set up a massage appointment. You were using a phony name.”
Jackson blushed and looked guilty. Kiera gave Hunter a warning look. After everything he’d done, he had no right to be angry at that small deception. He took the hint with gratifying speed, and the aggression bled out of his body language as his expression changed to a small, wry smile.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Hunter Teague.”
Jackson got over his chagrin instantly. “And I’m Jackson James,” he responded, shaking Hunter’s hand while giving him a none-too-subtle visual once over. Kiera wished she hadn’t opened the door.
“Charmed,” Hunter said, still smiling. Jackson didn’t quite wince, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes that told Kiera Hunter’s handshake was . . . firm.
Jackson probably wanted to rub the soreness out of his knuckles when the handshake ended, but Kiera suspected testosterone wouldn’t let him. She’d discovered early in their acquaintance that gay men were perfectly capable of being macho when the mood suited them.
Jackson dragged his attention away from Hunter and cocked his head at Kiera. “Your mother led me to believe the two of you had a spectacular falling out last night. I was expecting to find you curled up on the couch
with a quart of ice-cream.”
Sometimes, Kiera wished she’d been born an orphan. No doubt her mother had meant well, but this was about the last thing she needed right now. She didn’t even want to know exactly what her mom had told Jackson—obviously, not the truth, but if she was going to make up a story, she probably should have clued Kiera in to the details before siccing Jackson on her.
“I guess your mother was mistaken,” Jackson continued. “Three’s a crowd, so I’ll get out of your hair.”
“That’s all right,” Hunter said, moving toward the door. “I was just leaving anyway.”
“Please don’t let me interrupt,” Jackson said, trying to look innocent while simultaneously putting a suggestive lilt in his voice.
Hunter and Kiera shared a look. There were a whole lot of things unresolved between them, and there probably always would be. At least until he returned to Faerie and she never saw him again. But at least they’d hashed out a fragile truce, and that was the best she could hope for when the wounds were still so raw.
“You aren’t interrupting anything,” Kiera told Jackson, but her gaze remained on Hunter. “We’re done here.”
Hunter gave her a brisk nod, then reached for the door. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you in person,” he said over his shoulder to Jackson. He sounded snide, but his next words made Kiera wonder if there was some sincerity in there after all. “Cathy wasn’t wrong; Kiera does need a friend right now, and I’m glad she has you.”
He was gone before either Jackson or Kiera could stutter out a reply.
Chapter 11
Hunter felt lighter as he rode the elevator back down to his apartment. There was still a lot wrong with his world—he was still likely to suffer a slow and painful death, after all—but he was pretty sure he’d succeeded in lessening Kiera’s hurt. She would never forgive him for what he’d done, and he’d never expect her to, but at least he’d been able to convince her there was no malice in his actions. He wished he could convince her that he genuinely cared about her, but it was probably better for everyone if she remained wary and mistrustful of him.
Hunter’s mood darkened when he entered his apartment and saw Bane sitting on his couch, filthy feet propped on the coffee table like he owned the place.
Hunter had originally felt like an utter fool for going to talk to Kiera after everything that had happened, but now he thanked his lucky stars he’d done it. Clearing the air between them had at least restored some semblance of rationality in Hunter, and he didn’t immediately dive on the goblin and start stabbing. He thought that showed an impressive amount of self-control.
Bane didn’t bother to get up off his couch—or take his feet off the coffee table—as Hunter stalked into his living room, working hard to keep his hatred contained deep inside.
“What are you doing here?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Bane tried to blink innocently, but no amount of glamour could ever make the goblin look innocent. “Why, I’m here for your progress report, of course. The Queen wants an update.”
Of course she did. And Hunter was going to have to be very, very careful what he said, on the assumption the Queen had spelled the goblin so he could tell truth from lies. Luckily, Hunter had a lot of practice talking his way around his mother’s favorite spell.
“You can tell her I made significant progress last night.” Which he had, until his conscience had gotten the better of him. “The girl came to my bed with gratifying eagerness.” Again, technically true. “If the Queen hadn’t insisted on trying to rush me, I probably would have had her in my bed a lot sooner.”
Bane bared his fangs in a grin. “Do you really want me to put that in your progress report? We both know how receptive the Queen is to constructive criticism.”
And they both knew that Bane was going to relay every word, so there was no use in Hunter backpedaling. Not that he would have anyway—if he started being on his best behavior, the Queen would know something was very wrong.
Hunter shrugged. “You can tell her or not. I don’t care. I’ve given you my report. Now get out of my apartment.”
“Such hospitality.”
“Out!”
Hunter was more than prepared to throw Bane out bodily if necessary. The goblin outweighed him by a good deal, but Hunter’s quickness—and the silver knife—more than made up for the disparity.
For half a second, Hunter was tempted. He was already due for a dire punishment, even if his mother didn’t yet know it. How much worse would she make it for him if he killed her favorite goblin in a fit of temper?
But no. Hunter was not shy about killing goblins, but he only did so in self-defense or when he was under orders. Never in a fit of temper. There was a difference between being an assassin and being a murderer.
Hunter must have been wearing his dangerous thoughts on his face, because when Bane rose to his feet, there was an air of caution about him, and he kept a lot of distance between them.
“I guess I’ll see myself out,” Bane said, eyes locked on Hunter’s face as if he was watching for an early warning that Hunter’s control was about to snap.
Hunter made no attempt to school his expression. It wasn’t like Bane didn’t know how Hunter felt about him. And it felt good to see that hint of fear in the goblin’s eyes.
Bane hurried out the door, and Hunter let out a sigh of relief. He’d managed to dodge a bullet this time because Bane had taken his words at face value—and hadn’t thought to pry for more details.
The reprieve wouldn’t last forever. Bane would continue to pop in for these “progress reports,” and eventually he would start asking questions that were much harder to tap-dance around.
But at least eventually wasn’t now.
****
Jackson waited until Hunter’s footsteps had retreated before he turned to Kiera. “Oh. My. God,” he said, fanning his face with his hand. “I feel an attack of the vapors coming on.”
Kiera couldn’t help smiling a bit, despite the turmoil that roiled inside her. “I did mention he was hot, remember?”
“Well, there’s hot and then there’s hawt! No wonder you didn’t want me to meet him: you were afraid I’d embarrass you by drooling on him. And I’m glad your mother was apparently mistaken about the state of your relationship.”
The reminder wiped the smile from Kiera’s face. “She wasn’t mistaken,” she said, leading Jackson into the living room for the inevitable chat session. She knew better than to think she could get rid of Jackson after her mom had given him so much to question her about. Too bad she wasn’t in any position to give him straight answers. Why couldn’t her mom let her make her own decisions about when she needed a friend?
Of course, Jackson would no doubt have called to ask her about the date anyway, but it was somewhat easier to put him off on the phone than in person.
“Last night . . . didn’t go well.”
“I kinda guessed that when your mom called me,” Jackson said gently. “But you seem to have patched things up.”
Kiera shook her head. “This wasn’t the kind of thing that can be patched up.” She was being ridiculously vague, no doubt fanning the flames of Jackson’s curiosity. But the truth was too impossible to believe, and her brain was too sluggish to come up with a convenient lie.
Jackson watched her with an unusually sober expression, for once not trying to make her feel better by making her laugh. “That’s what your mom said, too.”
Oh, God, how much had her mom blabbed? Surely she hadn’t told Jackson about Hunter’s true identity. Jackson had heard the story about Kiera being Finvarra’s daughter before, but he treated the story with polite skepticism. Unlike Kiera, who’d labeled her mom a nut job and not been shy about letting her opinion be known. If her mom weren’t being such an interfering busybody right now, Kiera might even have felt obligated to apologize.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Jackson asked.
“No. I’m really sorry. You’re my best frie
nd in the whole world, but this isn’t something I want to talk about, even with you.”
Internally, she winced, afraid she was hurting Jackson’s feelings. They’d shared some pretty intimate details of their lives in the past—Kiera was even the first person he came out to—but this was different.
But Jackson had apparently anticipated her answer, for he nodded in easy acceptance. “All right. But can I ask you one thing?’
Kiera gave him a wary nod.
“He didn’t try to force himself on you or anything, did he?” Jackson’s usually soft, warm eyes had hardened into something considerably colder, his question imbued with a touch of protective anger she’d never heard before. He might think Hunter was hot stuff, but Jackson was apparently ready to go medieval on his ass if he didn’t like her answer.
“Nothing like that,” Kiera hastened to assure him. No, he just tried to seduce me and get me pregnant so my child could take over all of Faerie. “Let’s just say he told some unforgivable lies, and leave it at that, okay?”
“So I guess your instinct was right and he isn’t really a massage therapist.”
“No. I was starting to get all impressed and think you really were going to respect my desire not to talk about this.” She tried to muster some annoyance, but it was hard to get annoyed with Jackson, even when he was being a pushy son of a bitch. He was just too good-natured for her to hold anything against him for long.
Jackson opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and shook his head. She might have thought he was going to leave it alone, only she knew the look on his face too well—part stubbornness, part compassion, and part curiosity. She could practically hear him rehearsing what he was going to say in his head.
“You know I’ve always been a little less skeptical than you about the mysteries of the world,” he said. “When your mom gets started on one of her stories, I listen, and I don’t immediately dismiss it as crap.”
Yeah, that was part of the reason her mom liked Jackson so much. He made a great audience.