Cruel Enchantment Read online

  It had taken Emmaline only moments to assess the situation, moments to understand that she’d royally, incredibly, fucked up. A fuckup so large that it would alter her life forever. Aileen had been having an affair with O’Shaughnessy without Aeric’s knowledge, hence her presence in his bed. Even then, Emmaline had worried about how Aeric would take this devastating news.

  Because she was a total idiot. Gods, she’d always been an idiot for Aeric.

  She considered leaving Aileen in O’Shaughnessy’s bed, allowing those who found them to make the obvious conclusion.

  Except, they wouldn’t.

  Everyone had known about Emmaline’s crush on the Blacksmith. Anyone who happened upon the scene would think she’d killed Aileen on purpose—that, upon finding Aileen in such a compromising position, there with O’Shaughnessy, Emmaline had taken the opportunity to get her competition out of the way.

  Even at her worst, Emmaline would never have done such a thing. Anyway, she’d never thought she’d had a shot with Aeric. Even if Aileen had never been born and he’d been free to be with any woman in the world, she never would have imagined Aeric even looking in her direction.

  Since she didn’t see an upside to leaving Aileen there, she’d dressed and moved Aileen’s body in order to save Aeric pain. It had been hard. Aileen was a slight little thing, but she’d been heavier than she appeared. Emmaline was strong, in shape because of her “job” requirements. With effort, she’d been able to move Aileen’s body to the woods before morning. Knowing she’d inconvertibly placed the blame of Aileen’s death on her shoulders by doing this, she’d disappeared into the dawn, left fae life, and never looked back.

  She’d run away.

  It had turned out to be a blessing in disguise because by running away, she’d been liberated. The yoke of service to the Summer Queen had been broken. Lars became only a monster to haunt her nightmares—instead of her reality. Though life had been hard for many years, she’d soared on high-flying wings for a long time, though the guilt of what she’d done had stayed with her forever. Decades later, being cut off from her people had finally started to weigh on her. Instead of flying, she’d floated, entering relationships with humans only to have them grow old and die. Eventually, she’d lost touch with her faeness almost completely.

  Then, centuries later, the HFF had been formed. She was one of the founders, along with two other fae who clung together in the sea of humanity. Lillian and Calum were her two greatest friends.

  Danu, she sure missed them right now.

  THE fact that Gideon’s intuition still tingled annoyingly where Emily Millhouse was concerned was only an excuse for the real reason he was breaking into her apartment. He wanted to see what kind of underwear she wore.

  The lock was cheap and gave easily. He let himself into the living room and breathed in the faint, lingering scent of her perfume. By the streetlights outside, he could see that the place was furnished more sparsely than he would have imagined. He would have thought floral patterns for Emily, stuffed animals, handmade quilts, and lots of houseplants. Instead the furniture was neutral in color, fairly unremarkable. There were no houseplants, quilts, or stuffed animals.

  He stopped at an end table and picked up the copy of Brother Maddoc’s book lying there—The Threat of the Fae in Modern Times; he scoffed and dropped it back down. Gideon had read it, of course. Maddoc pandered to popular opinion, detailing the great danger the fae posed to humanity while also espousing a wishy-washy, compassionate method of dealing with them. Ugh. Gideon would have put the book straight into the trash can, but he didn’t want Emily to know anyone had been in her apartment.

  The bookshelves near the television showed a similar taste in reading. Most of the books had been written by the Phaendir or by human scholars of the fae. Scattered among the nonfiction were the classics and a few mystery and romance novels.

  The kitchen and bathroom yielded no surprises and nothing suspicious, just as he would have thought. There was only one more room to check; he’d saved the best for last. Moving silently down the short, narrow hallway, he entered her bedroom.

  She had a twin-size bed. Good. Not big enough for more than one person. Gideon liked that. Spotting a pretty atomizer on her dresser—an item that looked completely Emily—he picked it up, squirted a little into the air, and inhaled. He closed his eyes, his scar tissue tingling all across his back and down his arms with pleasure. Wallowing in the scent of her, he could imagine himself in that narrow bed with her, her hands stroking down his furrowed back.

  Setting the bottle down, he went for the drawers. Opening and closing them, he found sweaters, T-shirts, jeans, and socks. Then, finally, pay dirt. He scooped up a handful of the clothing that Emily had worn so intimately . . . and frowned. Again, this was not what he’d been expecting. He scooped up another handful. Sports bras and cotton briefs. Nothing silky, frilly, lacy. Nothing sexy.

  That was odd, since she’d told him once that lingerie was her guilty pleasure. She’d said that buying it was her secret addiction because wearing delicate bras and panties made her feel desirable, even if no man ever saw them. Gideon remembered every single word of that conversation. He’d been expecting to find lots of lovely and expensive things in this drawer. Instead everything was depressingly serviceable and bland. The woman who had chosen these things wanted to feel comfortable, not desirable.

  He rifled through the drawer hoping to find something that would tell him that Emily hadn’t been lying to him that day. His hand hit something hard, a jewelry box. Holding it up to the light, he could see that it was very old. Gideon was extremely old; he recognized antiques. This silver-plated box was from the early nineteen hundreds and had been well cared for.

  Mystified, he walked into the bathroom with it, closed the door, and turned on the light. The bathroom had no windows, so flipping on the light wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention. The jewelry inside the box was even older. There were pieces that were clearly from the Victorian era, some much older than that. In fact, the contents of the box were essentially a walk through time, each piece representing a different era of history. Most puzzling, there was a pendant, a pearl in a filigree setting of a type that had been popular with fae nobles in the sixteen hundreds, just before the time of the Great Sweep.

  The jewelry and the box itself were worth a fortune. What was it doing in her underwear drawer? For that matter, what was she doing with this stuff in the first place and how had she ever found it all? If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was the collection of a long-lived fae woman, mementos collected over her life. But that couldn’t be. Emily detested the fae. There was no possible way she would keep the jewelry box of one. The pieces simply had to be antiques she’d acquired somehow. Could they be family heirlooms of some kind?

  Of course, that didn’t explain the pendant.

  He held the filigree and pearl pendant up by its newer chain to the light and wondered.

  SIX

  WHEN she woke the next morning, a bowl of oatmeal rested on the floor near her head. Wow. First a pillow and blanket. Now oatmeal. She sat up slowly, working the kinks out of her muscles. Two nights sleeping on a concrete floor hadn’t done her body any favors.

  Her throat hurt even more now than it had before she’d fallen, mentally and physically exhausted, into a fitful sleep. She was certain she had a bunch of bruises shaped like Aeric’s fingers ringing her throat, but they’d disappear soon enough. Her heightened healing ability knocked most injuries out in half the time it took other people to heal.

  She picked up the oatmeal and began spooning the cooling sludge into her mouth. Movement caught her eye and she realized she wasn’t alone. Aeric sat against the opposite wall, looking unrested. Apparently he’d been watching her sleep. Her stomach clenched and she immediately lost her appetite.

  “Morning?” It came out as a question because she wasn’t sure which Aeric she was getting. Was she getting the enraged Aeric who might lunge across the floor and strangle her
at any moment? Or was this the grief-stricken Aeric who was giving up his dreams of vengeance to take the moral high road?

  Boy, she hoped it was the latter Aeric. She liked that high road a lot, especially when it kept her alive.

  “You said that killing Aileen was an accident.”

  Her bite of oatmeal went down with an audible gulp. “Did I say that?” Because, hoo boy, she’d never meant to. She set her bowl down.

  He nodded. “Last night.”

  Oh, yes, he meant, last night after I tried to strangle you and you were begging for your life. She touched her throat. It was possible she’d let slip a little info. She’d been pretty terrified and hadn’t been thinking straight.

  Well, she’d see how much she could explain without explaining everything. “It was an accident. I knew no one would believe me, since I had that . . . um . . . that—”

  “Infatuation with me?”

  “Yes, that.” Anger suddenly rushed through her veins, making her lash out. “A schoolgirl crush. Something I haven’t felt for you in hundreds and hundreds of years.”

  Aeric only studied her in the half-light, not rising to the rage in her voice.

  “I knew no one would believe me because of the crush and because of my . . . occupation. It made it seem like I had killed Aileen out of jealousy. That’s why I left Ireland after it happened. I knew that no matter what I said, my reputation would precede any explanation I made. I knew you’d kill me.”

  “You were right. No assassin of the Summer Queen has schoolgirl crushes. You were never that innocent.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you perceive me that way. I was just trying to survive, Aeric. I was young, impressionable.”

  “You were a stone-cold killer.”

  “Yes, I was,” she snapped. “I was what the Summer Queen made me. She took me in when I had no one and molded me from the time I was twelve years old.”

  “Don’t blame her. Don’t try and play off my sympathy. You made your own choices.” His volume ratcheted up a notch and made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. “I don’t have any sympathy for you.”

  “You’re right.” He was right; she wasn’t just agreeing with him to help him keep his temper in check. “I did make my own choices and they were the wrong ones. I was, however, highly influenced by others. Manipulated. Threatened. Tricked. Even tortured.”

  And the Summer Queen, via Lars, had taught her how to effectively do all those things to others. Her “education” hadn’t stuck with her for long, however. It just wasn’t in Emmaline’s basic makeup to be that way. She guessed she’d make a sucky Summer Queen.

  “Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you? It won’t work.”

  She gave him a slow blink. “I think I know that.” She took a deep breath and set her palms on the floor on either side of her. “Look, Aeric, if I had wanted to kill Aileen to get her out of my way, do you really think I would have done it like that? I was an assassin to the Seelie Royal, the best there was. I knew how to kill people and keep it quiet when the need arose. If I had wanted to kill Aileen and make a move on you, don’t you think I would have made her murder look like an accident?” She thumped back against the wall, out of breath and her throat aching.

  All expression had left his face. It was like looking at a blank wall.

  “It’s just logical,” she finished, needing some kind of sound to fill up the sudden unnerving silence.

  “It’s logical that you came upon her in the woods and were so filled with murderous rage that you shot her without really thinking about it. Then you panicked and ran.”

  So that was the scenario he’d been imagining. A crime of passion. Her jealousy had so overwhelmed her that she’d shot Aileen down in a fit of uncontrollable emotion. “You just said I was a stone-cold killer. How much do you think passion or panic entered into my decision making back then?”

  He looked away from her, his jaw locking. He still hadn’t asked her for the details of Aileen’s accidental death and that was a good thing. “You just called yourself a manipulated young woman with a schoolgirl crush. Pick an illusion and stick with it.”

  Ouch and touché.

  “I was both, Aeric. Two sides of the same coin. I learned to kill for the Summer Queen at an early age, and I showed great proclivity for it. Believe me when I say that passion or panic never weighed in my decision making where doling out death was concerned.”

  He shook his head and gave a laugh that sounded anything but joyful. “You are incredible. You have an answer for everything and I can’t believe any of it.”

  “I can’t help you with that, Aeric. The truth is all I have, and that’s all I’m telling you. You either believe it or you don’t.”

  “I don’t.”

  She lifted her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “Okay.”

  They sat together in silence for several long moments, her uneaten oatmeal growing cold and congealing on top. The couple of bites she’d taken sat like little paperweights in her gut.

  “You need a shower and a change of clothes,” he said finally.

  Hope surged through her. There was a toilet here in the forge, but not a shower. That meant the shower was behind that door, in his apartment. If she could get into his place, maybe she could escape him. Granted, she had no idea where she’d go after that, since the Blacksmith had been her destination in the first place, but she’d figure it out after she gained her freedom.

  “I would enjoy both.”

  His answer came as a snarl. “I don’t really care—”

  “—what I would enjoy. Yes, I get that. Probably you just don’t want me stinking up your forge, right?”

  He stood. “Come with me. Try anything and I’ll nail you to the wall.”

  Wall. Nailed. Got it.

  She struggled to stand on sore legs and hips, then hobbled after him. The bright light of his apartment made her blink and squint. She’d spent the last week in murky darkness.

  Once she could see, she assessed her surroundings instantly as a bachelor’s apartment. It was a nice place, though there were no windows. Apparently they were underground. The door behind the tapestry was interesting. The forge was a secret. She could guess why. Most charmed iron weapons had been outlawed since the end of the fae wars. She wondered if now she knew too much. Maybe he’d have to kill her after all.

  The furniture was the type she would’ve selected, neutral colors, overstuffed, comfortable. No fussy pieces. No kitsch. Lots of pillows and throw blankets. The floor was wood and covered with colorful area rugs.

  It was amazing she noticed the furniture at all under the clutter. Clothes were piled on the couch and chairs. Shoes had been discarded by the end table and the front door and kicked off haphazardly on the floor near a short hallway. The kitchen was a mess of dishes, discarded towels, and abandoned food containers.

  Apparently Aeric had never married and likely didn’t have a girlfriend. Unless said wife or girlfriend was the messy type. But of course. He was married to Aileen in his heart and no other woman would ever measure up.

  “The bathroom is over here.” He led her past the discarded shoes and down the small hallway. An open doorway led to a large bathroom. A whirlpool tub sat in one corner, clothes draped over the side. It looked like he didn’t use it much. A shower stall stood next to it.

  Staring at the draped clothes, she wanted to crack wise about things called closets, but her sense of self-preservation kicked in before she opened her mouth.

  Turning, she glimpsed herself in the mirror over the bathroom counter. She stopped and stared—arrested. It had been so long since she’d seen herself, really seen herself. Centuries had passed. She was no longer the twelve-year-old girl she’d been when she’d taken on glamour permanently. Now she looked to be in her late twenties; age had been kind to her. Long dark hair curled past her shoulders. She had the same whiskey-colored eyes, the same full mouth and slightly crooked nose. The same long face and pointy chin. Yellow
and green bruises marked her throat and dark circles stained the flesh under her eyes. Lovely.

  “Are you all right?” Aeric asked.

  She jerked, realizing how she’d been staring, so transfixed. “I’m fine.”

  He pointed at a towel, washcloth, and toiletries like soap and a toothbrush, all still in their packages on the bathroom counter. “Those are for you to use. I also found you some clothes I think might fit.” He leaned up against the counter and crossed his arms over his brawny chest.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  They stared at each other for several moments until dread bloomed in her stomach.

  Her jaw worked for a moment as she narrowed her eyes. “You are leaving the room, right?”

  “Hell, no.” She followed his line of sight to a grate in the wall. She never would have even seen it, if he hadn’t made her notice it. “You could escape.”

  She tamped down a flare of total aggravation. Instead she went over to the grate and pointed at it, then herself. “There’s no way, for the love of Danu, that I could ever fit through there.”

  “I disagree. You could glamour yourself into a mouse and slip through.”

  She fisted her hands at her sides, counting to ten. “I can’t do that. Glamour is illusion. I can’t actually shift into something else. I can’t change my actual body mass.”

  “I’m staying. If you want a bath, you have to do it with me in the room.”

  “I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you.”

  “Then I guess you’re not getting a bath.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Even if I got through that incredibly small space, I wouldn’t know where I would be going. I’m in the bowels of the Black Tower, as far as I can tell. I would be utterly and hopelessly lost. Remaining here with you, I’m sorry to say, is preferable to getting lost in the heating system and either dying in there or ending up somewhere worse than your forge.” Though there weren’t many places worse than here, truthfully.