Page 34 of Shield of Fire

“Your place or mine?”

“Yours. Mine will be too rowdy, given it’s Saturday night.”

He finished his drink, then rose and offered me his hand. I pulled on my coat, then twined my fingers through his and let him help me up. We wound our way through the crowd, then waved down a cab and headed for his place, a penthouse apartment in a lovely old chapel conversion.

He ushered me out of the cab, and we made our way inside. The main room was a large, double height expanse, with lovely old oak trusses that had been painted white to give the room an even airier feeling. Their song, though muted, was rich and warm, a consequence of being one of the few churches that had undergone major renovations without major destruction. On the street side of the building there were two beautifully simple stained windows and, at the other end of the room, a compact but well-equipped kitchen. Beside this was a chrome-and-glass staircase that wound up to the loft bedroom.

After stripping off our coats, he led me up the stairs, then pulled me close. His body was hard and familiar, his scent—warm leather and exotic spices—intoxicating. I breathed deep, then quickly undid his shirt and pushed him back onto the bed. I slowly, teasingly stripped off my clothes, watching his face, his eyes, seeing his desire, wanting to taste it, taste him. When I was naked, I climbed on the bed and straddled him, claiming his lips, kissing him with all the passion that had been building inside. Then I worked my way down his magnificent length of his body, released his cock from the restraint of his jeans, and teased him, tasted him, with mouth and tongue.

When his desperate groan filled the air, I shifted position and let him slip slowly, oh so slowly, inside, and it was glorious. We moved, slowly at first but with increasing urgency, until all I could think about, all I wanted, was him coming hard. Then he did, just as my orgasm hit and thought became utterly impossible.

For the longest of time after, neither of us moved. When I could finally breathe again, I rolled to one side and tucked myself close.

He caught my hand and kissed my fingers. “Can you stay?”

“I have a meeting with the council at nine tomorrow.”

“For a few hours then.”

I smiled. “Is there food in the offing? I only had a bacon butty for dinner.”

He tsked. “That is hardly what I’d call a sustaining meal.”

I raised an eyebrow, amusement twitching my lips. “Depends on what I need to be sustained for, doesn’t it?”

He laughed. “It does indeed. And given I intend to make full use of my few hours with you, I had better ensure you are very well sustained.”

And he certainly did—with both food and sex.

The fae council’s headquarters was located next to the Deva City Council offices. Both buildings were utilitarian in design and totally uninspiring, which many thought was a perfect reflection on those who “ruled” over our lives on a daily basis. Of course, there was a reason for it—concrete couldn’t be manipulated by elves or pixies. Some dark elves could manipulate steel, of course, which was why it was generally only used sparingly in most government buildings.

Mathi’s driver deposited us in front of the glassed foyer, and one of the building’s security people opened the door and waved us through into the foyer. We made our way up the bland but functional concrete stairs to the second floor, then down a long gray corridor, our footsteps echoing in unison. A second security guard stood down the far end near a sturdy-looking metal door. When we were close enough, he nodded and keyed us in. Magic swept the two of us when we walked through, which I knew from past experience was looking for physical weapons. No warning lights flashed this time, simply because I wasn’t wearing my knives. The council weren’t going to harm me—not when they’d so neatly arranged for me to do their relic-hunting bidding.

We walked down to the next set of doors, which opened automatically as we approached. The room beyond was a long, gray, boring expanse of concrete about the same size as a grand hall. There were no decorations, nothing in the way of wall hangings or crests, and the large oval table that dominated the center of the room was plastic rather than wood or metal. When a council consisted of people who could control many natural elements, plastic furniture was not only sensible but gave no one the edge when it came to possible weapons. There wasn’t even the usual smattering of electronic equipment—no computers, no lights other than the spots high above, no stationery, and certainly no pens. They obviously recorded all meetings, but I had no idea how. Maybe there was a hidden, ultra-secure room somewhere nearby where a lone man or woman industriously recorded everything that was said and decided.

Of course, having no means of attack or defense other than physical strength would have given the shifters a serious advantage, and this was where the multiple layers of magic came into their own. They not only prevented spell attacks from within or without, but also prevented shifters stepping into their alternate shape—always a good thing when council meetings were not as harmonious as the general public believed, and often resulted in blood being shed.

Mathi had never mentioned anyone dying during physical altercations, but maybe he simply wasn’t able to. The fae council wasn’t above using blood oaths to restrict what information could be mentioned to outsiders such as myself. It was one of the reasons Mathi had never been able to talk to his father about the hoard’s theft.

Most of the fae and shifter lines were represented here today—not always the case, apparently—which meant there were twenty-one people seated around the table in total. There were six representing the light elf lines and seven the dark elf, while the six shifter tribes were also fully represented. A lone dwarf and a Malloyei made up the remaining numbers. I wasn’t entirely surprised by the low attendance numbers of the latter two. Dwarves tended to live in the Scottish Highlands and, according to the little Mathi had said about their attendance over the years, generally held little regard for the governance of city folk. When it came to pixie lines, the Malloyei had always been more politically inclined than the rest of us. Despite our council acquiescing to the fae council’s request of ceding the use of my skills to them as a form of punishment, they tended to keep their noses well away from anything representing human or fae officialdom. It was a practice that had served us well during the war with humans, as we were the only fae who didn’t lose lands or suffer huge numbers of deaths during that time.

There was also no one here from the ghuls, but again, that wasn’t all that surprising. The only official meetings they attended were the night council ones, a small offshoot of the main council that dealt with—and made recommendations on—matters affecting all those who roamed or otherwise haunted the night.

Of course, few here would be comfortable in their presence anyway, even if they had been able to attend main meetings. The pale, insubstantial beings dined on the dead, but humanity for the most part seemed convinced their culinary tastes would one day switch to the living. It never could, of course, because their teeth simply weren’t capable of dealing with the tougher flesh of a living being. I’d never met a ghul, but Mom had a number of times over the centuries. According to her, ghuls, despite their dining habits, held a deep fascination of the living and loved a good chat. It wasn’t unknown for them to choose a “target” and follow them through the night, listening to their conversations and watching their movements. It made them the ultimate gossip gatherers, with eons of information behind them—something Mom had made use of more than once.

Maybe I needed to start doing the same rather than simply relying on the Codex. As good as it was, it was also written from a godly point of view.

My gaze skimmed the table until I found Cynwrig. He was wearing a black leather jacket with a dark teal shirt underneath that was partially undone, revealing tantalizing wisps of dark chest hair. My fingers immediately itched with the need to run through that tempting forest, and a slow, devilish smile touched his lips. He knew the inner havoc he was causing, damn him.

But that smile failed to reach his eyes, because his gaze shifted to the man walking beside me and hardened.

He’d been told, I realized, and he was not happy. Anger radiated from him in waves that damn near burned my senses, though the only physical evidence of his displeasure was the one clenched fist. The two men might have come to something of a truce during our relic-hunting adventures, but that might well have been shattered by the council’s decision.

And yet, neither man was a fool, and they wouldn’t jeopardize the task that lay ahead of us all over a woman—a pixie woman at that.

Mathi escorted me across to the vacant seat at the “head” of the oval table, then pulled out a plastic chair, seating me before moving around to the right to sit opposite the mousy-brown-haired man who held the gavel, which generally indicated who was running the show this evening. I had no idea who he was, but if his thin frame, sharp features, and beady black eyes were anything to go by, he was a rat shifter.

Not my favorite type.

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