Page 75 of Fae Devoted
“Jo, what’s going on?”
“I think,” the scent of her fear resurfaced, burning his nostrils, “the facility has kidnapped the twins.”
Chapter 22
Daimhín spoke theancient spell beneath his breath, shuddering in pleasure as the sting of pure magic altered his current glamour. He lengthened his lashes but kept the mundane blue of his eyes, allowing the fine lines near their corners to disappear. Reinforcing the overall appearance of youth, he tightened the skin over high cheekbones and smoothed the wrinkles on his forehead. Although his frame remained tall and slender, he firmed his abs and defined the muscle in his biceps and quads. He left the rounded ears from his prior illusion alone but switched the dull brown of his hair to pure silver, leaving the roots near his scalp dark as though the metallic hue came from a drugstore dye. The disguise brought Daimhín as close to his natural form as possible while still appearing human.
New guise in place, he left the room, casting a sealing ward on the door behind him. If anyone tried to enter while he was gone, it’d trigger a mental alarm. Hands in his jean pockets, Daimhín sauntered through the lobby to the exit, heavy boots silent on the tiled flooring. The young woman behind the concierge desk followed his languid progress with feminine appreciation. He ignored her blatant interest; the seduction of a potentially fertile human held no appeal when a female worthy of his attention was within reach.
The moment he entered the diner, the intoxicating scent of lilacs with a hint of vanilla permeated his senses, the rich floral fragrance reminding him of Faery—of home. Disregarding the strange pressure in his chest, he approached his longtime adversary.
“Lady Aoife,” Daimhín greeted her in Elvish after weaving a spell to ensure anyone in range would ignore them and their conversation. He could usually maintain the cast indefinitely without the magical crutches of short-term wards and the activating tattoos used by the Anwyll race, but with the Soo Locks nearby, he had to concentrate a bit. Fucking iron.
“It’s Ava,” she corrected in English with a bite he’d come to expect from their infrequent encounters. Aoife, orEE-fahad avoided him over the centuries with only extreme issues of immorality—his—warranting an occasional face-to-face confrontation.
Sitting across from her, his gaze roved the alabaster strands of her edgy pixie cut, large platinum eyes, porcelain complexion, and unstained red lips tinged with so much blue they were nearly violet. “Showing your true colors, milady?”
“As are you,” she said, returning his rude inspection.
“Hiding perfection can be tiresome.”
She snorted and slid a mocha cappuccino smoothie topped with whipped cream across the green Formica table. “At least pretend to fit in.”
“Cappuccino.” Daimhín sneered at the coffee-flavored concoction Aoife knew he despised. “Only a lowly being who has never tasted the ambrosia ofdocchaocould stomach this vile brew.”
She tilted her head, then lifted an identical frozen drink to her lush mouth and slurped on the straw. “Mmmmm, delicious.”
He kept his expression neutral, but it was a struggle to hold on to the veneer of indifference. The lady amused him, which was something no other female had accomplished in centuries.
“What are you doing in Sault Ste. Marie?” She set her glass on the table.
“I have business interests in the area.”
“Other than the facility?” She narrowed her eyes.
“The MacCarthy siblings are no longer in residence, and the adult Jumpers don’t concern you.” He had hoped to keep Abby and the facility’s location a secret from her until the realms were reopened. But a botched high-profile mission a few years ago with the Walker chit led his tenacious rival to its doors. And although the ward he’d placed around the perimeter kept Aoife out, it hadn’t stopped her from poking her nose where it didn’t belong.
“All the Na’fhuil are my business, Lord Daimhín of the Fairday House,” she snapped. “Or should I say,Ambassador Michael Faraday?”
Daimhín set his elbows on the tabletop and folded his arms, retaining a mask of boredom though internally he raged. Cultivating a human persona that allowed him access to the upper echelons in both societies had taken twenty years. “Are you threatening me, little one?”
“Why are you really here?” The cool mercury of her irises heated to molten steel at the hated nickname. Aoife’s unusual diminutive size for a female elf was a sore spot for the skilled archer and seasoned warrior.
“I’m looking for someone. A valuable asset I would like returned.”
Daimhín spent decades grooming the Texas Alpha to lead the Athair’s mutts. He wouldn’t lose him, or the child Grayson was determined to steal from beneath his nose.
“Living beings are not property,” she hissed, silver eyes ablaze with passion. Daimhín’s cock hardened. Her fiery nature an enthralling contrast to her ethereal beauty.
“They are children in need of our guidance,” he said in response, grabbing her hand. She didn’t pull away. The magical tussle and inevitable stalemate would cause a scene no mere spell could hide. “And although witches can be useful tools their magic pales in comparison to our own.”
“It’s the magicwetaught them.”
“Because we were curious to see if humans were capable of learning it.”
“We cherished them above all others, then named them the Anwyll when our meddling changed their physiology.”
“The beloved,” Daimhín translated in the old language, conceding the point. A few Sídhe compatriots had been soft-hearted when it came to their human pets and playthings. He didn’t think Aoife would appreciate the harsh distinction. “I will admit the creation of the Dádhe didn’t turn out quite the way we hoped.”
