Page 24 of Moonlight's Mate
“Spicy and spiky, just like you,” he murmured.
“In the language of flowers, the carnation means ‘I am but human.’”
He chuckled. “One, no you’re not. And two, I can’t even believe you know that.”
She shrugged. “Peter told me. Keisha planted them because they were used to coronate royalty.”
“If he likes obscure information, hopefully he can find this mysterious fae valley. And I can easily imagine you with a crown of these flowers in your hair, my wolf-kind queen.” He leaned in to kiss her.
This was so not the time or place, with the invading fae in the valley, not to mention the gossipy Peter right inside the front door. But the brush of his lips was so sweet, so right.
She tangled her fingers in Beck’s wind-ruffled hair and deepened the kiss.
The fae wanted passions? She’d show them passions.
He gave a soft grunt of surprise. Though his arms were full of iron spears, preventing any wandering hands, he tilted his head lower to give her better access. He had perfect lips for kissing, thin and firm but full enough to tempt her to bite. She sucked at his lower lip, pulling the slick flesh between her teeth.
This time his groan was all pleasure, and his tongue chased hers as if they had all night and all day and another night besides.
Slowly, as her breath ran out, damned reality intruded. She pulled away, straightening the flower in her hair. “Okay then.”
He smiled. “Okay.”
In silence, they walked down to the lake parking lot. This late, there were no visitors’ cars. Instead, the blacktop gleamed like ice in the reflected light of a dozen torches.
“Torches,” Merrilee muttered. “Seriously?”
“Give ’em a break,” Beck said. “They were chased out of the world during the Iron Age. Takes time to catch up, especially if they don’t have a tech-loving modern leader like you.”
No, their queen apparently had a more primitive invasion in mind. But this valley was one territory she wouldn’t claim.
Instead of the hot red flicker of flames, the fae torches wavered like water with a pale silvery hue. The midair ripples were weirdly mesmerizing, and Merrilee had to force her gaze away.
“Nice trick,” Beck murmured.
The beings that held the torches were also strangely compelling. They looked mostly human, if severely beautiful…until their forms rippled like the torchlight, revealing a mishmash of wings and tails, claws and scales. Behind the dozen torch bearers stood a line of darker figures. Their shapes did not waver; tall and menacing as Beck, with talon-tipped black wings that arched over their shaggy heads. Obviously the killers.
But as she and Beck approached the tableau, it was the fae in the lead who truly captured her attention. Mounted on a massive, skull-headed stag with a strange mottled hide that came and went like scudding clouds, the fae was draped in a cloak of ivy and from his brow spread antlers almost as wide as the stag’s. Whether it was his own growth or a clever headdress, she wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered with a creature of illusion, she supposed.
However, the gleaming fangs of the three-headed dog beside him looked real enough to rend flesh from bone. The middle head snapped as they stepped closer.
Beck snarled back, full throated. The vicious sound filled the parking lot and the lake beyond.
Mine,said the snarl, though of course he knew better.
Or at least Merrilee thought he did.
She put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. He paused, reluctance vibrating through her fingertips from his every tensed muscle. She continued on alone to join Keisha and two of her werelings who were ranged in front of the fae.
They parted for her without glancing back, attuned to her presence.
She smiled at her Beta. “Thank you for seeing to our guests while I was occupied. You may return to your tasks.”
Keisha blinked at her then inclined her head and slipped away, not needing another word. The other two werelings edged back beside Beck.
Merrilee faced the fae.“If only I’d had word you were traveling through my territory, I wouldn’t have made you wait so long, Lord of the Hunt.”
The fae studied her a moment, a preternatural red glint in his eye. “You know me, wereling.”
