“What the hell is going on?” cried a loud, booming voice.
Skye started as a large, bearded man stumbled in the room clutching a bottle of Guinness. His hair was black, disheveled and shoulder-length and he sported a long coarse beard of the same ink-black color. “I knew I smelled a human,” he said.
They eyed each other in wary silence. Skye took in his crumpled, pimp-pink duster that exposed bits of torn and dirty lace frills at the cuffs and neckline. He wore tight-fitting leggings of lime green that disappeared into scuffed leather brogans. The whole effect made him look like a Renaissance Fair reject.
“Cool threads,” she said with a smirk.
Kheelan elbowed past the man, carrying washcloths, bandages and a jar filled with a murky black and green liquid.
“I’m not sure about this,” Skye said, eyeing the vile concoction.
“Annwynn swears by it,” Kheelan assured her. He knelt beside her and quickly arranged the items on a wooden coffee table.
“I said, what the hell is going on in here?” the man asked again, louder than before. He swayed, presumably drunk, on feet that appeared way too small for his stout frame. “How dare ye bring a mere mortal into my house?”
“I’m a mere mortal too, remember?” Kheelan didn’t look up from his ministrations, didn’t see the fisted hand raise and then land on his shoulder. It knocked him sideways. The open jar spilled, its contents running from the coffee table to the rough-hewn pine floorboards.
“Look what you’ve done, Finvorra. Skye needs the medicine.” Kheelan frantically began sopping up the antidote with the washcloths.
“I’ll teach ye to back-talk me you despicable changeling.” He raised his fist again.
What the hell? She wouldn’t stand for it. Outraged, Skye jumped to her feet and almost fell when the right leg gave way underneath. “Leave him alone, you…you –”
Surprised, Finvorra turned his boozy, glazed eyes on her.
Kheelan moved between the two. “This is Skye. She’s helping me uncover the ring of pixie murderers. I don’t think Queen Corrigan and the Council will appreciate you hurting someone on our side.”
Skye peered around Kheelan, saw Finvorra tug the unkempt beard with gnarled hands. He looked like he wanted to strike them both senseless.
Finvorra lowered his hand with a grumble and Kheelan firmly pushed her back onto the couch. He quickly helped her shed her jacket and shoes. When he started unbuttoning her blouse Skye slapped his hand away with a significant glance at Finvorra who now watched with a leering smirk.
Kheelan scowled at the man. “Leave us.”
“Ye donna give me orders, Tacharan.” Finvorra crossed his arms and licked his lips while he stared at Skye. Evidently, his low regard for humans didn’t make him any less lecherous for a taste of mortal flesh.
This made her more ill than any elf shot. She struggled to sit up. “Get out of here,” she yelled, pointing her finger toward the door. She wished she knew some off-the-cuff spell to make this dreadful man, or whatever he was, disappear in a poof.
He glowered, lips turned down in contempt. His focus shifted to her hair and his eyes changed from scorn to a contemplative gleam. He scratched his head, saying, “A redhead human, eh? Maybe I’m not giving ye enough credit, mortal.”
Skye looked to Kheelan for an explanation, but his head was bent, dark brown hair obscuring his face as he began unclasping the belt of her jeans. To her surprise, Finvorra raised the Guinness bottle at her with a wink, then left them alone.
What was that comment about redheads supposed to mean? Some kind of sexual innuendo, no doubt. The pervert. A metallic ripping sound drew her attention downward where Kheelan was unzipping her jeans.
“What are you doing?” She tried to slap his hand away, but his palm fisted to an immovable block of ice.
“Skye.” His voice held a note of command and she forced her flushed face to meet his gaze. “We need to get these off so I can put what’s left of the antidote on your leg.” A smile tugged the corners of his lips. “If it helps, try to think of me as a doctor.”
It didn’t. Skye clenched her teeth as he pulled off her jeans in one smooth tug, exposing her pink thong panties. But she forgot her embarrassment when she saw the dozens of inflamed patches with tiny wood shards in their center.
Kheelan pulled one out and held it up to the light. It looked like a primitive toothpick, whittled from tree bark to a sharp point, bloodied from penetrating her soft flesh.
Skye’s mouth went dry. “How worried should I be right now?”
Kheelan cast aside the dart and stared down at the lacy panties, enthralled. His chest tightened and his breathing became heavy. Get yourself together. Now was not the place or time. He picked up one of the wet washcloths, hoping there was enough of the potion left to draw out whatever the poison in the elf shot. After withdrawing the minuscule weapons, he placed the washcloth on the wounds as gently as possible. A soft intake of breath made him look at Skye.