“Do we need a condom?” she asked, wrinkling her delicate brow like even she wasn't sure what she was askin'.
I raised a single brow, pulling her closer with my greedy hands on her ass, digging my fingers into the soft flesh.
“You da the goddess o' the veil, you,” I told her which was more than enough explanation for anyone. But she sat there for a long moment, those sloe-eyes of hers glimmering like she was processing a whole helluva lot of information.
“The veil,” she said, her glamour shimmering in response to the word.
“You da cailleach,” I said in the language of the old country, that place I never been but that dictated every step I took in life. The veiled one. “You a new soul, but you also a lost one, girl, no?”
“No condom,” she said again, like she'd found some hidden cache of knowledge in her brain that told her I was tellin' the truth. The fae don't get sick the same way humans do and me, I was dia gnéas, I didn't make babies 'less I wanted to.
I cupped da side of her face with one, large tattooed hand, my skin shimmering and flickering in response to her magic. Her eyes met mine just a split second before our lips connected, two hot angry mouths sliding together in tongue and teeth and wild lust.
My other hand slipped between us, guiding the head of my cock to her opening. As we kissed, I pushed myself inside, the tight hot walls of her body squeezing mine to within an inch o' my life. She was almost too tight. Almost.
“Tu te sens tellement bien, mon cher,” I groaned, burying myself to the hilt and using my right hand to cup her ass and pull her close. Ciarah moved her mouth to my neck, kissing and licking and biting the corded muscles in my throat, tense and rigid as I tried to control my urge to pound her into da countertop.
I had to move slow, me.
“You feel so good,” I repeated in English, not sure that dis girl, dis strange soul inside a fae goddess' body, if she could speak French. Hell, I was pretty sure none of the previous Veil Keepers could speak the language. Why should they when there were two dozen fae dialects they had to learn on da other side?
“Faster, harder,” she said as I moved inside her, the slick ridges of her cunt bearing down on me with such force that I almost lost it again. But what kind o' man would I be if I couldn't give dis poor girl her orgasm first? “More,” she whispered, her breath teasing along my neck.
I felt a presence at my back before she saw him, lifting her face to look at Killian standing in the kitchen doorway behind us. I knew it was him from the signature scent of his magic, dis cool breeze that swept into the room and tried to cool my heated flesh.
Using my left hand, I turned Ciarah's face back to mine and thrust my tongue between her lips, moving inside of her with long, sure strokes until I felt her muscles clenching around me, pulsing in rapid flickers that begged to milk da pleasure straight outta me.
As Killian watched, a dark brooding energy surrounding him and prodding at my spine, I fucked Ciarah O'Rourke into da counter and stole a climax right outta dat borrowed body o' hers. Her head fell back and her glamour cracked like a thin sheet of glass, revealing the blue-skinned faerie underneath.
Those sapphire eyes o' hers lit up as her body locked down on mine and drew an unwilling orgasm right outta me, cutting through my own lust-laden magic and taking what she wanted in its place.
Fucking infuriated me, but I couldn't move, no, trapped inside the scalding warmth of her body as her eyes glowed and she stared up at da ceiling like she was seein' something beyond da old walls of the bayou clubhouse.
“The Wild Hunt rides,” she said, holding me in place with legs locked together behind my back. I heard Killian move toward us, a growl escaping from between his lips. All around us, I felt the few people left in the clubhouse stir, cracking the thickness of sleep and coming awake for what coulda been their first real waking moment in a century. “We ride,” she said again, dropping her face to look at mine. “And the souls of the dead join our parade.”
The voice that spoke through me was entirely different from the one Killian had given back when he healed my body. Instead of the weak, thin sound of tight vocal cords, this voice was rich, dark, and sensual. It rang true with the pain of a thousand souls, and the joy of a thousand more, and when it uttered those words it felt like twenty three little lightbulbs ignited inside my consciousness.
All at once, I was connected to twenty-three souls in a way that was both more and less intimate than the embrace I still held Reece in.
“Ciarah, bébé,” Reece panted, his huge hands still gripping my hips while his glamour flickered in and out of view, like he was struggling to hold it. “Ye need t'let me go, cher. The Hunt is coming to your summons; we must complete the ride or forfeit our own souls, y'hear?”
“What?” I croaked, in my still healing voice once more. Releasing my legs from around Reece's waist, I allowed him to slide out of me and step back so I could get down from the bench. “What just happened?”
“You're Le Gardien du Voile, mon cher,” Killian murmured, holding up my borrowed panties by one finger and offering them to me. “You just called your Hunt to arms using magic that hasn't been seen in over one hundred and eighty years.”
“Okay, and what the fuck does that mean?” I snapped, exasperated, as I pulled on my underwear and retrieved the t-shirt from the kitchen counter.
“Oh ho, the minou has a tongue on her, too! But I already knew that, me. We came good and close, Ol' Reece and dat tongue.” He winked an eye the color of autumn leaves and I licked my lips, still tasting him.
“It means,” Killian responded to my question while holding out a gentlemanly hand for me to take, “that tonight, we ride.”
“Take 'er to borrow more clothes from Caley-girl.” Reece nodded back toward the bedrooms where I had left Arlo. “I see those thighs wrapped around me while we ridin' Diabhal and I be likely to crash straight in ta dat dere swamp.”
“Who says she's riding with you, old man?” Killian challenged, but gave me a smile that said he was teasing. It did nothing to alleviate my confusion though, as I could still feel those twenty-three souls connected to me with silvery threads like spider silk. Two of them were clearly tethered to Killian and Reece, as they glowed faintly with the same silvery substance as the threads. One, I knew was Arlo, which left twenty more.
The remainder of The Wild Hunt?
Once inside Caley's bedroom, Killian confidently approached a chest of drawers and extracted a pair of dark denim jeans and a halter-necked tank top, which he handed to me before pausing.
“Caley's unlikely to have any boots that will fit you. She is moitié humain and their feet tend to run a bit larger than sidhe.” He quirked a teasing grin. “It's the fairy in us, tu sais?”