“What are you lasses doing this evening?” Kiril asked as he came up between two of the girls, giving each a wink.
A tall, leggy blonde looked Kiril up and down. “Scotsmen, aye? What would we want with you?”
Rhys laughed and tugged the redhead against him. “After a taste of a Scot, you’ll never look elsewhere again.”
A brunette smiled seductively. “That’s quite a boast.”
“I’m quite a man,” Rhys said. “Why no’ let us buy you lovely lasses a drink and we can … debate … this more.”
“I’m game,” Freckles said.
The others were quick to acquiesce. Even as the six of them made their way to the door of an Doras, Rhys knew there might be a chance he would have to use magic against the Dark Fae guarding it.
But just like any man being ruled by his cock, the Dark barely paid him or Kiril a glance with the four young females around them.
Once inside, Rhys had to fist his hands as he looked around at all the Dark Fae disappearing with the men and women of Cork behind hidden doors in the walls.
Some came out again, their souls all but gone.
Others were never heard from again.
Rhys glanced down at the females around him. There’s no way he could leave them in good conscience. At Kiril’s grim look, he had come to the same conclusion.
“This place isna for you lasses,” Kiril said over the music.
The women immediately took offense, all talking at once. Before Rhys could diffuse the situation, a Dark Fae with short hair and an expensive suit walked up.
“Is there trouble here?” he asked smoothly, eyeing Freckles.
Rhys held Freckles closer to him. “Nay.” The less he said, the more he might get away without the Dark realizing he was Scottish.
The red eyes of the Dark lifted to him. “I was asking the ladies.”
Freckles, as if sensing something was amiss, took the hand of the female closest to her. “Nothing’s wrong. We just wanted to leave.”
“Leave?” the Dark asked, his gaze narrowed on her. “Why would you want to leave?”
“They’ve had a long night,” Rhys said as he stepped between Freckles and the Dark Fae.
Red eyes blazed, completely focused on Rhys. All the while, Kiril was quickly and silently getting the four mortals out of the pub.
“You’re a Scot,” the Dark said, his lips peeled back in displeasure, as if just saying the word was revolting.
“And you’re Irish. I’m so glad we got that settled,” Rhys said with a fake smile. “Now, tell me why all of you are wearing those red contacts.”
It went against every instinct Rhys had not to kill the Dark, but he needed information—information about the Dark Ones, their plans, but more importantly where they might be keeping Kellan and Denae.
The Dark Fae rolled his eyes and turned on his heel to disappear in the crowd.
Kiril slapped him on the back. “Quick thinking.”
“Are the females safe?”
“Aye. They’re also verra afraid. I doona think they’ll come near this place again.”
“Good.” Rhys scanned the bar until he found two stools. “Time to get to work.”
Kiril rubbed his hands together. “With pleasure.”
*
Denae couldn’t move. Emil had used his magic to hold her against the wall, the cool, damp stones making her shiver.
There was an unnatural light to his red eyes, one that said it was his time to play—and he was going to take full advantage of it.
She wanted to look at Kellan and see how he’d fared with Taraeth, but she didn’t dare. The second she did could be the second Emil slipped into her mind.
Kellan had told her to stay vigilant, and that’s what she was going to do. No matter how much it killed her to do it.
There was a bellow of rage that erupted from Kellan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him jump to his feet and lunge for Taraeth, the chain stopping him just short of the Dark leader.
There was a loud snap, and Denae winced because she knew that was Kellan’s shoulder popping out of joint. And still he reached for Taraeth.
She couldn’t see Taraeth’s face, but she supposed it looked similar to Emil’s, which was alight with glee and satisfaction. They thought they had won.
Perhaps they had.
For the moment.
But Denae had no doubt that one day Kellan would get free. When he did, he would leave nothing but destruction and death in his wake.
She didn’t know much about the Dragon King, but she recognized the thread of danger, the layer of dark menace lurking just beneath the warm skin and thick muscle.
A scrap of recklessness he held firmly in check.
Until someone pushed him.
He was absolute power, total dominance.
Utter, breathtaking control.
Even in a rage and bloodied, he was magnificent. At that instant, Denae fully comprehended him as a Dragon King. He was protector, defender, and guardian of the realm.
He was also judge, jury, and executioner of any who dared to harm it.
“You look at me, but you think of him,” Emil said as he leered at her. “I can’t have that.”