“Wow. Not helping much here,” he muttered.
I caught one of his hands in mine and slowly laced our fingers together. I’d never taken a man’s hand of my own desire before, open to the moment and what that moment might bring. I was in such uncharted territory and this was so not the way I’d always imagined it going down. Not that anything was going down. That would be like willingly ascending the mountain of stupidity to perch on the apex right before the inevitable avalanche came along and wiped you out, and that was never going to happen. But I wasn’t averse to admiring the mountain from the foothills. “Ryodan’s strength comes from knowing he’s strong,” I told him. “Your strength comes from knowing you’re not. You’re the one with the superpower in my book. And it’s only one of the many you have.”
His smile was blinding. “Mega, I’m going to kiss you now.”
I inhaled deep, exhaled slow. We’d never gone here, and once we did, there would be no turning back. Our friendship would be forever changed. You can’t unkiss a man you’ve kissed.
I let him.
ZARA
She stood motionless, staring around in disbelief.
Was this a joke?
Zara glanced up at the lighted sign that swayed on a striped pole above her head proclaiming THE STAG’S HEAD, then back at the door behind her through which she’d just exited.
It wasn’t the door she’d stepped into.
Not even close. She’d been entering a doorway in the sunny yellow part of the White Mansion and the moment she passed beneath the transom felt resistance and something diverting her sideways, casting her down a different path.
Out through a completely different door.
Into night in Dublin.
She narrowed her eyes, scowling.
Earth was the last place she wanted to be.
She wasn’t dying on this world. She was done with this planet and every other that had ever hosted the Fae race.
Nor was she staying in the White Mansion and living her final days in the cage the king had designed for her. Upon leaving the boudoir, she’d been making her way to the Passion Muse’s Garden, the one with the silvery fountain and the fabulous sunroom, the one that took her, if she passed far beyond it and went through many portals, back out into the flow of time, on another world, far, far from there. She’d found it eons ago. Had on her saddest days gone walking and walking, uncaring, taking paths and finally portals at random.
The small planet reminded her of her home, and she’d wondered if the king put it there deliberately, knowing she’d find it, giving her an escape route, because each year, century, millennium she didn’t use it, he’d continue to know she’d truly chosen him over all else.
That was just like him. He’d required endless reassurance that she was happy, that she wanted to be where he’d put her.
She’d intended to go to that small world now, and die there, alone, when the Earth ceased to exist and so did she.
But no.
She was in dirty, human Dublin.
Gathering her cloak around her, she whirled and stepped back through the door of the pub.
And entered only the pub.
She hissed, “This is unacceptable!”
“Awk, unacceptable!” the T’murra squawked.
“I will not be trifled with! Show me the way back!”
“Awk, the way back!” the T’murra agreed.
Dust motes sparkled in a ray of moonlight that spilled through a broken window, spiraling suspended in a gentle, relentless current.
Was the king watching her? Still manipulating her? The idea was infuriating. She was not his toy, his plaything. She was a woman who would be free. He owed her that much.
They’d tried. They’d failed. It was time to let go.
Why would he send her to Dublin? “What do you want from me?” she demanded.
“Awk, what do you want?” the T’murra echoed.
Lips thinning, Zara whirled and stormed back through the doorway, willing it to transport her instantly to the sunny floors of the White Mansion.
A piece of toilet paper stuck to her silk slipper and she stubbed her toe on a piece of broken concrete she hadn’t seen in the dark.
Still in Dublin.
“Hey,” a male voice called out. “Are you all right? Can I help you with anything?”
She spun stiffly toward the intruder in the endless Fae drama that was her life and her eyes widened infinitesimally. A man was hurrying toward her, and as he moved into the pool of light cast by the streetlamps outside the pub, she realized he was a very attractive one, lovely in the way that had made the Fae occasionally abduct one of them. Young, strong, with dark hair, the lithe body of a dancer and beautiful eyes.
“I’m fine,” she said tightly.
“You don’t look fine to me. This city can be a dangerous place, especially for a woman alone at night, in such attire. Come. Let’s find you different clothing. There’s a store down the street.”
Zara belatedly recalled the diaphanous gown she wore beneath her cloak that revealed all, concealed nothing, and glamoured it instantly into a more solid gown, willing it to a soft, solid yellow.
Nothing happened.