Storm's Heart
Page 12
Her mouth worked as she stared down at the presents in her lap. Long, hard brown fingers came under her chin and tilted her face up. Tiago’s expression had turned quizzical, searching. “If you don’t like anything, faerie, it can go back,” he repeated.
“I love it, I love all of it,” she said unsteadily. She moved away from his touch on the pretext of opening the box of chocolates. She took a bite out of one. It was too rich for her overempty stomach, and she put the rest of it back in its place.
His quizzical look deepened. “Then what’s wrong?”
She held on to the candy box with both hands. “We should talk about when you’re going to leave.”
Silence. Her senses were so attuned to his presence she felt when the relaxation left him and his body grew tense.
“I’m not leaving,” he said in a calm voice.
Her knuckles whitened. “Well, we both know you have to, at some point.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” he said. He picked up his coffee and drank it. His Power flared and filled the room, turning smoky and menacing as it wrapped around her.
She tried again. “Tiago, I need to make a plan in my head so I know w-what to expect and when.”
“I am not leaving,” he said again. While he never raised his voice, his hawklike face turned into a blade. “Deal with it.”
“That isn’t helping—” she said.
He stood and stalked out of the room. She stared after him, disoriented. Then she heard someone start to knock on the suite door. Tiago opened it.
It was the hotel manager, Hughes. “I just wanted to let you know, the representative from the Elder tribunal has arrived and has taken over one of the floors between her highness and the Dark Fae delegation.” He wrung his hands.
Tiago’s gaze narrowed on the nervous movement of Hughes’s hands. “Which Councillor did the tribunal send?” he demanded.
Hughes said, “The one from San Francisco. The next floor up has been taken over by Vampyres.”
SIX
“Is it true the Vampyre Councillor is a sorceress?” the hotel manager asked.
Tiago rubbed his face as he briefly considered lying, but he was more interested in getting back to the interrupted conversation with Niniane. “Yeah, it’s true,” he said.
The manager’s expression was a combination of dismay and fascination. If Tiago was a sympathetic type of person, he might have felt sorry for Hughes, whose entire fancy-ass hotel had been overrun by Elder politics in just a matter of days.
He scowled. Why was Niniane so interested in getting rid of him? And why was he just as determined to stay?
He started to close the door in Hughes’s face, but just then the door to the neighboring suite opened. A uniformed woman pushed a laden room service cart into the hall and angled it toward him. Only the thought of how little sustenance Niniane had taken in over the last few days kept him from slamming the door, throwing the chain and going back into the living room to pick a fight with her. He sighed and held the door open wide.
The living room was empty of both Niniane and shopping bags, and her bedroom door was closed. He moved the laptop as Hughes asked for permission to set out their breakfast. The hotel manager helped the woman arrange the table. The humans glanced often at Tiago, the closed bedroom door and the disassembled weaponry on the coffee table.
Tiago rubbed the back of his neck and resisted the urge to pace. The humans were fussing over the frickin’ table setting like it was some kind of religious ritual. They settled a white cloth into place and arranged a small vase of fresh-cut flowers just so, not precisely in the middle of the table but a little to one side. What was the big deal? All they had to do was throw down two plates, knives and forks and the food. Plus they were taking far too long. They were probably hoping to see her bloody mindedness. He gritted his teeth.
The bedroom door opened. Niniane walked out. She was dressed in a pale peach lounge suit with a top that buttoned down the front, loose flared capri pants and the new slippers that had been selected for their sleek look and comfortable fit. The color brought richness to her delicate pale skin and emphasized the depth and hue of her dark gray eyes, while the cut of the suit flattered her small hourglass figure.
Inclined to feel brutal, Tiago studied her with a critical eye. Actually, she looked ridiculous. Her nose tilted up at the end. Her face was too angular, her eyes too big, her mouth too full. She had freckles, and the tips of her long ears were pointed. How did all of those things combine to make her so mouthwateringly beautiful? What was that elusive quality she exuded until it seemed to dance in the air? It was like the twinkle of sunlight on water, impossible to capture or define; it was just Niniane.
Both Hughes and the woman lit up when Niniane appeared. They gave her awkward but deeply felt bows.
That was when Tiago witnessed firsthand the effect she had on people. He watched Niniane light up in response to the humans’ presence. She walked over to them, her hands outstretched. She greeted them like they were long-lost friends. She beamed at the fresh flowers and asked after Hughes’s children (who knew? Tiago sure as hell hadn’t, nor did he care). She learned that the other woman’s name was Esperanza, an avid gardener and lover of flowers. Hughes held out her chair, and Niniane thanked him as she sat.
Every ounce of Niniane’s attitude was sincere. She was a bodyguard’s worse nightmare, a recognizable famous woman with charm who genuinely loved people, and they adored her in return.
Tiago’s hands fisted. He didn’t love people. If people weren’t such a goddamn pain in the ass, he wouldn’t be at war all the time. He wanted to smash Hughes’s face for holding out her chair before he could think to do it. He wanted to knock these humans’ heads together and toss them out of the suite, preferably out the window. He wanted to rile Niniane up and watch her sputter, then pin that little sex kitten down, cover her with his body and show her who was boss. Breathing hard, he turned away.
Silence fell. Then Niniane said, “Tiago? Are you going to come eat your breakfast?”
His neck muscles tightened. She sounded like she was wary of him.
Yeah, there was a reason for that.
He forced his body to relax and to turn around in slow, controlled movements. Niniane looked at him with wide eyes, and the humans smelled nervous. No matter how polite he might try to act, some subliminal part of them would always recognize that he was a predator. So he didn’t bother. They withdrew almost imperceptibly as he strolled to the table and sat.
“Thank you,” he said to them, his voice curt, dismissive. Hughes sent the woman Esperanza to tidy the kitchen and make fresh coffee, while he collected their coffee mugs from the living room area and joined her.
“I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with you,” Niniane muttered as she glared down at the gleaming metal cover on her plate. “As far as I know, it might be a congenital defect and not your fault. But whatever it is, cowboy, you’ve got to dial it down or—”
His hands shot out. He planted one on the table and the other at the back of her head as he lunged forward and drove his mouth down onto hers. He felt the shock of it bolt through her body. Her soft, pretty mouth fell open under his onslaught as he pushed his tongue deep inside her, and there was nothing sweet or romantic about it. It was a marauding capture that fed a hunger that had been gnawing at him from the inside and making him bat-shit crazy.
Her hands flew up and touched his face. Her mouth moved, either to protest or to kiss him back. Or both. Breathing heavily, he pulled back.
She blinked devastated, dazed eyes at him. She whispered, “You’re a menace.”
“And you’re tap-dancing on my last nerve,” he growled. He removed the metal cover from her meal and slammed it down on the table. “Shut up and eat your breakfast, faerie.”
He released the back of her neck and settled back in his seat to uncap a porterhouse steak and a mountain of scrambled eggs.
Tap-dancing on his last nerve? Well, he was driving a Sherman tank over hers. Trembling in reaction, Niniane looked down at her plate. She put her elbows on the table and covered her mouth as she stared at her meal. Of course. He had fulfilled his promise. Fragrant fluffy pancakes were topped with fresh strawberries and melting whipped cream. There was a side plate with a scrambled egg and two crispy slices of bacon.
For a heart-pounding moment she didn’t know if she wanted to eat her meal or grind it into his face, but then a surge of hunger consumed her. Unable to think about anything else, her mind shut down. She dove into her breakfast and didn’t come up for air until both plates were clean. At some point Esperanza brought them fresh coffee and iced water with lemon slices, then she left with Hughes.
If Niniane could have come up with any excuse for them to stay, she would have. She sat back and cradled her mug in both hands. She stared into the fragrant hot liquid to avoid looking directly at the lunatic Wyr that lounged at the table beside her.
She could see him out of the corner of her eye. He folded his arms and balanced his chair on its back two legs. He was topheavy as most of the warrior Wyr were, with massive muscles in his chest and arms from heavy sword work and wielding other weaponry. His stretched-out legs went on forever. She kept her feet tucked under her own chair to avoid coming into contact with him in any way.
She pretended to sip her coffee as the tiny hairs along her arms rose. He was staring at her, a moody, brooding look from under level black brows, while his Power pressed down in the room with the sulfurous weight of an impending thunderstorm.
“Of all the shit I’ve got to think about and deal with right now,” she remarked in a cool voice. “You should not even make the list.”
“So you think you can ‘deal’ with me,” he said. The insolent, silken tone of his voice stroked down her spine even as it raised the danger level in the room. “You can try.”
She raised her head and met his gaze. She watched her own hand move out, grasp the stem of her iced water and toss the contents into his face.
Water cascaded down his face and neck. His chair came down on all four legs. His eyes filled with lightning. She pushed to her feet and backed away from the table as he came to his feet in a leisurely movement.
A sharp rap sounded at the door. His head snapped around, and he glared as the rap sounded again. She took that moment to escape toward the bedroom. His soft growl followed her. “Goddammit, Tricks. Go ahead, try to run. See what good that does you.”
She scowled. Try to run? Hell, no. She stormed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She flipped the kitchen faucet on and started pulling all the mugs and glasses out of the cabinets. She filled each one with water and lined them up on the kitchen counter.
She’d had it. And she had not just merely had it—she had really most sincerely had it.
Just a week ago, before she had even left New York, she had ambushed Tiago so she could smack him in the back of the head and yell at him for cursing at her. They had lived for her entire stay in New York—two hundred years, to be exact—as near strangers. Then all of it sudden it was “Goddammit, Tricks” or “Tricks, goddammit” with him. When her temper had finally erupted, he had had the gall to laugh in her face and call her cute.
Ordering her around. Acting like a world-class bastard. He was rude. He was crude (well, okay, maybe she didn’t have so much of a problem with that). He hardly paid attention to a thing she said. One word from her, and he went ahead and did whatever the hell he liked anyway. He scared normal sane people and manhandled her without permission, and maybe his particular brand of crude, dominating sexuality was exactly the kind of thing that made her knees melt and her foolish heart go pitty-pat but that didn’t give him any right—
In the meantime, Tiago stalked to the suite door and yanked it open, his anger fueled by the fact that he hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t heard someone approach the suite door until they had knocked. That damn faerie was messing with his head and screwing up all kinds of finely honed instincts.
Cameron Rogers stood with her hand raised to knock again. He barked, “What.”
The lieutenant’s hand lowered as she stared at him. Her cinnamon-sprinkled features became suffused with sudden strain. “Ah,” she said with a cough. “Looking a little damp there, sentinel.”
“Fuck you,” he snapped. He swiped at his dripping face with the back of his hand. “What do you want?”
The policewoman’s mouth twitched but she quickly sobered. “Councillor Severan will speak with her highness at her earliest convenience. One of her attendants has been insisting on delivering that message in person.”
He mentally dismissed the attendant. Tiago and Cameron had already agreed; nobody was allowed on the floor that wasn’t on their preapproved list. “Tell Severan her highness is indisposed. We’ll get back to her when we’re ready.”
Rogers lifted a sandy eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell the Councillor that yourself?”
“I’ve got my hands full at the moment,” he muttered. He slammed the door shut and glared at it as he heard Rogers laugh.
Niniane listened as Tiago spoke with whoever had knocked on the door. Soon enough his arrogant, oversized silhouette filled the kitchen doorway.
She turned off the faucet, picked up the nearest full glass and threw the water on him.
He stood absolutely still, a giant statute of carved muscle and bone. Something dangerous throbbed in the air between them. Her heart pounded. “You did not just do that,” he said in a conversational tone. “Nobody is that suicidal.”
“You can’t do anything to me. You swore you would protect me, and I’m injured.” She picked up the next full glass and threw the water on him. “What is my name, ass**le?”
“I love it, I love all of it,” she said unsteadily. She moved away from his touch on the pretext of opening the box of chocolates. She took a bite out of one. It was too rich for her overempty stomach, and she put the rest of it back in its place.
His quizzical look deepened. “Then what’s wrong?”
She held on to the candy box with both hands. “We should talk about when you’re going to leave.”
Silence. Her senses were so attuned to his presence she felt when the relaxation left him and his body grew tense.
“I’m not leaving,” he said in a calm voice.
Her knuckles whitened. “Well, we both know you have to, at some point.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” he said. He picked up his coffee and drank it. His Power flared and filled the room, turning smoky and menacing as it wrapped around her.
She tried again. “Tiago, I need to make a plan in my head so I know w-what to expect and when.”
“I am not leaving,” he said again. While he never raised his voice, his hawklike face turned into a blade. “Deal with it.”
“That isn’t helping—” she said.
He stood and stalked out of the room. She stared after him, disoriented. Then she heard someone start to knock on the suite door. Tiago opened it.
It was the hotel manager, Hughes. “I just wanted to let you know, the representative from the Elder tribunal has arrived and has taken over one of the floors between her highness and the Dark Fae delegation.” He wrung his hands.
Tiago’s gaze narrowed on the nervous movement of Hughes’s hands. “Which Councillor did the tribunal send?” he demanded.
Hughes said, “The one from San Francisco. The next floor up has been taken over by Vampyres.”
SIX
“Is it true the Vampyre Councillor is a sorceress?” the hotel manager asked.
Tiago rubbed his face as he briefly considered lying, but he was more interested in getting back to the interrupted conversation with Niniane. “Yeah, it’s true,” he said.
The manager’s expression was a combination of dismay and fascination. If Tiago was a sympathetic type of person, he might have felt sorry for Hughes, whose entire fancy-ass hotel had been overrun by Elder politics in just a matter of days.
He scowled. Why was Niniane so interested in getting rid of him? And why was he just as determined to stay?
He started to close the door in Hughes’s face, but just then the door to the neighboring suite opened. A uniformed woman pushed a laden room service cart into the hall and angled it toward him. Only the thought of how little sustenance Niniane had taken in over the last few days kept him from slamming the door, throwing the chain and going back into the living room to pick a fight with her. He sighed and held the door open wide.
The living room was empty of both Niniane and shopping bags, and her bedroom door was closed. He moved the laptop as Hughes asked for permission to set out their breakfast. The hotel manager helped the woman arrange the table. The humans glanced often at Tiago, the closed bedroom door and the disassembled weaponry on the coffee table.
Tiago rubbed the back of his neck and resisted the urge to pace. The humans were fussing over the frickin’ table setting like it was some kind of religious ritual. They settled a white cloth into place and arranged a small vase of fresh-cut flowers just so, not precisely in the middle of the table but a little to one side. What was the big deal? All they had to do was throw down two plates, knives and forks and the food. Plus they were taking far too long. They were probably hoping to see her bloody mindedness. He gritted his teeth.
The bedroom door opened. Niniane walked out. She was dressed in a pale peach lounge suit with a top that buttoned down the front, loose flared capri pants and the new slippers that had been selected for their sleek look and comfortable fit. The color brought richness to her delicate pale skin and emphasized the depth and hue of her dark gray eyes, while the cut of the suit flattered her small hourglass figure.
Inclined to feel brutal, Tiago studied her with a critical eye. Actually, she looked ridiculous. Her nose tilted up at the end. Her face was too angular, her eyes too big, her mouth too full. She had freckles, and the tips of her long ears were pointed. How did all of those things combine to make her so mouthwateringly beautiful? What was that elusive quality she exuded until it seemed to dance in the air? It was like the twinkle of sunlight on water, impossible to capture or define; it was just Niniane.
Both Hughes and the woman lit up when Niniane appeared. They gave her awkward but deeply felt bows.
That was when Tiago witnessed firsthand the effect she had on people. He watched Niniane light up in response to the humans’ presence. She walked over to them, her hands outstretched. She greeted them like they were long-lost friends. She beamed at the fresh flowers and asked after Hughes’s children (who knew? Tiago sure as hell hadn’t, nor did he care). She learned that the other woman’s name was Esperanza, an avid gardener and lover of flowers. Hughes held out her chair, and Niniane thanked him as she sat.
Every ounce of Niniane’s attitude was sincere. She was a bodyguard’s worse nightmare, a recognizable famous woman with charm who genuinely loved people, and they adored her in return.
Tiago’s hands fisted. He didn’t love people. If people weren’t such a goddamn pain in the ass, he wouldn’t be at war all the time. He wanted to smash Hughes’s face for holding out her chair before he could think to do it. He wanted to knock these humans’ heads together and toss them out of the suite, preferably out the window. He wanted to rile Niniane up and watch her sputter, then pin that little sex kitten down, cover her with his body and show her who was boss. Breathing hard, he turned away.
Silence fell. Then Niniane said, “Tiago? Are you going to come eat your breakfast?”
His neck muscles tightened. She sounded like she was wary of him.
Yeah, there was a reason for that.
He forced his body to relax and to turn around in slow, controlled movements. Niniane looked at him with wide eyes, and the humans smelled nervous. No matter how polite he might try to act, some subliminal part of them would always recognize that he was a predator. So he didn’t bother. They withdrew almost imperceptibly as he strolled to the table and sat.
“Thank you,” he said to them, his voice curt, dismissive. Hughes sent the woman Esperanza to tidy the kitchen and make fresh coffee, while he collected their coffee mugs from the living room area and joined her.
“I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with you,” Niniane muttered as she glared down at the gleaming metal cover on her plate. “As far as I know, it might be a congenital defect and not your fault. But whatever it is, cowboy, you’ve got to dial it down or—”
His hands shot out. He planted one on the table and the other at the back of her head as he lunged forward and drove his mouth down onto hers. He felt the shock of it bolt through her body. Her soft, pretty mouth fell open under his onslaught as he pushed his tongue deep inside her, and there was nothing sweet or romantic about it. It was a marauding capture that fed a hunger that had been gnawing at him from the inside and making him bat-shit crazy.
Her hands flew up and touched his face. Her mouth moved, either to protest or to kiss him back. Or both. Breathing heavily, he pulled back.
She blinked devastated, dazed eyes at him. She whispered, “You’re a menace.”
“And you’re tap-dancing on my last nerve,” he growled. He removed the metal cover from her meal and slammed it down on the table. “Shut up and eat your breakfast, faerie.”
He released the back of her neck and settled back in his seat to uncap a porterhouse steak and a mountain of scrambled eggs.
Tap-dancing on his last nerve? Well, he was driving a Sherman tank over hers. Trembling in reaction, Niniane looked down at her plate. She put her elbows on the table and covered her mouth as she stared at her meal. Of course. He had fulfilled his promise. Fragrant fluffy pancakes were topped with fresh strawberries and melting whipped cream. There was a side plate with a scrambled egg and two crispy slices of bacon.
For a heart-pounding moment she didn’t know if she wanted to eat her meal or grind it into his face, but then a surge of hunger consumed her. Unable to think about anything else, her mind shut down. She dove into her breakfast and didn’t come up for air until both plates were clean. At some point Esperanza brought them fresh coffee and iced water with lemon slices, then she left with Hughes.
If Niniane could have come up with any excuse for them to stay, she would have. She sat back and cradled her mug in both hands. She stared into the fragrant hot liquid to avoid looking directly at the lunatic Wyr that lounged at the table beside her.
She could see him out of the corner of her eye. He folded his arms and balanced his chair on its back two legs. He was topheavy as most of the warrior Wyr were, with massive muscles in his chest and arms from heavy sword work and wielding other weaponry. His stretched-out legs went on forever. She kept her feet tucked under her own chair to avoid coming into contact with him in any way.
She pretended to sip her coffee as the tiny hairs along her arms rose. He was staring at her, a moody, brooding look from under level black brows, while his Power pressed down in the room with the sulfurous weight of an impending thunderstorm.
“Of all the shit I’ve got to think about and deal with right now,” she remarked in a cool voice. “You should not even make the list.”
“So you think you can ‘deal’ with me,” he said. The insolent, silken tone of his voice stroked down her spine even as it raised the danger level in the room. “You can try.”
She raised her head and met his gaze. She watched her own hand move out, grasp the stem of her iced water and toss the contents into his face.
Water cascaded down his face and neck. His chair came down on all four legs. His eyes filled with lightning. She pushed to her feet and backed away from the table as he came to his feet in a leisurely movement.
A sharp rap sounded at the door. His head snapped around, and he glared as the rap sounded again. She took that moment to escape toward the bedroom. His soft growl followed her. “Goddammit, Tricks. Go ahead, try to run. See what good that does you.”
She scowled. Try to run? Hell, no. She stormed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She flipped the kitchen faucet on and started pulling all the mugs and glasses out of the cabinets. She filled each one with water and lined them up on the kitchen counter.
She’d had it. And she had not just merely had it—she had really most sincerely had it.
Just a week ago, before she had even left New York, she had ambushed Tiago so she could smack him in the back of the head and yell at him for cursing at her. They had lived for her entire stay in New York—two hundred years, to be exact—as near strangers. Then all of it sudden it was “Goddammit, Tricks” or “Tricks, goddammit” with him. When her temper had finally erupted, he had had the gall to laugh in her face and call her cute.
Ordering her around. Acting like a world-class bastard. He was rude. He was crude (well, okay, maybe she didn’t have so much of a problem with that). He hardly paid attention to a thing she said. One word from her, and he went ahead and did whatever the hell he liked anyway. He scared normal sane people and manhandled her without permission, and maybe his particular brand of crude, dominating sexuality was exactly the kind of thing that made her knees melt and her foolish heart go pitty-pat but that didn’t give him any right—
In the meantime, Tiago stalked to the suite door and yanked it open, his anger fueled by the fact that he hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t heard someone approach the suite door until they had knocked. That damn faerie was messing with his head and screwing up all kinds of finely honed instincts.
Cameron Rogers stood with her hand raised to knock again. He barked, “What.”
The lieutenant’s hand lowered as she stared at him. Her cinnamon-sprinkled features became suffused with sudden strain. “Ah,” she said with a cough. “Looking a little damp there, sentinel.”
“Fuck you,” he snapped. He swiped at his dripping face with the back of his hand. “What do you want?”
The policewoman’s mouth twitched but she quickly sobered. “Councillor Severan will speak with her highness at her earliest convenience. One of her attendants has been insisting on delivering that message in person.”
He mentally dismissed the attendant. Tiago and Cameron had already agreed; nobody was allowed on the floor that wasn’t on their preapproved list. “Tell Severan her highness is indisposed. We’ll get back to her when we’re ready.”
Rogers lifted a sandy eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell the Councillor that yourself?”
“I’ve got my hands full at the moment,” he muttered. He slammed the door shut and glared at it as he heard Rogers laugh.
Niniane listened as Tiago spoke with whoever had knocked on the door. Soon enough his arrogant, oversized silhouette filled the kitchen doorway.
She turned off the faucet, picked up the nearest full glass and threw the water on him.
He stood absolutely still, a giant statute of carved muscle and bone. Something dangerous throbbed in the air between them. Her heart pounded. “You did not just do that,” he said in a conversational tone. “Nobody is that suicidal.”
“You can’t do anything to me. You swore you would protect me, and I’m injured.” She picked up the next full glass and threw the water on him. “What is my name, ass**le?”
