Unforgiven

Unforgiven

S. W. Vaughn

www.loose-id.com

Unforgiven Copyright © July 2011 by S. W. Vaughn All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. eISBN 978-1-61118-439-6 Editor: Judith David Cover Artist: Anne Cain Printed in the United States of America

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Chapter One The woman looked like somebody‘s doting grandmother, confused and overwhelmed by the Times Square crowd as she repeatedly failed to snag a cab. Well dressed, tasteful and expensive jewelry, three-hundred-dollar shoes. Best of all, wearing eyeglasses, which would score him some sympathy points. A nice, fat pigeon. When the lady pulled an oh-dear face and headed in his direction, presumably for the taxi stand a few blocks down, River palmed the busted glasses he‘d scrounged earlier and moved. He kept his gaze anywhere but on her. Jostling her felt like shouldering a fabric-covered door—no delicate old bird, this lady—but he dropped the glasses and heard a satisfying crunch when her sensible, overpriced shoe came down on them. The woman hesitated and drew a startled breath. Another good sign. ―Oh, shit.‖ River knelt clumsily in front of her, scrabbling for the buckled frames that now featured one cracked lens, the other shattered. ―Oh man. Oh, man. My glasses. Fuck!‖ He shot a fleeting glance up at a face knit with concern, tinged with a fear of disheveled and cursing strangers. ―Sorry, ma‘am,‖ he said as he straightened, holding the remains. Manners went a long way with old ladies. ―But you bumped me, and my glasses… What a mess. I can‘t believe this.‖ ―Your glasses?‖ She paled a bit, blinked rapidly. ―What—‖ ―Oh God. What am I gonna do?‖ He‘d never been able to summon tears on command like a couple of the others could, especially Monte and Maria, but he could layer his voice with misery. No problem there. ―These cost me my last two hundred

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bucks. I can‘t see sh…anything, and I can‘t work without them. I‘m going to get fired. What am I gonna do?‖ The woman offered a skeptical look at the work comment, and then her face flushed pink. ―I‘m sorry,‖ she stammered. ―I didn‘t—‖ ―Look, I‘m really up a creek here, lady.‖ Don’t let the pigeon talk. That was the key. Kept them off balance. ―You ruined them. I know probably you didn‘t mean to, but you did. I‘ve gotta have glasses. Can‘t you help me out here?‖ Her hands flew automatically to cover her purse. ―I don‘t have…‖ ―I don‘t even need the whole two hundred.‖ Make them feel like they’re getting away cheap. ―I could get a pair, sixty bucks. I know a place. Won‘t look great, but they‘ll work.‖ More blinking. ―Well, I guess sixty is… But I can‘t really—‖ ―Thanks, lady. Thanks a lot.‖ He flashed what felt like a smile, though he couldn‘t be sure. ―You saved my life. Seriously, I‘m blind as a bat without ‘em.‖ She frowned and tugged reluctantly at her purse zipper. ―I don‘t know about this.‖ ―Come on. Fair‘s fair, right?‖ ―Hey!‖ The male voice belonged to a prick in a suit, pushing his way toward them. The guy looked like he played tennis every weekend and drank his espresso from the shoes of eighteen-year-old gold diggers. He stopped beside the woman and gave River a nostril-flaring glare. ―Don‘t be giving this bum any money, ma‘am,‖ he said. ―He‘s running a con. I‘m guessing somebody breaks his glasses every week.‖ River‘s jaw clenched. The man‘s Irish lilt put a cheerful edge to the dressingdown. It grated on his last nerve, and he wanted to shatter the bastard‘s freckled nose. ―This isn‘t your business,‖ he said. ―I need these—‖ ―Bullshit. You need booze money.‖ The pigeon took the opportunity to waddle back through the crowd with amazing speed for an old lady. She didn‘t look back.

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―Get out of here then,‖ Tennis Boy said. ―You‘re lucky I don‘t call the cops.‖ ―Yeah. You‘re a regular knight in shining Armani.‖ River allowed himself a brief scowl. He probably shouldn‘t have gone solo tonight—tag teams went down faster and didn‘t draw heroes like this gold-plated asshole. But his take would‘ve been less, and the rent was due tomorrow. Not that he‘d paid for the last few months. He did feel bad about threatening Monte, though. And he didn‘t intend to go home empty-handed tonight. ―Maybe you should pay for these,‖ he said, nodding at the busted glasses. ―Light your cigars with matches for a while instead of twentydollar bills.‖ The guy flushed. His mouth opened, and River tensed to move fast. But the ugly brick color drained and a sly grin surfaced. ―I know you,‖ the guy said. ―You‘re that faggot, used to be a cop. Jones…James…Jarvis. That‘s it. Rob Jarvis.‖ He schooled his features carefully against growing rage. No one had called him that name in six years—four in the slam, two on the streets. Even to the guards, he‘d been River. How did this loaded fuck recognize him? ―I‘m no cop, asshole,‖ he said slowly. ―Guess I‘m not the one who‘s been hitting the booze.‖ ―No, I never forget a face.‖ The awful grin widened. ―Besides, I wrote a piece on you for the Post. I‘m a reporter. And you‘re Rob Jarvis.‖ ―Fuck you.‖ He turned away, heart banging hard in his chest. The hand that clamped his wrist was as unforgiving as a steel cuff. ―Hold on, Jarvis. You can still make some money—for me, anyway. I bet the cops‘ll have me a sweet little reward if I turn you in for conning. The boys in blue just love you, don‘t they?‖ The journalist‘s smile was practically a stench, sour with malice and greed. ―Put you back where you belong. But I‘m betting you like prison, right? A faggot like you, surrounded by all the cock you can—‖ River wrenched from the grip, turned and snagged the weasel bastard by his designer tie. With his free hand, he pulled his switchblade. The street con version of health insurance. He popped the blade and held it against the guy‘s crotch—not nearly close enough to cut, but enough to erase any question about what it was.

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―Listen up, hero,‖ he snarled. ―I did my time. I paid my goddamn debt to society, and any bullshit you ran in that rag was just that. Bullshit. You media fucks convicted me long before the court did.‖ He offered a smile of his own, laden with contempt. ―And yeah, I like cock. Maybe I‘ll take yours in trade for the sixty bucks you cost me.‖ The guy‘s mouth quivered. His gaze darted fever-bright around the crowd, which radiated its typical reluctance to get involved in a fight. No one even glanced at the pair of them. A low, keening moan crept from his throat. ―Please,‖ he whispered. Soft son of a bitch. ―Please what?‖ he said, still smiling. ―Please take your cock?‖ ―Oh, G-g-g—‖ ―God,‖ River said, ―isn‘t listening to you. Touch me again, and you can ask him why yourself.‖ He pocketed the blade and released the whining journalist with a shove. The guy stumbled to keep his balance. There was a small, dark spot at his crotch. He‘d pissed himself. River almost laughed, but decided against it. He turned and stalked toward the nearest subway entrance, battling to contain the nightmare march of memories from his former life. The alley, the body that wasn‘t dead. The knife in his gut, and the gunshot behind him. Harry dying in his arms. The shock of the arrest. The endless hell that was prison when you were a cop. Especially a gay cop. By the time he cleared the subway stairs, he‘d drowned most of the past in a grim sea of determination. He had people to hustle. And he wasn‘t Rob Jarvis any more.

*** Braelan hung back in the alley, staring at the bright neon lights and thick crowds of humans beyond. This was not where he‘d intended to cross the veil. He had meant to emerge beside his half brother‘s place—not that he could be certain

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Cobalt would welcome a visit, but he‘d no idea where Uriskel might be now, and his eldest brother was likely to be even less welcoming than Cobalt anyway. It had been nearly a year since his last brief foray into the mortal realm. And he knew no other Fae here. Well, now he‘d find the time to make acquaintances in this great city of New York. He would not return to Arcadia. Ever. Surely one of the yellow vehicles, the taxicabs, would be able to bring him to the Grotto. However, he would need some of the money humans used for trade to procure one. The last time, he had relied on others to make such arrangements for him. But he would no longer act the spoiled prince. In fact, he intended to become as unprincely as possible. Perhaps then, if his father should hunt him down, he would deem him unsuitable to rule Arcadia and banish him from the realm, as he had his two half brothers. Since meeting kindhearted Cobalt and uncovering the painful truth about Uriskel, Braelan had found himself increasingly unable to stomach the pandering and deception of the Seelie court. And now his father planned to step down and expected him to become king. He‘d never take the throne. But he should have prepared a bit more for this desertion. He‘d simply wandered away from yet another tedious royal hunt, decided to leave forever, opened a portal and crossed. Now, he had nothing but the clothes on his back. And even those were worthless here. They did not exactly blend with the typical mortal dress. He recalled there were machines that contained money. ATMs. It should be a simple matter to use magic and open whatever locks the humans placed on them. He merely had to find one of them. Unfortunately, the task was easier said than done. He had remembered the city fondly and forgotten the overwhelming assault on the senses this place offered. There were so many mortals, so many vehicles, so much concrete and metal and glass. A thousand scents clogged the air, few of them

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natural. The chaotic din of activity was a constant note forged by wind and voices and machinery, punctuated with shouts and horn blasts. A far cry from the vibrant, wild realm of the Fae. Exactly where he wished to be. As far from Arcadia as possible. His senses adjusted slowly to the discord, and he managed to focus on individual images amid the blur. A restaurant across the street, a woman leading a small dog past the alley. A sign at the closest intersection with an arrow pointing down, reading SUBWAY—and below that, on railings, LOW FEE ATM! Before he could head in that direction, something small and hard pressed into his back, and a guttural male voice behind him said, ―Wallet. Now.‖ He assumed the something was a gun. He‘d seen this in some of the many mortal movies he‘d watched on his last visit—a robbery, a stickup. And though he‘d not die from a bullet wound, he would rather not be shot. He‘d no one to heal him until he could find Cobalt. ―I have no wallet,‖ he said. The gun drilled harder. ―You better have somethin‘, or you‘re dead.‖ He did not doubt the trigger would be pulled. The human reeked of desperation, and the nervous edge to his voice suggested it would happen quickly. But the Fae were far quicker than humans. He whirled and snatched the gun from the thief. It took a moment for the man to realize what had happened. His hand, still outstretched, actually twitched as though he intended to fire. Wide, wild eyes darted down and took in the missing weapon. Finally the man shoved him aside and bolted into the crowds. Braelan blinked and stared at the gun. The thing felt repulsive, heavy and hot in his hand. A mild nausea washed through him, and he dropped the weapon on the ground with disgust. At first he thought the gun was made of cold iron—poison to the Fae. But if it had been, his skin would have actually burned, and the sickness

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would have immobilized him. Besides, cold iron was a rare commodity in the human realm. They heated, processed and otherwise stripped the natural elements from everything they made. Only the Fae who lived among them had use for raw, hammer-forged iron. They used it to weaken or kill other Fae. His distaste for the gun had likely stemmed from knowing its purpose. They‘d so little regard for life, from what he had seen of the mortal world. They killed without reason or provocation. Some even took their own lives. No Fae would consider such an unnatural act, even if they possessed the capacity. Wiping his palm absently on his thigh, Braelan joined the mass of mortals on the sidewalks and headed for the subway. He‘d have to find his brothers soon. Being lost in such a place was not an appealing notion. Particularly if there were thieves more talented or less hesitant than this last one.

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Chapter Two River hung back a respectable distance from the semisecluded ATM. It was far enough from the main shops down in this station that security didn‘t pass by often. A decent place to hit up the next likely pigeon who made a withdrawal. He hadn‘t decided which con to use yet. It‘d depend on the mark. Lone female tourists usually went for the carry-your-bags bit. With guys, the parking garage thing worked sometimes. Some old folks would bend to the diabetes line about not being able to afford insulin. His biggest advantage wasn‘t any particular con. It was his police training. He could still be intimidating, even authoritative, for a few minutes. Long enough to beat it before the pigeon knew what happened. He couldn‘t hold up the commanding front for hours like he used to on the job. Then, he‘d had Harry to help him unplug after work. Harry, who was a laid-back cop and a take-charge lover—his perfect counterpoint. Damned douchebag reporter. He‘d gone months, maybe even years, without thinking of Harry or the bastards who took both their lives. Harry‘s literally, his figuratively. Now here he was, remi-fucking-niscing. Thanks, asshole. He turned his attention forcefully back to the ATM and realized there was a guy approaching it. Slowly, like he wasn‘t sure where he was or what he wanted. Probably a tourist. Perfect. River straightened, took a casual step or two toward the guy, and feigned interest in the train schedule board. The man‘s clothing was unusual—all matching honey-brown suede. Sleeveless shirt, long vest, fitted pants and tall boots. Black

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hair falling past his shoulders. He almost looked like a costumed Native American, right down to the tribal tattoos covering his arms. His perfectly muscled arms. The guy was hot. River couldn‘t quite see his face, but the rest of him…damn. With that getup, he should‘ve looked hokier than the Village People, but it suited him just fine. And he moved like a dancer, eerily graceful. When he moved. Which he wasn‘t right now. He hadn‘t taken out a wallet or a debit card. In fact, he was just standing in front of the ATM, staring at it like he expected money to spit out at him any second. Maybe he needed help. River smirked. For a small fee, he‘d be happy to tell this guy which buttons he was supposed to push. He edged a little closer. The guy crouched and grabbed the lower part of the machine with both hands. His head turned, and his eyes found River watching him. Deep blue melt-your-heart eyes, set in a face like a movie star. A bare sketch of a devastating smile. Fucking hell. Why should he give a shit what this guy looked like? One more good reason not to remember that he‘d been human once, with feelings. Needs. Like the one trying to stir in his groin just now. The man faced the ATM again and pulled. The case swung open like a bathroom stall. Shock drove away anything else River might‘ve been feeling. He swallowed a startled shout, watched the guy pull out handfuls of twenties and shove them inside the vest. Goddamn it, how? There weren‘t any keys or tools involved. He‘d just opened it up like it was his own personal bank vault. River tossed a fleeting glance around. In typical New York fashion, no one noticed the robbery in progress. At least one person, an ancient and nervous-looking man with a walker, put a lot of effort into not noticing.

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As the guy closed the machine and straightened with slightly bulging pockets, River shelved his amazement and developed a new con on the spot. The share-yourloot-or-I‘ll-turn-your-ass-in con. Smirk restored, he headed for the suede-clad thief. The guy moved away from the ATM, toward River. No hesitation. He had to know he‘d been seen, but he didn‘t try to duck away or run. Didn‘t even drop his gaze. He just smiled like he had every right in the world to steal a few grand. River‘s confidence faltered. If the guy was this remorseless about stealing, there was a good chance he‘d feel the same about other crimes. Like murder. He‘d seen it a hundred times as a cop and a con. Two sides of the same corroded coin. And he wasn‘t ready to end up a statistic. His feet carried out the plan without involving his mind, and he stopped a few feet from the thief, who also stopped. The guy‘s hands were empty. If he did have a weapon, it wasn‘t easily accessible. River would take the chance. ―You know that‘s a crime, right?‖ he said. ―Is it?‖ Teasing tone, teasing smile. He nodded. Christ, those eyes were practically smoldering. ―Rent-a-cops right around the corner. You‘re about twenty steps from busted.‖ A shrug. ―No one‘s seen me, save you.‖ ―Yeah. And being a good citizen and all, I should turn you in.‖ ―Should you?‖ Oh God. Why couldn‘t he fucking concentrate? He should be scaring the hell out of this guy, making him think the cops were five seconds from bashing in his skull and carting him away. He broke eye contact and looked at the bulging pockets, thought about all the green in there. It helped a little. ―Tell you what,‖ he said. ―For five hundred bucks, I‘ll keep my mouth shut. Matter of fact, I‘ll help you get past the pigs without them looking twice at you.‖ ―You want money.‖ A touch of disappointment feathered the words.

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He couldn‘t help a bitter snort. ―Yeah, I do. What‘d you think I wanted, a rain dance?‖ ―I‘ve a better offer.‖ Something in the guy‘s voice made him look up again. Definitely smoldering. He‘d never seen eyes actually do that before. ―It‘s not better than money,‖ he managed. ―Money, and something more.‖ The smile turned seductive. ―Stay with me tonight.‖ A punch in the gut would‘ve surprised him less. ―Huh?‖ ―Stay with me.‖ It was almost a command. ―I‘d intended to meet someone in the city, but I…was not able to connect with him. I‘ve no desire to be alone. Keep me company, and I‘ll gladly give you money.‖ The guy was propositioning him. No fucking way. He opened his mouth to tell him exactly that and heard himself say, ―How much?‖ ―Half.‖ Holy hell. Half would be two grand easy, maybe more. That made one good reason to say yes—and a hundred to say no. Maybe the guy was a psycho after all and planned on checking them into a hotel and killing him. Maybe he wanted to kidnap and sell him. Human slavery still existed. And besides the dangerous possibilities, he didn‘t want to screw anyone. His capacity for pleasure had died with Harry, been buried under hard time and harder street life. So why did the thought of touching this man send his pulse into the stratosphere? He gave himself a mental shake. Didn‘t matter, because it wasn‘t going to happen. But he‘d still get the money—and not just half. All of it. If this guy was fool enough to try and pick up a con artist, he could play him like a radio. Hell, he‘d be doing the man a favor. Teaching him not to do stupid shit like this. Somebody else might have killed him for that much cash.

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The guy was waiting for an answer. ―Fine,‖ he said. ―One night.‖ ―Excellent. I am—‖ ―No names.‖ The man raised an eyebrow. ―Then no money.‖ He managed not to sigh. Had to play along until he could get the guy off guard. ―Okay, go ahead. You are…?‖ ―Braelan. And you?‖ ―Richard.‖ It was close enough so he‘d remember the lie if the name thing came up again. He glanced away and spotted a security dick headed in their direction, looking like he really wanted to move somebody along. Or bust someone. ―All right, uh, Braelan,‖ he said, tucking away the feel of the exotic name in his mouth. ―We‘re taking a walk now, unless you want to make an angry new friend.‖ ―A hotel. Any one you please.‖ ―Sure. Just move, okay?‖ River turned and headed for the escalators. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do—but not bad enough to stop. A pigeon was a pigeon. No matter how pretty his feathers might be.

*** Braelan had no idea why he had offered for this human, or for that matter, why he had allowed the man who called himself Richard to watch him take the money in the first place. The human was clothed in rags. Pigs had better manners. And he‘d no doubt Richard—or whatever his true name might be—had intended to rob him in a manner more clever than the gun-wielding coward before him. But there was steel in this one, beneath the grime and the sharp tongue. The proof of that was in the resistance he‘d shown to Braelan‘s charm. Most mortals bent to his will like a sapling twig. And the man‘s eyes were beyond intriguing—a gray that could change from clear and flecked with green to the brooding dark of a storm cloud in seconds, yet still give away nothing of him.

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Perhaps he wanted to find what was behind those eyes. He followed the man out of the subway, back into the night-cloaked city above. A brief shiver touched him as his gaze found the skies clear, speckled with stars and a thumbnail sliver of moon. The Fae were practically immortal, and their laws prevented them from destroying one another here—except by the light of the moon from which they drew their magic. He had nearly been killed on his last visit to the mortal realm. By his father‘s closest advisor, no less. Night was not the best of times for a royal Fae with enemies that had been banished here to wander among the humans. ―First time in New York?‖ Richard‘s voice drew him from his thoughts, and he realized he‘d stopped to stare at the moon. ―No,‖ he said. ―I have been here once before.‖ The man flashed a bemused expression. ―Once. So you must be an expert by now, huh?‖ ―Not particularly.‖ ―Man, you are so clueless.‖ Richard motioned for him to move, and led him down a new street with fewer mortals clogging the sidewalk. ―Never tell people you don‘t know your way around,‖ the man said, setting a brisk pace. ―Especially cabbies and vendors. They‘ll take you for a ride, sell you useless shit. Rip you off. You know?‖ ―No, I do not know…‖ ―See, there you go again. Don‘t do that. Be confident.‖ Braelan frowned. ―All right. I will.‖ ―Better.‖ Richard glanced back at him and smirked. ―Where you from, anyway? I can‘t place your accent, and I thought I‘d heard them all.‖ He seized the first name of a nation he could recall from a mortal movie. ―Canada.‖ ―Wow. You suck at lying.‖

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The statement stung a bit, particularly since it was true. He‘d never been able to lie convincingly. It was a skill he hadn‘t needed. As a prince he had been indulged, even spoiled. His whims—some of them violent—had never been checked, and he‘d not been held responsible or punished in his life. That he recognized this basic truth now was small consolation for what he‘d done, particularly to Uriskel. And he‘d do well to remember that here, he was no prince. ―Where I am from does not matter,‖ he finally said. ―Only where I am going.‖ ―You learn fast.‖ The man who was not Richard, but was certainly better at lying than him, grinned. He caught a fleeting sense of coldness beneath that expression—and something more—but it slipped away before he could grasp it. The fact that he could not read even the slightest thought or feeling from this mortal should have given him pause. Instead, it intrigued him further. Before long he realized that the atmosphere surrounding them had changed. The frenetic energy of bright lights and machines and crowds had given way to darker, brooding spaces. Few vehicles roamed the streets, and fewer mortals occupied the sidewalks. Those who did looked hard and weary, or frightened, or strangely blank. He could sense their unhappiness, their anger and frustration. Many of the buildings they passed were silent and unlit. Some had wooden boards or metal bars over windows, and most were marked haphazardly with crude, sloppy symbols and words that made little sense to him. Graffiti, he thought it was called. This place felt like death. His steps faltered. ―Richard,‖ he said. ―Are we near a hotel?‖ ―Yeah, pretty close now.‖ The man spoke without the slightest hesitation, but didn‘t meet his gaze. ―This is a shortcut. Otherwise, we‘d be walking for an hour.‖ ―Perhaps we should take a taxicab.‖ ―And get ripped off? No point now. We‘re almost there.‖

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Braelan bit back a protest and tried to remain confident as he followed the man into an alley, then around a corner into a narrow corridor. At the far end stood a barrier of metal chain link, with a parking lot beyond that. There were a few darkened, silent vehicles, but no other humans in sight. Richard slowed as he approached the barrier, stopped and turned with a frown. ―Damn. Forgot about the fence,‖ he said. ―It‘ll take forever to walk around.‖ He let out a disappointed sigh. ―Well, I guess we could climb over, maybe. Unless…hey. Think you can do something with that? I really don‘t want to wait much longer.‖ He pointed to a metal padlock holding a length of thick chain around the bars of the fence. Blast. The human had seen him open the locks on the ATM. Of course he would assume such a simple contraption would be within his abilities. But if the metal were cold iron, he‘d not be able to manipulate it. He approached the fence, stopped before the lock, and glanced at Richard. The man‘s expression betrayed nothing. ―I will try,‖ he said and bent to the lock. In a flash, Richard pulled a dark object from a pocket and pressed it against his neck. It was cold, metallic—not a gun, but undoubtedly a weapon. ―Sorry, Braelan,‖ the man said. ―If it‘s any consolation, I do kinda like you.‖ ―You would not shoot me,‖ he whispered. ―Would you?‖ ―No. I wouldn‘t.‖ A horrible buzzing sound erupted in his head, and crippling pain along with it. Then blackness erased everything.

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Chapter Three River blamed the damned pigeon. He had more cash than he‘d ever seen at once in his life, even as a cop. Enough so he wouldn‘t have to hustle for months. He could afford to drink the good shit for a while and eat more than once a day. He should‘ve been ecstatic. Instead, he felt like the biggest asshole in the universe. If the bastard hadn‘t insisted on names, he wouldn‘t have a problem in the world right now. But he hadn‘t just conned some faceless mark out of a few bucks they could afford to lose. He‘d robbed Braelan. An innocent man who‘d trusted him. Worse, he‘d shocked him unconscious and left him vulnerable in a rather nasty part of town. He consoled himself with a reminder that Braelan wasn‘t exactly innocent. For Christ’s sake, the man stole a few thousand bucks from an ATM, with no more apparent planning than ordering a burger at McDonalds. The fact that his criminal act didn‘t fit with the rest of his naive behavior was beside the point. And in case the whole robbing-a-thief thing wasn‘t enough of a consolation prize, he‘d picked up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold on the way home—and thoroughly enjoyed the look on the liquor store clerk‘s face as he paid for it with actual big bills, instead of crumpled ones and handfuls of change. With the bottle tucked deep in a pocket so none of the others would see it, he approached the front door of the three-story shithole he called home, along with six other degenerates plus Monte‘s brood, and hesitated. If anybody here found out about his score, especially Monte, it‘d be gone the next time he blinked. He‘d go around the back and find somewhere in his room to stash it. The rent could wait until morning.

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He circled the building and glanced up the fire stairs. A pair of skinny, dirty brown legs dangled over the edge of the second-floor landing, ending in frayed sneakers without laces that still had a few spots of faded pink on them. Shaking his head, he climbed the steps and stood over the little girl with her face pressed against the bars. Her eyes were closed, and she had black plastic headphone buds nestled in her ears. He knew there wasn‘t any music coming from them. She didn‘t have a player, just the headphones. She liked wearing them. ―Hey, monkey,‖ he said. ―It‘s late. Why aren‘t you in bed?‖ The girl didn‘t open her eyes. ―Snucked out.‖ ―You snuck out.‖ He crouched and waited for her to look over. Six-year-old Diamond was the oldest of Monte and Maria‘s kids. The middle one, Jack, was almost three and still hadn‘t spoken a word. Then there was Queenie, the baby at eight months. Monte and Maria often left Diamond to take care of the younger ones while they went out to run cons. Poor kid had grown up too fast and too hard. ―Where‘s your folks?‖ She shrugged thin shoulders. ―Out front.‖ ―Oh.‖ The family—if you could call it that—lived in the only real apartment in the building. It took up half the first floor, and the other half was a big open room that used to be a store. The big room was ―out front,‖ where Monte and Maria occasionally ran tarot card and palm-reading scams, or whatever big money-making scheme Monte was into at the time. Lately there‘d been some unusual activity out front—things being moved around, strangers that weren‘t marks coming in and out. A few days ago, River had glimpsed some tarp-covered object about the size of an SUV at the back of the room. Then the windows had been draped from the inside with heavy black cloth. Monte seemed to be gearing up for something big in there. Probably the latest scam of the century, until he found the new scam of the century the next week. As for the rest of the place, the second floor had six studio rooms and one communal bathroom. The third floor was uninhabitable.

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―Queenie wouldn‘t sleep.‖ The girl finally looked at him. Exhaustion shaded the hollows beneath her wide brown eyes. ―Her bed broke. I said she‘s too heavy, but Daddy says I did it, so I gotta share my bed now.‖ River frowned. ―They‘re not getting a new bed?‖ ―Daddy says there‘s no money.‖ Diamond readjusted an earbud and rubbed her eyes. ―She hogs the bed,‖ the girl said in a stage whisper. ―And Jack wets his.‖ ―Tell you what.‖ He reached in a pocket and produced one of the newly stolen twenties. ―Give this to your folks. Say you found it. I bet they‘ll get another bed for you girls.‖ Just to make sure, he‘d give Monte some extra in the morning. Tell him he‘d pulled a double job. He knew they‘d use it for the kids first. They loved them, in an absentminded, flaky sort of way. The girl‘s eyes popped. ―Really?‖ ―Yep. It‘s all yours.‖ Diamond beamed at him. She took the money, leaned over and kissed his cheek. ―Thank you, Mr. River.‖ ―Yeah, sure.‖ He swallowed and blinked, ruffled her hair. ―Now go get some sleep, monkey. And don‘t let Queenie hog the covers.‖ He watched the girl clamber down the stairs, waited until he heard the back door to the apartment open and shut, then turned and headed inside. The secondfloor hallway was empty, but not quiet. Aside from the usual creaks and groans of old, settling wood and the faint rattling clank of the ancient plumbing, someone had music going. Probably Boggs at the end of the hall. And it sounded like Irys had a customer. Plenty of grunts and bangs coming from her room. Christ. This place was a step down from prison. As he plodded down the hall to his room, a hand shot out from behind a moldy flap of canvas hung over a doorway and plucked at his sleeve. ―Hey, gimme a light,‖ a voice rasped from behind the canvas. He sighed. ―You know I don‘t smoke, Jules.‖

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The flap flung back. Jules, the resident crackhead, stood there in a man‘s tank top and nothing else, with a lumpy home-rolled cigarette hanging from her lips. She grinned around it. ―Gimme a fuck, then.‖ ―You know I don‘t do that either.‖ ―Yeah.‖ Jules made a face. ―You got crotchrot.‖ ―That‘s right. My dick fell off today.‖ ―Fell off long ‘fore today, din‘it?‖ Cackling, Jules let the canvas fall and shuffled back inside. A twinge shot through him. His cock might as well‘ve fallen off, for all he used it. But hell, if it hadn‘t been for his encounter with Braelan, Jules‘s remark wouldn‘t have even registered. Son of a bitch. Why had a man who looked like that even pretended to want him? He didn‘t have room in his life for sex, and it pissed him off that he was thinking about it now. Realizing what he‘d gone without for years and thought he‘d never missed. He squared his shoulders and moved forward, making it all the way to his room without being stopped again. At least he had an actual door and a working lock. He was surprised Monte didn‘t try to charge him extra for that. After a minute of struggle with the warped wood, he let himself inside and slipped the chain in place. He‘d squirrel the money away and then drink every last trace of Braelan out of his system. By tomorrow, he wouldn‘t even remember the name.

*** Braelan stopped and leaned against a lamppost to rest for a moment. Whatever the human had done to him, his entire body remained stiff and sore. He‘d regained consciousness to find Richard gone, along with all the money he‘d taken from the machine. Once again, he had only the clothes on his back—and a scrap of cloth from the human‘s rags that had been clenched in one hand when he‘d awoken. He was currently using that scrap to track the man down.

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It would have been far simpler to forget the mortal. He could always take more money from another ATM and make his way to Cobalt‘s place as he‘d originally planned. He‘d no need for the thief who had managed to gain his trust and betrayed him. He was not even angry with Richard, though the man had undoubtedly left him to die. He might have been furious if he were human. But he was Fae. Mortals did not outwit the Fair Folk—particularly the royal family. That this broken beggar-thief had somehow managed to not only resist his charms, but also trick him into vulnerability, intrigued him beyond belief. Besides, taking his money back from the man would satisfy him far more than stealing again. As a royal, he was quite skilled at hunting. Still, the trail proved difficult to follow through the great jumbled mess that was New York City. Already the traces he had uncovered with the tracking spell had begun to fade into the morass, the thick and constant presence left by millions of mortals passing through. He gathered his strength and pushed away from the pole to resume the hunt. Just ahead, a faintly glowing blue smear marked the corner of a building, visible only to him. It indicated where the man had gone, where either he or his clothing had brushed. He rounded the corner and scanned the ground. Straight ahead, blue patches traced Richard‘s earlier footsteps. He followed them. Just over an hour after he‘d begun walking, Braelan found himself at what had to be his destination. The shabbily constructed, time- and weather-beaten structure bore old and new traces, bright blue over dark, on the front door and along the ground everywhere. The man must live here. He shuddered at the idea of calling such an awful place home. It looked as though a good push would topple the whole thing. The most recent tracks led around the side of the building. Braelan followed them to the back where they ascended a set of stairs that looked to be composed entirely of rust. He climbed them, surprised when they failed to snap beneath his weight, and entered a door that was smeared liberally with traces of Richard.

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Inside, he found a corridor with several doorways—and he sensed humans occupying most of the rooms behind them. He could hear them too, beneath the creaks and groans and rumbling of the exposed pipes along the walls as water moved through them. The traces were everywhere here, back and forth down the length of the hall, on the walls, gracing more than one doorknob and flap covering. However, the wooden door that was the second from the end to his right seemed the most heavily saturated with the marks of the human he sought. He would begin there. As he passed one of the doorways, this one covered with thick, rotting material instead of a door, a near-skeletal hand darted from behind the flap and snatched for his wrist. ―Gimme a light,‖ a human voice rasped. The touch of the fingers brought with it a confusing tangle of thoughts and images from the hand‘s owner. Jewels. Smoke. Crack. Sex. Money. He broke contact and frowned. ―I have no lights,‖ he said. ―But there is light in this corridor.‖ The hand withdrew, and an instant later the flap was pulled back. Behind it stood a human female, unnaturally thin, with a snarled cloud of dark hair surrounding an angular face and the end of a slender white stick clenched between her chapped lips. The frayed garment she wore barely covered her. Two thin straps hung over her shoulders and obscured her nipples, but left the rest of her small breasts exposed. The edge of the garment came just below her sex. The female grinned around her stick, showing ruined teeth. ―You‘re new. Wanna fuck? I‘m Jules, ‘n I‘m cheap.‖ Braelan was shaking his head before she stopped speaking. ―I am looking for someone. Richard. Do you know where I might find him?‖ ―River.‖ ―Er. I am not familiar with any rivers here. Can you perhaps direct me to it?‖ Cackling, the female leaned out and pointed down the corridor, toward the door he‘d assumed was the correct one. ―That‘s him. River. Thinks I don‘t know his fakie-names.‖ She tapped a temple. ―Ain‘t in there now, though.‖

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River. The name suited the man far better. ―Where is he?‖ ―Bathroom.‖ Jules jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. ―You bring his dick to him, then? Said he lost it earlier.‖ She laughed again, the sound less harsh than before. Braelan smiled. ―Perhaps I did.‖ ―Yeah. Jules, she knows.‖ Her expression faltered, and she added, ―Sure you ain‘t got a light? Fire, I mean. For my smoke.‖ She pointed to the white stick. He hesitated. The female had helped him, and he wished to help her in return, but it would require magic. Most humans did not react well to witnessing magic. However, from what he‘d sensed when she had touched him, she was slightly mad already. With a shrug, he summoned his spark and produced a small flame at the end of a fingertip, then held it out to her. ―Will this do?‖ ―Sure will.‖ Unblinking, she leaned in, touched the end of the stick to the flame and drew a deep breath. Smoke drifted from the edges of it—paper, he saw now, wrapped around dried leaves. The embers brightened as she sucked on the unlit end. ―Thanks kindly,‖ the female said, and thick white smoke issued from her mouth along with the words. ―Lemme know about that fuck.‖ With another cackle she withdrew behind the door flap. Braelan smiled as he approached the door. Here was his quarry—River, not Richard. And when River returned from the bathroom, he would spring his trap. The man had promised himself in exchange for money. Now, Braelan intended to collect.

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Chapter Four River turned the shower off and crouched on the stained plastic floor. Shivering slightly, he worked to wring out the sodden heap of clothes at his feet. Sharing a bathroom among six people, where the water didn‘t work half the time anyway, meant being efficient. He always washed his clothes whenever he managed to snag the shower. Of course, this time he could‘ve afforded a Laundromat. But the stares and the humiliation weren‘t worth the convenience. Damned if the shower hadn‘t sobered him up a lot more than he wanted. He‘d slammed down half the bottle of JW and expected to pass out, but it didn‘t happen. He still felt like shit. The unrelenting crush of guilt almost made him want to donate the money to orphans or something, even though he‘d amputated his conscience years ago. But that wouldn‘t change what he‘d done to Braelan. He‘d just have to learn to live with himself. Shouldn‘t be too hard. After all, he‘d done it many times before. By the time he‘d wrung as much water from his clothes as he could manage, his hands were red and chapped. He flung the clothes over the curtain bar, reached out and grabbed the towel he‘d left on the floor. After he dried off, he cinched the towel around his waist and plucked the faded lanyard with his room key from the showerhead to drape it around his neck. Couldn‘t leave keys lying around here. Especially with the fortune stashed in his room. He headed out carrying the damp bundle of clothes. The hall was empty and fairly quiet. Even street people had to sleep sometime. He shuffled to his room,

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surprised to feel the first pangs of exhaustion seeping into his bones. Must‘ve been the shower that relaxed him. The door didn‘t give him any trouble. Strange. Damned thing always stuck for at least a few seconds. He stepped inside, closed the door and locked it behind him. A sense of wrongness hit him just before he noticed the shadowed figure seated in his sole chair. Reacting on instinct, he dropped the clothes, grabbed the gun he kept by the door and leveled it at whoever it was. ―It‘s loaded,‖ he said. It wasn‘t. He‘d never risk the chance that Diamond or little Jack would find their way in here somehow. But the intruder didn‘t have to know that. ―Well, then. It is a good thing you said you‘d not shoot me.‖ He almost fell back against the door. ―Braelan?‖ ―Ah. So you do remember me.‖ The figure stood and moved into the scant light pooling beyond the threadbare curtain over his window. Definitely the same guy he‘d Tased. Just as gorgeous—and a lot more pissed. ―And I thought you‘d left behind all but the money. River.‖ A chill snaked through him when his name left the man‘s lips. He could conceivably be in a lot of trouble here. ―I lied. I will shoot you,‖ he said. ―Get out.‖ Braelan folded his arms. ―Go ahead. Make my day.‖ ―You—‖ He blinked and had to steady his aim again. ―Did you just quote Dirty Harry at me?‖ ―Sudden Impact, is it not?‖ A smile chased the fury from Braelan‘s features. ―I do enjoy movies.‖ ―Oh, Christ.‖ Heart hammering, he reached back and fumbled for the doorknob. Might have to make a quick exit here. ―You‘re either crazy or a cop. Which is it?‖ ―Neither.‖ ―Bullshit.‖

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Braelan advanced a few slow steps. ―I am simply a traveler looking for company,‖ he said. ―We made a deal. You‘ve taken your end of the bargain, so I‘ve come to collect on mine.‖ ―Yeah, right. I‘m supposed to believe you didn‘t come here for the money?‖ He unlocked and turned the knob behind him as unobtrusively as he could. ―And speaking of coming here… How the fuck did you find me, and how the hell do you know my name?‖ ―Never mind that.‖ The man was almost on him, and River couldn‘t look away from those dazzling blue eyes. ―If I had wanted the money, I would have simply taken it. I know where you‘ve hidden it. But I‘ve come here for you…River.‖ ―No.‖ He shook free of the trance, pushed back hard on the door—and it stuck fast. Of course it wouldn‘t work when he needed it. Time for Plan B. Snarling, he spun the revolver and smashed the butt end against Braelan‘s jaw. Braelan stumbled back and fell on his ass, blood drizzling from the corner of his mouth. He blinked, swiped at it and stared at his blood-smeared fingers, then lifted a shocked gaze to him. ―You struck me.‖ It was all River could do to keep from laughing. The guy sounded like some fop British lord in an old duel movie. But there was nothing funny about Braelan being impossibly here and still claiming to want him. ―Hey, I didn‘t shoot you,‖ he said. ―I kept that promise. Now get out.‖ He turned and kicked the stupid door open. Braelan didn‘t move. ―That hurt.‖ His own jaw just about fell to the floor. ―‘Course it hurts. I just cracked you with a fucking gun. What‘s wrong with you, man?‖ ―I am bleeding.‖ ―Yeah, I noticed. I mean besides that.‖ Damn it. He let out a breath and set the useless piece aside. Even if Braelan went for it, he couldn‘t use it—and he was starting to suspect the man wouldn‘t try anything anyway. Hitting him had felt like

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kicking a puppy. He couldn‘t bring himself to do it again. ―Okay, look. You can stay a few minutes, and we‘ll get you cleaned up. But I want answers.‖ He closed the door, locked it, and frowned. ―And I‘m…sorry. I guess.‖ Braelan smiled, but the expression turned into a grimace. ―I thank you then. I suppose.‖ ―Don‘t thank me.‖ He bent to gather his clothes and headed for the back of the room with them, pulling the chain to switch on the bare ceiling bulb as he passed it. ―Get off the floor and go sit down. I need to grab a few things.‖ Like his sanity, wherever he‘d left it. Because this was completely crazy—and he had a sinking feeling he‘d regret letting Braelan hang around, even for a few minutes. He was going to lose something by the end of the night. His money, maybe even his life. And for some damned reason, he cared a lot less than he should about the impending loss.

*** Braelan rubbed his aching jaw and watched River cross the cramped, dingy room he apparently called home. Not even the lowest-born Fae lived in such conditions. It was horrifying. The place he appeared to sleep was not even a bed—it was merely a pile of unfolded boxes with a few layers of worn and ragged cloth covering them. Remaining in this room long enough for the human to return had been an almost physical pain. Such squalor was anathema to the Fae. But seeing River clad only in a towel was worth the discomfort and even the blow he‘d taken. This human fueled his fascination like no other…though he still failed to understand why. All his life, those he‘d chosen to bed—male or female, mortal or Fae—had been physically exquisite. River was lean, nearly gaunt, though he did possess a deceptive amount of strength. The bruising on his jaw attested to that. The man‘s face could not be called beautiful. It was rugged and haunted, made harder by anger. And his body bore several scars in various shapes, sizes, and thickness.

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Yet none of these imperfections diminished his desire to have this man, to know him. Perhaps most of all because his mind was so closed. He would know only what River chose to tell him. This mortal presented quite the challenge. ―Hey. You‘re still on the floor.‖ Braelan stirred and looked around. River had put on a pair of faded, threadbare pants, but remained shirtless. Such a shame he‘d missed the discarding of the towel. Braelan drew himself to his feet, returned to the chair and sat down. ―Better?‖ River grunted. He reached toward a small table where he‘d piled several objects and picked up a small, white, crumpled square with blue lettering: moist towelette. He tore the package near the top, then extracted a smaller square. ―This‘ll probably sting a little,‖ he said, unfolding the square into an opaque white sheet as he approached. ―Hold still.‖ ―What—‖ ―Shush.‖ River stopped in front of him and frowned. ―Damn. I really clocked you good, didn‘t I?‖ ―You did,‖ he said, though he was not certain what clocked meant. ―Sorry. It‘s just…shit, what was I supposed to think? I rob you, you track me down. Usually, step three is you beat the fuck out of me, or knife me and take your money back. This was a preemptive strike, you know?‖ He let out an exasperated breath. ―I can‘t believe I‘m even having this conversation. Here, let me see that.‖ River gripped his jaw with surprising tenderness and turned his head aside. He paused, then touched the unfolded cloth to the bloodied corner of his mouth. Braelan flinched at the promised sting and the sharp odor of whatever liquid permeated the cloth. ―What is that?‖ ―The only free medical supply in New York. Stop moving your mouth a minute.‖ River cleaned the blood away with a few practiced swipes. ―Okay. You won‘t need stitches or anything. I‘d have you put ice on that, but I‘m a little low on

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refrigeration here. I do have something that‘ll take the edge off, though.‖ He walked away and returned with a large glass bottle, half-filled with deep amber liquid. He held it out and said, ―Have a swig of this.‖ Brow furrowing, Braelan took the bottle. ―What shall I drink it from?‖ ―Are you serious?‖ ―Of course.‖ He frowned. ―Haven‘t you a glass?‖ River stared at him, then gave a harsh laugh. ―Oh, sure. Lemme just ring up the maitre d‘, and I‘ll have him bring a couple of chilled flutes around. Some caviar too, while he‘s at it.‖ He shook his head. ―You see a kitchen in here anywhere? What the hell am I gonna do with glasses?‖ ―I do not understand.‖ ―Look. I‘ll demonstrate for you.‖ River took the bottle, held the opening to his lips and tilted it up, swallowing several times. He lowered it and said, ―Easy, right? And I don‘t have to wash dishes at the end of the night. Lucky me.‖ He held it back out. ―Now you try.‖ ―Very well.‖ Accepting the bottle, Braelan copied the motions. He managed to get most of the liquid in his mouth, though a few trickles escaped and set his wound to stinging again. He tried to ignore it. The drink was alcohol—nothing like wine or champagne, but smooth and pleasant to the taste. At least at first. After a few seconds, it burned. Interesting stuff. ―Thank you,‖ he said when he‘d finished. A half smile played on River‘s lips. ―I think you need more practice. You spilled some. That shit‘s expensive, you know.‖ ―Yes.‖ He did not know, but it was wiser not to admit such things. For the moment he‘d explain as little as possible. ―You‘ve my apologies.‖ ―Don‘t want ‘em. But thanks anyway.‖ River took the bottle back and set it aside. ―Okay,‖ he said with a sigh. ―Let‘s start on those answers. How‘d you find me?‖

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Braelan hesitated. He could not tell the truth, and there was no other plausible explanation. ―It does not matter,‖ he finally said. ―Oh, it doesn‘t?‖ ―I believe you were the one who taught me to lie this way.‖ ―On the streets. Not in my place.‖ ―Really.‖ Braelan got to his feet, pleased to see that River did not back down. Misdirection would have to suffice in place of truth. ―I see no difference. You are no more welcoming here than you were out there. That‘s twice you‘ve knocked me down. No one else dares to treat me so rudely.‖ River swallowed hard, and his gray eyes darkened. ―Yeah? Who the fuck are you that everybody treats you special? You like the king of Canada or something?‖ ―Who I am does not matter either.‖ ―Well, shit. I guess nothing matters, then.‖ ―One thing does.‖ Before River could respond, Braelan closed the distance between them and kissed him.

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Chapter Five River pulled back fast and not just from surprise. Braelan‘s kiss had instantly ignited his blood—while his mind gibbered a panicked warning, his body screamed more! That scared the piss out of him. ―Jesus Christ,‖ he stammered. ―What the hell are you doing?‖ Braelan smiled. ―Kissing you.‖ ―You can‘t—‖ He drew a breath, hoping to calm his racing heart. It didn‘t work. ―Okay, let‘s try a different question. Why did you do that?‖ ―Because I wanted to.‖ Braelan stepped forward, hooked an arm around his waist. And kissed him again. He moaned before he could stop himself. Damn, did that feel good. Too good. And it had been so long… Fuck. He was kissing a man he‘d robbed and left for dead not two hours ago. A man he knew nothing about, who only had one arm around him. Which left the other hand free to pull a knife or something while he was distracted. ―Bastard!‖ He jerked free of the embrace and stumbled back, panting. ―I know what you‘re trying to do. Stop that shit and just level with me. What do you want?‖ ―You,‖ Braelan said softly. ―Nothing more.‖ ―Oh, come on. Drop the innocent act.‖ He scanned the man from head to foot, looking for the telltale bulge of a weapon. Not a sign. But just because he couldn‘t see one, didn‘t mean there wasn‘t something hidden. ―You knocked over a

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goddamned ATM. Maybe you don‘t have any street smarts, but you‘re not stupid. And neither am I. You couldn‘t have come here for sex, especially with me.‖ ―Why not?‖ ―Because I‘m a bum, and you‘re…okay, I don‘t know what you are.‖ He ran a hand through his still-damp hair in frustration. ―You‘re obviously used to people jumping when you say frog. So wherever you come from, you‘re in charge. Maybe you‘re a mob boss, or… Christ, I don‘t know. The Prince of Wales. Whatever. In any case, people like you don‘t lust after people like me. Therefore you‘re full of shit.‖ Braelan turned fifteen kinds of pale. ―How…?‖ He shook himself, and his color returned slowly. ―How can I prove that I speak truth? I desire you. And I believe that you desire me.‖ He wanted to deny it. Instead he said, ―You can‘t.‖ ―There must be a way.‖ Braelan‘s eyes closed for a few seconds. He opened them and said, ―What do you believe I want?‖ ―Your money.‖ A laugh left him. ―Well, now. Let us consider that,‖ he said. ―You witnessed how easy it was for me to take the money. Do you think I‘d not be able to simply do it again? If it were money I wanted, I‘d not have gone to the trouble of seeking you out. Particularly after the pain you caused me.‖ Shit. That almost made sense. ―Revenge, then. I hurt you, so you came for some payback.‖ Braelan shook his head. ―Do you not recall what I asked for in return, when I agreed to give you money?‖ ―Company,‖ he muttered. ―For one night.‖ ―Yes. Your company. I thought you understood my meaning. Was I mistaken?‖ ―No…yes. Fuck. I don‘t know.‖ His jaw clenched, and he had to force it to relax enough to speak. ―Why me?‖

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―You intrigue me.‖ Braelan stepped closer, reached out and caressed his face. ―I wish to know you better.‖ No, you don’t. The words never made it out, because Braelan‘s mouth was in the way. River had to be crazy not to stop this. It was all kinds of wrong. But Braelan‘s firm, hot lips stirred things in him that had lain dormant for so long, he‘d given them up for dead. He found himself kissing back, a tentative increase in pressure, one hand hovering just shy of touching the man in silent invitation. Braelan pressed a hand to the back of his head, held him in place. A warm, wet tongue parted his lips and invaded his mouth. Oh, God. The man tasted like rain, like lightning. He could practically smell it—a thunderstorm brewing in his room, poised on the edge of unleashing its beautiful fury. His cock throbbed to life, the engorgement so sudden it was painful. He pulled back with a gasp. ―Wait.‖ ―Why?‖ Braelan groaned. Now he had a definite bulge, but it wasn‘t a weapon. Unless he‘d stuffed a gun down the front of his pants. ―Do you not desire me?‖ Hell yes. He still couldn‘t bring himself to say it, though. ―Strip.‖ Braelan raised an eyebrow. ―Excuse me?‖ ―Take your clothes off.‖ It came out a whisper. ―I need to be sure you won‘t— ‖Hurt me. Yeah, like that wasn‘t going to happen anyway. ―Just do it, okay?‖ ―Very well.‖ Braelan tugged off his boots. He wasn‘t wearing any socks. He unfastened the hooks that held his sleeveless shirt closed, stripped it away and let it fall to the floor. Damn, was he ripped. He had a hairless, chiseled chest straight out of a skin mag, a stack of perfect abs, not a single sag or flaw anywhere. The tribal tattoos on his arms looked even sexier with him shirtless. He opened his pants, pushed them down. He wasn‘t wearing underwear either.

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―Um.‖ River swallowed hard. ―Nice cock.‖ ―Thank you.‖ He managed a nod. This guy would‘ve made Ron Jeremy blush. That was easily the biggest cock he‘d ever seen—and it was rock hard, ready to go. He wasn‘t entirely sure he could take it all. Assuming, of course, that Braelan preferred to bat and not catch. He had little doubt the guy was a top. ―Well,‖ Braelan said, ―are you satisfied now?‖ ―Yeah, sure,‖ he whispered. ―Come here, then.‖ It wasn‘t quite a command, but he obeyed anyway. He was losing the little resistance he had left. Harry had been this way—sweet but firm, always taking charge in the bedroom, knowing his need to be controlled to some degree. And Braelan couldn‘t possibly know what he preferred in a partner, so the fact that he was doing it naturally turned River on even more. He was really going to regret this in the morning. ―I want you.‖ Braelan kissed him, rested palms on his hips and drew him close. ―Say that you want me.‖ ―I…‖ ―Say it.‖ He did. Christ, he could barely breathe for wanting. ―Yes. Yes, I want you.‖ ―Good.‖ The hands moved to his button, eased his jeans and underwear off. He hissed when his swollen cock sprang free. After he shuffled loose from the material, Braelan grabbed his ass and pressed hard against him, nuzzling his neck. ―River,‖ he murmured. ―Such a perfect name.‖ He wanted to ask why, but he was busy drowning in sensation. He threw his arms around Braelan, let his hands explore the taut muscle of his shoulders.

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Braelan‘s grip migrated to his thighs and lifted him from the floor, forcing him to cling to the man and regain his balance. Braelan tilted his head up and flashed a heated smile. ―Bed or no bed?‖ ―Don‘t care,‖ he growled. ―Fuck me.‖ This time he initiated a kiss. Closing his eyes in surrender, he covered Braelan‘s mouth and thrust his tongue inside. Braelan tongued him back, hot and demanding. He was dimly aware of motion somewhere outside the kiss. His back met something cool and solid—a wall. He moaned and shivered, squirming in an effort to get his ass closer to that big cock. Braelan eased him down, let him gain his feet, then whirled him around and pressed him face-first to the wall. He raised his arms instinctively over his head to position himself. Strong fingers captured his wrists and lifted, forcing him onto his toes. His breath left him in a dizzying rush. ―Look at me,‖ Braelan rasped. ―Let me see those fascinating eyes.‖ Trembling, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Braelan met his gaze with a gentle kiss. ―Do not be afraid,‖ he whispered. ―I‘ll not hurt you.‖ ―I‘m not afraid.‖ ―No?‖ A teasing smile. ―Then why do you shake like a wind-caught leaf?‖ Because you’re perfect. He couldn‘t remember ever being this turned on. Every touch, every word and motion stoked the fire in him further. Hell, he was ready to explode right now, and Braelan hadn‘t even gotten inside him yet. But he couldn‘t say that. He settled for repeating himself. ―Fuck me.‖ ―As you wish.‖ Braelan‘s hands shifted, pinning both of his wrists within one, while the other stroked slowly down the length of him and stopped on his ass. A foot nudged his ankle. Knowing instantly what the man wanted, he shuffled his feet apart. Fingers slid between his cheeks and coated his opening with wet warmth. Probably spit.

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Whatever worked to get that cock into his ass was fine with him. His breath caught on a groan when firm flesh nestled against his opening. Braelan eased inside slowly, stretching him, building sweet pressure that coiled in his gut and drew his balls taut. He could feel his heartbeat in his cock. A fresh shudder moved through him, and his ass clenched around the thick shaft invading it. Braelan made a rough sound. ―Easy,‖ he murmured in his ear. ―I‘ve still a ways to go.‖ ―Fffuck.‖ He wasn‘t all the way in yet? River tried to relax, to bend a little and thrust his ass out so he could take in more. He already felt stretched enough to burst—but damned if he didn‘t love that feeling, the delicious ache of fullness. At last, Braelan‘s hips brushed against his ass, and he stopped moving. His free arm circled River‘s waist, and he laid a palm on the thatch of wiry curls above his cock. ―There, now,‖ he whispered. ―A perfect fit, don‘t you think?‖ The hand moved down and gripped his cock. River responded with an inarticulate gurgle. ―Agreed.‖ Braelan stroked him first, fingers moving languidly along his shaft and gaining steady speed until he was straining on the balls of his feet, pinned firmly between fist and cock. With his arms fully extended and wrists caught fast, every muscle in his body seemed stretched to the limit. He quivered all over with the tension. At the moment he thought he‘d liquefy and melt before he came, Braelan finally started fucking him. He cried out with the first thrust, when the tremors humming through him dissolved in a rush of heat. He hadn‘t realized how much he missed this, needed it. He was alive for the first time in years. An actual human being, with feelings. He definitely felt that big cock pumping in and out, rocking his body, and Braelan‘s hands on him, holding, claiming. Wanting him.

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The thought was enough to push him over the edge. A hoarse scream built in his gut and clawed from his throat, and he bucked hard in the throes of an orgasm fueled by years of neglect. Just as cum started to spurt from River‘s straining cock, Braelan shuddered like an earthquake and drove into him so hard, River almost thought the man would snap him in half. The shout that fell from Braelan‘s lips was fiercely primal, beautiful. Hot thick cum gushed and filled his ass, driving his own climax to a blinding white flash that obliterated everything but pure sensation. He let it take him. When his senses returned, he looked over his shoulder. Braelan stood pressed against him, still holding his wrists captive, watching him with darkened eyes. The man smiled and kissed him. ―No one has ever brought me to climax so quickly,‖ he said in husky tones. ―Next time, I‘ll need to exercise greater restraint.‖ ―Next time?‖ River panted. ―How many next times do you think there‘s gonna be in one night?‖ ―As many as you like.‖ Braelan leaned in and brushed his lips. He shifted, and River felt the cock still inside him harden again. ―More,‖ Braelan whispered against his mouth. ―I want more of you. Now.‖ A liquid shiver flooded his groin, and his own cock went semihard. Shit, he wanted more too. How could he not have had enough? ―Right,‖ he managed. ―More. Bed?‖ ―Yes.‖ Braelan carried him there. A good thing, because he wasn‘t sure he could walk that far.

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Chapter Six Braelan lay on the surprisingly comfortable substitute for a bed, cradling the semiconscious River beside him. Three times he‘d taken the man—each time longer, sweeter than the last. And the mysteries surrounding this human deepened as rapidly as his lust for him. Not once had he sensed a single thought or emotion from River. Even sex, the most intimate of acts, could not penetrate whatever walls the man had wrapped around his mind and his heart. He knew only what he heard in River‘s voice—his cries—or saw in those enigmatic eyes. Right now they were half-closed and heavy with spent passion. He preferred that to the wariness, the fury and shame that could ignite them at times. River stirred a bit, and his eyes opened fully, watchful for a moment. At last he said, ―You‘re still here.‖ ―I am.‖ He smiled. ―Did you expect me to vanish?‖ ―Well…yeah, kinda.‖ A smirk lifted his mouth. ―We‘re not going again, are we?‖ ―Not just yet.‖ River let out a groan. ―I was right the first time,‖ he said. ―You are trying to kill me. You‘re going to fuck me to death.‖ ―I would not hurt you.‖ ―It was a joke. Mostly.‖ River propped himself up on an elbow and gave him a searching look. ―Why do you keep saying that, anyway? That you won‘t hurt me, I mean. Makes it sound like you‘re trying to convince yourself.‖

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His heart stuttered, just as it had when the man had suggested that he was a prince. River‘s perception was uncanny. He did fear hurting him. After all, he was no stranger to inflicting violence. For decades he had abused and tormented Uriskel, believing the Fae to be just another of the twisted Unseelie race, who had betrayed his own kind and been sentenced to serve the Seelie court. His own father had encouraged him to punish Uriskel for the slightest infractions, insisting that the Unseelie would turn on him, even destroy him, given the opportunity. He had been content to go along with it, had beaten and humiliated the red-haired Fae countless times. And Uriskel had taken the abuse without question; his life had depended on his silence, thanks to the king‘s threats. When he‘d discovered that Uriskel was not full Unseelie, but a halfling, the result of a forbidden union between Seelie and Unseelie—and that they shared the same father—something in his soul had shattered. Though Uriskel claimed to forgive him, he could not forgive himself. ―Braelan. You still in there?‖ He shook his head slightly to clear the thoughts and tried to recall what River had asked him. Something about hurting him. He certainly couldn‘t explain anything about Uriskel. ―I want to be sure that you trust me,‖ he said at last. ―In case you still believe I seek revenge.‖ River said nothing, though his eyes darkened, and he averted his gaze. Deciding a change of subject was in order, Braelan reached out and traced one of River‘s scars, a thick oblong patch of pale skin along the left side, just below the ribs. ―What made this?‖ ―Oh, no. You don‘t get to interrogate me.‖ Though he smiled slightly, his stare remained serious. ―You‘re not telling me anything about you, so I‘m returning the favor. It‘s better that way.‖ ―I‘ll tell you something, then.‖ ―Don‘t.‖

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The sharp tone made him reconsider, but he pressed on. ―Your name,‖ he said. ―You wanted to know how I learned it. Your friend Jules told me.‖ River scowled. ―Wait. You talked to Jules?‖ ―She wanted a light.‖ He smiled, remembering the female‘s standing offer. ―And a fuck.‖ ―Oh, Christ. Tell me you didn‘t.‖ ―Of course not. There is only one here I wish to fuck.‖ Even now his cock stirred toward readiness with the thought. By the gods, he had never desired anyone so strongly. But he‘d not suggest any more just yet. Fae had far greater stamina than humans, and he did not want to exhaust River to the point of pain. ―Well, you definitely did that.‖ River flushed a bit, cleared his throat, and glanced at the curtained window above the bed. ―Doesn‘t sound like it‘s raining,‖ he mumbled. ―Must be a storm coming. You smell that?‖ ―A storm?‖ ―Yeah, you know. Lightning. Rain on the wind. And something else…hell, I don‘t know what. But it‘s real damn…‖ His flush deepened. ―Nice.‖ Braelan‘s breath caught. Had River detected his mating scent? All Fae emitted a unique musk when aroused, but mortals generally could not sense it. His brothers‘ human lovers, Cobalt‘s Will and Uriskel‘s Trystan, had been able to detect their scents from the beginning. He attempted to calm himself. This was yet another subject he could not discuss with a human, particularly one he cared about. The risk of insanity was too great. ―Perhaps there is a storm approaching,‖ he said as casually as possible. ―Regardless of the weather, you‘ve not answered my question. I have confessed something to you.‖ He caressed the scar again. ―Now tell me how this happened. Please.‖ River‘s body stiffened. ―Why?‖ ―I told you. I‘d like to know you better.‖

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―No, you wouldn‘t. Trust me.‖ He pushed up fully, slid to the edge of the bed and sat facing away. ―Look, I‘m hungry. Starving, actually. How about we go out and grab something to eat?‖ He tossed a hesitant smile over his shoulder. ―I‘ll buy.‖ Braelan frowned. If he could not convince River to talk to him, he would never satisfy his fascinations. And he‘d never win the man over. But he‘d a feeling if he pushed now, River would close himself to him forever. And he was hungry, actually. ―Very well,‖ he said. ―I accept your offer. And perhaps afterward, you‘ll answer a question or two for me.‖ ―Yeah, maybe.‖ River looked away when he said it. ―Come on. I know a decent diner a few blocks from here. Decent meaning they serve edible food most of the time. We‘ll have to put some clothes on, though.‖ ―Now that is a shame. I enjoy seeing you without them.‖ River laughed, but there was little amusement in the sound. ―Nobody else does,‖ he said. ―Plus, there‘s that whole no shirt, no shoes, no service thing.‖ ―Of course.‖ He was not quite certain what that meant, but it seemed right to agree. He dressed and waited for River, hoping to make some progress over food. Perhaps the man would feel more comfortable speaking in a public area, where his privacy—as much as he appeared to manage here, at least—was not being invaded. And if he could not breach River‘s walls, he‘d a feeling the failure would hurt more than he‘d first suspected. He would not be able to leave this one for the next so easily as he‘d always done with the sexual partners he chose. River was different. Special. Someone, he feared, he could possibly love.

*** Milton‘s Place, five blocks from Monte‘s rathole, served breakfast twenty-four hours a day and burgers and fries when the shift cooks felt like making them. The diner also featured your choice of pie: apple or yesterday‘s apple. But it was fairly

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cheap, relatively clean, and no one cared who you were or what you did, long as your money was green. It was five in the morning when River led Braelan into the place. An hour earlier they would‘ve had the diner practically to themselves, but now a good handful of people out for coffee or a quick bite before the daily commute were scattered at the counter and a bunch of the tables. The steady rush of fans from the kitchen and the tinny music from overhead speakers drowned out the minimal chatter in the place. That was good, because River didn‘t want anyone to overhear their conversation. It would involve money. He‘d had a slight change of heart and brought an extra five hundred bucks to give to Braelan. That way, the man could get a room somewhere until he found whoever he‘d come here to meet in the first place. He picked a booth close to the exit so he could slip out quick when the time came. He wasn‘t sure what Braelan was playing at now, but the whole get-to-knowyou-better thing was laughable. The man was either making another run to get the money back or attempting pointless small talk before he went back to his life. But they‘d had sex, and now the night was over. Time to move on for both of them. Damn, did they have sex. Phenomenal mind-blowing sex. How Braelan had managed to get it up three times in a row was beyond him, but he sure as hell hadn‘t complained about it. Now, though, regret was starting to seep in around the edges. At least prison had managed to help him stop mourning Harry in favor of survival. They didn‘t like cops much in there. But Braelan had made him feel human again for a while, and he had nothing but the endless, unchanging struggle of street life to fall back on. Recovering wouldn‘t be easy. He did have a few grand to help him recover, though. So maybe he could swing it. A waitress headed for the table almost as soon as they‘d taken seats, with a half-full coffeepot in one hand, and two mugs and a bowl of plastic single-serve creamers balanced in the other. She was older, forty, maybe forty-five—faded and

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timeworn as the rest of the neighborhood. Barely glancing at them, she set the mugs and creamers down and said, ―Coffee?‖ ―Please,‖ River said and looked across the table at Braelan. ―You drinking coffee?‖ ―I…do not know. I‘ve not tried it yet.‖ The waitress looked up and did a double take when her gaze landed on Braelan. Faint color crept into her sallow cheeks. She smiled and said, ―Would you like to? I made it myself just a few minutes ago. Good and fresh.‖ Braelan returned the smile. ―I would.‖ ―Great.‖ She leaned over the table, a hell of a lot closer than she needed to be, and poured his mug full. ―What can I get for you this morning?‖ she said in a tone that suggested she didn‘t exactly mean food. ―Well, I believe my friend would also like coffee.‖ ―Oh. Right.‖ River frowned as the flustered waitress summarily dumped him a cup. Did everybody have this reaction to Braelan? It wasn‘t a stretch to believe. The man exuded sexuality and probably knew it. No wonder he acted like the Grand High Poobah of the Universe. He could have anyone he wanted, any time he wanted them. And it didn‘t make any damned sense at all that Braelan had chosen to have him. The waitress shot another hungry glance at Braelan, smoothed her apron and visibly tried to compose herself. ―You ready to order?‖ she said. ―I‘ll have the double plate with bacon, eggs scrambled, rye toast.‖ Mostly he wanted the love-struck waitress to leave. This was awkward enough without an audience. She scribbled it down, then turned to Braelan like she was afraid just looking at him would make her melt. ―How about you, hon?‖

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―The same, please.‖ ―You got it.‖ When she reluctantly left the table, River glanced around the diner, smirked, and shook his head. ―You can‘t help it, can you?‖ Braelan‘s brow furrowed. ―What?‖ ―You‘re like honey, and everybody else is a fly. Every female in the place is checking you out. A couple of guys too, and they look straight.‖ He shrugged. ―I‘d hate that kind of attention.‖ A slow smile formed on Braelan‘s lips. ―Yet the only attention I wish for is yours.‖ ―Yeah, well…‖ He cleared his throat and grabbed for the sugar packets at the back of the table. Rehashing what had happened between them would only make things harder. He didn‘t even want an explanation any more. The sooner Braelan left, the quicker he could forget everything and get back to shitty normal. He was good at forgetting. ―So are you a coffee snob, or what?‖ ―I do not understand.‖ ―You said you didn‘t know if you wanted any because you hadn‘t tried it yet. I thought maybe you‘re used to Starbucks or something. Double mocha espresso grande and all that shit.‖ Braelan cocked his head. ―I have never had coffee before. What are Starbucks?‖ ―You‘re shitting me.‖ He stared hard and saw nothing but confusion on Braelan‘s face. ―You‘ve never heard of Starbucks.‖ ―No.‖ His smile was slightly embarrassed. ―I am afraid I‘ve led something of a sheltered existence.‖ ―Obviously.‖ He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Damn it, he didn‘t want to know anything else about Braelan. Didn‘t want the how or why of this, wasn‘t at all curious about who this man was, where he came from, or where he was going. So

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he just wouldn‘t ask. He‘d move the discussion into neutral territory. ―Well, it‘s a shame your first coffee experience has to be diner sludge,‖ he said. ―This stuff‘s pretty bad even when it‘s fresh.‖ ―Is it?‖ Braelan gave his mug a distrustful stare. ―Why drink it, then?‖ ―Because it‘s coffee. It‘s what you drink when you need caffeine.‖ He ripped open two sugar packets, poured them in, and stirred. ―Like beer‘s what you drink when you need to stop being sober. It‘s not gourmet, but it gets the job done.‖ ―I see. And you add this to it?‖ Braelan took a packet from the holder. ―Sugar.‖ He smiled. ―I like sugar.‖ ―So have some.‖ Nodding, Braelan grabbed two more packets, hesitated, then tore them—right down the middle. A small cloud of sugar burst from his hands and rained abruptly on the table, nowhere near the cup. He scowled at the mess. ―What happened? Yours did not do that.‖ River almost choked trying not to laugh. ―Here,‖ he said, reaching for Braelan‘s mug. ―I‘ll get that for you. You want three, right?‖ He added three sugars, mixed the coffee, and pushed the cup back across the table. ―Man, you really are clueless.‖ ―In some matters, yes.‖ Braelan picked up the mug and took a tentative sip. His face contorted in comical disgust. ―It is terrible!‖ This time he did laugh. ―I warned you. Coffee‘s an acquired taste.‖ ―I am not certain I wish to acquire such a taste,‖ Braelan muttered. Then he took another sip. And another. ―What a horrible brew. And this is a popular beverage here?‖ ―Breakfast of champions. Here, give it to me.‖ Christ, what the hell country did he come from that didn‘t have coffee? Shaking his head, he took the mug from the man, added a few more sugars and three creamers. ―Try that,‖ he said. ―But don‘t gag yourself on it. There‘s no law that says you have to drink coffee.‖

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―Well, that is a relief.‖ With another suspicious glance, he drank a little and gave a tentative smile. ―Better,‖ he said. ―Nearly palatable.‖ ―Yeah. That‘s the word.‖ The waitress was approaching, this time bearing food. She set the plates down and immediately honed in her attention on Braelan. ―How‘s that coffee, hon?‖ ―It‘s fine,‖ River said before the man could give an answer. ―Thanks.‖ Fortunately, Braelan went along with him. ―Yes. Fine,‖ he echoed. ―All right. You just shout if you want anything else. Anything at all.‖ She sauntered away. Braelan didn‘t seem to notice the woman. He was busy looking at his overfilled plate like he wanted to seduce it and take it to bed with him. ―Wonderful,‖ he said. ―This, I recognize. Eggs and toast and bacon.‖ ―Just your basic breakfast.‖ River picked up a fork, hating the way he was practically drooling at the sight of food. This could‘ve been anything remotely edible and he‘d have the same reaction. Like Pavlov‘s fucking dogs. It was pathetic. He forced himself not to attack the food, to eat with a little restraint. Still, he‘d wolfed down half the plate before Braelan even finished his eggs. At least his stomach had stopped snarling like a rabid beast, but now it ached with distension, as though he‘d swallowed a pig whole. He grabbed his coffee cup with both hands, hoping it‘d keep him from devouring the rest immediately. Braelan caught his eye and smiled. ―So,‖ he said, ―shall we return to your place when we‘ve finished eating?‖ ―What?‖ River blurted before he could process the words. ―Or we could go to a hotel as I first suggested.‖ If Braelan had picked up on his shock, he didn‘t show it. ―Anywhere is fine, provided you are there.‖ ―Hold it, pal.‖ He gripped the mug tighter. ―You said one night. It‘s morning now.‖ Braelan‘s face fell. ―I thought we—‖

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―No. Whatever you thought, you‘re wrong.‖ Christ, why couldn‘t the guy leave well enough alone? He wasn‘t about to extend this thing, waste more time pretending he was just a regular guy having a fling with another regular guy. This was not his life. It couldn‘t be. Scowling, he shoved a hand into his pocket and came out with the five hundred. ―Here,‖ he said, tossing the folded bills on the table. ―I‘m not keeping all of it. That should get you wherever you need to be. I earned the rest.‖ ―Did you, now?‖ Braelan made no move to touch the money, and the sadness in his features went as cold as his voice. ―This is truly all you wanted, isn‘t it? Money.‖ The man‘s reaction hit River like a kick in the groin. He wanted to deny it, to confess that he‘d enjoyed the night more than anything in years—and he craved more. What was left of his heart would probably shrivel and die without more. But this was an out he couldn‘t pass up. If taking this direction meant Braelan would stop playing at wanting him, he‘d lie his ass off. ―Yeah, that‘s about it,‖ he forced himself to say. ―I told you that right from the start. Haven‘t changed my mind. You got what you wanted; I got what I wanted. Now we‘re done.‖ ―And you felt nothing for me.‖ He couldn‘t look at the man. ―No. Nothing.‖ After a few seconds of awkward silence, River slid out of the booth. He‘d brought a hundred along for himself, and he fished two twenties out and tossed them on the table. ―That‘ll cover breakfast,‖ he said. ―I‘m gone, Braelan. Don‘t come looking for me again. Next time, that gun‘s going to be loaded.‖ He walked out. Forcing himself not to look back just about killed him, but he managed. This was for the best. It wasn‘t like Braelan would pine away for him; this little fling was just a blip in the man‘s sexual radar. Hell, he‘d probably be fucking someone else by the end of the day and forget all about the bum he‘d nailed a few times in some broken-down rathole. Eventually River would forget everything too. He didn‘t have another choice.

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Chapter Seven River didn‘t go directly home. It‘d be too easy for Braelan to follow him back and too hard for him to make the man leave. His body still burned with the memories of the night. He didn‘t trust himself to turn down an opportunity to fuck Braelan again if one was available, and that‘d be an even bigger mistake than the ones he‘d already made. Instead, he walked to the CVS a couple of blocks from the nearest subway entrance and picked up a few toiletries: soap, toothpaste, a comb. Though he wasn‘t hungry anymore, he grabbed a couple of cans of ready-to-eat soup and some peanut butter cups for later. Might as well splurge. And on the way back, he stopped at the liquor store again—this time for blacklabel Jack. Straight-up hard whiskey. He was determined to drink himself into oblivion, if only to stop hurting for a while. By the time he returned to the building, his body had abruptly remembered he‘d been up all night, and it really didn‘t want to cooperate. He could barely keep his eyes open. He dragged up the fire escape stairs, entered the upstairs hallway and shuffled toward his room. Maybe he wouldn‘t need the Jack after all. Oblivion was about to take over anyway. He reached the door, dug out his key and froze. Someone had tacked a page from a newspaper to it. Metro section, front page. Today‘s Post. Halfway down, there was a big article with a headline shouting, ―EX-NYPD COP JOINS THE RANKS OF NEW YORK‘S CON ARTISTS: WHEN WILL THEY CLEAN UP OUR STREETS?‖

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There were two color photos with the article. One was his police academy shot. The other was him last night in Times Square, holding the broken glasses and gesturing—apparently with anger—at the elderly, bespectacled woman he‘d almost managed to scam before the goddamned reporter stuck his nose in. Asshole must‘ve taken the shot right before he confronted him. Some knight in shining armor. ―Son of a bitch!‖ Dropping his bag of stuff, he snatched the page down and scanned the article. The first half was all about him—Robert Jarvis, 36, decorated New York cop, convicted of involuntary manslaughter in the death of his partner Harold Mitchell, served four years of a ten-year sentence, whereabouts unknown after his release two years ago, blah blah etcetera. Fucking hell. Then he got to the part where the reporter mentioned a source who ―declined to be identified‖, that confirmed one Robert Jarvis now went by the name of River— and gave the street address where he lived. Fury displaced his exhaustion. He looked at the byline and seared the name of the bastard who‘d written this into his memory: David MacShayne. The nice Irish boy. If he ever saw the guy again, he‘d do a lot more than threaten him. That went for the goddamned source who declined to be identified too. A bullshit line like that meant whoever gave the information was someone he knew. That really pissed him off. ―There you are. I‘ve been waiting for you.‖ River whirled at the voice behind him, for half a second thinking, almost hoping, it was Braelan. It wasn‘t. ―Monte,‖ he said. ―You stuck this piece-of-shit rag to my door?‖ ―Guilty as charged.‖ Monte put a hand on his chest and bowed his head, letting strings of greasy black hair fall in front of his face. He wore his good clothes today, a secondhand suit with a vest and tie but no jacket, the formerly sharp creases down the front of the shirt relaxed to slightly uneven ridges. He‘d been out scamming respectable people, then. Monte thought the suit made him look like P.T. Barnum, when in reality he had a stronger resemblance to a circus clown in it. But he was a

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smooth talker, forceful and quick-thinking, and that usually made up for his appearance. ―The fuck you do that for?‖ River said. Monte looked up, his angular face full of false concern. ―My dear friend—‖ ―Don‘t ‗dear friend‘ me, Monte. I‘m not a mark.‖ ―We‘ll skip the pretenses, then.‖ The concern dropped away. ―You have to leave.‖ ―Because of this?‖ He waved a dismissive hand. ―No, I‘ll be fine. I did my time legally. Nobody‘s going to come after me, and if a few punks want to mess with me, I can handle it. They‘ll get tired and fuck with somebody else soon enough.‖ He turned to unlock the door. ―River.‖ He glanced back. There was a menacing glint in Monte‘s dark eyes. ―I don‘t think you understand.‖ Monte‘s hand strayed to a pocket. ―You‘re moving out. Today. Right now, in fact.‖ ―What?‖ ―I‘m sure you heard me.‖ River‘s lip curled. ―You‘re kicking me out over this crap?‖ He shook the newspaper page. ―Think of it as a relocation, for the sake of safety.‖ ―Come on, Monte—‖ ―It‘s funny, you know. You never mentioned you were a police officer.‖ He pronounced the words like they were curdled milk in his mouth. River snorted. ―Yeah. Must‘ve left that spot blank on the rental application I filled out for this shithole. Oh, wait—you don‘t do paperwork, do you? Gee, Monte, that might be illegal.‖ He blew out a breath. ―Look, it doesn‘t fucking matter. I‘m not a cop anymore.‖

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―But you were.‖ Monte‘s hand twitched in his pocket, and at once River knew he had a weapon in there. ―They printed this address. My address. I have children to think about here, and I‘m not going to put them in danger.‖ His gaze hardened. ―Bullshit. You‘re covering your own ass.‖ ―Well, yes. There is that.‖ ―You‘re a piece of shit. And a fucking coward.‖ Monte released an exaggerated sigh. ―I know you won‘t believe me, but I do feel terrible about this. I just can‘t risk—‖ ―Spare me,‖ he snarled. ―You‘re right. I don‘t believe you.‖ All the manufactured empathy drained out of Monte. ―Unlock the door and give me the key.‖ River took his time folding the page and putting it in a pocket before he complied. He‘d save it for future reference. Maybe he‘d run across one rat bastard, otherwise known as David MacShayne, in an alley somewhere and take this out on him. He unlocked the door, manhandled it open and held the key out to Monte, resisting the childish urge to throw the damned thing down the hall. ―You want me to bend over now, so you can fuck me some more?‖ he said evenly. A deep red flush stained Monte‘s neck. He took the key and said, ―You‘ve got thirty minutes to pack. I know it won‘t be a big job for you.‖ He sneered, then backed off a little and tried again to feign regret. ―Look, River, don‘t worry about the rent you owe me. You don‘t have to pay it up.‖ ―I didn‘t plan on it.‖ He turned his back, picked up his bag. ―I‘ll be out in five,‖ he said. ―And if I were you, Monte, I‘d make damn sure you never see me again.‖ With that, he walked inside and slammed the door shut. He leaned back against the door, acid churning in his gut, and waited until he heard Monte walk away. For a few minutes he did nothing but stand there and breathe. Shit, this couldn‘t be happening. In less than twenty-four hours, he‘d had his past dredged up and his face rubbed in the mess—twice—rediscovered his heart

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just so he could break it again, and lost the only home he‘d known for two years. He‘d never find another place like this to take him, especially if they read the fucking newspaper. He could barely manage to scrape together the rent here, and Monte ran the cheapest shitty rooms in the city. Now he‘d be literally on the streets. Sleeping in Dumpsters. He‘d be dead in a year, if he was lucky. Crazy if he wasn‘t. At least he still had the money. If he was careful, he could stretch it out and keep from starving for a few months, maybe grab the occasional sleazy motel room for a night or two. A bed would have to be an indulgence from now on. And he‘d have to hustle his ass off constantly, try to stay ahead of the game. Once he fell behind, he‘d never catch up. He rummaged through a pile of ruined clothes he‘d meant to try salvaging someday and found the battered canvas backpack that was the only thing they‘d returned to him when he got out of prison. It contained an old wallet—no money, of course, but he had a few pictures of Harry in there, and the matching silver bands Harry had gotten for them. The rings were thick and dull, inscribed with a bunch of symbols that looked vaguely Celtic. He was pretty sure they were antiques. It was a minor miracle he‘d gotten them both back. A sympathetic beat cop, who happened to be in the closet too, made sure the rings were placed with his stuff. There wasn‘t much else here he wanted. He tucked the bag of recent purchases in the backpack, then shoved the rickety little table beside the chair out of the way. Pulling his knife, he knelt and pried up the board he‘d hidden the money under. The space beneath was empty. ―No.‖ Barely aware he‘d spoken aloud, he shoved the board back down, waited, and then pried it open again—like that would make it come back. It didn‘t work. He lay down on the floor and reached into the space, twisting and reaching his arm as far as he could get it in every direction. Felt nothing but air and wispy strands that were probably cobwebs, a layer of dust beneath his fingertips, and

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finally the warped floor joists. No stacks of unmarked, untraceable twenties that represented his survival for the next few months. Choking back a desperate sob, he sat up and fixed the empty hole with a dull stare. How? No one had seen him stash it. He hadn‘t gotten a chance to pay the rent, so not even that prick Monte knew he had money. No one did. Except Braelan. The hollowed pit of his stomach filled with slow burning rage. Braelan had known where the money was. Even if he‘d been lying when he said he knew from the start, he‘d been here when River took the six hundred out before they left for breakfast. But they‘d gone straight to the diner after that. Wait. No, they hadn‘t. River had gone to the bathroom first, and Braelan had waited in the room. He‘d let his guard down, and Braelan had taken advantage of it. Probably like he planned from the beginning. And since he made sure not to learn a damned thing about the man, he couldn‘t track the bastard down and demand it back. Fast as it‘d come on, the fury drained away. He‘d been played. Now he would pay the price for letting himself get suckered. Damn it, he knew there was no way a man like Braelan could‘ve wanted him. It hurt, more than anything he‘d ever imagined, to be proved right. He got to his feet mechanically, shouldered the bag that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and headed out into the world that had taken everything from him.

*** It had taken the better part of the day for Braelan to make his way to the place he‘d intended as his destination from the beginning. He‘d remained in the diner for over an hour, stunned and stricken by River‘s departure. Eventually the female had stopped attempting to engage him, and then a large male in a stained shirt had come to the table and demanded that he pay for the food and leave.

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He‘d almost left the rest of the money behind, until he remembered he would need it for traveling and possibly for persuading humans to give him information. He had seen that done in several movies. After the diner, he‘d wandered the streets of the city aimlessly. He had nearly decided to return to River‘s home, since he remembered how they‘d come, but he‘d no desire to attempt reaching the man again. After all, River had made it clear that he cared nothing for the night they shared and wanted only money—that cursed commodity every human seemed to crave above all else. Trystan, the human who had escorted him on his last visit, wanted nothing more than money from him as well. And then Trystan had fallen in love with Uriskel, whom he‘d brought along as a bodyguard. Bringing Uriskel had proved to be the only good decision he‘d ever made. His half brother had not only quite literally saved his life, but also helped him to discover the deception that had comprised his entire existence until that point. In return, he‘d set Uriskel free from his forced duties to the Seelie court and dared his father to overturn his decree when he returned to the realm armed with the truth. The Seelie king had not fought him. Braelan would have been grateful—if he did not despise his father so. His wandering had gotten him hopelessly lost. He‘d not cared, until he realized that the sun had begun to set and the moon would soon rise. He still had enough presence of mind to understand the danger he faced in this realm under the light of the moon when any Fae bearing ill will toward the court could destroy him. And since most enemies of the realm had been banished here, the chances of meeting such a Fae ran high. By watching the humans, he‘d learned how to summon a taxicab. However, since he‘d not known the address of Cobalt‘s tattoo studio, it had taken several attempts to find someone who was familiar with the Grotto. One of the cab drivers had actually taken him to a place with the same name, but that Grotto was a house of sex, filled with naked dancing females and overstimulated males.

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Now, at last, he stood before the entrance to Cobalt‘s place, where his half brother lived in an apartment above the studio with his human lover, and he was hesitant to go inside. Cobalt would be working at this time of the evening, in one of the three glass booths where he and the other artists of the Grotto plied their trade for the constant audience that came to watch. Beyond that, he was not certain that Cobalt would be pleased to see him. He‘d not been kind or welcoming toward the lowborn Seelie in the past—had, in fact, led the court session that voted to banish Cobalt to the human realm on charges of having an intimate relationship with an Unseelie. And they‘d never even brought Cobalt before the court. They‘d simply decided his fate without allowing him to speak for himself. Of course, he knew now why that decision was made. They could not have permitted him to lay eyes on Cobalt, or his father‘s secrets would have been exposed. But he could not remain on the sidewalk all night. Drawing a breath to steel himself, he pulled the door open and stepped through. The room directly inside the door served as a checkpoint, both to keep the studio from being overrun by adoring humans and to help guard against discovery by the wrong Fae. The laws of the realm still applied here: No Fae could enter another‘s dwelling without a direct invitation. However, Braelan had already been invited once before, and apparently Cobalt had not rescinded his permission. There was a familiar figure in the small room seated behind a table. The youth, Malik, served Cobalt in several capacities. Braelan had never been clear on what those capacities were, but the boy seemed pleased with his work. Malik had watched him enter. When he approached the table, the youth looked at him and then stared. ―Cobalt? But…okay, that‘s strange. I‘m sorry, sir. You look a lot like him.‖ ―Yes.‖ He braved a smile. ―Cobalt is my brother.‖ ―You are?‖ Malik blinked once. ―You‘ve been here before,‖ he said.

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―I have.‖ ―You‘re the one that crazy man attacked inside last year. Right?‖ He shivered at the memory. Finn—an Unseelie hired by his father‘s advisor to assassinate him. Finn had tracked him to the Grotto, to the inner studio. And there, Uriskel had saved him and nearly died himself in the process. ―Yes,‖ he finally said. ―That was me.‖ Malik smiled. ―You‘re on the permanent permission list. Go on inside.‖ ―Thank you.‖ Cobalt had left instructions to allow him entry? He hoped that was a good sign. With a nod of acknowledgment, he pushed through the next door. This room was much larger, darker—and noisier, filled with talk and laughter and recorded music. There were many round tables surrounded with chairs, most of them occupied by the Grotto‘s primarily human audience. However, there were often a few Fae among the crowd because Cobalt allowed those seeking haven from enemies to find safety here. At the far end of the room, all of the glass booths were occupied. Cobalt stood in the center one, and a nearly naked female lay on the bench positioned beside him. He was apparently applying a tattoo to her breasts. Braelan started forward, seeking an empty table to wait until Cobalt was through. The task proved difficult. He‘d nearly reached the booths when he spotted more familiar faces—or rather, they spotted him. ―Braelan!‖ The male of the couple at the corner table stood and gave a cheerful wave, beckoning him over. ―Good on ya, mate. Didn‘t think we‘d see you here again for an age or so. Isn‘t that right, love?‖ The female seated beside him rolled her eyes, but she smiled. An instant later she met Braelan‘s gaze, and her expression wavered. He moved to the table and tried for a pleased look. It did not quite take. No doubt Shade, the female, had sensed his sorrow and tumultuous thoughts. She was a Sluagh, a dark psychic Fae race that often communed with the dead.

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Her mate, Nix, was a Pooka—shapeshifter and trickster. The two races did not mingle, and so they had come to the human realm in search of freedom. They‘d found it and had also been fast friends with Cobalt for many years. Nix held a hand out in greeting, as he always did. When Braelan took it, a frown tugged at the Pooka‘s perpetual grin. ―I don‘t need my wife to tell me something troubles you,‖ he said. ―And that mark on your mouth says it‘s not a passing cloud. Sit a spell and unburden yourself. Spare no details.‖ Nix gave a wink. Shade elbowed his leg. ―Knock it, you bloody tool.‖ ―She‘s learned a new word.‖ Smiling again, Nix resumed his seat. Braelan pulled out a chair and sat down. He‘d nearly forgotten about the injury River had inflicted. The visible one, at least. ―I thank you for the welcome,‖ he said. ―Do you know… Will Cobalt be long?‖ ―I should think not. He‘s been at her an hour. The poor girl‘s got to be tired of the needle by now.‖ Nix shot a sidelong glance at Shade, who seemed to communicate something to him without a word. ―We‘ll be taking our leave when he‘s through. We‘ve a hot date, the wife and I.‖ Despite his lingering depression, the comment drew a smile. ―Do you, now?‖ ―Aye. Some flick about everlasting love she wants to see. Scintillating stuff.‖ Braelan winced. The notion of love was not one he cared to discuss at the moment. Nix caught the expression. ―Ah, so that‘s the problem,‖ he said. ―Females. More trouble than they‘re worth sometimes, aren‘t they?‖ ―Nix.‖ Shade glared black at him. ―He‘s in no state to take advice from you. Have some respect. His wounds run deep, and he needs his brothers, not some hopeless git who can‘t sort morose from melancholy.‖ ―Sorry, love.‖ Nix appeared quite unabashed. Braelan stared at the Sluagh. It was the most he‘d ever heard her speak at once, and her incisive words both stunned and touched him. They also worried him.

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How much could she sense? Did she know every miserable detail of his thus-far disastrous arrival in the human realm? ―No, she does not.‖ Shade offered a gentle smile. ―I hear only those thoughts that wish to be heard. Pardon my directness, Braelan. My mate‘s a hardheaded sort who‘d quite happily shove a foot in his mouth and gnaw on it, if I didn‘t spell things out for him.‖ ―Aye, she‘s right,‖ Nix said with a grin. ―I‘m a lost cause.‖ ―Understood.‖ He relaxed a bit. ―So, where is Will this evening?‖ ―At the station, doing his show. He‘s become quite the popular one. Now it‘s three hours a night, every one but Saturday. That night‘s reserved for Cobalt.‖ Nix settled back in his chair. ―Apparently there‘s been talk of television, but our Will‘s resisting. Claims he‘s a face fit for radio. Cobalt disagrees.‖ Braelan smiled. ―He would.‖ Another question formed, but he was hesitant to ask. The answer could be painful, particularly if there was no answer. But he could not simply ignore it. He drew a breath and said, ―How is Uriskel?‖ ―Cranky as ever.‖ Nix let out a laugh. ―He‘s well, though. He and Trystan have a shop a few blocks down from here. Art gallery, if you can beat that, and a successful one. It seems Trystan has a talent for rendering—and Uriskel‘s a natural-born critic. The up-and-comers flock to have him tear them down.‖ Shade‘s lips twitched slightly as though in pain. ―He bears you no malice,‖ she said. ―Well, he should. He‘s every right to.‖ Braelan closed his eyes. Here was another topic he‘d not wanted to discuss—not yet. Facing Uriskel would be inevitable. But he‘d deal with that when the proper time came, and with his brother. At the least, he wanted to give the news that the Seelie king would never interfere with Uriskel‘s life again. He could offer him that. ―Here‘s our host, then.‖ Grinning, Nix nodded toward the end of the room.

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Braelan nearly couldn‘t bring himself to turn. He stood first, squared his shoulders. Though he could not read the thoughts of the Fae as he did with humans, he‘d be able to sense Cobalt‘s reaction to his presence here. He prayed it was favorable. Another rejection on the heels of River‘s harsh dismissal would break him. He felt Cobalt before he looked, a wash of kindness and joy tinged with curiosity. At last, he pivoted to see his brother. Ah, gods. There he was—the brother he‘d never been permitted to meet, who resembled him so strongly that he‘d known Cobalt was kin the instant he first laid eyes on him. They shared the same coloring, the same facial structure. Beyond the physical, though, Cobalt was everything he was not. Loving, gentle, strong, and courageous. The mild interest on Cobalt‘s face turned to surprise and then spread in a beaming smile. He rushed forward and threw his arms around Braelan. ―By the gods, it‘s good to see you,‖ he said. ―I was convinced the damned court would never let you return here.‖ ―Ciaràn.‖ He whispered Cobalt‘s true name and returned the embrace, fighting the urge to weep with relief. His tongue refused further words. Cobalt squeezed for an instant and stepped back. ―Look at you. You‘ve gained a bit of confidence since your last visit.‖ ―I have gained something, but I‘d not call it that.‖ He gave a weak laugh. ―I‘ve missed you, brother.‖ ―Well, you‘re here now, so the missing is over. How long are you staying? Do you have a place? I‘ve an extra room upstairs, you know. You‘re welcome to it.‖ Cobalt paused for a breath. ―I‘m babbling, aren‘t I? It‘s just so wonderful that you‘re here. Will says I talk too much when I‘m excited.‖ ―He‘d be right on that.‖ Nix stood from the table, and Shade followed suit. ―Hello, Cobalt, and good-bye. We‘ll be off now.‖ Cobalt frowned at him. ―You‘re leaving?‖

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―Aye. You and Braelan have some talking to do, and I‘ve promised the light of my life to sleep through the flick she wants to catch.‖ Shade snorted. ―Pay no mind to him. He‘ll be weeping into his popcorn by the end, and I‘ll have to comfort him.‖ ―That‘s the goal, love.‖ ―You—‖ ―Underhanded scheming git? No…bloody insensitive bastard. Yes?‖ ―Exactly.‖ After the couple had gone, Braelan sat beside Cobalt and sighed. ―Thank you,‖ he said. ―I‘ll begin with that.‖ Cobalt‘s brow furrowed. ―For what?‖ ―For not despising me.‖ He hitched a smile. ―I‘ve not had the best of welcomes since my arrival in this realm. Your kindness is a boon.‖ Cobalt‘s gaze honed in suddenly on his mouth, and he gasped. ―Your face! How have I only just noticed? Let me heal you.‖ Before Braelan could protest, Cobalt reached over and held a hand just over his bruised jaw. The soothing tingle of magic eased the lingering soreness away. When Cobalt lowered his arm, Braelan touched the corner of his mouth reflexively. But the absence of pain did not diminish the ache in his heart. ―Thank you,‖ he said without much enthusiasm. ―Gods, Braelan.‖ Genuine concern etched Cobalt‘s features. ―Tell me what‘s happened.‖ He swallowed, clasped his hands together like a fledgling offering a bedtime prayer. And told him.

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Chapter Eight River sat at the base of the statue in front of the Port Authority at Eighth and Fortieth, watching the crowds without much hope. He‘d been in and out of this place for a few hours now—trying to carry bags or give directions for a couple of bucks, once or twice outright asking for money. So far he‘d collected one whole dollar. Generosity abounded in Manhattan tonight. He‘d have to move along in a minute. Couldn‘t wait for some bored cop to do it for him. For the next few weeks, maybe longer, he‘d have to be more cautious than usual when it came to the police, thanks to David-fucking-MacShayne. Not that many cops read the Post. Still, there‘d be one in every precinct who would find the article and pass it around, and they‘d all be furious about it. The piece had been a dig at the NYPD as much as a nasty slur against him. Any cop worth his salt would be itching to bust him if they happened to spot him on the streets. Hell, the ones at his old precinct were probably actively looking for him. Especially Bennett. That had been one of the bigger shocks in the nightmare following Harry‘s death. Joe Bennett, who‘d been a friend of both his and Harry‘s, had turned on him with the ferocity of a viper during the investigation. And he‘d lied his ass off in court, painting River as prone to violence, sloppy in his work, suspicious and shifty—generally a bad cop. The abrupt and vicious one-eighty had probably happened when it came out that he was gay. If Bennett was the one to find him, he‘d never even make it back to prison. The son of a bitch would just beat his ass into the ground. The thought spurred him to move. He hauled himself to his feet, slung his backpack and headed for the crosswalk, making it across Eighth just before the

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light changed. With no particular destination in mind, he walked past the towering white Times building toward the neon-drenched movie theater on the next block. He could keep going up Eighth, pass through Times Square and eventually hit Central Park. Hadn‘t been there in a while. He could probably find a place to grab a few hours of sleep. Or he could go down to the subway, lie on the tracks and let a train hit him. He was still reeling from the devastation of the last twenty-four hours. Last night he‘d been all right. Not great, but surviving. He‘d buried all the complicated shit that used to be his life. He had a room, enough money to eat once in a while, and no one to care about but himself. He‘d been numb. It was the best state of mind a human reject could get. If you felt nothing, you couldn‘t hurt. Now he‘d been awakened, run through the gamut of all the feelings he‘d made himself forget—pain, pleasure, humiliation, fury, desperation. He couldn‘t flip a switch and turn it all off. Couldn‘t even take an active role in suppressing them. If he‘d been a regular person, he might‘ve gone to the gym, called a friend to have a few drinks, taken a long hot bath, maybe started a bar fight or something. But his only real option was to walk around boiling in his own helplessness. While he waited to cross Forty-First, a figure standing in front of the theater caught his eye and set off his pigeon detectors. Looked like an older guy, alone, in an expensive sweater and slacks. He was leaning on the wall ten feet or so away from the entrance, smoking a pipe. He‘d give it a shot. Maybe the night wouldn‘t be a bust after all. The Walk signal flashed on, and River crossed with the crowd. He broke right and headed for the target, not making eye contact just yet. He‘d try the diabetes line. Old folks were usually sensitive to prescription drug problems. Even the rich ones bitched about insurance companies. He made himself look sick. He felt like shit, so it wasn‘t hard. Would‘ve been nice to have a little water to rub on his forehead and give the appearance of sweat, but he didn‘t have time for the extra touch.

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When he got close enough to see the guy clearly, he realized he wasn‘t old at all. Early, maybe midthirties at the most. Not the kind of man you‘d expect to see smoking a pipe. The guy had green eyes, blond hair, pretty-boy looks. He was smiling at nothing in particular. And for some bizarre reason, he reminded him of Braelan. Stupid. The guy looked nothing like him. Must‘ve been the prettiness; he‘d stopped noticing attractive men years ago. Braelan was the only reason he was seeing it now. The bastard. Well, the diabetes idea was out. He‘d go for the parking garage bit instead. Adjusting the backpack, he headed for the pigeon wearing an embarrassed little smile. Silly me, I lost my parking garage ticket and don’t have enough cash to pay full price. Can you help me out? The man looked right at him as he approached. Few people did that. Most of them averted their eyes, or suddenly decided they had somewhere else to be right that second. That direct, brilliant green gaze was a little disconcerting. ―Excuse me, sir.‖ River stopped in front of him. ―I‘m sorry to bother you, but can I—‖ ―Well, hello there.‖ There was a strange familiarity in the man‘s lilting, notquite-Irish voice, like River was an old friend he‘d happened to bump into. ―Fine night, isn‘t it?‖ ―Er. Yeah.‖ He blinked a few times. ―Listen, sir, I was wondering—‖ ―I‘m Nix.‖ ―Huh?‖ ―The name‘s Nix, not sir.‖ The guy flashed a grin. ―Who‘re you, then?‖ ―Jeff.‖ Hell, this wasn‘t going to work. The man was nuts.

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Nix raised an eyebrow. ―Is that right? Well, Jeff, good on ya. Sorry to interrupt, but I like to know who I‘m talking to. Now, you were wondering something. Let‘s have it.‖ He cleared his throat. ―See, my car is—‖ ―Just a sec, mate.‖ Nix turned toward the theater, raised a hand and called, ―Over here, love.‖ He held back a groan. Company killed the deal—not that there was going to be one in the first place. ―Sorry to bother you,‖ he said. ―I have to go.‖ ―Ah, hang around a minute. Meet the wife.‖ Every instinct in his head told him to bolt. But there was something comforting, even safe about this man. He felt practically compelled to stay. ―Right,‖ he muttered. ―The wife.‖ He glanced around and spotted a woman walking toward them. Well, more like gliding. She had the blackest hair he‘d ever seen and wore all black clothes, making her pale skin seem to glow. Her face was breathtaking, her eyes gray and penetrating. And unlike her husband, she wasn‘t smiling at all. The woman was downright creepy. If she told him she was a vampire, he‘d believe it. ―Here‘s the light of my life.‖ Nix grinned as the woman stopped by his side, silent as shadows. ―Shade, we‘ve a new friend. This is Jake.‖ ―Ma‘am,‖ he said weakly. His head was spinning. The woman stared at him, and her gaze seemed to pierce his soul—and find it lacking. ―Nice to meet you.‖ ―Odd, that.‖ Nix folded his arms. He must have put the pipe away somewhere. ―You didn‘t correct me, mate. Thought you said your name was Jeff.‖ Jesus, he couldn‘t think straight. Why was he talking to these people? He‘d been at the bus station. Someone gave him a dollar. There had been pigeons. They were pigeons. ―Parking garage,‖ he blurted, and some of the fog in his head lifted. He breathed deeply. ―I mean, I lost my ticket, you know? And now I can‘t get my car

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out unless I pay the top price. Twenty-five bucks, it‘s a damned rip off. I‘ve only got five. Can you help me out? I‘ve gotta get home.‖ Nix bestowed a smile on him, and the last of the confusion evaporated. ―Aye, we‘ll help you out,‖ he said. ―Know just what you need. Can you sense it, love? He‘s lousy with it.‖ ―Yes, and he‘s locked,‖ the woman said. ―Completely.‖ Nix beamed. ―What a treat! That sorts things, then. He‘s the one.‖ The one what? River shook his head. ―So…you‘ll help me?‖ ―Absolutely.‖ Nix laid a speculative gaze on him. ―You look hungry, mate. Come along for a nosh, and then we‘ll settle your car business and whatnot.‖ ―Aye,‖ Shade said softly. ―We will.‖ A shudder went through him, setting off a brief mental alarm. It vanished quickly. Nix was a good guy. Safe. He was going to help. The fact that he wasn‘t sure what he needed help with anymore barely penetrated as he followed the couple away.

*** By the time River realized something wasn‘t right, he stood with Nix and Shade in front of a place called the Grotto that didn‘t seem open for business. It took him a minute to remember what they were supposed to be doing. Getting food and then bailing out his nonexistent car. This place didn‘t look like it served food even when it was open. Restaurants had windows and menus and posted specials or familiar fast-food logos. This was just a plain brick building with a little sign over the door. Utterly deserted and silent. He smelled trouble. Nix pulled the door open. A faint glow inside, probably a security light, revealed nothing about whatever was behind the door. ―Come on in, then,‖ he said.

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―I‘ll pass.‖ River backed up a step. ―Look, I don‘t know who you are or what you want. I don‘t even know why I followed you here. But this is weird, and I gotta go.‖ He turned to leave, hoping he wasn‘t about to get knifed or shot and dragged inside anyway. ―Up to you, mate,‖ Nix said, and River heard the door shut. ―We just thought you might like to know where Braelan is.‖ He froze. ―What did you say?‖ ―Braelan. You‘re keen on finding him, aren‘t you?‖ Impossible. These people didn‘t know shit about him, not even his name, and the chances of him randomly bumping into someone who knew Braelan in this city were about a zillion to one. He turned back slowly. ―How the fuck did you know that?‖ ―You told us, mate. Said Braelan owes you something.‖ ―No, I damn well didn‘t.‖ ―Suit yourself.‖ Nix shrugged. ―But he‘s in there, upstairs.‖ His heart ramped up to thrumming speed. He told himself it wasn‘t from knowing Braelan was so close, didn‘t have shit to do with a lingering attraction to the bastard that he was sure would be gone soon. It was because he‘d have a chance to get the money back and stave off absolute desperation a while longer. But he had to be careful. If Braelan was actually in there, finding him like this was too convenient. Maybe he really was some kind of mob boss, and he‘d sent Nix and Shade out to bring him in. It was the only halfway reasonable explanation. And it‘d mean this building was their turf. Anything could happen if he went inside. He met Nix‘s patient, slightly amused gaze. ―Tell him to come out here.‖ Nix stared at him. And laughed. ―Oh, you are quite the interesting one! You‘ve no fear at all, do you?‖ Shaking his head, still chuckling, he pulled out a cell phone. ―Very well, then. I‘ll ring him up for you.‖

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While River waited, he shoved a hand in his pocket and curled it around his knife. Just in case. At this point he was beyond expecting normal things to happen. It took only a few seconds for Nix to get an answer. ―Cobalt,‖ he said. ―Can you send Braelan out round the front? He‘s a visitor to see him.‖ He paused. ―Poor man isn‘t sure what his name is. Might be Jeff or Jake.‖ Grinning, he sent River a wink, paused again. ―Aye. We‘ll hang about. Is he… ah, sounds like he knows, then. Thanks kindly, mate.‖ He disconnected and said, ―He‘ll be down directly.‖ ―Nix.‖ Though she was talking to her husband, Shade‘s eyes were focused on River. ―I don‘t like this. I sense trouble.‖ ―You sense trouble?‖ River snapped. ―Look, lady. I don‘t get what the deal is with you people, but this situation is seriously fucked up. You just happen to know Braelan and somehow convinced me to follow you around Manhattan and bring me to him. What? Out of the goodness of your heart? Bullshit. Something‘s going on here.‖ Shade gave him a withering glare. ―You tried to steal from my husband.‖ ―It‘s not stealing; it‘s borrowing.‖ ―To use your disgusting vocabulary, bullshit.‖ The woman bared her teeth, and he could‘ve sworn he saw fangs in there. ―You are a cad and a liar, and you‘ve no right to—‖ ―Whoa! Easy, my love. It‘s early yet.‖ Nix put an arm around Shade and drew her to his side. ―He‘d not have held me up at knifepoint or any such thing. Would you, Jeff?‖ The reference to exactly what he was holding in his pocket sent a jolt through him. Had to be just a coincidence. Jaw clenched, he relaxed his grip and tried to breathe evenly. ―You don‘t know shit about me, except that my name‘s not Jeff,‖ he said. ―And just to let you know, you never will. Yeah, I want to see Braelan. I have a question for him. Once I get an answer, I‘m out of here—and I‘d better not see you two wackos anywhere near me after this.‖

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Just as he finished talking, the door flew open and Braelan walked out. He glanced around, spotted River, strode over to him. Christ, the man still made his blood run hot with just the sight of him. He was halfway to hard already. Why couldn‘t his traitorous cock hate the guy as much as the rest of him did? Before River could spit out a single word, Braelan threw his arms around him and kissed him. His cock instantly made the leap to total hard-on, and he actually returned the kiss for a few seconds before he remembered that he was furious. He wrenched away with a scowl. ―Jesus, would you stop doing that?‖ ―You‘re here.‖ Braelan smiled like a kid on his birthday. ―I can scarcely believe my own eyes. Fate has returned you to me.‖ ―No, your goons returned me to you.‖ He gestured at Nix and Shade, who‘d pulled back from the confrontation. ―And you have something you need to return to me.‖ ―River… I do not understand.‖ The devastation on Braelan‘s face cut him to the bone. But he couldn‘t let it affect him. He had to get the money, then get the hell out of here before this shit got any weirder. ―You took the money,‖ he said. ―I told you I earned it, and I want it back. So either fork it over, or I‘ll help the cops figure out who broke into that ATM.‖

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Chapter Nine Braelan stared at River for a long moment. His heart had soared when he knew this had to be the visitor Nix meant. He‘d thought the human had changed his mind, perhaps realized how strong the attraction between them was and decided to try again. But the man was accusing him of stealing the money he‘d given him at the diner and threatening to turn him over to human law enforcement. He could not address River just yet. Instead, he turned to Nix and Shade, who‘d no need to hear this conversation—particularly since River had revealed that he‘d broken human laws. He‘d no idea what sort of morality the couple possessed, but he‘d a suspicion that his brother would not at all approve. ―Leave us,‖ he said. Nix raised an eyebrow. ―I‘ve told Cobalt we would stay.‖ ―Go and stay with him, then.‖ He spoke with more irritation than he‘d meant, and he attempted to calm himself. ―Please,‖ he said. ―I‘d like a private word with my…friend.‖ ―I‘m not your friend,‖ River said flatly. The words knotted his stomach—and surprisingly, drew a scowl from the perpetually cheerful Pooka. ―You may be right, love,‖ Nix said. ―I‘ve half a mind to drag him back where we found him.‖ ―You‘ll do no such thing.‖ Regardless of the accusations and threats, Braelan intended to sort through this situation. If there was the slightest possibility that River had been lying about his feelings—or perhaps denying them—he‘d chance this to find out. ―Go on,‖ he said. ―Your concern is appreciated, but misplaced. We‘ll be fine.‖

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Nix looked as though he‘d refuse again. Then he let out a sigh. ―All right. Should you need us, though, you know what to do.‖ He did know. Shade would receive any thought he wished to be heard. He‘d merely to think of a need for help, and she‘d know instantly. ―Aye, I will,‖ Shade said. ―You watch yourself, Braelan.‖ Once they‘d gone inside, he faced River and offered a sad smile. ―Perhaps I misunderstood your intentions, but you did tell me to take the money.‖ ―Yeah, the five hundred I gave you. Not the rest of it.‖ ―The rest?‖ he blurted. ―You mean what you‘d hidden in your room?‖ ―Oh, nice. You‘re real good at playing innocent, aren‘t you?‖ River folded his arms. ―Didn‘t even slip in a denial, just acted all wide-eyed and amazed. Hell, I bet you‘d even pass a polygraph with that act.‖ His shock gave way to anger. ―I never wanted the money. I‘ve told you that. I wanted—‖ ―Me, right?‖ River said with obvious disgust. ―Sure. You saw me in the subway and thought to yourself, damn, that is one hot bum. I‘d like to bang him six ways to Sunday. Come on, man. You want to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge too?‖ ―River, I…‖ Blast it, he was no good at this. He‘d always relied on his abilities to sense what would please his sexual partners, to give them what they wanted and persuade them to give what he wanted. But he could not read River at all—and he understood so little of humans and their behaviors, he could scarcely begin to guess what the man might be thinking. ―It is the truth,‖ he said at last. ―I was…I am attracted to you. More than I‘m able to explain. And I did not take the money.‖ He lowered his gaze, and his shoulders slumped. ―But if money is truly all you desire, I will obtain more for you.‖ ―You will?‖ River whispered the words. He looked up and met gray eyes that had darkened to the hue of a tempest sky. ―Yes,‖ Braelan said, ―if it pleases you, I‘ll do it.‖

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―Fuck!‖ River closed his eyes, and his hands clenched in tight fists. A muscle worked along his jaw. ―Why‘d you have to say that?‖ ―What? What have I done now?‖ ―You—‖ He made a frustrated sound, nearly a growl. ―Shit. Look, Braelan… I don‘t want you to steal more money for me, okay? I have no fucking idea what happened, but I believe you didn‘t take what I had. I was wrong. And I have to go.‖ ―Wait.‖ Desperation left him breathless. He‘d apparently said something right, but what? He could barely follow River‘s rapidly shifting emotions. ―Please stay.‖ ―Why, so you can screw me again? I‘ve been screwed enough today.‖ River cursed softly and looked away. ―All right, you didn‘t deserve that. I‘m sorry,‖ he said. ―The thing is, I can‘t play with you anymore. I‘m officially homeless as of this morning. Monte kicked me out. And since the money disappeared into a black hole or something, I need to go make more, or I‘m gonna starve to death.‖ Braelan‘s heart wrenched. ―If you cannot return to your room, where will you live?‖ ―Christ, don‘t you have homeless people in your country?‖ River released a bitter laugh. ―Everywhere. Nowhere. If I‘m lucky, I‘ll find a park bench to sleep on for a while before I get busted. On second thought, I can‘t even chance the park. So I‘ll sleep in the trash piles with the rest of the unwashed masses.‖ ―No.‖ A strange kind of smothering panic rose from Braelan‘s gut and caught in his throat, leaving him barely able to speak. ―You will not sleep in the trash. You‘ll stay with me.‖ ―What do you think this is, Adopt-a-Bum? I can‘t do that.‖ ―You‘ll stay with me!‖ The idea of allowing this strong, incredible human to wither and die on the streets was unthinkable. ―Please. I‘ll not screw you, if you do not wish to be screwed. Only stay and eat and sleep in a bed.‖ River went quite still. ―That‘s all, huh?‖ ―Yes. Anything you like.‖

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―I don‘t believe this.‖ River drew a deep breath and released it slowly. ―Okay. I‘ll stay tonight. I must be out of my goddamned mind, but I‘ll stay.‖ ―Thank you.‖ Braelan refrained from embracing the man, from thoroughly claiming his mouth as he‘d longed to do when he first saw him here. For the moment, it was enough that River would stay—because Braelan could not bear the alternative. He walked back to the door of the Grotto and held it open. ―Come in,‖ he said. River hesitated, then approached and stepped inside.

*** Exhaustion. That had to be it. River was too tired to argue anymore. That was the only reason he‘d agreed to put himself through this. Damn Braelan for offering to steal for him. That, more than anything, had convinced him the man hadn‘t taken the money. And made him realize that even if there was the slightest, insane chance he could be part of Braelan‘s life, he didn‘t deserve it. But here he was, spending another night with the man. Stupid. At least he knew it wasn‘t dangerous. Except to his heart. He‘d been right about the security light. It illuminated a small, mostly empty room with a table and chair to the right and two separate doors on the back wall. There was a closed black book on the surface of the table, nothing on the cover or binding. Whatever this place was, it looked like an invitation-only deal. The name did seem a little familiar. But he couldn‘t remember what he did or didn‘t know about the Grotto. Braelan closed the front entrance, moved past him and opened the door on the right. Beyond it were more security lights and a much larger space than this. ―Through here,‖ Braelan said. ―Everyone is upstairs.‖ ―Everyone?‖ he whispered.

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―Yes. Nix and Shade, Cobalt and Will.‖ This idea was sounding worse every minute. He knew Nix and Shade were up there, and he remembered Nix calling someone Cobalt on the phone, but the implications hadn‘t really penetrated until now. The last thing he needed was a bunch of people looking at him like some kind of zoo animal. The rare Domesticated Bum, captured from his natural habitat of New York alleys. Bring the kiddies. ―River?‖ ―Sorry.‖ He forced the mental tangent aside. He‘d already agreed to this. Might as well take advantage of the free bed. It‘d probably be the last one he‘d get for a while. Frowning slightly, he walked through the door. The main interior of the place was confusing at first. Tables and chairs filled a big open room, like a restaurant, but instead of plastic stands with menus or wine lists, every table had a big velvet-bound book attached to the center with a chain. Three darkened glass booths stood at the far end of the room, elevated a few feet so whatever went on in them could be seen from any of the tables. For a few seconds, he thought this was a high-end strip joint. The look-but-don‘t-touch type. Then he finally remembered what he‘d heard about the Grotto. It was a performance tattoo studio, an extremely popular place for the body art crowd, with exclusivity and long waiting lists to make it all seem less vulgar. They did the inking and piercing in the booths and let everyone watch. The place had been on the unofficial NYPD watch list since it opened ten years ago, but nothing illegal had been discovered about it. Yet. He stared at Braelan, who‘d come in behind him. ―I‘d never have guessed you did tattoos,‖ he said. ―Especially here.‖ Braelan blinked and then laughed. ―You‘d have been right, then. I do not ‗do‘ tattoos. This is Cobalt‘s place. He is my brother.‖ ―Oh.‖ At least that left the possibility that the man wasn‘t involved in anything that might go on here. Braelan started across the room, and he followed. ―So, is Cobalt the guy you planned to meet when you got into town?‖

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―Yes.‖ ―Did he do your tattoos, give you a family discount or something?‖ It took a minute for Braelan to answer, and when he did, his voice was strained. ―Unfortunately, he did not. I‘d have liked him to, though. He‘s quite the talented artist.‖ ―Yeah, I‘ll bet.‖ Falling silent, he trailed Braelan up a flight of stairs. At the top, it opened up onto a classy-looking apartment, all polished wood with black furniture and accents. A picture window that had to be on the back side of the building looked out over the river. It was a great view, the kind Manhattan property owners jacked up prices over. He wondered if this Cobalt guy actually owned the building. There were four people in the room, sitting on two black couches that faced each other over a low table. He recognized Nix and Shade. Of the other two, the taller black-haired one had to be Cobalt. No mistaking the family resemblance there. And he definitely participated in what he sold—there were tribal tattoos on his neck and the underside of his jaw, piercings all along the edge of one ear and a single stud in the other, a hoop in his lower lip. The man looked fierce. So that left Will, the other name Braelan had mentioned, seated next to Cobalt. Sandy brown hair, brown eyes, great-looking guy. None of the room‘s occupants looked happy to see him. Nix and Shade must‘ve told them what a bastard he was. Braelan strode into the room, and the little gathering stood collectively. After a brief mental battle over whether he should just bolt back down the stairs before they lynched him or something, River went after him reluctantly. ―Everyone, this is River,‖ Braelan said and stepped back to stand next to him. ―You know Nix and Shade. This is my brother, Cobalt, and his partner Will.‖ He should probably say something. ―Er. Hi.‖ Oh, brilliant. They already thought he was an asshole. Now they‘d think he was a moron too. ―Nice to meet you,‖ he added in a rush.

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No one reacted right away, and the moment stretched into tension so thick it almost made him squirm. Then Cobalt broke out in a warm smile. ―Hello, River,‖ he said. ―I‘m pleased to meet you as well. Welcome to the Grotto.‖ Relief rushed through him. Cancel the torches and pitchforks. ―Thanks.‖ ―I love your name,‖ Will said, offering a shy smile of his own. ―Like River Phoenix, right?‖ He snorted. ―Yeah. Something like that.‖ It‘d probably be a bad idea to mention that it was a prison nickname. Cobalt draped a possessive arm around Will. Or maybe protective. ―Well, Braelan, I don‘t suppose you remembered to lock the front door.‖ ―Ah…no. My apologies.‖ ―On it, mate,‖ Nix said. ―We‘re headed out, so we‘ll sort it on the way through.‖ ―I‘d appreciate it.‖ Nix went around hugging everyone, saying good-bye, while Shade just watched him. After he embraced Braelan, he turned to River and held out a hand. ―No hard feelings,‖ he said. ―We‘re concerned for our own, is all. You understand, don‘t you, mate?‖ ―Sure. I get it.‖ He shook a bit harder than necessary. Way to rub it in his face that he wasn‘t part of their little group here. ―Thanks a lot.‖ Nix held his gaze along with his hand and spoke in low tones. ―I like everyone until I‘m given a reason not to,‖ he said. ―Don‘t give me a reason.‖ He sneered and pulled his hand away. ―Perish the thought.‖ Nix offered a casual shrug and walked past him toward the stairs. Shade swept after him, spearing a glare at River along the way. He didn‘t breathe until they were gone. If Braelan noticed that he‘d just been threatened, he didn‘t let on. ―Cobalt,‖ he said, ―I hope you‘ll not mind if River stays with me tonight.‖

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―Of course not.‖ Cobalt smiled again, but there was something brittle in the expression. ―Why don‘t you come and sit down, and we‘ll chat for a while?‖ River bit his lip. ―Um. Actually, if it‘s okay, I‘d really like to just get some sleep.‖ He was definitely tired. But more than that, he had a feeling any ―chat‖ would be Cobalt grilling him about who he was, what he did, and why he was hanging around Braelan. Brothers did that sort of thing, especially big brothers— and Cobalt seemed the older of the two. He‘d been a big brother in his former life, so he knew all about it. Cobalt nodded once. ―All right, then. We can talk in the morning.‖ Damn. The guy wasn‘t going to let him off the hook. He really hadn‘t wanted to ditch Braelan without saying good-bye, but he might have to sneak out tomorrow. Find a back door or something. He couldn‘t let anyone get close to him. ―Sure,‖ he mumbled. ―Morning works for me.‖ Braelan turned to him with a grin and grabbed his hand. ―Come with me,‖ he said, slightly breathless. ―I‘ll show you the room.‖ ―Right.‖ He had to work not to reflexively pull his hand away. As Braelan led him past the couches toward the doors at the front end, Will said, ―Good night, River. I‘m looking forward to talking tomorrow.‖ ―So am I, love.‖ Cobalt gave him an intense look. ―Very much so.‖ He looked away and concentrated on Braelan until they were safely in the room with the door closed, then let out a breath and tried to relax. ―I don‘t think your brother likes me,‖ he said. Braelan‘s smile wavered. ―Of course he does,‖ he said. ―He simply wishes to know you better. As do I.‖ ―Yeah, I‘m sure that‘s it.‖ He wouldn‘t push the issue right now. Ignoring the sexual implications in Braelan‘s tone, he sighed and looked around the bedroom. There was a blue theme going on in here—light blue walls, dark blue carpet, thick

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blue blankets and pillows on a queen-size four-poster bed. Dark wood dresser and nightstand. ―Nice digs,‖ he said and pointed to a door at the back. ―Closet?‖ ―That is the bathroom,‖ Braelan said. ―Really.‖ All at once, nothing sounded better than a long dousing with actual hot water instead of piss-warm, and hopefully more pressure behind it than the drizzling excuse for a shower at Monte‘s place. He hated to ask. It‘d sound like begging. But he couldn‘t pass up the possible opportunity. ―So, uh… Think I could maybe jump in the shower real quick?‖ Braelan smiled. ―Of course. Take all the time you‘d like.‖ ―Thanks, man.‖ He let himself into the bathroom, found a light switch and closed the door, then took a minute to lean against it and collect himself. After six years of prison and street life, he just wasn‘t cut out for social situations anymore. There were expectations he couldn‘t meet. Like small talk. What the hell was he supposed to say when they inevitably asked what he did? Full-time hustler didn‘t sound real impressive. He started to undress and tried to look forward to the shower. Maybe the water would wash away some of the lingering filth he felt coated with after comparing himself to Braelan‘s support group out there. In any case, he wouldn‘t have to deal with them much longer. He‘d take off tomorrow—if Cobalt didn‘t throw him out first.

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Chapter Ten While River used the shower, Braelan returned to the main room to speak with Cobalt for a moment. He was not angry, exactly, but his brother‘s behavior puzzled him. After the comments River had made outside, when the human still believed he‘d stolen his money, he understood why Nix had not been pleasant. But it was not like Cobalt to act suspiciously toward someone he did not know. He assumed good in everyone, unless his assumptions were proven wrong. It was how he‘d allowed the murderous Finn to enter the Grotto. Cobalt had granted haven to the Unseelie long before Braelan‘s arrival, wanting to believe he‘d some redeemable quality in him. And he had also invited Braelan inside, when he still thought of him as nothing more than a royal brat—which he certainly had been—and had known how horrendously he‘d treated Uriskel. He was not certain why Cobalt apparently did not extend the same courtesy to River. Cobalt was alone in the loft, tidying up. Will must have gone ahead to their bedroom. He cleared his throat and waited until Cobalt looked his way. ―River believes you do not like him,‖ he said. ―Is this true?‖ ―Oh, Braelan.‖ Cobalt sighed, and his features knit with concern. ―Do you have a minute? Come and sit with me.‖ He joined Cobalt on the longer couch. ―You‘ve not answered me.‖ ―No. I mean that‘s true, I haven‘t. It‘s not an easy question, nor does it have a straightforward answer.‖ ―This is not like you, Cobalt.‖ He frowned. ―Did Nix tell you that River was…well, rather coarse with me outside? Because he‘d good reason to be.‖

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Cobalt hesitated. ―He did, and he told me of River‘s attempt to swindle him,‖ he said slowly. ―But I‘m not holding those things against him. It‘s you I‘m worried about.‖ He leaned forward, wearing an earnest expression. ―I‘ve no wish to see your heart broken.‖ ―That is kind of you, and I do appreciate your concern.‖ He offered a slight smile. ―I care for him, Cobalt. From the moment I first saw him, something in his eyes called to me. I do not understand much of it, really, but I cannot help trying to know him, to reach him. He is incredible. And if my heart is broken, at least it will have broken in my attempts, and not from letting him go.‖ For an instant, Cobalt looked as if he might cry. ―You‘ve gained so much since I last saw you, and you‘ve changed for the better. You‘re a hundred times stronger, wiser, and more compassionate. Yet in many ways, you‘re still so innocent.‖ He shuddered. ―I am not innocent. I‘ve done unspeakable things.‖ ―Yes, but you‘ve realized you were wrong. There are so few who‘ll not only admit to their mistakes, but learn and grow from them.‖ Cobalt patted his knee. ―Besides, I was referring to your innocence regarding particular matters.‖ ―Oh?‖ He folded his arms. ―And what particular matters would those be?‖ ―Braelan… How many humans have you known? I mean truly known: what they do, how they live, their likes and dislikes, their habits and vices. At the least, more than a first name and a physical appearance.‖ ―That is not fair, Cobalt.‖ ―Isn‘t it? You‘ve spent so little time here, brother. You‘re not well informed.‖ Cobalt‘s mouth pinched in a tight frown. ―Not all humans are pleasant. There is much deception, immorality, and even downright evil among mortals.‖ ―Is that right?‖ Now he was beginning to anger. ―And you believe River is deceptive, immoral, and evil.‖ Cobalt shook his head. ―You don‘t understand—‖

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―What? How is this something to understand?‖ Braelan stood from the couch, his fists clenching involuntarily. ―You know nothing of him. Why do you assume he must be evil? You did not believe this of Trystan, and he was a prostitute!‖ ―Easy, brother.‖ Cobalt held out a hand. ―I never thought your friend evil. I merely meant that humans like him are usually best avoided. They are trouble.‖ A cold fist closed around Braelan‘s heart. ―Odd, that,‖ he said. ―I seem to recall believing something similar about the Unseelie. And then I realized how wrong I had been to presume that one Unseelie was the same as the next. Uriskel, for example. Perhaps you may be mistaken in applying this belief to ‗humans like him.‘ Brother.‖ Cobalt stared at him for a long moment. At last, he laughed. ―You‘ve a point there,‖ he said. ―All right. I‘ll say no more about your River. You seem to have the situation sorted far better than I‘d imagined.‖ He rose and embraced him, stepped back. ―Good luck reaching that one, though. You‘ll need it.‖ Braelan smirked. ―Indeed. The man‘s mind is more guarded than the king‘s treasury. I‘ve not been able to sense so much as a whisper of feeling from him.‖ ―You‘re not alone there.‖ Cobalt grinned. ―I‘ve sensed nothing from him, nor has Nix. Shade‘s gotten some impressions, but she is furious that he resists her attempts to hear his direct thoughts, apparently without effort. She‘s never met a human she couldn‘t penetrate.‖ ―Well, I‘ll thank her to stop attempting to penetrate River,‖ he said. ―I‘d rather keep that pleasure for myself, if he‘ll ever allow it again.‖ Cobalt laughed even harder. ―Go on, then,‖ he managed. ―And good night. We‘ll break fast together in the morning.‖ ―Good night to you, brother.‖ Braelan returned to the bedroom with a far lighter heart, and the hope that he could indeed reach River, preferably before the night was through. It would be torment to sleep beside him and not touch him, not savor his body, and hear and see the emotions he could not feel.

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If River did not want him, he‘d respect his wishes. But he would not enjoy it.

*** Cobalt‘s shower was practically an orgasmic experience. It probably wasn‘t any different from other normal showers. But River hadn‘t been in a normal shower for years, and the strong pressure and near-scalding water felt like heaven. He used almost an entire bar of soap and stayed beneath the spray until it went stone-cold freezing. He figured if Cobalt didn‘t like it, he could bill him. Finally, he turned the water off, stepped out and grabbed a towel. He eyed the pile of clothes he‘d discarded. Putting that filth back on was going to suck. Right now, he felt clean enough to eat from, and he really wanted to keep the feeling for a while. But if he went back into the bedroom in nothing but a towel, Braelan would see it as an invitation. Maybe that wasn‘t a bad thing. Christ, it wasn‘t like people didn‘t have casual sex all the time. He still didn‘t know jack or shit about Braelan, except that he had a protective older brother. And a huge cock. Hell, he didn‘t even know the man‘s last name. This didn‘t have to get personal. And now that he knew Braelan wasn‘t trying to scam him back, why shouldn‘t he just enjoy himself while he could? There was no denying he wanted the man. All he had to do was keep his emotions out of it, and he‘d be fine. Hopefully. He dried off, finger-combed his hair and cinched the towel around his waist. Smiling to himself, he paused with a hand on the doorknob. A tiny ripple of pleasure had gone through him at the thought of Braelan‘s reaction to this, at how surprised and happy the man would be when he came on to him. He wanted Braelan to be happy. Damn. That wasn‘t a good sign for the no-emotions plan. He‘d have to be careful.

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He opened the door slowly. Braelan sat on the edge of the bed, looking his way. Blue eyes widened as they took in his state of undress—and the scents of a summer storm surged through the room, like it had back at his place. And there weren‘t any windows in here. ―Ah. You are‖—Braelan‘s neck flushed—―not clothed.‖ He smiled and decided to tease the man a little. ―Yeah. I always sleep naked.‖ ―Do you?‖ Braelan swallowed visibly. ―Sure. It‘s comfortable.‖ He turned the bathroom light off and moved onto the carpeted floor. ―That‘s not a problem, is it?‖ ―No.‖ A soft moan left him, and he dropped his gaze. ―Perhaps I should sleep on the floor.‖ ―Why? The bed‘s big enough.‖ Braelan looked at him. ―Truthfully? I could not bear to lie beside you and not touch you.‖ ―Well, maybe we can fix that.‖ He crossed the room and stopped in front of him. ―Touch me.‖ ―River… Are you certain?‖ He put his hands on those broad shoulders, leaned down, and kissed him. Long and hard. Then he drew back and whispered, ―Yes. I‘m certain.‖ Braelan stood like his ass was on fire. His arms moved around River, and with a grin, he reached down and flicked the towel free. It dropped on the carpet with a soft flump. ―Touch you,‖ he said. ―I‘ll do more than that, if you‘ll have me.‖ He nodded. ―More‘s good.‖ ―Yes. More is very good.‖ Smiling, Braelan gave him a gentle kiss and stepped aside. ―Lie down.‖ ―Why?‖ ―So I can do more.‖

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For some reason, the words spiked a lust stronger than anything River had ever felt. He did what he was told. Braelan stripped with languid grace, his gaze never leaving River—and those eyes really were smoldering. River had never seen eyes do that before. For about half a second, they actually seemed to change, becoming the dark, solid velvet of a night sky. And he could‘ve sworn there were thin rings of gold around the irises. That was impossible. Sexy as hell, but impossible. The illusion vanished, and Braelan was kneeling on the bed, bright blue eyes raking him with fire. He straddled River so that hard mass of cock brushed his stomach. Smiling, he leaned down and claimed his mouth with a slow sensuality that blazed through River‘s nerves and left his skin tingling. Braelan drew back and murmured, ―What are you thinking, just now?‖ ―I‘m thinking, do that again.‖ ―Of course.‖ Braelan complied. River felt the kiss all the way down to his toes. God, he could do this all night. Some small, muted part of his mind shrank back in horror, trying to remind him who he was, where he‘d come from, and how he was disrespecting Harry‘s memory—but there wasn‘t a blizzard‘s chance in hell of stopping now. He was already hard enough to hurt. He wasn‘t sure how long they‘d been kissing when Braelan finally eased back. Might‘ve been forever. It was definitely long enough to leave him dizzy and breathless and aching for more of the man. He would‘ve begged to be fucked if he could remember how to talk. ―And now?‖ Braelan whispered. ―What thoughts lie behind those eyes, àillidh?‖ ―Mmmm.‖ ―You‘ve read my mind.‖

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He wanted to ask what that word meant, the one that didn‘t sound like any language he‘d ever heard. The stubborn, unengaged corner of his brain insisted it was probably something nasty or cruel. But even that weak protest dissolved when Braelan feathered kisses down his throat, his chest, and then paused to flick a wet silk tongue across his nipple. The sensation was instant and fierce, a bolt of heat in his belly. He bucked with it, his arms flailed for something to grab onto—and Braelan snagged his wrists and pinned them to the mattress. ―You like that.‖ Grinning, Braelan ducked his head and went back to work, circling the nipple with his tongue, arousing it to a hard nub. He nipped lightly, and River let out a hoarse yelp of surprise and pleasure. Braelan caught a breath. ―I‘ve not hurt you, have I?‖ ―N-no,‖ he stammered. ―Christ, no.‖ ―Good.‖ He kissed the nipple, suckled it, making River gasp and moan. ―Ah, gods. Such sounds you make,‖ he rasped. ―Like music.‖ Gods? His rebellious mind piped up again, seized the word and shook it around like a warning. But he wasn‘t about to heed it. Right now Braelan could turn out to be a witch doctor in some obscure jungle cult, or a five-thousand-year-old Egyptian mummy freshly raised from the dead, and he‘d still want this. He‘d never stop wanting this. The contrary voice didn‘t like that either. The rest of him told it to shut the hell up. He tried to ask, to beg to be fucked. What came out of his mouth didn‘t contain anything intelligible. And then Braelan shifted his attention to the other nipple. The sensations of tongue and teeth playing sensitive flesh filled every space. His blood thundered through him, keeping time with his pounding heart, until he was convinced he‘d actually explode—not just come his brains out, but literally burst and melt in a puddle of quivering pleasure.

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By the time he realized Braelan had stopped, the man had produced a bottle of lube from somewhere and was squeezing it onto his palm. Probably the little nightstand by the bed; he could see the drawer slightly open. Good. Now he wouldn‘t have to beg.

*** Braelan‘s hand shook slightly as he applied the cool, slick substance humans relied on for lubrication to River‘s tightly drawn hole. He‘d known Cobalt kept a supply in this room, and was grateful for it because it would not arouse suspicion. He was not certain why River had decided he‘d wanted this, but he was grateful for that as well. And a bit frightened at the intensity of his own desire. Never before had he taken such pains to provide pleasure, with no thought to satisfying himself. Merely hearing River‘s responses to his ministrations had driven him to the edge of climax. Now the need to bury himself inside the man, to feel that sweet flesh gripping his cock, was a frantic and barely controlled beast within him snarling to be sated. But he‘d not give in to the beast. He would not become rough or violent. He would hurt no one, ever again. While he eased himself into position, River squirmed beneath him, hunger and desire burning in his eyes. ―I want your cock,‖ River said. ―You‘ll have it, then.‖ He entered slowly, savoring every inch of the tight passage that caressed his throbbing shaft. Once he‘d penetrated completely, he was loath to pull back. To be inside River was a novel experience. Always before, he could sense so much from his partners—a full range of feelings, the occasional errant thought—while they knew nearly nothing about him. With River, he had no pretenses. Only the immediacy of his reactions. It was beautiful. River thrust against him. ―Hurry,‖ he panted. ―Please.‖

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He wanted to refuse, to insist on drawing this out until they both begged to climax. But at once, his body demanded motion. He could deny River‘s demand no more than he could stop breathing. ―Yes,‖ he said. And hurried. Without pause, he drew back and plunged in, again and again. His hands braced River‘s hips and held him in place, lifting him slightly for better access. He pumped harder, faster. Gasping, River arched and settled farther into the pounding strokes. Everything in Braelan hummed, a rising note of pure pleasure headed for implosion. It came over him like lightning. He plunged deep, deeper than it seemed possible, and River‘s name burst from his throat like a song as his seed flowed. Thick, wet warmth splashed his belly—evidence of River‘s own pleasure as much as the guttural cry that left the man breathless. Braelan‘s limbs weakened in the wake of the climax, and he collapsed, careful not to let the bulk of his weight fall on the equally exhausted River. Once he managed to regain his breath, he reached out a trembling hand and smoothed River‘s still-damp hair from his face. Gray eyes turned toward him, and a small smile followed. ―So,‖ River said in a near whisper. ―How many times are we going tonight?‖ He could not hold back a shudder of delight. Whatever had changed River‘s opinion of sex with him, he‘d not risk ruining it. He would make no demands—he‘d only satisfy them. ―As many as you‘d like, àillidh,‖ he said. River snuggled closer and kissed him. ―At least one more.‖ ―With pleasure.‖ As Braelan pushed himself up, he was already erect again.

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Chapter Eleven River lay in the crook of Braelan‘s arm, exhausted but unable to sleep. His mind just wouldn‘t quit. It insisted on replaying the last few amazing hours and superimposing them on the bleak landscape of the life ahead of him. He refused to regret this. But a simple idea had occurred to him, terrible in its logical appeal, and he couldn‘t shake it. He‘d be better off dead. If he ended everything now, it‘d be quitting while he was ahead. Dying on a high note. He could take these last few nights to the grave, right now, and spare himself years of steady physical decline, gradual insanity, and the eventual depressing, unremarked death of the homeless. He‘d never have to huddle under rags and tatters, trying to absorb a little warmth from a trash-barrel fire while he struggled to remember that, once, he‘d had this. Framed that way, suicide was practically his only option. Braelan stirred and kissed the top of his head, flashing a sleepy smile. ―Perhaps we should rest a bit,‖ he murmured. ―Yeah.‖ He shoved thoughts of death aside, determined to wring all the good stuff out of the here and now that he could get. He would stay in the moment. That included enjoying the bed. A drink would‘ve been nice too—and then he remembered the bottle tucked in his backpack. Perfect. ―Hey,‖ he said. ―You want a shot of Jack? I‘ve got a fresh supply.‖ ―Jack.‖ Braelan‘s brow furrowed. ―That is the…gentleman‘s drink you shared with me last night, is it not?‖ ―Kinda. The stuff I have now is Black Label. It‘s harder. Has a nice kick.‖

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―I believe I‘ve something better. Wait here a moment.‖ Disentangling himself, Braelan stood from the bed, then leaned over and kissed him. ―You‘ll not vanish on me, will you?‖ ―Probably not.‖ ―Good.‖ A strange expression shadowed Braelan‘s face. But it disappeared under a smile, and he said, ―I‘ll not be long.‖ He turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him. It took River a few seconds to pinpoint the feeling that something was off. He realized what it was and snorted a laugh. Braelan had just wandered out into Cobalt‘s living room completely naked. Either the man was distracted or he had no shame. Maybe both. He sat up and slid back to rest against the headboard and pulled the blanket up to his waist, assuming something better meant a drink. What kind of booze would a tattooist keep on hand? He‘d have guessed beer, but despite Cobalt‘s fierce appearance, the man didn‘t seem the beer-drinking type. Could be wrong, though. If there was one thing he‘d learned on the force, it was never to trust appearances. As it turned out, he should‘ve applied that lesson to his fellow boys in blue. It‘d been a cop who‘d shot Harry and framed River for murder. He closed his eyes against the memories. When he opened them again, it was to Braelan coming back in with his hands full—an unlabeled bottle and two longstemmed glasses in one, a cloth-covered basket in the other. He toed the door shut, crossed the room and set the stuff on the bedside table. ―Hungry?‖ he asked, removing the cloth that draped the basket with a little flourish. It was full of chocolate-covered strawberries. His first thought was, who the hell keeps chocolate-covered strawberries around the house just in case? And his second was that he hadn‘t eaten a strawberry, or any other fresh fruit, since sometime before prison. Damn, did those look good.

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He swallowed a mouthful of drool. ―Oh, man. You‘re gonna spoil me.‖ ―That is my intention.‖ Smiling, Braelan offered the basket to him. ―Thanks.‖ He took one and tried to ignore the implications behind Braelan‘s statement. Stay in the moment. He waited until Braelan turned back to pick up the bottle, then popped the whole strawberry in his mouth. A whimper of pleasure lodged in his throat. Oh, God… He‘d never tasted anything so good in his life. It was practically an edible orgasm. He had to turn his face away in case the tears that pricked his eyes managed to fall from them. Pathetic. He was so fucking pathetic. The bed dipped as Braelan settled on the edge. ―River,‖ he said gently, ―are you all right?‖ He finished swallowing, cleared his throat. ―Fine. Sorry,‖ he said and turned back when he was sure he wouldn‘t cry like a bitch. Over a damned strawberry. ―Got a seed stuck in my teeth, is all.‖ ―I see.‖ Braelan held a glass in each hand, both filled with a deep red liquid that was probably wine. He extended one and said, ―Though I do appreciate your Jack, I‘d like you to try this. I believe you may enjoy it.‖ He accepted with a slight frown. He‘d never been big on wine, even before he‘d been reduced to picking up the occasional bottle of cheap swill because he couldn‘t afford anything else. But he wasn‘t going to refuse. Alcohol was alcohol. One sip changed his mind. This wasn‘t alcohol. It was liquid sex. ―Holy shit.‖ He looked from the glass to Braelan. ―What‘s this made out of, diamonds and unicorns? It‘s fucking awesome.‖ Braelan laughed. ―Elderberries,‖ he said. ―It is the favored drink of…those back home. My brother keeps a ready supply, as it‘s not found in your stores here.‖ ―I‘ll buy that. If it was, the country club set‘d go batshit for it.‖ He knocked back a long swallow and shivered when it went down. ―So. Where‘s back home for you guys?‖

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―Far from here.‖ ―Oh, right. You already told me. Canada.‖ He smirked and shook his head. ―You do know Canada‘s only about half a day‘s drive from here, right? You should pick a better country to lie about. A little obscure one, like Uzbekistan or Micronesia.‖ Braelan‘s gaze unfocused as he drank from his own glass. He blinked a few times and came back from wherever he‘d gone. ―Tell me something about you.‖ ―Huh?‖ ―You‘ve revealed nothing of yourself, save your name. Tell me more.‖ Braelan reached out and touched the scar under his ribs, the one out of many souvenirs from the streets, the job, and the slam that hurt the most. The one that‘d stopped him from saving Harry. ―This, for example. Or your favorite color. Your mother‘s name. Anything.‖ River scowled. ―What‘s the point?‖ ―To know you.‖ ―You don‘t want to know me!‖ He reined himself in before the swell of frustrated fury could make him do something stupid, like throw the fancy little glass across the room just to watch it shatter. ―Look,‖ he said, dropping his head into his empty hand. ―I don‘t know what you think‘s going to happen from here, but it‘s not like you can call me up for a date later on and eventually work into a relationship or some shit. I‘m a bum. I have no job, no home, no life. Don‘t you get it? When I leave in the morning—‖ ―You will not leave.‖ He stared at him. ―Excuse me?‖ ―Please.‖ Braelan‘s voice broke on the word. ―I cannot bear the thought of you living in garbage, deprived of food and shelter. Stay with me.‖ He snorted. ―Great. So what happens when you‘re done visiting your brother? You go back to Canada, and then I‘m right back out there on my ass. Thanks, but

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no thanks. I don‘t want to be your toy while you‘re in town and get thrown away when you leave.‖ ―You do not understand.‖ Braelan drew a deep, shuddering breath. ―This is no visit. I‘ll not be returning home. I intend to live in this city forever.‖ ―There‘s no such thing as forever.‖ ―River, please.‖ Braelan rested a hand on his thigh beneath the blanket. ―You‘ve no need to leave. Let me provide you with what you lack. If you decide that you no longer wish to share a bed with me at any time, I‘ll respect your wishes. But allow me to keep you fed and warm and protected. I‘ll not see you starve.‖ He almost told the man to take a long walk off a short pier, but common sense stayed his tongue. Maybe it wasn‘t a terrible idea. Sure, Braelan could get tired of him, or Cobalt could decide to kick him out—or he could just take off, if things got out of control. But there was no reason not to take advantage of the situation, to stick around and live the good life for a few days—maybe a few weeks, even. And when the shit inevitably hit the fan, he‘d follow the simple plan he‘d developed earlier and quit while he was ahead. Exit life, stage left. It‘d be a relief. He sent Braelan a tentative smile. ―Peanut butter cups.‖ ―What?‖ ―You wanted to know something about me.‖ He let his smile grow a fraction. ―I really like peanut butter cups. They‘re my favorite guilty little pleasure.‖ ―So…you‘ll stay?‖ He nodded. Braelan sagged with apparent relief. ―Thank you.‖ ―While I‘m here‖—he wiggled his nearly empty glass—―how about a refill?‖ ―Of course.‖ While Braelan poured more wine, River reached for the basket on the nightstand and snagged another strawberry. A strange kind of calm bathed him like light—not the warm, soothing rays of the sun but the cold silver glow of the moon.

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He‘d accepted death. He didn‘t have to try anymore, didn‘t have to care. It was an empty and terrifying serenity, but serenity all the same. Whatever happened, he‘d embrace it from now until the end. Live like he was dying. Because one way or another, he would be soon. And he intended to have as much sex, wine, and chocolate-covered strawberries as possible before then.

*** Braelan woke with a start. Some sound had pulled him from sleep, but he‘d not been able to discern it clearly. He lay still and listened. There. A soft clink, glass against metal, and dragging footfalls. Either Cobalt or Will moving about in the main room. He sighed and closed his eyes. He‘d no idea what time of the morning it might be, but the weariness that riddled his body suggested it was far too early. Not that the exhaustion stemmed only from a lack of sleep—after the wine, River had wanted another go, and he‘d been happy to oblige. Twice more, in fact. He‘d not be surprised if his limbs refused to move this morning. River slept soundly, a warm and reassuring weight at his side. He‘d been overjoyed when the man had agreed to stay. At last, River had relaxed, even taken on a touch of playfulness. Though he still knew next to nothing about this human, he‘d a glimmer of hope that he would learn more soon. But the change that had come over River seemed slightly off-kilter, and he could not determine what troubled him about it. Perhaps it was the sudden speed with which the man had gone from reticent to eager—as though a switch had been flipped. He might be mistaken, and everything could be fine. Still, his concern remained. After several minutes, Braelan knew sleep would not return to him soon. He reluctantly moved away from River, careful not to wake him, and eased out of bed.

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Shivering as the warmth sloughed from him in the open air, he padded into the bathroom and emerged in a few moments, dressed and somewhat presentable. He left the bedroom and found Cobalt seated on a couch, bleary-eyed and grasping a slightly steaming blue mug in both hands. ―Good morning, brother,‖ he said softly, so he‘d not startle him. ―I‘d not expected to find you conscious this early.‖ Cobalt blinked, swiveled his head toward him, and grunted. ―Who says I‘m conscious?‖ He offered a weary half smile. ―Coffee‘s there if you‘d like.‖ He nodded at the corner kitchen area across the room. ―Oh gods, no.‖ He shuddered as his tongue recalled the bitter taste of the brew. ―But I‘ll be glad to draw myself some water, if you don‘t mind.‖ ―Feel free.‖ He moved to the sink, found a glass and filled it, then crossed back and settled across from Cobalt. ―So, what‘s roused you at this hour?‖ ―Well, I—‖ He cut himself off with a groan. ―Damn! I should‘ve called him last night.‖ ―Who?‖ ―Uriskel. He‘s no idea you‘re here.‖ Cobalt grimaced. ―He‘s bringing over a sketch Trystan‘s done for the studio. We‘d arranged yesterday morning to meet at this time.‖ He sighed and dropped his gaze. ―I‘m sorry, Braelan. He‘ll be here any moment.‖ For an instant, he was struck speechless. He‘d known that he could not avoid Uriskel if he were to stay in this realm, but he‘d expected more time to prepare. Despite the outside assurances that his brother held no ill will toward him, he could not believe that the single favor he‘d performed was restitution enough for decades of torment. But he‘d not shy away from this meeting. If Uriskel despised him, it was nothing less than he deserved.

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―Well, then,‖ he said at last. ―Won‘t he be surprised. We‘ll have to hope he manages not to ruin this sketch of yours when he drops it.‖ Cobalt laughed. ―That we will.‖ Not a moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs as though the conversation had summoned them. Braelan held his breath and watched the landing. Every nerve in his body quivered with anticipation, and he half expected to empty his stomach on Cobalt‘s floor. Uriskel emerged in profile, and the first thing Braelan noticed was that he‘d cut his red hair quite short, so the ends barely brushed his collar. When he reached the top of the stairs, he spoke without looking into the room. ―Cobalt, you‘d better be up and about. I‘ve no wish to see you and Will in a compromising position.‖ There was a teasing note to his gruff voice. He came around the banister, dressed all in black with buckles and chains, carrying a flat paper-wrapped bundle. He moved with the confidence and easy familiarity of having been here often, of knowing he belonged and was welcome. ―I smell coffee,‖ he said. ―Still addicted to that brew, brother? You know it‘s—‖ Uriskel froze when a casual glance caught Braelan in his sights. Green eyes locked on Braelan, an impassive stare that hinted at nothing. Uriskel‘s lips moved slightly for several seconds without sound. Braelan rose slowly, but did not speak or approach him. He would let Uriskel react first as he saw fit. And then perhaps he‘d know how the Unseelie truly regarded him. Moving as though he were mired in muck, Uriskel bent to lean his package against the railing, straightened slowly, and spoke in a halting rasp. ―Highness.‖ The single word struck a blow to his heart. For most of his life, he‘d insisted that Uriskel address him by his title and had more than once beaten him for refusing. He‘d not been forgiven after all. He expected that, deserved it…but the expectation did not lessen the pain.

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He attempted a game smile, mostly for Cobalt‘s benefit. ―I thought I‘d asked you not to call me that,‖ he said. ―So you did.‖ Uriskel strode toward him. Braelan stiffened, considered steeling himself for a blow—and then Uriskel embraced him. ―Well met, Brother,‖ he said in roughened tones. Something in him shattered, and he failed to hold back a sob as he returned both the embrace and the traditional Fae greeting. ―Aye,‖ he whispered. ―Well met, indeed.‖ Uriskel drew back first. ―Never been one for hugging,‖ he said with a smirk. ―You can blame Cobalt the Softhearted that I did at all.‖ ―Ah, pay him no mind,‖ Cobalt said. ―He‘s a great cuddly kitten beneath that bluster.‖ ―I‘ve claws enough to handle you, fledgling.‖ Uriskel flashed an actual smile and looked Braelan up and down. ―How you‘ve changed,‖ he said. ―I‘m glad to see you here, Braelan. But I must admit, your presence concerns me. You‘d not have returned so soon for a casual visit. What‘s happened to drive you from the realm?‖ The incisive observation sank into him like a stone. He might have known Uriskel would sense something amiss—after all, the Unseelie had been enslaved to the court and experienced firsthand its twisted machinations. More so than Braelan himself. He‘d not explained his reasons for coming here to Cobalt, as he‘d not been asked. But Uriskel would not be satisfied with blithe statements or simple surface motivations. ―It‘s a long story,‖ he said at last. ―One I‘d prefer to tell when we‘ve planned the time for it, as a blunt explanation will not suffice.‖ Uriskel raised an eyebrow. ―Tonight, then,‖ he said. ―Provided Cobalt agrees to company.‖

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―I do.‖ Worry lay thick in Cobalt‘s voice. ―Braelan, why did you not tell me you were driven out?‖ ―I was not, exactly. I‘ve—‖ ―Whatever it was, my concern remains,‖ Uriskel said. ―You must explain soon. I‘ll not know what to protect you from if you don‘t.‖ Braelan offered a sad smile. ―It‘s no longer your job to protect me, Uriskel.‖ ―Aye, it‘s not. It is my right and my honor, as your brother.‖ His throat clenched. ―Thank you,‖ he managed. ―Right, then. I think we‘ve had enough of this grousing.‖ Uriskel grinned at both of them. ―And I‘ve a need to be off. Trystan‘s got some reporter coming in this morning to interview him, and he‘s no desire to go it alone. Apparently I‘m his luck, or his muse, or some such thing. I‘m to be there, or he‘ll kill me.‖ ―We can‘t be having that.‖ Braelan smiled. ―Until tonight, then.‖ After the farewells, when Uriskel had gone, Cobalt prepared himself a fresh mug of coffee and regarded Braelan with a careful expression. ―Should I assume your night‘s gone well, and that your guest is still here?‖ ―Yes.‖ He glanced back at the closed bedroom door. ―He‘s calmed a bit. I‘ve asked him to stay, and he‘s agreed.‖ He‘d not go into his concerns just yet. With more time, he hoped to bring River further through the walls he‘d surrounded himself with, but he knew better than to push things. ―I believe I‘ll take him out for some new clothes today, if he‘ll allow for that.‖ Cobalt gave a brief chuckle. ―Good idea. And I‘m sure Will wouldn‘t mind if he borrowed something to wear while you do, provided the offer doesn‘t insult him. They‘re roughly the same size. I can put them outside the door, if you‘d like.‖ ―Yes, and I thank you both.‖ ―I‘ll round up some breakfast as well,‖ Cobalt said. ―For when he wakes.‖ The memory of Cobalt‘s probing comments from last night surfaced, and he frowned. ―Cobalt, I do not think—‖

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―Don‘t worry. I promise I‘ll not be hard on him.‖ ―Thank you, brother.‖ Cobalt cocked his head. ―Perhaps you should lie down for a bit, yourself. You look ready to collapse.‖ ―I feel it.‖ He offered a grateful nod. ―See you soon, then.‖ He headed back to the bedroom, at once relieved and on edge. If any of his problems had been settled, he‘d grown a whole new crop to replace them.

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Chapter Twelve River‘s new let-it-happen attitude carried him through most of the morning. He didn‘t flip out when Braelan presented him with some of Will‘s clothes to wear. At breakfast, he managed to eat almost like a normal person instead of a ravenous wolf, and big brother Cobalt didn‘t grill him. He even participated in small talk about the weather. There were a few odd looks when he asked if it‘d stormed last night, especially from Braelan, but the subject was dropped without much remark. Now Braelan was taking him shopping. And some of his resolve wavered in the face of being dragged around and dressed up like a doll. He‘d been pretty sure he didn‘t have any pride left—but Braelan was proving him wrong. At least before, he‘d earned the few things he had, even if it wasn‘t exactly done legally. Conning took a lot of effort. A cab carried them to the Penn Station Kmart. Braelan had told him to pick the store, and this was the cheapest place he could come up with. If the man had to go and buy him shit, he‘d make sure it cost as little as possible. It wasn‘t like he‘d need it for long. While he pushed a cart around and grabbed a few basics—jeans, socks, underwear—Braelan followed him wide-eyed and silent, like he‘d never been in a department store before. Hell, maybe he hadn‘t. The clothes Braelan had on definitely didn‘t come out of mass production. That was high-end stuff. Probably handmade by the hard-working indigenous people of wherever. And he‘d been wearing them for the past two days. Without underwear or socks.

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The few dots River had in the way of information connected all at once, and the picture they formed wasn‘t pretty. Braelan must‘ve just gotten into town when they met, because he hadn‘t hooked up with his brother yet. He wasn‘t carrying any bags, and he was stealing money. Wherever he‘d come from, he‘d left suddenly. With nothing but the clothes on his back. Not the behavior of someone who was planning a permanent move. He couldn‘t imagine anything that would fill in the blanks and add up to a reasonable situation. Well, there was no point in asking, really. He didn‘t plan on volunteering any information himself, so he couldn‘t expect something in return for nothing. And damn it, he didn‘t care anyway. They‘d circled around and come back to the bulk of the men‘s clothes. He stopped and flipped through a rack of long-sleeved tees, figuring he‘d grab one or two and maybe an economy pack of T-shirts so they could get the hell out of here. He wanted plain and simple, solid dark colors. None of those cool patterns or clever sayings. It‘d annoy him to have people trying to read his chest. Braelan moved around to the rack across from him. After a minute, he plucked out a shirt and held it up—a short-sleeved button-down atrocity with garish flowers, all bright orange and green and yellow. Even rich old golf-playing bastards who owned and wore pom-pom hats wouldn‘t be caught dead in that thing. ―I believe I should also purchase new clothing,‖ Braelan said. ―What do you think of this shirt?‖ I think it looks like Hawaii puked on it. ―Er. Doesn‘t seem like your style,‖ he said carefully. ―What is my style?‖ ―Not that.‖ He had a sudden mental image of Braelan wearing the thing, open at the front, hair blowing back Fabio-style with some fake palms in the background, and he wasn‘t sure whether to shudder or laugh. He sighed and bit his lip. Why did the man have to look so damned earnest, so irresistibly adorable? ―Look, put that down and come over here,‖ he said. ―I‘ll help you find something.‖

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Braelan shrugged, stuck the shirt on the rack and circled around to stand next to him. ―Thank you,‖ he said. ―I am afraid I‘m a bit…lost in this place.‖ ―Yeah, I noticed that.‖ He had a feeling this place didn‘t just refer to Kmart. Braelan was lost in this city, in this country—sometimes it seemed he was lost in this world. Like he‘d come from another planet, or an alternate universe or something. ―Okay. That suede‘s good on you, but we‘re not going to find anything like that here. Let‘s see…‖ His critical analysis of Braelan turned into a stare, and he couldn‘t help picturing the way the man looked best. Naked. Christ, he was practically drooling with the thought of all that hard muscle and smooth flesh under the suede. A languid smile spread on Braelan‘s face. ―What are you thinking just now?‖ ―You need color.‖ He tore his gaze away and shunted a few hangers aside, harder than necessary. ―Nothing bright or pale and not too dark. This stuff‘s not right. Come on.‖ He seized the cart, backed it out and headed for a circular rack with higher-priced shirts. Braelan followed, still wearing that knowing little smile. ―Perhaps we should return to the Grotto and finish our shopping later.‖ ―No. Let‘s get this done.‖ He drew a deep breath, hoping to clear his head—and got a lungful of that intoxicating scent that‘d been following him around lately. The clean, powerful cocktail of a summer storm on the wind. There was no way it was coming from outside, so it had to be Braelan. It sure as hell wasn‘t him. ―Is that your deodorant or cologne?‖ he said as he started hunting through the round rack. ―Smells great, whatever it is. Old Spice?‖ A loud silence responded. ―Braelan?‖ He glanced over his shoulder. The man looked like he‘d been punched. River‘s brow furrowed. ―Hey, are you all right?‖

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―Yes.‖ Braelan closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he seemed a little better. ―That is correct. It is Old…Spice.‖ Liar. He wouldn‘t call him on it, but he did wonder why the hell anyone would lie about what kind of deodorant they used. It wasn‘t like the Old Spice police were lurking around the corner, waiting for some unsuspecting moron to admit he used Speed Stick. ―Right,‖ he said. ―Anyway, let‘s try something like this.‖ He took a ribbed mock turtleneck from the rack and held it out. ―Royal purple. It‘ll bring out your eyes.‖ Not that Braelan‘s eyes needed bringing out. Especially when they widened in shock like that. ―Um. What‘s wrong?‖ ―Royal,‖ Braelan whispered. ―You believe I should wear royal colors.‖ He frowned. ―That‘s just what it‘s called. Royal purple. You know, like navy blue or cadet gray. It suits you.‖ ―I see.‖ Braelan took the shirt and calmed down a little. ―You may be right,‖ he said with a smile. ―I do like this color.‖ ―Good. Throw it in the cart, and we‘ll find you a couple more. Then you‘re gonna need pants and…stuff too.‖ He couldn‘t bring himself to say underwear. Mentioning Braelan and underwear in the same breath would set off his raging lust again and might get him drooling for real. He could go without that embarrassment. ―Excellent.‖ Most of Braelan‘s strange reactions had faded, and he looked almost normal again. Maybe they‘d survive this shopping trip after all. But when River turned the cart toward a different rack, he caught sight of a familiar figure hovering at the shoe section that drove away the lingering weirdness, along with everything else except sickening fury. Monte. The lanky son of a bitch had a cart too, but its contents were a little more expensive than clothes. He had enough electronics equipment in there to open his

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own damned store. Most of it, as far as he could tell, was security stuff. Cameras, monitors, audio recorders. At once, River knew what happened to the rest of the money. Leaving the cart and a confused Braelan behind, he stalked through the racks toward Monte. He wasn‘t sure what he‘d do—he wanted to pound the man into the ground, but that‘d just bring the cops down. Maybe he couldn‘t do shit. But he was still going to confront the bastard. As River approached, Monte looked up with vague disinterest that turned to confusion. By the time he reached him, there was a cold recognition. ―River,‖ he said. ―I‘d say it‘s nice to see you, but I do hate to lie.‖ ―Really? That‘s funny, Monte. I‘m pretty sure lying‘s the only thing you‘re actually good at. How can you stand to live?‖ He bared his teeth. ―How long did you have a camera in my room, you weaselly little shit?‖ ―I‘d say that isn‘t your concern, since it‘s not your room anymore.‖ Christ, the fucker was cool as an iceberg. ―So you‘re not even going to deny it.‖ ―Why should I?‖ Monte shrugged, leaned aside and looked past him. ―Oh, look. Here comes your fuck buddy. I have to say, River, that made for some interesting viewing. Did they turn you in jail or have you always been a—‖ He didn‘t even realize what he was doing until he‘d snagged Monte by the jacket and yanked him off his feet. ―I‘ll kill you,‖ he snarled. ―You hear me? Enjoy my money while you can, because this isn‘t a threat. It‘s a promise.‖ ―River? What‘s happened?‖ Braelan‘s startled voice cut through some of the red haze that pulsated over his vision. He lowered Monte slowly, let go, and stepped back. It wasn‘t easy. Every cell in his body screamed for revenge—the bloodier and more painful, the better. ―Nothing,‖ he said without taking his gaze off the slimy little worm. ―I was just delivering a message. I‘m done now.‖

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―Someone needs to work on his communication skills, Robert.‖ Monte tugged his jacket smooth and flashed an awful grin. ―Doesn‘t your friend here read the newspapers? I‘m sure you wouldn‘t be so clean and well dressed right now if he did.‖ He was shaking. It took every drop of self-control he had left to keep from breaking the bastard‘s teeth. That was probably what Monte wanted. A fight would get someone to call the cops, and he‘d be completely screwed. ―Come on, Braelan,‖ he said through his teeth. No point in using a fake name. Monte already had a goddamn video of them. He‘d have to do something about that. ―He‘s not worth wasting breath on. We‘ve got better shit to do.‖ ―Oh, I‘m sure you do,‖ Monte said. ―Like each other. Right, Braelan?‖ Braelan made a sound that was something like a growl, only a hell of a lot more frightening. His own spine crawled, and it wasn‘t even directed at him. ―What is the meaning of this?‖ Braelan thundered. ―Who is this creature, River? He cannot speak to me like—‖ ―Whoa. Take it easy, man. He‘s nothing.‖ He had to choke back a laugh. For whatever reason, Monte wasn‘t worried about him—yet—but Braelan scared the shit out of him. ―Let‘s finish shopping. Okay?‖ For a second he thought Braelan would attack anyway. He‘d never seen anyone look so furious. Finally, he snorted and said, ―Very well.‖ River steered him toward their cart without looking back. ―Sorry about that,‖ he said when they were out of Monte‘s earshot. ―That was my ex-landlord, the guy that kicked me out yesterday.‖ He wouldn‘t mention the camera. Not in public. But he‘d probably have to tell Braelan about it sooner or later. God knew what Monte planned to do with the footage, but he was sure the bastard would do something. Whatever would get him the most money out of it. ―I might have known.‖ Braelan glared across the store. ―He is a most unpleasant individual.‖ ―Yeah. Let‘s just forget him, all right? He‘s not worth the trouble.‖ ―If you insist.‖

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He smiled. ―I‘ve got other things on my mind. Think we can hurry this up and go back?‖ ―Yes,‖ Braelan whispered. ―That‘s a far better idea.‖ He found two more shirts for Braelan, a deep blue and an emerald green. Didn‘t pay much attention to the rest. He grabbed the incidentals as quickly as possible, guessing at Braelan‘s sizes. The man could exchange them later if they were wrong. It was true that he wanted sex again—but more than that, he had a strong feeling that they needed to leave. He didn‘t trust Monte at all. Bastard was probably working on something unpleasant right now. Unfortunately, his suspicions were proved right when they headed for the checkout lanes, and two uniformed cops pushed in through the glass doors. One spoke to the security guard near the theft detectors, and the other scanned the store—until his gaze fell on River and he nudged his partner and pointed. Fucking hell. Then both cops headed straight for him, hands resting on their guns.

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Chapter Thirteen ―Shit. Oh, shit.‖ The desperate whisper drew Braelan‘s attention. River had gone pale as winter, his gaze riveted on the two humans in dark clothing that approached with menacing purpose. Mortal law enforcement. Cops, as they called them in movies. He placed a hand on River‘s shoulder and found him trembling violently. ―Can‘t run. It‘s too open here.‖ River‘s lips scarcely moved around the words. He drew in a jagged breath, and all the emotion seemed to drain from him on the exhale, leaving him blank and resigned. ―Well, it‘s been nice knowing you, Braelan. Have a good life.‖ The words twisted his stomach. ―What do you mean?‖ ―They‘re here for me.‖ River gave a bare nod toward the cops. ―Monte must‘ve called them. Didn‘t think the bastard had a cell phone. He never did before.‖ ―I do not understand.‖ ―I know.‖ River looked at him, and the pain in his eyes was sharp enough to cut the air between them. ―I‘m sorry,‖ he whispered. ―But what are they—‖ ―Jarvis.‖ The harsh word came from the older of the cops, who looked at River as though he wished him a painful and immediate death. Braelan felt hatred and disgust roiling from the human in waves and noticed that the other mortals in the store had cleared away and were carefully ignoring this scene. ―See here, Carter? That‘s the faggot cop-killer I told you about.‖

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―I did my time, Bennett.‖ River spoke as though his throat were filled with stones. ―Yeah, for murder. This is about stealing.‖ Everything in Braelan fragmented and splintered. Murder? Surely River could not have murdered anyone. Yet the man did not deny it, and that phrase—I did my time—it meant that he‘d been imprisoned for a crime. Perhaps Cobalt had been right not to trust him, and he had been blinded by his attraction. But his heart refused to believe that. ―—press charges?‖ Braelan blinked and realized the voice had been addressing him. ―Excuse me?‖ ―I said, do you want to press charges?‖ The older cop held an unresisting River by the arm. ―He probably ripped you off, right? We‘re taking this scum in, and I‘m asking if you want to press charges.‖ Oh, gods. If he allowed these humans to take River away, he‘d not see him again. He was certain of that. But stopping them would mean using magic—and though the cops would not understand what had happened, River would realize that something was not right. He‘d risk driving the man into insanity. Was River strong enough to handle the truth? He decided he was. ―This man is my friend.‖ As Braelan spoke, he summoned his spark and laid a glamour on River, changing his appearance enough so that he still had the same basic features, but looked like a different person. ―Look again, please,‖ he said coldly. ―I believe you‘ll see that you‘ve made a mistake.‖ ―Don‘t,‖ River moaned. ―They‘ll bust you too.‖ Braelan looked at him and silently willed the man to hold his tongue. A strong enough denial could break the spell.

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The older cop, the one called Bennett, ignored River and scowled at him. ―You‘ve got problems, buddy. Maybe I should take you in—‖ A glance at River cut his words abruptly. ―What the hell…?‖ ―He‘s different,‖ the younger one said with an edge of panic. ―He wasn‘t like that a minute ago.‖ ―He most certainly was.‖ Braelan layered his voice with a muddling enchantment, casting a haze over the last few moments in the mortals‘ minds. ―You‘ve no call to detain him. This is‖—he searched his memory for the proper word—―harassment. Release my friend.‖ Bennett snatched his hand away as if it were on fire, and shook his head. Both he and his partner exhibited the blank gazes of the bespelled. ―Sorry to trouble you, sir,‖ he muttered. ―Let‘s go, Carter. Jarvis couldn‘t have gotten far.‖ The cops walked past them, deeper into the store. River watched them leave, once again pale and shaking. ―What the fuck did you do?‖ he said in raw tones. ―That‘s impossible. You just…they…‖ ―We must go.‖ Braelan put an arm around him and steered him firmly toward the doors. They would purchase clothes another time. ―I‘ll explain it, I swear. But we must return to the Grotto and safety, first.‖ ―Safe.‖ There was a high, strangled quality to his voice. ―This is so not safe.‖ River did not resist as Braelan led him outside. He stood still and silent when he summoned a cab, climbed into the vehicle without complaint, and sat docilely while Braelan gave the address of their destination. But when the car moved into the traffic and picked up speed, River began to breathe strangely—shallow, rapid pants through clenched teeth. His eyes rolled to white. And then he fainted. ―River!‖ Braelan grabbed him so he would not fall off the seat. Sending a brief prayer to the gods that he‘d not pushed the man into lunacy, he held him for what seemed an eternity until the vehicle at last arrived at the Grotto.

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River had still not woken. Braelan paid the driver and carried River to the door. His knock was answered quickly, as though Cobalt had been waiting for him. The door opened. Cobalt glanced at River, and concern filled his face. ―Is he hurt?‖ ―No. He‘s…had a bit of a shock.‖ Cobalt sighed. ―This is becoming quite the habit, carrying unconscious men into my place. Uriskel and I have both managed it. Seems you‘re joining the ranks now.‖ With a tired smile, he stood back to let him through and opened the access door. ―Come on, then.‖ Braelan followed him up the stairs that led straight to his loft, and brought him to the guest bedroom. After he made sure River was comfortable, he turned to Cobalt and frowned. ―If you don‘t mind, I‘d like to be alone with him when he wakes. I‘ve something to explain to him.‖ Comprehension dawned quickly. ―All right,‖ Cobalt said in gentle tones. ―Good luck to you, brother.‖ ―Thank you.‖ When the door closed, he settled on the bed to wait. And hope.

*** River lurked just beneath the shell of consciousness, trying to banish the bright thread of panic that wormed through his half-formed thoughts. He had to wake up. It was important. But when he did, something crazy was going to happen. Or it‘d happened already. He wasn‘t sure anymore. Where was he? Nowhere familiar, he knew that. He didn‘t have a room. Monte had kicked him out, the bastard. Monte had called the cops. And then… Oh, Christ. He‘d fainted. How manly of him.

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He forced his eyes open and blinked blearily. Okay, so he hadn‘t been arrested. Jail cells didn‘t have four-poster beds. And he wasn‘t alone. Someone sat on the edge of the bed, head hanging, dark hair obscuring his face. Braelan. They were back at Cobalt‘s place. Everything between Monte and fainting came rushing back in a mad, gibbering flood. He‘d given up completely when the cops came for him and he recognized Joe Bennett. He remembered feeling a dull surprise that Bennett hadn‘t just beaten him down right in the store, no questions asked. Then Braelan had jumped in and tried to save him. Braelan had saved him. With some weird-ass Jedi mind trick. This is not the bum you’re looking for. Move along. And they did. The panic tried to resurface, and he hammered it away. He didn‘t have time to freak out. If the cops weren‘t actively looking for him before, they would be now. He‘d rather die than go back to prison. Time to implement that exit strategy. His heart sank at the thought. Despite all the precautions he tried to take, he‘d actually started to care about Braelan. But it was probably better this way. If he hung around, he‘d only have gotten more attached and made everything worse in the end. He pushed himself up. The instant he moved, Braelan snapped alert and faced him. ―River. Are you all right?‖ ―Yeah.‖ He couldn‘t bring himself to look the man in the eyes. ―Sorry about that whole fainting thing.‖ ―You‘ve no need to apologize,‖ Braelan said. ―In fact, I believe that duty falls to me. You must have been shocked, and I apologize for frightening you.‖ A flicker of pride rose in him. ―I wasn‘t scared.‖ ―Ah. Well, that‘s one less thing to worry about.‖ Braelan hoisted a wavering smile. ―I promised to explain. It‘s going to sound a bit odd, but—‖

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―Don‘t.‖ ―Excuse me?‖ ―Don‘t explain.‖ He swung his legs around to the other side of the bed and stood, still unable to look at Braelan. He knew the expression on his face would shatter him. ―Look, whatever happened back there, it‘s cool. I don‘t need to know. I appreciate what you did, getting me off the hook. And I have to go now.‖ He expected a protest, but silence greeted his little speech. At last he forced himself to turn and look. Braelan was furious. ―You lie.‖ He stood and started around the bed, blue eyes blazing. River fought an overwhelming urge to be somewhere else right this second. ―You said you were not afraid, but you are. You fear your own heart.‖ He tried to sneer. ―What the hell do you know about my heart?‖ ―I know you guard it like the wolf guards his kill. I know it‘s been broken, and you‘ve never let it mend.‖ Braelan stopped in front of him. ―That is why you run. You are afraid.‖ ―All right! Goddamn it.‖ His chest tightened unbearably, like the heart in question was about to explode. ―You‘re right, okay? But this isn‘t about me. I have to leave, or I‘m going to drag you down with me. The cops are going to keep coming. And I can‘t—‖ Braelan raised an eyebrow. ―You cannot what?‖ ―Jesus Christ.‖ He was sure Braelan had already figured things out from his conversation with Bennett. Still, he hadn‘t wanted to admit it—but it looked like Braelan wasn‘t going to let up until he did. ―I can‘t go back to prison,‖ he said through clenched teeth. ―You happy now?‖ ―No.‖ Some of the anger drained away. ―If you are leaving, where do you plan to go?‖ ―Honestly? I‘m probably going to take a nap on a train track.‖

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―I fail to see what that would accomplish.‖ Oh, Christ. Did he have to spell out every fucking thing? ―Suicide!‖ he shouted. ―I‘m going to kill myself. All right? Call me a coward. Whatever you want. But I can‘t go back, and I can‘t…‖ Live without you. Damn. Now he was officially screwed. ―You would end your own life?‖ Braelan‘s voice was a scrape of horrified sound. He took a step back. ―I cannot understand you humans.‖ The operative word in that sentence hit him like a bucket of ice water. He practically heard a deafening record-scratch as the whole world came to a halt. ―Um. Humans?‖ ―Yes,‖ he whispered. ―That is what I wanted to explain. I am not human.‖ ―Oh.‖ His own voice sounded small and distant, like he was shouting to himself from the other end of a tunnel. He just about believed it, since it was the only thing that made sense. And he was going to faint again. Braelan caught him when he sagged toward the floor. Somehow, he managed to stay conscious. ―Gotta sit down,‖ he muttered. When Braelan helped him onto the bed, River put his head between his knees and took slow, deep breaths until the spinning stopped. ―Okay,‖ he said, straightening carefully and focusing on the man…er, the alleged not-man in front of him. ―What are you, then?‖ ―I suppose it would be best to tell you everything at once.‖ Braelan gave a crooked smile. ―You‘ve extraordinary perceptions, River. You have nearly guessed it yourself, though you‘ve not come out and said it.‖ He reached out, hesitated, and let his arm fall. ―I am Fae,‖ he said slowly. ―I believe the more common mortal word is fairy. And I am the Seelie prince of Arcadia.‖ River gaped at him. ―You‘re a fairy prince.‖ ―Yes.‖ ―Oh, God.‖ A balloon of unfamiliar feeling swelled in him and choked off his breath until he was gasping for air. He pounded his chest a few times, desperate to

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dislodge it. ―A f-fairy p-prince,‖ he sputtered. Finally, the balloon popped—and everything rushed out of him in a helpless, belly-deep fit of laughter. He laughed until the tears rolled, until his muscles went slack and spilled him back onto the bed. He couldn‘t tell what Braelan‘s reaction was, and he couldn‘t stop. Every fairy tale—fairy tale, ha!—he‘d ever heard went like this. It was ridiculous. He was a thief, a pauper, a street rat…banging a prince. ―Are you quite finished?‖ A hint of amusement colored Braelan‘s voice. At least he wasn‘t pissed anymore. Shit, he had to stop. His stomach burned with the exertion. Forcing a deep breath that made him cough, he righted himself by degrees and sat there panting, wiping the tears away. He had to admit, that‘d felt pretty good. Hadn‘t laughed like that in ages. ―Sorry,‖ he managed. ―I‘m not mocking you. I believe you, I really do. Mostly. That‘s why it‘s so f-funny…‖ He squeezed back fresh laughter and almost managed to choke on it. ―So I guess that Jedi mind trick with the cops was fairy magic or something, right?‖ ―You‘re taking this rather well.‖ Braelan cocked his head, like he didn‘t really buy that. River wasn‘t sure he did either, but he‘d play along. ―Yes, it was magic. I obscured their memories and laid a glamour on you to alter your appearance.‖ ―Just like that, huh?‖ He smirked. ―What‘s a glamour?‖ ―An illusion. In fact, what you see of me is a glamour as well. My true form is…different.‖ ―Huh.‖ River‘s first inclination to buy into the not-human thing slipped a little. The laughing fit had cracked it, and this stuff about a true form edged into sanityquestioning territory. He definitely believed Braelan was a prince. But the idea that he was constantly wearing some kind of camouflage spell to blend in with humans stretched the boundaries. ―Well, let‘s see it, then,‖ he said. Braelan frowned. ―See what?‖ ―Your true form.‖

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―I…am not certain that is a good idea.‖ ―‘Course it‘s not.‖ He shook his head. ―Let me guess. Mere mortals can‘t perceive your true form. No, wait. It‘s horrifying. Right? You‘re some kind of monster under there.‖ It was Braelan‘s turn to smirk. ―Now you are mocking me.‖ ―No. Okay, maybe a little.‖ He straightened and folded his arms. ―Look, I get that you‘re a prince. No problem there. And you definitely did something to those cops. Maybe you really think you‘re a fairy too. The mind is an amazing thing, and you might‘ve talked yourself into having ESP or something. But you look like what you look like.‖ ―Do I?‖ Yes. He opened his mouth to say that, but the word never made it out. Because Braelan was gone. There was someone – something—standing in front of him. It was hard to look at because it seemed to be made out of shimmering gold. There were no visible rays of light or anything, but the figure still glowed. And it was wearing Braelan‘s clothes. His mind tried to force sense from the vision. There were legs and goldenskinned arms and hands. Long fingers. Too long—each of them had an extra joint, and they ended in burnished gold thorns instead of nails. He lifted his gaze to the face, the narrow and delicate features framed by tangles of black hair, the dark bronzed lips that wore a faint smile. And those eyes. He really had seen them once, for just an instant. A deep, velvet black ringed with gold. Finally, there was a crown. Not a jewel-encrusted metal headband, but spangles of pulsating light slowly circling his brow like trained fireflies. The flashes were the brilliant purple-white of summer lightning. A hot, hard lump formed in his throat. ―Are you real?‖ he rasped around it.

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―Very much so.‖ Braelan‘s voice issued from those lips, clear and confident. River had to fight an overwhelming urge to prostrate himself. He‘d never bowed in his life, but he had a feeling he could manage it now. It wasn‘t just the aura of absolute command that radiated from the figure. It was the stunning beauty, the sheer magic of it. He wanted to fall down on his knees and thank whatever god there might be for granting him this vision. The vision reached for him, placed gentle fingers under his chin and lifted. ―Why do you weep?‖ Braelan said softly. ―Tell me what you‘re thinking just now.‖ ―I—‖ He hadn‘t even realized he was crying. Now he felt the wetness on his cheeks and the heat that flowed into him from Braelan‘s touch. ―I‘m thinking…holy shit. You‘re a fairy prince.‖ The answering laugh was like rushing water. Braelan grabbed his hand, drew him to his feet and pulled him close. ―I am,‖ he said. ―And you are the most intriguing mortal in this realm, àillidh.‖ He shivered. ―I guess that‘s not an insult, then.‖ ―No. It means beautiful.‖ A golden finger traced his jaw, and the air filled with that intoxicating scent. ―And that‘s not Old Spice,‖ he whispered. Braelan smiled. ―It is my mating scent,‖ he said. ―I cannot help it. You arouse me so, River.‖ He leaned closer. ―I should like to kiss you now, if you‘ll have me.‖ Oh, God. Much more of this and he‘d explode. ―Um,‖ he managed. ―Can you maybe tone down the gold a little first? Don‘t get me wrong. You‘re gorgeous…maybe too gorgeous. When you look like that, I can‘t do anything but stare at you and cry.‖ ―Of course.‖ The vision vanished and he was Braelan again—still beautiful as sin, but in a heart-stopping human kind of way. ―Now then,‖ he murmured. ―Where were we?‖

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―Kissing.‖ ―Ah, yes. That.‖ Braelan captured his mouth, and he decided he‘d probably explode anyway.

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Chapter Fourteen River had no recollection of anything between the kiss and finding himself naked on the bed, beneath an equally naked Braelan. Maybe their clothes had just melted off in the heat they generated between them. Because damn, it was hot in here. Braelan‘s mouth fastened on a nipple, and he practically purred his pleasure. God, that man could do things with his tongue that‘d shame angels. But he wasn‘t a man. He was a Fae prince. And he deserved better than this. ―Wait,‖ River gasped. Braelan‘s head came up, a quizzical look in his eyes. ―Let me up.‖ He moved back slowly. ―What is wrong?‖ ―Nothing. Not a damned thing.‖ River straightened and slid aside. He‘d been on the receiving end of this every time, and he needed to give something back. He wanted to. He wanted to touch that body everywhere, to kiss and stroke and suck. To show his appreciation. ―Lie down,‖ he said hoarsely and added, ―please.‖ Braelan cocked an eyebrow, but he did lie down. ―That‘s better.‖ River straddled him, bent and kissed him. ―It‘s my turn to tease.‖ He felt the shiver that went through Braelan, and his cock throbbed in response. Dear God, he‘d forgotten this part—how good it felt to give pleasure and not just receive it. He kissed Braelan‘s throat, ran his hands down those hard-

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muscled arms and thrilled at the texture of the tattoos beneath his fingers. Moving back by degrees, he kissed Braelan‘s collarbone, the top of his chest, and paused to run his tongue around a nipple. Braelan loosed a deep, throaty rumble, like the purr of a tiger. He could definitely get used to that sound. He backed up farther, until he was in a position to wrap his lips where he really wanted them—around Braelan‘s cock. River met his gaze, smiled, and feathered a soft kiss on the tip of it. ―This might take a while,‖ he said. ―There‘s a lot of ground to cover.‖ A soft moan responded. He laid a trail of kisses down the underside, occasionally adding a flick of his tongue across the vein. By the time he reached the base and started suckling the spot between cock and balls, Braelan was purring again, the sound vibrating through him like a low-level shock. River took his time, exploring every inch of Braelan‘s cock with lips and tongue, drinking in every sigh and sharp breath like sweet wine. He grazed his teeth along the loose skin under the head and was rewarded with a sensual cry as Braelan bucked against him. Finally, he went down on him—only the head at first, licking and sucking at the same time until Braelan panted and writhed beneath him. He eased his mouth lower, taking more and more of the sweet, rigid shaft in. Halfway down, he stopped and hummed his pleasure. ―Ah, gods.‖ Gasping, Braelan sat up fast and grabbed for him, holding his head in place. ―Faster, love. Please…‖ He couldn‘t say yes with his mouth full of cock. So he demonstrated his willingness. Braelan made a lot more noise then.

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He‘d never tasted anything like this. Sucking Braelan‘s cock was like breathing in a hot, humid summer night. Like the way he smelled when he was turned on—his mating scent. He couldn‘t imagine anything sexier. He moved up and down, letting his tongue slide around the shaft. Braelan threaded fingers in his hair and kneaded with the rhythm. Shit, he could die happy with Braelan‘s cock in his mouth. ―River.‖ Braelan trembled all over. ―I need to be inside you. Now.‖ He moaned, felt another shudder from Braelan. Slowly, he drew back until the head slipped from his wet mouth. Braelan already had the lube. There wasn‘t going to be any more foreplay or teasing, and that was fine with him, more than fine. His cock was rock hard, and the muscles in his thighs jittered like grease on a griddle. ―Àillidh…‖ Dark eyes flashed through the blue. ―I‘ve no patience left.‖ ―Patience is overrated.‖ He groaned. ―Kneel for me.‖ River worked his way past him, turned away and knelt as commanded. Then he bent forward and grabbed the headboard. ―Good?‖ ―Gods, yes.‖ He arched into Braelan‘s palm when it slicked lube into place. In the space of a breath, trembling hands braced his hips and a hot, hard cock slipped inside him, smooth as silk. He rocketed from need to abandon in about ten seconds flat. Braelan filled him completely, every fiber of him, and it was all he could do to stay conscious and match the rhythm of the thrusts. He couldn‘t even control the sounds he made. They tore from his throat and snatched at his breath until he could barely catch it. He‘d never had anything consume him like this. Braelan was the world, and the world was beautiful.

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Toward the end, just before Braelan climaxed, he must‘ve forgotten how to speak English—he rasped a string of sound that had words in it, but they were nowhere near anything River had ever heard. Still, the meaning was clear enough. He felt it vibrating through his body and echoing in his heart. Then his own orgasm consumed him, and the world blurred out for a while. Eventually he opened his eyes to Braelan lying half on top of him, arms circling him protectively, lips pressed to the back of his neck. He stirred a bit, and Braelan tightened his hold. ―Do not move, àillidh.‖ The murmur against his skin sent delicious shivers down his spine. ―Give me a moment to recover. I‘ll want you again, and I‘ve not the strength remaining.‖ ―Mmph. ‘Kay.‖ He could handle not moving. He‘d be happy to lie here wrapped up in Braelan forever. But there was no such thing as forever. Didn‘t he know that better than anyone? The thought sucked every drop of pleasure from the moment and left him cold, despite Braelan‘s warmth pressed against him. Or maybe because of it. Whatever a fairy prince did, he was sure it didn‘t include having a permanent relationship with some human. He probably had to marry a princess or something. And River definitely didn‘t deserve someone like Braelan. A knock at the door made them both jump. Braelan reacted first, groaning and lifting his head to call out, ―What?‖ ―Braelan, you need to come out here a moment.‖ It was Cobalt, River thought, and he didn‘t sound happy. Pissed off was a better way to put it. ―Bring your…River, as well.‖ It suddenly occurred to him that if Braelan was a Fae, then his brother was too. Great. There was an angry magical being on the other side of that door, and from the way Cobalt had practically spat his name, he assumed he was that anger‘s target. He‘d almost rather deal with the cops. At least they could only shoot him. He knew what to expect from cops.

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His brother‘s mood apparently didn‘t bother Braelan. ―We‘ll be out in a bit,‖ he said. ―Now, Braelan. It‘s important.‖ ―Oh, for the love of—‖ Groaning, Braelan rolled away and sat up. ―Very well,‖ he called. ―Give us a moment.‖ ―Hurry.‖ River frowned and righted himself. Christ, the blankets were a mess. One more thing for Cobalt to be mad about. ―Any idea what the problem is?‖ he said. ―No. But I cannot imagine anything as serious as he makes it sound.‖ Braelan snorted, found his pants and pulled them on. ―My brother worries too much. I‘m certain it is nothing.‖ ―Right.‖ He could imagine plenty. Mostly to do with him and that damned newspaper article. Letting out a sigh, he got out of bed and dressed fast. Maybe he could shower later, if Cobalt didn‘t boot him out the door right away. ―Hey. Your brother there,‖ he said, ―he‘s, uh—not gonna turn me into a frog or anything, is he?‖ Braelan stared openmouthed at him for a few seconds before he started laughing. ―Cobalt? Not a chance,‖ he said. ―Even if the Fae were capable of such magic, he‘d never harm a soul. He is the gentlest of us.‖ ―Doesn‘t look gentle,‖ he muttered. Disregarding the whole Fae thing, Cobalt still looked capable of breaking a man in half without too much effort. Braelan smiled. ―Ah, but he is. Wait until you meet Uriskel.‖ ―Do I even want to know who that is?‖ ―My eldest brother. He‘ll be along tonight for a visit.‖ ―Terrific.‖ If this Uri-whoever was worse than Cobalt, he might not survive a visit. Two big brothers could override any protests Braelan might have. If they asked him to step outside for a ―talk‖, he‘d probably have to bolt and hope he could outrun magic. ―Well, I guess we should get this over with,‖ he said. ―Indeed. I‘ve better things to do with this day than placate my brother.‖

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He managed a smile and followed Braelan from the bedroom. Cobalt stood by the couches, where there was an open laptop computer on the coffee table. He motioned them over and had them sit down. River looked at the screen. It was a local news Web site, open to a brief story with an accompanying video. The headline read NYPD SEEKS 2 MEN WHO STOLE OVER $4,000 FROM SUBWAY ATM. His heart dropped somewhere around his feet. Braelan frowned at the laptop, then cast a glance up at Cobalt. ―What is this?‖ ―I think you should be telling me that.‖ Though he answered Braelan, his glare settled on River. ―Will called me from the studio. Apparently his producer caught this on the afternoon news and thought it might‘ve been me. There is quite the resemblance. Of course, Will knew who it was.‖ ―I‘ve no idea—‖ ―Watch.‖ Cobalt reached down and clicked on the video, then made it fill the screen. River kept his gaze on the laptop, unable to look at the other two as a carefully coifed newswoman informed all of Manhattan that police were seeking two men believed to have broken into an ATM. A grainy surveillance video from the subway played in the top right corner. The feed was too far away and unfocused to identify Braelan, but it showed him pulling the machine open and stuffing bills into his pockets. The last few seconds were of him walking away and stopping to talk to River. Again, there was no way to get a positive ID, but he definitely looked involved. Then two side-by-side photos filled the screen. These were unmistakable. They were still shots from a video feed—Braelan seated in the chair in his ex-room, himself standing beside the bed. The newswoman stated that police had received an anonymous tip in the form of a video, gave River‘s real name and alias and nasty little thumbnail bio, and went on to say that the two suspects had discussed the robbery on film and then had ―sexual relations.‖

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No way the NYPD would‘ve told the press that. The son of a bitch must‘ve released the video to the media too. Probably for a nice little sum. Now the damned thing‘d be all over the Internet. Fucking wonderful. ―Monte.‖ He spat the name through clenched teeth. ―That underhanded, greedy little fuck. I‘ll kill him. I swear to God, I‘ll—‖ He broke off and buried his face in his hands, barely managing to choke back a sob. ―Jesus, Braelan, I‘m so sorry. Your brother‘s right to hate me. You never should‘ve gotten involved with me.‖ There was a long silence, and then Braelan spoke with painful uncertainty. ―How did this happen?‖ He forced himself to look up. The shattered expression on Braelan‘s face nearly broke him. ―It was Monte,‖ he said slowly. ―The bastard had a camera hidden in my room. I don‘t know how long it‘s been there, but he taped everything. He took the rest of the money. And now he‘s going in for the kill.‖

*** Silence again. Maybe they didn‘t understand—or they didn‘t believe him. Cobalt seemed even more furious, and Braelan looked like somebody‘d just murdered his best friend. That was probably close to the truth, since now they both knew what the rest of the world believed. That he‘d killed his partner. Not the way he would‘ve chosen to have this come out. But there it was, and all he could do now was damage control. He wouldn‘t let Braelan burn with him. ―I‘ll go.‖ His voice was strengthless, a labored grind. He stood unsteadily, nearly toppling himself in the process. ―I‘ll turn myself in. Tell them I acted alone. They‘ll be satisfied with that. They always thought I got off too easy before.‖ ―No!‖ Braelan‘s protest went through him like a live spark. ―I have to, or you‘ll never be able to show your face in this city,‖ he said. ―If they have me, they‘ll forget about you.‖

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―But they will put you in prison,‖ Braelan whispered. ―Did you not say you would prefer death to going back?‖ He tried to shrug. Didn‘t quite manage it. ―They‘ll definitely come after you if I‘m dead. I can‘t let you—‖ He shuddered. Christ, what the cons would do to a man that pretty. It was bad enough what they‘d done to him. Braelan would have it worse. ―I‘m doing it. You don‘t deserve hard time.‖ ―Nor do you,‖ Braelan said. ―River, please. We‘ll find a way to sort this.‖ ―Yes, we will.‖ The firm statement came from Cobalt. River risked a glance and realized he wasn‘t mad anymore. In fact, he almost looked like he‘d cry, and his voice shook as he said, ―I owe you an apology, River.‖ ―Don‘t. Nobody owes me anything.‖ ―I do.‖ Cobalt cleared his throat. ―I‘ll admit that I jumped to conclusions before. But as far as I‘m concerned, what you‘ve just offered negates that and more. You‘re welcome to stay. You‘ll be safe here, and we‘ll help you deal with this tonight.‖ His head pounded sickly. Moisture scalded his eyes, and he tried to blink it back. Cobalt had forgiven him. Okay, fine. But what about Braelan? He was the important one. There was no point denying it anymore. He cared for Braelan. Hell, he might even love him, if he still had it in him to love. And there was something he had to say, even if no one believed it. Even if it damned him. ―I didn‘t kill Harry.‖ Speaking the words drew the tears he‘d been fighting. He let them fall. ―I know. Every con says he‘s innocent. But I swear I didn‘t do it.‖ Braelan said nothing, and his devastated expression didn‘t change. It felt like forever until he finally turned to regard the equally silent Cobalt. Cobalt nodded. ―All right. I‘ve a business to run, and I‘d best see to it,‖ he said, like he was answering an unspoken question. Maybe he was. They were magic, so they might be able to read each other‘s minds or something. ―Until tonight, then.‖ He offered a quick smile, turned and headed down the stairs.

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River watched him go and then looked at Braelan. ―I didn‘t kill Harry,‖ he repeated in hollow tones—for all the good it‘d do. Of course Braelan didn‘t believe him. Why should he? River had lied to him from the start and kept it going long after Braelan had opened up to him. Because he was afraid to feel again. And now that fear would cost him everything. ―I know.‖ ―You don‘t have to… Wait. What?‖ ―I know you didn‘t.‖ Braelan rose slowly and started toward him, his face mirroring the pain in River‘s soul. ―I can hear it in the way you say his name.‖ ―Harry.‖ This time he whispered it, and something deep inside him cracked. Had he ever spoken Harry‘s name after his death? No. Not once in six years. After he‘d been accused, he went through the hell of the investigation and the trial alone. Everyone he‘d called friend, along with what was left of his family, had turned their backs on him. And that was what hurt the most—that everyone was so quick, so eager to believe he‘d shot and killed his partner, his best friend, the man he‘d loved. So he‘d buried everything and banished the name from his lips. ―Oh, Harry…‖ The crack widened and finally shattered under the pressure. Six years of silent sorrow, of guilt and pain, anger and isolation, flooded him like poison and exited him in an anguished, animal cry that might have contained Harry‘s name. And Braelan was there. Braelan believed him, embraced him. Caught him when his body gave out beneath the unrelenting hurricane of emotion. Carried River to the couch and held him while the storm beat down every defense he‘d constructed, leaving him raw and exposed. When it was over, he felt like someone had reached down his throat, into his gut, and turned him inside out. He didn‘t try to speak for a long time. And Braelan didn‘t push him. He was grateful beyond words for that. At last, his hitching breath settled to something that resembled normal. A final shudder wracked him, an emotional aftershock, and Braelan held him

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tighter—like he was afraid he‘d shake himself apart. He lifted his head to rest on Braelan‘s shoulder and managed a wavering smile. ―I‘ll live,‖ he said. ―Is that a promise?‖ Braelan smoothed his hair away from his face with a gentle motion, then settled a hand on his back. ―I‘ll hold you to it,‖ he said. ―That is my promise.‖ ―Yeah. I promise.‖ He straightened a little, but not enough to leave Braelan‘s side. ―I want to tell you what happened,‖ he said. ―If you don‘t mind hearing it.‖ Braelan smiled. ―To know you is all I‘ve ever wanted. Tell me anything you‘d like.‖ ―Thank you.‖ He drew a deep, bracing breath. And told him. ―Harry and I were partners, but we were also lovers. Five years on the force, four together. No one knew. At least, that‘s what we thought. But somehow the DA managed to find three or four cops to swear at the trial that they‘d always known there was something ‗funny‘ about me. Including Bennett.‖ He clenched his jaw. ―We swapped gay jokes in the locker room, for Christ‘s sake. We were careful, me and Harry. Knew what‘d happen if they found out. But…I‘m getting ahead of myself.‖ Braelan gave him a gentle, encouraging smile. ―Go on.‖ He nodded. ―We‘d both just made detective a few months back, and we were working with Internal Affairs, investigating a crooked cop in that area who‘d been bribing informants to stop talking. We were supposed to be meeting one of them in a Midtown alley, only when we got there, he was dead. At least, he looked it— sprawled on the ground, face covered in blood. I leaned over him trying to get a look, to see if it was the guy we were supposed to meet. That was when he sank the blade in me.‖ ―Your scar.‖ Braelan reached out and brushed fingertips along his side, where the awful reminder of that night still branded him. ―That is why you‘d not wanted to tell me about it.‖

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―Yeah.‖ River stared at his lap. ―I couldn‘t get enough breath to warn Harry. And then a gun went off behind me.‖ He shivered, heard the shot in his mind clear as if it‘d been just that moment. ―When I turned around, Harry was down.‖ He wanted to stop there. Didn‘t want to remember how he‘d failed Harry. But the story kept pouring out, and fresh tears came with it. ―There was a uniform cop at the mouth of the alley, piece drawn. I couldn‘t see his face. The light was wrong, and his face was just shadows under the hat. I figured he must‘ve heard the shot and tried to tell him about the guy who wasn‘t dead, but I couldn‘t get the words out. All I managed was Harry and ambulance I think. But the uniform just stood there. Then he lowered his gun a little—and shot Harry again.‖ His hands were shaking. Braelan held them, and the comforting touch gave him the strength to finish. ―I held him while he died,‖ he whispered. ―Held him in my lap and watched him breathe his last. Then I begged the bastard who killed him to take me too. But he didn‘t. And I passed out from blood loss.‖ Anger crept in around the grief. ―By the time I came around, I was in the hospital, handcuffed to the bed rails. The other cop had been busy at the scene. When they found us, my gun was in my hand. It‘d been fired twice. The knife I‘d been stabbed with was in Harry‘s hand. Nobody believed me when I raved about the mystery cop and the body that wasn‘t dead. They called it a crime of passion, and they didn‘t try very hard to find any evidence to the contrary.‖ Braelan frowned. ―Evidence?‖ He laughed bitterly. ―I don‘t know how the Fae run a court, but here we have to prove a person committed a crime. Fingerprints aren‘t usually enough. So the bastard planted some, just to make sure I‘d go away.‖ Everything in him tightened. ―They ‗found‘ an envelope in my locker, with my name on it. I‘d never seen the damned thing. There were letters in it, supposedly between Harry and some guy called King John. And there were pictures—two guys fucking six ways to Sunday. Blurred as hell. One of them might‘ve been Harry, but it was impossible to tell for sure. They were enough for the jury, though.‖

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―Ah, love,‖ Braelan said, his voice hitching. ―What did they do to you?‖ ―They slapped me with second-degree murder. Getting it bumped down from first-degree was the only thing my piece of shit lawyer managed to accomplish,‖ he said. ―I got ten years. They gave me protective custody so I wouldn‘t get raped every day—but the guards still had their fun. And I made damned sure I behaved and got the early release…but four years didn‘t feel very fucking early.‖ He paused, swallowed hard. ―I served one year in hell for every year Harry and I had together. And when I got out, I made myself forget I‘d ever been anything. It hurt too much to remember.‖ By the time he wound himself down, tears bathed Braelan‘s face. ―River, I‘m so sorry,‖ he whispered. ―I‘ve not the words for it. Gods, what you‘ve been through…‖ ―Don‘t.‖ He reached up and wiped some of the moisture away with a thumb. ―There‘s no way you could‘ve known. And you helped me more than I can tell you.‖ The corners of his mouth turned up a fraction. ―You listened, just when I needed to finally talk.‖ ―Is there anything else I can do?‖ He almost said yes, let’s have sex. His lust hadn‘t diminished at all. If anything, he wanted Braelan even more. But he was utterly exhausted, physically and emotionally. His eyelids felt dipped in concrete, the core of him hollowed and scraped clean. ―I think I should sleep,‖ he said in fading tones that matched his ebbing consciousness. ―Will you…stay with me until I do?‖ ―Of course, love.‖ Braelan helped him back into the bedroom. His head had no more than touched the pillow when he fell into an exhausted sleep.

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Chapter Fifteen Braelan found himself grateful for the busy, shadowed anonymity of the Grotto on this night. He and River had taken a corner table to pass the time until business closed, when Uriskel and Trystan would arrive for their planned palaver. They could not risk leaving this place for a while. He‘d been surprised to have fallen asleep shortly after River and not awoken until evening. Many things about this day had surprised him, and the least of those had been finding himself wanted by human law enforcement. It paled, however, in comparison to River‘s horrifying tale. Apparently, the Fae court did not hold sole license over corruption and twisted deeds. The entire human system had conspired to break this man, from the officer who‘d killed his partner to the courts that had wrongly imprisoned him. Braelan no longer had any trouble understanding why River had wanted to take his own life. At least the man seemed in a bit calmer spirits now. Braelan had also learned that his affection ran deeper than he‘d imagined. Though he still could not read a single thought, his heart had broken while River wept for his murdered lover. He‘d felt the pain as though it were his own—not with his Fae senses, but through pure empathy. He truly loved this incredible mortal. River closed the display book he‘d been absently leafing through. ―So, this other brother of yours,‖ he said, ―what‘s he like?‖ ―Uriskel?‖ Ah, gods, he‘d never be able to think of Uriskel without experiencing the guilt and shame all over again. And that was as it should be. He deserved far

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worse than troubled emotions. ―He is…much like you, actually. Extraordinarily strong.‖ River snorted. ―I‘m not strong. Did you notice how I fell apart earlier?‖ ―You are strong. You‘d not have survived as you have otherwise.‖ ―I guess.‖ River did not appear convinced. ―At any rate, you‘ve much in common with Uriskel.‖ He gave a fond smile, though the realization stung. ―He was also wrongly imprisoned, by the Fae court.‖ He could not bring himself to say that at least once Uriskel‘s imprisonment had been by Braelan‘s own command. ―Whoa. You guys have courts too?‖ ―We do. But our gaols are not the same.‖ Uriskel had spent five years alone, in a hole in the ground that he‘d been forced to dig himself. That particular sentence had been his father‘s doing, and Braelan had not been informed. If he had, he might have ended the deception long ago. No matter what he‘d felt toward Uriskel then, he‘d not have condoned the cruelty of five years in gaol. But he could not change that now, much as he longed to. Fortunately, River did not ask for clarification. ―Maybe we‘ll get along, then. Us wrongly accused ex-cons.‖ The self-effacing smile he offered made him beyond beautiful. ―Hey, I almost forgot. I‘ve got a few pictures of Harry. Thought you might… Damn.‖ A flush stained his cheeks, and he stared at the table. ―Yeah, that‘s a great idea,‖ he muttered. ―Ask the guy I‘m sleeping with if he wants to see pictures of my ex. I‘m sorry. That was stupid.‖ ―Not at all.‖ He gripped River‘s hand and gave an encouraging squeeze. ―I should like to see them. Your Harry sounds like a wonderful man.‖ River smirked. ―He was. Thanks for humoring me.‖ He half stood and produced a worn leather wallet from a back pocket, sat down and carefully removed a small photograph. His gaze lingered on it, and his eyes glittered as he ran a finger lightly across its surface before passing it over. ―That‘s him. Harry the cat man.‖

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A ripple of unease passed through Braelan. Cat man. Uriskel often used that name for Nix. The Pooka‘s shifted form was a great cat, a leopard. But he took the photograph and found the reason for the name: the small tabby curled contentedly in Harry‘s arms. Harry himself had been a beautiful human, blond and green-eyed like Nix, and apparently sharing the Pooka‘s preference for sweaters. He wore one in the photograph, a ribbed wool knit the color of cream. The man in the picture had an easy smile and a mischievous look in his eyes. Also like Nix. The unease returned, but he‘d not let it show. ―He looks quite the charmer,‖ he said. ―I‘d have fallen for him myself.‖ ―In that case, no offense, but I‘m glad you weren‘t around before.‖ River grinned. ―I‘d never stand a chance against you.‖ ―I would not have competed with you.‖ He smiled and looked down. The wallet lay open on the table, and there was something dangling from the billfold. Two silver rings on a leather cord, etched with symbols he could not quite make out, though they seemed uncomfortably familiar. Just as he noticed the rings, he felt the air change and knew there was another Fae present. Two, actually. Nix and Shade—he a bright and cheerful ribbon, she a dark and whispering mist. ―Lovely,‖ he said with a lighthearted groan. ―We‘re about to have company. Nix and Shade are here.‖ ―Huh?‖ River looked up and scanned the dimly lit room. ―I can‘t see anything in here. How do you know that?‖ ―I can sense them.‖ ―Oh. So it‘s a Fae thing.‖ ―Indeed.‖ He cast a faint smile and glanced again at the wallet and its unsettling contents. ―River, may I see those rings?‖ ―Go for it.‖ Shrugging, he plucked the cord free and handed it to Braelan. ―Harry got them for us. He never said where, but they were already old when he

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bought them. I figured maybe a pawn shop or something. But I…love them anyway.‖ His voice trailed away. ―They are beautiful.‖ Braelan inspected them closely—and his breath stopped when he made out the markings. The bands were engraved with Fae runes. ―I see them now,‖ River said. ―Coming this way. Oh, man, I hope they don‘t still hate me.‖ He paused and made an odd sound. ―That‘s so weird. I didn‘t notice it before, but Nix looks a lot like Harry. Guess I didn‘t want to remember.‖ Now the unease was an alarm screaming through the Fae‘s mind. He handed the rings back to River, who slipped them almost absently on a finger and wound the cord loosely around his palm. Blast it, how could he tell him this? Shocking as it must have been for the man to learn of the Fae‘s existence, if he was correct in his suppositions, this could prove far more damaging. Braelan picked up the photograph again. Cat man. ―River,‖ he said in halting tones. ―How well did you know Harry? What I mean is…‖ Ah, gods. He did not want to mention anything that might hurt River, but he could not ignore what the rings and the resemblance to Nix pointed toward. ―Do you think there might have been something he‘d not told you?‖ A stricken look clouded River‘s face. But before he could respond, Nix reached their table. ―Evening, mates.‖ The Pooka‘s grin gave no indication of ill will and fell with equal warmth on him and River. ―I‘ll wait to be told the good news, though I already know.‖ ―You are correct,‖ Braelan said when the statement was met with silent confusion from River. ―He knows of us now.‖ ―Brilliant! Welcome to the club, River.‖ Nix winked and seated himself beside Braelan, and Shade seemed to materialize in the chair next to him, like a wraith. ―So, what are we looking at?‖ He leaned in and glanced at the photograph Braelan still held. And his expression slid from cheer into pale-faced shock.

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―Is that yours?‖ Nix stared at River, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly. ―It can‘t be Braelan‘s,‖ he said. ―So tell me, mate. How‘d you happen to come by a picture of our Harry?‖

*** Our Harry. The words twisted and ricocheted through River‘s skull, braiding together with Braelan‘s shocking question: How well did you know Harry? This wasn‘t right at all. He‘d never known any of these people, these Fae, in his other life. And neither had Harry. Or had he? ―My Harry,‖ he croaked, still too stunned to think straight. ―He was my Harry. My partner.‖ Oh God. Was there something else he didn‘t know? Nix‘s eyes narrowed. ―Is that right? Because, funnily enough, our Harry was shot and killed by his partner.‖ He might as well have kicked him in the balls. Nix knew Harry. And looked like him. For fuck‘s sake, they could‘ve been related. If they were, that meant Harry was… ―Nix!‖ The exclamation came from Shade. Her normal neutral-to-disgusted expression had been replaced by one of sheer horror. ―Listen to Braelan,‖ she said. Now Nix looked downright pissed. ―I don‘t see how you could be having an explanation for this one, Highness. You never mixed in with us, and this was six years gone. What could you know about the affairs of a lowborn?‖ River gaped at him. His accent had thickened so much that he could barely understand him—and worse, his lips were moving completely out of sync with the words. He looked like an old Godzilla movie. This was fucking bizarre. His heart skittered in his chest, and he wished he could disappear. ―So he was Pooka, then.‖ Braelan spoke with the same heavy accent, the same unmatched lip movement. ―And I‘ll thank you not to assume what I ken. Your

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mate‘s not penetrated him, though I hear it‘s not wanting for a try. But I‘ve spoken with him. River is innocent of this crime. He and Harry were lovers.‖ Nix looked at him and frowned. ―Where‘s he gone, then?‖ ―Are you daft? He‘s right—‖ Braelan faced him and seemed to stare right through him. ―River?‖ ―What?‖ The instant he spoke, the other three flinched. He blinked at them. ―Jesus, did I grow an extra head or something? And what the hell is a Pooka?‖ Braelan‘s mouth dropped open. ―You understood that?‖ ―Um, yeah. Kinda. I mean, I don‘t know what a lowborn is, or a Pooka, and you were both breaking up like a bad dub. And why did Nix think I was gone?‖ ―We were speaking in the Fae tongue,‖ Braelan said slowly ―And you were…dim.‖ ―The fuck‘s that mean?‖ Braelan reached over and touched the rings on his finger. ―They are enchanted,‖ he said hoarsely. ―Harry‘s rings?‖ He was shaking uncontrollably, his mind skating toward a yawning abyss that he was pretty sure represented insanity. ―They‘re just rings. I mean… Christ, I could hear you guys. In English. Sort of. What the hell just happened? And you can‘t know Harry. I…‖ ―Oh, love. Please…hang on.‖ Braelan slipped the rings off, and River felt instantly better. Well, more normal. He didn‘t think better applied to finding out that your dead lover might not have been human and had never told you. Shade extended a slim hand toward Braelan. ―May I? That is, if River doesn‘t mind.‖ He shook his head. His tongue seemed to have gone on a vacation.

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―Thank you.‖ Shade frowned when Braelan dropped the rings in her palm, then sent a sidelong glance at Nix. ―It‘s a good idea, love. But you‘d best check with Cobalt first.‖ ―On it.‖ Nix stood and walked away from the table. Shade rolled her eyes and gave a small, patient smile. ―What he meant to say was, he thinks we‘ve a need for a private conversation, and he‘s gone to see if we can retire upstairs.‖ ―Oh.‖ The shakes had subsided a little. Now he only felt like he‘d been hit by a truck. Braelan put an arm around him, and he surrendered gratefully to the wordless support. This was just too much. All of it—enchanted rings, Harry, Monte, the cops, the video, the fucking reporter, not to mention that he was surrounded by fairies. He closed his eyes. Maybe it was a really elaborate dream, and he‘d wake up on his cardboard pallet in his drafty shithole room to find he‘d never even met Braelan. He knew that wasn‘t right. Mostly he didn‘t want it to be. But for the moment, it was easier to think. No one said anything until Nix came back and reported that Cobalt had said to go for it. River remembered to grab his wallet, tuck Harry‘s photo back inside and return it to his pocket before they made the silent trek upstairs, with Shade still holding the rings. No matter what came out of this, he‘d keep his memories. Harry had loved him. Nothing could convince him otherwise. And Harry wouldn‘t mind that he loved Braelan now. He would‘ve been happy for them. It was a bittersweet comfort, but he‘d take what he could get. Once they‘d settled on the couches, Nix broke the silence. ―I pegged you false, mate, and I‘m sorry for that,‖ he said. ―Harry was a good man, and he‘d not have taken up with you if you weren‘t just as or better.‖ ―So you did know him.‖ His voice came out weak and listless.

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―Aye, I did. He was what you mortals would call a cousin, after a fashion. His father‘s a cousin to my father. But his mum, now… She was human.‖ Braelan made an astonished sound. ―The Fae breed with mortals?‖ ―Look who‘s caught up, then.‖ Nix laughed and shook his head. ―Of course they do. We‘ve the same working parts, after all. Been happening for centuries—just not too often. The blood lingers, you know, so some of them never ken to their Fae heritage. But Harry knew. Couldn‘t help it, being a direct half-breed.‖ A crushing weight settled on River‘s heart. ―Why didn‘t he tell me?‖ he whispered. Nix sobered. ―For the same reason Braelan only confessed when he had to, the same reason all of us hide what we are here. To protect you.‖ He leaned across the table and patted his knee. ―Too often we‘ve seen mortals lose their marbles once they learn of the Fae. We don‘t like to risk blabbing it about freely. And Harry understood this firsthand. You know what happened to his mum?‖ ―Yeah.‖ He nodded slowly, the memory just surfacing in a murky haze. He‘d buried everything for so long that his thoughts resisted returning to the past. ―She‘d been in a home for years. No, not a home. An asylum. He visited her sometimes, but it was hard on him because…she was afraid of him,‖ he whispered. ―She knew.‖ ―Aye. She‘d caught sight of his father shifting. Harry‘d come of age, and his father wanted him to know what he was. She wasn‘t supposed to be around. She‘d come back because she‘d forgotten something.‖ Nix gazed off into the distance. ―It hadn‘t been Harry‘s fault, but he never forgave himself for that. And he vowed that no one he loved would ever know that truth about him.‖ He blinked back fresh tears. Christ, he was bawling more than a colicky baby today. ―I knew he loved me,‖ he said. ―I just wish he‘d…well, it doesn‘t matter now.‖ He tried to pull himself together. ―So, Harry‘s father. Is he around here somewhere too?‖ ―Nah. He‘d come around quite a bit when Harry…well, before he died. But he always preferred Arcadia, and he‘s not returned here since.‖ Nix shrugged and

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flashed an embarrassed smile. ―My kind‘s not exactly known for our faithfulness and stability. Except me, of course. I‘m true as an arrow. Right, love?‖ Shade let out a snort. ―Oh, absolutely. Dedicated to a fault.‖ ―Come on now, my heart. That‘s not fair. I‘ve never strayed without bringing you into it. Nothing wrong with a bit of a mix-up now and then.‖ A little flag raised itself in River‘s mind. There was a connection here somewhere, but he couldn‘t quite make it. ―You‘re swingers?‖ he said. Shade blushed and dropped her gaze, but Nix forged cheerily ahead. ―We can be, if the occasion presents itself,‖ he said. ―The Fae are sensual beings. Even certain females who don‘t like to admit to it.‖ He nudged Shade. She bared her teeth at him. ―Shut your fool mouth, you great prick.‖ ―It was you.‖ The connection snapped into place, and River went cold with dread. ―Those photos. It wasn‘t Harry. You look enough like him, so at a distance, with a little lens blur—‖ He stared at Nix. ―Jesus. I think somebody‘s been stalking you, Nix. Maybe for a long time.‖ Nix‘s brow furrowed. ―You‘d better explain yourself here, mate.‖ He gave them the short, unemotional version of Harry‘s death and the subsequent trial. Just the facts. He told them about the envelope in Harry‘s locker, the one River had never seen, that the DA had pulled on him and then offered the reduced charges with the damning evidence. ―The cop who wanted Harry dead set me up. Went to a lot of trouble for it too,‖ he said. ―Whoever took those photos had to know something about you and Harry. What are the odds that someone would just randomly stumble across another guy who happened to look like his target— the perfect tool to frame his lover with?‖ ―Aye, you‘re right.‖ Nix spoke with deadly calm and went silent for a minute. At last he said, ―This cop bastard who shot Harry. You‘ve no idea who he might be? Didn‘t look familiar at all?‖

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He shook his head. ―If I did recognize him, I‘d have killed the son of a bitch, cop or not.‖ Another thoughtful pause. ―You know,‖ Nix said slowly, ―anyone can wear a uniform.‖ ―Oh, Jesus.‖ It was all River could do not to slap himself in the head. He‘d never even considered that. And if he‘d ever hoped to find Harry‘s killer—not that he thought he could, but he might‘ve at least tried—there wasn‘t a chance in hell now. ―So that narrows the suspect list to about eight fucking million people, then.‖ ―Don‘t think so, mate. Seems to me what we‘ve got here is someone who knows quite a lot about photography and sneaking about. And the Fae.‖ Nix stood, and Shade sent him an alarmed glance. ―I aim to find out who that someone is. I‘ve got connections, ear-to-the-ground types. I‘ll nail the bastard.‖ ―I‘ll help you.‖ River was on his feet before he realized his intentions. ―If you really think you can find the guy, I‘ll—‖ ―No, mate. Not yet.‖ Nix‘s fierce expression softened. ―My connections aren‘t the sort to welcome strangers. Shade and I need to see them alone. But I swear, when the time‘s right, I will call on you.‖ Shade rose reluctantly. ―And who says I want any part of this, you daft bit?‖ She let out a sigh, squeezed his hand. ―Still, I can‘t have you rushing off alone. Someone‘s got to protect you. I sense danger in this, to all of us.‖ ―But these are humans.‖ Braelan frowned at Shade and stood next to River. ―I mean no offense to you, love. But surely no mortal can bring down a Fae.‖ Nix gaped at him for a second and then said, ―Aye, they can. I forget how little you know of them. Any human with a bit of knowledge and a load of misconceptions could destroy a Fae. They‘ve no end of incapacitating weapons and cold iron to finish us off. You know we can only kill one another in this realm by the light of the moon.‖ He leveled a grim smile. ―Humans have no such restrictions.‖ Braelan shivered and stared at the floor. ―I‘d not thought of that.‖

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―River.‖ Shade circled the little table and stopped in front of him, offering the rings. He held a hand out, and she dropped them in and curled his fingers around them. ―It‘s you that activates the spell,‖ she said. ―You‘ve a natural touch of psychic ability, and it‘s far stronger on the defensive side than the receptive one.‖ A tiny smile curved her lips. ―That‘s why your mind is closed to us. It‘s quite possible you‘ve Fae blood somewhere in your lineage.‖ ―Yeah. Sure I do.‖ ―It‘s possible.‖ She patted his closed fist. ―He meant these to protect you, in the event that he wasn‘t around to do it himself. You see, the enchantment only works when the rings are together, and he knew you‘d have them both if something happened to him. They would‘ve come to you no matter where they ended up. So, when you need them, wear them. You need only desire not to be seen, and they‘ll keep you safe.‖ His throat hitched. Damn it, he was not going to cry again. ―I will,‖ he managed. ―Thank you.‖ He tucked them into his back pocket, not ready yet to be dim again, whatever the hell that meant. After Nix and Shade left, he turned to Braelan and said shakily, ―Well, shit. There goes my plan for tonight.‖ Braelan gave him a smile. ―And what would that plan be?‖ ―Get rid of your brothers and fuck you until we pass out.‖ ―Ah, love. I do like your plan.‖ Braelan drew him close and kissed him, hard and hungry. ―Perhaps we can begin now, while Cobalt is still otherwise engaged.‖ Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and River swallowed a groan of disappointment and moved away. He knew that now wasn‘t exactly perfect timing for sex, but he had a terrible suspicion that things were going to take a turn for the worse, quickly. And damn, he wanted Braelan—every hard, hot, perfect bit of him. At least it would‘ve taken the edge off what had so far been the worst fucking day of his life. So much for that.

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He expected Cobalt. But the figure that emerged from the stairs was short, blond, and adorable, with blue eyes that lit up when they landed on Braelan. ―I kinda thought Uri was messing with me,‖ he said, striding fast across the room. ―Damn, Braelan. You look good.‖ The blond grinned and threw his arms around him. Braelan hesitated for a second, then hugged him back. ―Trystan. It‘s good to see you.‖ He gave a hesitant smile and disentangled himself. ―This is River,‖ he said. The blond turned to him. ―Hi. I‘m Trystan.‖ He held out a hand. A frown tugged at River‘s mouth, but he shook hands and studied the shorter man‘s face. ―Hey,‖ he said, ―you‘re not, uh…‖ He looked at Braelan. ―Is he?‖ Braelan laughed. ―He‘s human,‖ he said. ―Trystan is Uriskel‘s mate.‖ ―Yeah, lucky me. I got the grumpy one.‖ Trystan‘s warm smile said he loved his mate anyway. ―Speaking of Uri, he‘s downstairs waiting for you. Cobalt‘s still tattooing, and Uri wants to know what Nix‘s problem is. He stomped out of here like he was looking to gut somebody.‖ ―Of course he‘d want to know.‖ Braelan sighed and looked at River. ―Well, love. I did want you to meet Uriskel. Would you mind joining us? I believe I‘ll need your help to explain things. All this is a bit beyond me.‖ He grunted. ―Oh, I wouldn‘t miss it. If Cobalt‘s the gentle big brother, I can‘t wait to meet the tough one.‖ Trystan looked from him to Braelan and back. A grin spread and wreathed his features. ―You‘re new to this, aren‘t you, River? Don‘t worry. I‘ve got your back. Uri‘s just a big teddy bear once you get past the crankiness.‖ ―Yeah, sure,‖ he muttered. ―That‘s what everyone keeps saying about Cobalt.‖ ―Come on.‖ Laughing, Trystan headed for the stairs. River let Braelan go first and followed them down. He tried not to think things couldn‘t get any worse—because he knew once you believed that, they usually did.

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Chapter Sixteen When Trystan led them to a table in the Grotto‘s low-lit main room, for a minute River thought they‘d gone the wrong way. He‘d been expecting another blueeyed, dark-haired hunk of gorgeous. But the only guy at the table was a redhead with penetrating green eyes and a curved scar on his face that definitely wasn‘t a tattoo. Hell, he didn‘t need them. Uriskel—if that was him—did have the gorgeous thing down, but it was a dangerous kind of beauty. Even his clothes, all black leather and chains and buckles, proclaimed him a threat. That was one bad-ass fucking fairy. Uriskel stood when they approached and subjected River to a long, appraising stare that lacked anything resembling a welcome. At last he said, ―So you‘re the con artist who‘s seduced my brother.‖ ―Yeah, that‘s me,‖ River shot back before anyone else could respond. ―Who‘re you, the red-headed stepchild?‖ The green eyes widened, and then Uriskel laughed. ―I suppose you‘ll do,‖ he said. ―Sit down.‖ ―Gee, thanks.‖ Smirking, he took a seat. Trystan grinned. ―Oh, I like you already.‖ He turned to Uriskel and said, ―And you deserved that. Are you gonna behave now?‖ ―Yes, love. For the most part.‖ Uriskel kissed him and whispered something in his ear that made Trystan blush. He imagined it was similar to what he‘d said to Braelan upstairs.

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When they were all seated, Braelan reached over and grabbed his hand. ―I see that I‘ve no cause for concern after all,‖ he said. ―I believe that is the first time anyone‘s turned Uriskel‘s cutting tongue back onto him. Well played, love.‖ ―Trystan‘s managed a time or two. But he cheats.‖ Uriskel‘s lingering smile fell away. ―All right. Tell me what‘s upset our disgustingly happy friend. Nix isn‘t one to set out as though he means to avenge the heavens.‖ River frowned and gave as few details as possible. He outlined Harry‘s death, said that he and Nix had been related, explained that the murderer had taken photos of Nix and another man, and used them to keep from being caught. He tried to keep himself out of it. But Uriskel wasn‘t satisfied. ―And how do you happen to figure into this? There‘s more than you‘re letting on.‖ He sighed. No point in hiding it anymore. ―I used to be a cop,‖ he said. ―Harry was my partner and my lover. The bastard who killed him framed me for it, and I did four years in prison. Okay?‖ A flicker of pain flared in Uriskel‘s eyes. He winced, and Trystan reached over and rubbed his leg. ―I see,‖ he said in rough tones. ―You‘ve my condolences, then.‖ ―Don‘t want them. But thanks anyway.‖ Trystan let out a low whistle. ―You went in as a cop? Damn, man. That must‘ve been hell.‖ ―You could say that.‖ He closed his eyes for a moment. Braelan gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and some of the crushing weight of memories lifted. ―So, make me a happy man and tell me you already know the rest. I‘m sick of explaining.‖ ―You mean that the two of you have managed to land on the police wanted list? Yes, Cobalt‘s told me.‖ Uriskel cast a faint smile. ―I did warn you, Braelan, that you‘d get yourself into trouble without me.‖ ―It wasn‘t his fault,‖ River said. ―Wasn‘t it?‖ Uriskel arched an eyebrow. ―So you forced him to steal money.‖

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Braelan held up a hand. ―All right, brother. Your point is taken. I may have made an error in judgment.‖ ―Yeah, but you don‘t deserve the shit storm they‘re making this into. That‘s all on Monte, and that shit-slinging reporter.‖ His jaw clenched as he remembered the damning article. ―If he hadn‘t printed that crap and dragged me into the spotlight again, it would‘ve been just another petty crime with the thousand others in this city. The PD would‘ve hardly touched it.‖ ―Oh, God. Speaking of slimy reporters,‖ Trystan said. ―Weren‘t we going to tell them about that asshole who came to the gallery this morning?‖ Uriskel groaned. ―Artist spotlight, my ass,‖ he said. ―The cretin was supposed to interview Trystan and bring him some publicity for the gallery. But he‘d not stop pestering me—wanted to know where I‘d come from, how long I‘d been in New York, whether I‘d relatives in the area. He was a maddening little beast.‖ River‘s instincts cried foul. ―Tell me he wasn‘t from the Post.‖ ―He was, actually.‖ Trystan bit his lip. ―The hell was his name… Derek? No, Dexter. Um. Maybe—‖ ―David MacShayne.‖ ―Crap. That‘s him. I take it we‘re talking the same guy here.‖ ―Yeah.‖ River fisted his free hand. What the hell was David-fuckingMacShayne doing sniffing around Uriskel? The fucker was obviously a crime-beat reporter, not a culture hack—and one who knew way too much about his past. Now that he thought about it, MacShayne shouldn‘t have been so quick to recognize him on the street. Not from some piece he wrote six years ago and hadn‘t even interviewed him for. The reporter fit into this clusterfuck somewhere. He had a feeling that he‘d better figure out how—and do it fast. ―What did you tell him?‖ he said.

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Uriskel looked uncomfortable. ―I humored him at first. Said one of my brothers was an artist as well, and the other something of a celebrity. It was a joke. And I…may have mentioned the Grotto.‖ A minor commotion erupted near the entrance to the studio, like the discussion had caused it somehow. River sat facing the wrong direction to see anything, but Trystan looked beyond him and blanched. ―Oh, shit,‖ he said under his breath. ―Couple of cops just came in here. Jesus, they have their guns out!‖ The buzz of panic swelled and spread through the room. River risked a glance back, and his heart took a nosedive. ―It‘s fucking Bennett,‖ he said. ―Other one must be that kid he‘s partnered with.‖ ―I‘ll make them leave.‖ Braelan started to rise. ―No!‖ He took in a shaking breath. ―You can‘t keep fucking with their heads or whatever you did before. They‘ll just keep coming. And they‘ll get worse every time. Trust me, I know New York cops.‖ There was only one option. He didn‘t like it, but it‘d be temporary. He hoped. ―Look, I‘m going to surrender.‖ ―River—‖ ―Listen.‖ He looked back again. The uniforms were moving through the place, table by table, inspecting faces with blinding bursts from their Maglites. There wasn‘t enough overhead light in here to find them right away, but they‘d hit their table soon. ―They‘ll bring me in, process me and stick me in the holding pen. Tomorrow morning they‘ll set bail. Can somebody pay it and spring me? Shouldn‘t be too high—six or seven hundred, a grand tops. It‘s not a capital crime.‖ Trystan gave a grim nod. ―I‘ll cover you.‖ ―Thanks.‖ Another deep breath failed to banish the frantic butterflies in his gut. ―I think Nix can find the guy who killed Harry. Once that happens, things‘ll get worked out. I can do one night in the pen.‖ Christ, his palms were sweating. He wiped them on his jeans—Will‘s jeans, he recalled dimly—and looked at Braelan. ―You stay here.‖ ―But—‖

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―Stay,‖ he said firmly and punctuated it with a kiss. Then, before his nerve could fail him, he stood and turned away and stalked toward Bennett.

*** Braelan watched River lift his hands in surrender as he approached the police, and desperation flooded him nearly to the point of panic. ―I cannot let him do this.‖ He turned to his brother, who observed the unfolding scene with mingled horror and admiration. ―Uriskel, he‘d prefer death over prison. He‘s said as much. I must stop them.‖ ―Bennett!‖ River‘s shout carried above the din. ―I‘m right here.‖ ―Oh, gods,‖ Braelan moaned. ―I cannot bear this.‖ Uriskel‘s lips pressed in a firm line. ―He‘s asked you to stay, Braelan. He‘s strong, that one, and he‘ll survive. You should honor his request. You‘ll only hurt him more if you don‘t.‖ ―I‘ll not let him do this alone.‖ Determined anger brought him to his feet. ―I will honor his request and not bespell them, but I‘ll give myself over too. Trystan, will you…spring me as well?‖ The little blond, who‘d paled even further, looked to Uriskel. ―Trystan!‖ ―Yes,‖ he blurted. ―All right. I‘ll post your bail.‖ Uriskel‘s eyes blazed. ―Braelan, this is a mistake.‖ ―Whether it is or not, I‘ll not abandon him.‖ His mind insisted that Uriskel was right, that he was a fool to place himself in these humans‘ hands, but his heart overruled the thought. He looked over again. The older officer, Bennett, had grabbed River‘s wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back, but the younger still searched the tables, drawing closer. And now Cobalt was leaving his booth, wearing fury like paint. ―Stop Cobalt from interfering. Please,‖ he said. ―I must do this. Let me protect myself this time.‖

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For an instant he thought Uriskel would refuse. Finally, he nodded and stood. ―Be watchful, Brother,‖ he said. ―I‘ll not lose you like this.‖ ―No. You won‘t.‖ He headed out into the muddled crowd, toward the place River stood unresisting, locked in Bennett‘s painful hold. When he neared the two, River caught sight of him and gave a fierce shake of his head. The anguish in his eyes nearly made Braelan turn back. But he would not let River suffer alone. ―Excuse me.‖ He waited until the policeman looked at him. ―I am also surrendering.‖ ―No!‖ River struggled against the grip. ―Don‘t. Bennett, I made him do it. At gunpoint. Leave him out of this.‖ ―Shut up, you piece of shit.‖ Bennett wrenched harder, drawing a pained snarl from River, and turned a terrible grin on Braelan. ―Well, well. Pretty Boy wants to stand by his bitch. Ain‘t that sweet. Hey, Mac,‖ he called over his shoulder. ―We‘ve got the other one here.‖ ―Leave him alone!‖ River bucked and twisted, nearly breaking the grasp in the effort. ―I know you want me, you son of a bitch. You‘ve got me. You don‘t need him.‖ ―Oh, that‘s it.‖ Bennett drew a short black stick from his waistband and swung it hard into River‘s back, directly between his shoulders. He thumped to the floor with a brief cry. Braelan lunged instinctively—and a cool, black-gloved hand wrapped his wrist. ―I wouldn‘t try that if I were you,‖ a voice said behind him. ―You‘re going to come quietly. Aren‘t you?‖ The voice belonged to the younger officer. Edged with a faint Irish lilt, it was vicious and cold as the ages. And as though he needed further convincing, the hard nub of a gun dug into his spine.

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He could only nod and watch as Bennett knelt on River to hold him down, then secured his wrists behind his back with gleaming steel handcuffs. With that done, the cop dragged him to his feet and propelled him through the emptying studio toward the exit. ―Come along.‖ The gun prodded him. Braelan moved numbly after the others, a blossom of dread in his gut. Something was not right here. He could sense it. Reminding himself that River knew what would happen from here on out, that this was simply the routine human law enforcement followed, did nothing to lessen the feeling. It had to do with this one at his back. He tried to look over his shoulder, and metal ground hard into his flesh. ―Eyes forward, if you please.‖ At once he realized the source of his unease. That lilt. Bennett‘s partner had not sounded at all similar in the store. This was not the same man. And he was fairly certain the police always worked with the same partners, as River and Harry had worked together. He‘d lost sight of the other two. They were nearing the exit now. He walked through the door, into the vestibule that Malik had apparently abandoned, through the next door and outside. There, he saw a police vehicle parked along the sidewalk, its lights whirling and pulsing hectic patterns onto the night, and Bennett forcing a groggy River into the backseat. The bastard must‘ve struck him again. Blood limned his lips and drizzled down his chin. The young officer marched him to the vehicle and slammed him against the side. The unexpected blow stole his breath, and before he could regain it, the cop pulled his arms back and fastened handcuffs around his wrists. He felt the cold bite of metal only briefly before it began to burn—and he realized that his restraints were not steel. Weight pressed him against the vehicle, and the cop‘s voice feathered in his ear. ―I‘ve got you now, monster.‖ His tone was nearly seductive, dripping with

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anticipation. ―Shame I can‘t bring you all at once. But rest assured I‘ll return for your brothers when I‘ve finished you.‖ Through the roiling waves of nausea that consumed him from the cold iron at his wrists, the words struck ice into his soul. He tried to lash out, to strike down this creature who intended to destroy all that he loved. But already the sickness turned his limbs to water. His efforts only merited a fresh churning that nearly emptied his stomach. ―Bastard,‖ he gasped. ―What are you?‖ ―I am your end.‖ Braelan could do nothing as the human opened the car door and pushed him inside to join River.

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Chapter Seventeen When the younger cop shoved Braelan into the cruiser, half-conscious and puking, River understood that they were both fucked. Why the hell wouldn‘t Braelan stay out of this like he told him to? Damn it, he knew why. He would‘ve done the same stupid thing if the situation were reversed. And that made everything worse—especially since it was his fucking idea to go along with these bastards in the first place. He concentrated on Braelan first, while the cops loaded up in front and pulled the cruiser onto the street with Bennett driving. There wasn‘t much he could do with his hands cuffed behind him, and the throbbing, eye-watering headache didn‘t help. Bennett had treated him to a walloping right cross to the mouth when they‘d gotten outside, and he was pretty sure there‘d been a tooth somewhere in the gout of blood that poured out. At least Braelan was mostly on the seat. But he‘d landed in an awkward sprawl, with his head down and resting on River‘s shin. Had to get him more upright. ―Braelan,‖ he half whispered. ―Can you hear me?‖ A thin moan was the response. Braelan shifted, but he couldn‘t tell if it was a physical effort or an accidental slip. And then he saw his wrists. ―Jesus.‖ His throat slammed shut against rising bile. Beneath the cuffs, and spreading half an inch or so in either direction, Braelan‘s skin was reddened, cracked and bubbling, oozing blood—as if the metal had been molten hot when they were slapped on. He lifted his head slowly and glared at the grate separating them from the cops. ―You fucks,‖ he spat. ―What the hell did you do to him?‖

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Bennett snorted. The other one laughed—a cold, piercing sound that chilled River‘s blood. ―Braelan…‖ He leaned down and tried to get a better look. If he was careful, he could probably slide both legs under him, and at least get him so the blood wasn‘t rushing to his head. ―I‘m going to try moving you,‖ he said. ―If you can help, great. If you can‘t, just don‘t fight me, okay?‖ Braelan made a sound that might‘ve been assent. ―Right. Here we go.‖ He shuffled across the seat toward Braelan‘s side, got one leg under a shoulder and the other beneath his neck. ―Coming up,‖ he said and lifted his legs as far as they‘d go. Now Braelan was propped on his thighs. Before he could figure out how to move him farther, Braelan tensed and slid himself the rest of the way, so his head was in River‘s lap. He let out a breath, relaxed his legs. ―Okay,‖ he murmured. ―That‘s one thing down.‖ ―…iron.‖ The faint word rasped from Braelan‘s lips. River bent closer. ―Take it easy,‖ he whispered. ―Don‘t try to talk if you can‘t. Christ, what did they do?‖ he added, half to himself. ―Cold iron. Poison…‖ A coughing spate almost jolted Braelan back to the floor. ―Not the…same. Partner.‖ The chill in him deepened to black dread. Cold iron—that was what Nix said could kill the Fae. He made himself look at Braelan‘s mangled wrists again. Those cuffs weren‘t police issue. They looked downright medieval. The bastards had to be planning to kill him. Probably both of them. But why? He was positive Bennett didn‘t know shit about the Fae. That left the other one, the one who‘d dragged Braelan out to the cruiser and cuffed him. Not the same partner. What had Bennett called him back inside? Mac.

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As in MacShayne. Anyone can wear a uniform. He straightened as best he could and glowered through the wire mesh. ―MacShayne.‖ The passenger went still. ―David MacShayne,‖ he said. ―Right?‖ The guy turned until he was a shadowed profile. ―Aye. Smart of you, Jarvis.‖ His brogue had thickened. The fucker could have serious control over that accent when he wanted to. ―You…‖ Realization pounded him like thunder, squeezing the air from his lungs and stippling cold pinpricks across his flesh. ―You killed Harry.‖ There was a satisfied sigh. ―I did.‖ ―Keep your box shut, Mac,‖ Bennett snarled. ―I‘m not risking my badge for this filth.‖ ―Relax. Those two won‘t be going anywhere.‖ ―I said shut it!‖ MacShayne shrugged and fell silent. Panic threatened to swallow River and shut down his capacity for thought. He forced it back. But even thinking clearly didn‘t improve things. He couldn‘t imagine why MacShayne was running around killing Fae or why Bennett was helping him. That would‘ve left out reasoning with them, except there wasn‘t a chance of that in the first place. They had to be crazy. And there was no reasoning with the insane. He couldn‘t overpower them, either. Braelan was incapacitated, so River was on his own—and even if his hands had been free, he didn‘t have any weapons. The other two both had guns. Harry‘s rings were still in his pocket, but he couldn‘t reach that, and he didn‘t know how they worked anyway.

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Still, he wasn‘t going to give up. He‘d gotten Braelan into this, and damned if he‘d let him die. The bastard in the front seat had already killed one man he loved. MacShayne wasn‘t getting this one. The cruiser slowed. He glanced out the window and found they‘d left Midtown and driven into his old neighborhood, if you could call it that. Monte‘s place was around here somewhere. Bennett eased the car down a narrow alley and into a fenced lot behind an abandoned building. The only other thing in the lot was a midnight blue Mercedes, which Bennett pulled up behind. Shit. If he was going to do something, it had to be now. The instant Bennett killed the engine, MacShayne turned toward the back, grinning. He raised an arm and pointed the gun in his hand at Braelan. ―Jesus, Mac! Not in the fucking car.‖ Bennett gave an indecorous snort. ―You know how long it takes to get bloodstains out of those seats?‖ The casual delivery of those words turned his stomach. How many had these two psychos murdered? He had to try something to stop this. Mac was getting out of the cruiser. Maybe Bennett still had a few shreds of sanity left. ―Bennett,‖ he said. ―Do you know what your buddy thinks Harry was, and my friend is?‖ ―Shut the fuck up.‖ ―Fairies. He thinks they‘re fairies, man. He‘s certifiable.‖ ―I don‘t care if Mac thinks your boyfriend‘s the Queen of Sheba. He gets him, and I get you. That‘s the deal. It‘s always the deal—the faggots are mine.‖ Bennett opened the driver‘s side door. ―You can‘t do this!‖ ―Watch me, shit-packer.‖ The door next to Braelan opened. MacShayne reached in and grabbed Braelan‘s shirt.

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―Get the fuck off him!‖ River yanked frantically at his cuffed hands. Nothing gave. He tried to fold his body around Braelan and hold him in place. ―You can‘t have him. You took Harry, you son of a bitch. You can’t have him!‖ Braelan‘s eyes fluttered open. It was painful watching him try to smile. ―…love you, àillidh,‖ he rasped. ―Remember, you promised.‖ ―What? What the fuck did I promise?‖ ―To live.‖ ―Oh, God.‖ He could barely breathe. ―You promised to hold me to it. So you can‘t die either. Braelan, I love you too.‖ The door next to River opened, and Bennett clamped onto his upper arm. ―Get him the fuck out, Mac. These faggots are gonna make me puke.‖ Bennett hauled him out and slammed him against the cruiser, pinning him in place. He was forced to watch as MacShayne dragged Braelan by one ankle across the crumbling pavement and out into the clear. The reporter—or whatever he was— dropped him and pulled his gun, then drove a foot into his side. ―Time to get up now, you nasty thing. On your knees.‖ ―Check it out,‖ Bennett said behind him with audible glee. ―I love watching him work.‖ Incredibly, Braelan moved. It took him an eternity, but he rose to his knees, head hanging in exhaustion. Strings of dark, sweat-soaked hair obscured his face. ―Stop this,‖ River whispered. ―For God‘s sakes, Bennett. You‘re a cop.‖ ―Not right now, cocksucker. I‘m off duty.‖ He couldn‘t believe MacShayne would actually do it. He went right on believing that while the bastard circled Braelan to stand at his back, raised the gun and took aim. This wasn‘t going to happen. They were fucking with him, trying to rattle him, and any minute they‘d load them both back in the cruiser and take them to the station. They‘d spend the night in the pen. Trystan would bail them out in the morning.

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He still believed it for a few long seconds after the harsh blast of the gun, while the retort rumbled and echoed through the lot and faded into the distance. And then he knew nothing.

*** River didn‘t want to open his eyes. If he did, he‘d have to remember what had happened, what was still happening. He could forget this. He was good at forgetting. He‘d managed it with Harry, and he could do the same thing now. In fact, he‘d already forgotten the name. Braelan. A guttural, broken sob reached his ears. For one hopeful second he thought it was Braelan, and maybe there was still a way to save him. But then he realized that the sound had come from him. MacShayne had shot Braelan in the back—a coward‘s execution. The reporter in cop‘s clothing had murdered the man he loved. Again. Or had he? MacShayne definitely shot him. But had he killed him? He tried to remember what Nix had said about cold iron and debilitating weapons. Not deadly. Humans needed enough cold iron to finish them off. Harry had been part human, but Braelan was all Fae. Braelan was still alive. The instant the thought occurred, he knew it was true. It wasn‘t just a possibility or his heart‘s desperate need to have a little hope, a reason to survive whatever he would face when he opened his eyes. He knew. He‘d never been more certain of anything in his life. He opened his eyes. And immediately wished he hadn‘t. There was light—not much, but enough to make out his surroundings. He lay on his side, on a concrete floor covered with spider-web cracks and dark, splotchy stains. His hands were still cuffed behind him and his shoulders screamed with the

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strain. Bennett must‘ve brought him inside the building. From what he could make out, the place might have been a garage once. A steel pole that probably used to be an auto lift stood between him and the wall he could see. There was an industrial sink against the wall, with the remains of a pegboard mounted above it. A few objects, too small to identify from his vantage point, hung from the pegboard. And then there was Bennett crouched in front of him, grinning. The light spread about five feet beyond the cop and tapered into deep shadows, suggesting a lot more to the room back there. Bennett had something in his hand. It almost would‘ve been better if it was his gun—but it was a knife. Whatever the bastard planned to do, it wouldn‘t be quick. ―You were my first,‖ Bennett said. ―Did you know that? At least, you were supposed to be. But you didn‘t. Fucking. Die.‖ He frowned at the knife, twirled it a few times. ―I cut you deep. You should‘ve bled to death, but oh, no. The faggot pulled through—and survived to be tried and sentenced.‖ The grin came back. ―You didn‘t die, but you did go to hell. All fags go to hell eventually.‖ The realization that Bennett had been the ―body‖ in the alley should‘ve pissed him off or at least surprised him. It did neither. But he‘d have to play along with this monster until he could figure out how to get away. ―That‘s right,‖ he said dully. ―Us fags like hell. It‘s where we‘re always taking it up the ass from pricks like you.‖ ―The only thing I‘d put up your ass is this.‖ Bennett waved the knife. ―But not yet. I had to wait six years to get my hands on you again, so I‘m going to take my time and hurt you. A lot. Then I‘ll kill you.‖ ―Sounds like fun,‖ he muttered. ―Can‘t wait.‖ ―You won‘t have to.‖ Bennett straightened. River considered closing his eyes again so he wouldn‘t see it coming. But if he was going to save Braelan—and he would, damn it—he had to remain aware and thinking. Bennett swung a foot back and plowed it into his gut.

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The impact lifted him an inch off the floor. He curled inward, gasping for breath. At least the pain provided clarity. Everything stood out in sharp relief—the hot, sick anguish in his belly, his aching jaw from Bennett‘s earlier ministrations, the jagged lightning that surged through his arms and shoulders. He could see the weave pattern in the jeans he wore, and the individual threads on the seam. His hip was twisted forward just enough to make out the edge of the back pocket, from which a small loop of leather cord protruded. Harry‘s rings. They were supposed to protect him. If he could get them on. A foot prodded his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. He grimaced at the fresh pain in his overextended arms. Though he knew it was useless, he tried to wriggle his hands down toward his pocket, stretching everything as far as it‘d go. It wasn‘t even close to enough. Bennett paced a few steps, straddled his legs and squatted, facing him. ―You know, maybe I won‘t carve you a new asshole,‖ he said. ―I‘ve always liked that idea, kind of a take-the-phrase-literally thing. But now I‘m thinking maybe I‘ll cut this off.‖ He reached out with the knife and tapped the flat of the blade against River‘s crotch a few times. The sensation almost made River puke. ―That is, if I can stand touching your nasty prick.‖ Revulsion squirmed through him at the idea of Bennett‘s hands on his cock. He had to escape before that happened. But it seemed like Bennett was willing to stretch this out all night. He needed the son of a bitch to stop talking and start beating—because the more he moved around, the better chance he‘d have at working that cord free and getting the rings. So he‘d have to piss him off. And he knew the perfect way to do it. ―You‘re a real homophobe, man,‖ he said. ―Know what that means? Fear of homosexuals.‖ Bennett sneered. ―Please. I‘m not afraid of your candy ass. Who‘s the one on the ground, Jarvis?‖ ―Who‘s the one playing with my cock?‖

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―You sick piece of shit.‖ Blanching, Bennett straightened and backed away. ―I didn‘t touch your limp little sack. I told you, I‘m gonna cut the fucking thing off. Probably won‘t take more than one pass, either.‖ River manufactured a grin. ―Ooh, you got it bad, Bennett. Wanna hear something else about homophobes? You should know this already. They taught it in the academy. Psych 101.‖ He propped up a little on his bound hands. ―Homophobes are latent homosexuals. The more they hate faggots, the gayer they are, deep down inside.‖ He forced the grin wider and wiggled his hips. ―So how ‘bout it. You want to suck my cock? I think you‘d like it.‖ ―Shut up!‖ Red-faced and snarling, Bennett seized River‘s ankles and started dragging him across the floor, toward the sink and the pegboard with its unidentified contents. ―Sick motherfucker. You‘re a goddamn freak. You fruitcakes never should‘ve been allowed to wear the badge. It‘s a fucking disgrace.‖ River tuned out the ranting and concentrated on hugging his ass to the floor. If he could catch that little loop of cord right, it‘d get dragged out of his pocket. The pressure he was adding abraded his hands and forearms and rode his shirt up until his back scraped against the concrete too. But those weren‘t the biggest problems. He couldn‘t see what he was doing. If the cord pulled free, and he missed it going by, he‘d never get his hands on the rings. Bennett reached the sink and dropped him abruptly. ―You know what? I‘m gonna cut your fuckin‘ prick off and feed it to you. How do you like that?‖ He swallowed. ―Sounds yummy,‖ he rasped. Christ, every bit of him hurt, especially his torso. Any minute now, he expected his arms to break with the pressure, the bones to splinter and snap and stab through his flesh. ―Always wanted to suck my own cock.‖ ―Yeah, I‘ll bet you do.‖ The corners of Bennett‘s mouth twitched a few times. ―But before I touch you, I‘m gonna wash my hands and glove up. I don‘t know where you‘ve been.‖ He turned toward the sink.

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Come on, Harry. Help me out here. River took a slow, deep breath and started inching his arms down again. The effort brought tears to his eyes. He felt the floor beneath him with his fingers, skimming cool concrete, flecks of grit… and something that bent when he touched it. The leather cord. Bennett had the water running. It covered the faint scrape of metal on stone as River gathered the cord slowly in his hands. Finally, he touched one of the rings and slipped it on. He spent a panicked few seconds searching for the second one, positive it had somehow detached itself and was still in his pocket, or back on the floor somewhere behind him. There. The curve of the second band brushed his pinkie. He fumbled for it and shoved it on the same finger as the first. So now, supposedly, he was dim. The little surprise demonstration at the Grotto suggested Bennett wouldn‘t be able to see him if he didn‘t make noise. But if he stayed in this spot, Bennett might instinctively feel for him, even if he couldn‘t see him. He should move now, while he wasn‘t being watched. Bennett was still washing his hands and humming under his breath. The fucking bastard enjoyed this. River couldn‘t stand up yet; it would hurt like hell when he did and he wouldn‘t be able to keep quiet. So he rocked side to side, gaining a little momentum, and did three slow rolls away from the sink. It‘d have to be enough. Okay, he thought. I want to disappear. Start protecting. ―What‘s wrong, Jarvis? You run out of clever?‖ Bennett shut off the water and shook his hands over the sink, then dried them on his pants. ―And I was enjoying our little conversation too. Especially the part about you wanting to suck your own—‖ He‘d turned. His gaze fixed on the floor, and his eyes bulged in shock. River held his breath.

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Without a word, Bennett pulled his piece and struck a low ready stance. River could practically see the cop instincts kicking in. Bennett swept the room, moving only his eyes at first and then turning his head by degrees to scan the peripherals. ―No fucking way,‖ Bennett muttered. ―You‘re still here, shit-sucker. I can smell you.‖ He moved a few paces forward, tapped a foot along the floor where River had been a minute ago. River‘s heart pounded like a drum. He was half convinced the bastard would hear it and put a bullet in him. ―Gotcha!‖ Bennett screamed—and bolted across the room, into the darkness. Move! Clenching his jaw, River did an agonizing sit-up and paused for breath. Rustles and a few clatters echoed from the back of the room. Bennett cursed, and a beam of light flashed into existence—his Mag. It wouldn‘t take long to realize he wasn‘t back there. Getting to his feet proved harder, but River managed with relative silence. He quashed his first instinct to get the fuck out. Bennett might‘ve locked the door that led into the place, and his struggles to open it would draw attention. Plus, if he did leave, he‘d have to move fast. He was pretty sure that‘d give him away. He‘d have to take Bennett out first. ―Where the fuck are you?‖ More clattering. ―Come out, Jarvis, and I‘ll kill you quick. I swear it. One painless bullet. But if you make me find you…‖ There was no way he could get to Bennett in the cluttered dark. He‘d make too much noise. He walked carefully to the edge of the light and called out, ―Right here, asshole. Come on out and suck my cock. I know that‘s what you want.‖ A bellow of rage poured from the shadows. The flashlight beam swung in his direction, and pounding feet approached as Bennett raced ahead. River smiled. Perfect.

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He lined himself up and waited. Just before Bennett breached the light, River crouched and stuck a leg out. Had to hit him at shin level for this to work. Bennett struck—and River shoved against the impact to boost the momentum. For a few seconds, the crazed cop looked like he‘d taken flight. Then he crashed headfirst into concrete. The rest of him thumped down hard. Gun and flashlight skittered from his hands in opposite directions. He waited, counting silently to twenty. Bennett didn‘t move. Unlocking the cuffs was an exercise in agony. His fingers wouldn‘t cooperate enough to slide the catch on the key clasp, so he had to undo Bennett‘s pants and slide the belt out until he got to them. Bennett groaned once during the process— almost gave him a heart attack—but stayed unconscious. When the first cuff popped and his arm flopped free, he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. Finally, the cuffs clattered to the floor. He dropped the keys, staggered a few steps and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. He‘d give himself just a few minutes and try to regain a little strength. Then he‘d find Braelan. Somehow. Another groan rose from the floor. He looked. This time, Bennett was moving. The bastard was already up on his knees, scanning the room. Fuck! He was standing way too close. He couldn‘t risk going anywhere, or he‘d be spotted. He‘d just have to hope Bennett decided to move away. Bennett‘s hand went to his holster, an automatic gesture River himself had performed frequently on the job. When Bennett touched it, his unbuttoned pants slid down a little more—and he froze, his mouth puckering in horrified shock. He drew a fast breath and gagged on it. ―Guh-god,‖ he gasped. His gaze flicked over the open handcuffs, the keys lying next to them. ―No,‖ he whispered. ―Oh, Jesus and Mary, no…he didn‘t…‖ With trembling hands, he fastened his pants— then crawled forward and vomited.

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River gaped at him and finally understood what he was seeing. The son of a bitch thought he‘d raped him. Jesus. He wanted to laugh and scream all at once. But he held his tongue and watched, waited. Bennett stayed on all fours for a full minute, staring at the pool of puke like it‘d tell him his fortune. He finally pulled back to his knees and paused again. Then he threw back his head and shouted, ―Jarvis! Get your ass back here and die!‖ That wasn‘t going to happen. He‘d made a promise, and he intended to keep it. ―Gone,‖ Bennett said, a lackluster gaze fixed on nothing. ―Son of a bitch. They‘ll find me out. I‘m finished.‖ Breathing hard, Bennett lurched to his feet and shambled toward his gun. He stopped and stared at it, sat down abruptly and picked it up. A few tears squeezed from his eyes. He swallowed once, then lodged the barrel under his chin. ―Faggot bastard. I‘ll see you in hell,‖ he whispered. ―I‘ll see you in hell.‖ Bennett pulled the trigger and delivered himself the painless death he‘d promised River.

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Chapter Eighteen Braelan awoke slowly, his consciousness rising through a haze of pain and fragmented memories. He recalled being taken from the Grotto. He and River spent an endless time in the back of a vehicle, and he‘d not been able to move. Cold iron. He‘d been poisoned and then shot in the back. He had known being shot would hurt, but never imagined the absolute agony it would cause. He‘d not the words to describe it. And River… Ah, gods. Where was River? Complete awareness jolted him like a thunderclap. He sat up quickly, before he even realized that he‘d been lying down. His arms were no longer restrained. But the wound in his back erupted in fresh pain with the sudden motion, and the world spun sickeningly around him for a few moments. ―Oh, good. It‘s awake.‖ The cold voice drilled into his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut to banish as much of the dizziness as possible, and opened them to find himself in a cage. It seemed just long enough to contain him lying down and no wider than the breadth of his outstretched arms. The metal bars were spaced mere inches apart and ran across the top of the cage as well. From the nausea that refused to abate, he assumed they were cold iron—hence the removal of his restraints. They were no longer needed. His blood streaked the metal mesh beneath him where he‘d lain. At least the floor had failed to sear his flesh. He could tell it had not, because he‘d been stripped naked. The one called Mac stood in the room beyond the cage, far enough back so that even if he attempted to thrust an arm through the bars and burn himself in the

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process, he‘d not be able to reach him. There were three large windows, all draped with heavy black cloth, a single metal door, and a few tables and chairs piled against one wall. Beside Mac was a thin, three-legged metal stand with what he believed was a video camera mounted atop it. A cord ran from the camera to a computer on a table—and on the computer screen was Braelan, naked in the cage. When he moved, the imaged moved as well. He narrowed his eyes and drew his knees to his chest, covering himself. The bastard was recording him. ―So you know what this is, then,‖ Mac said. ―You‘ve been here pretending to be human long enough to know. You creatures disgust me.‖ Braelan could scarcely make sense of the man‘s raving and didn‘t care to try. Only one thing mattered. ―Where is River?‖ ―Robert Jarvis, otherwise known as River.‖ Mac gave a dismissive shrug. ―Likely dead by now, if Bennett‘s finished having his fun. He takes his time with the faggots. The women too, but for different reasons. Torture for one, sex for the other.‖ A crazed smile drifted to his lips. ―For years I‘ve hunted cockroaches like you, taken you down one by one. But you‘re special. You‘ve got brothers, so this is like Christmas for me. And it‘s special for my partner too. He always gets the other half, those fellow humans who‘ve sullied themselves by fucking you monsters. But he‘s been after this one since I took down his partner. Your precious River will suffer and die just like you.‖ ―No.‖ He‘d not believe that. An unbearable ache took root in him at the thought of River being tortured, but he refused to accept the possibility of death. He‘d promise to live, and that promise was binding. It did not matter that the gealdt only applied to the Fae. ―I‘m afraid it‘s true. But believe what you‘d like.‖ Mac stepped back and gestured at the camera. ―I‘ve brought you here for a purpose. You see, there‘s an audience watching you—not a large one, mind you, but once I‘ve captured this, it‘ll

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spread like the plague.‖ His face broke into a leering rictus. ―Change, beast. Show the world your true form.‖ He understood at once what the man intended. This recording was being sent to the Internet, as River had said the press would do with the recording Monte had made of them. Mac was attempting to reveal the existence of the Fae to the entire human realm. Even now, the world watched. He could not so much as mention the Fae, or agree with anything this lunatic said. He‘d not betray his people and expose them to the dangers humans posed. He would have to lie—and he was a terrible liar. But he‘d no choice. ―You‘re mad,‖ he said, hoping his voice did not tremble too much. ―I cannot change into anything.‖ Mac made a sound of disappointment and produced something from his pocket, a small black rectangle with several buttons, similar to a phone. He depressed one of the buttons. A low, angry buzzing filled the cage, like a nest of hornets—and unspeakable pain shocked Braelan everywhere his skin contacted the mesh floor. He cried out and leaped to his feet. The scourging continued, driving spikes of anguish up through the contact points and into his body. His legs gave out with it. He pitched forward and recoiled instantly when the cold iron bars simultaneously shocked him and seared his flesh. No position brought release from the pain. It was impossible to remain still. Even if he attempted to withstand the shocks or the burns, after a mere second his muscles reacted involuntarily and pulled back whatever part of him bore the brunt of it. He jerked and flopped about within the confines of the cage, oblivious to all but the agony that consumed him. The punishment lasted an eternity. When the buzzing finally ceased, Braelan collapsed in a shuddering heap—gasping and gagging, tears streaming unchecked from his eyes.

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―This here, now, is what we humans call a rabbit room. Slightly modified, of course.‖ Mac‘s voice sounded hollow and distant through the throbbing in his ears. ―I‘ve only given you the lowest setting for a mere fifteen seconds. We can go higher…and longer. Until you change.‖ Fifteen seconds. It had seemed like hours, and he‘d nearly hoped the pain would kill him—though he knew it would not. He was Fae. His body could take this punishment for as long as Mac chose to inflict it, and he would survive. He would feel every bit of it. This level of anguish was what he‘d dealt to Uriskel for years. Decades. Uriskel had not broken. Nor would he. He worked to right himself. His trembling limbs failed him several times and sent him crashing back to the floor. Every impact battered him further, but he kept trying. At last he was seated again. He took a moment to catch his breath as best he could, and a few more stumbling efforts brought him to his feet. ―Lunatic,‖ he rasped. ―I am what you see, and nothing more.‖ This time the buzzing was fierce and immediate. Braelan stopped trying to resist and let his body pitch about the cage, careening wildly from the bars and the floor. Each time he believed he could not bear another moment and, immortal or not, would simply perish from the pain, he discovered a new threshold of tolerance. A deeper level of hell. When it stopped, his vision was a patchwork blur through scalding tears, and the buzzing lingered in his ears, only slightly muted. Still, he heard a raised voice through it—one that did not belong to Mac. ―—fucking torture vid! You can‘t do that shit in here. This wasn‘t the deal.‖ Part of him sank impossibly lower. For an instant he‘d hoped the voice belonged to River, but it was not. It did, however, sound familiar. He might‘ve placed it if his mind were not as battered as his body. ―The deal is that I use this room, and you stay out.‖ There was something deadly in Mac‘s tone.

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―No fucking way, man. I live here. I have kids. You can‘t broadcast this shit from my—‖ The flat crack of a gun interrupted. ―Jesus!‖ There was a hollow bang, scrambling footsteps. Mac hadn‘t hit the other man, if that had been his intention. Braelan blinked rapidly. His vision cleared a bit, and he caught sight of the open door and a figure rushing out into the night. Mac advanced toward it with gun in hand. He stepped outside. Another gunshot rumbled, and a distant male voice loosed a garbled cry. Mac returned, shaking his head. He closed and locked the door behind him. After a brief pause he returned the gun to his holster and came toward the cage, stopping before he drew within range of the camera. ―Now then.‖ Once again, Mac produced the device that dispensed hell. ―Where were we?‖

*** River moved quickly down familiar streets, driven by the certainty that Braelan still lived—but wouldn‘t for much longer. The rings were back in his pocket for now. Without knowing exactly when he could or couldn‘t be seen, he didn‘t want to risk having the cops called on him for suspicious activity like flickering in and out of reality. He didn‘t have time to get help, wasn‘t sure how to contact any if he did. But he knew something else. It was a fact, not a hope or a guess. Braelan was at Monte‘s place. He had a few things to support it, so it wasn‘t a completely wild conclusion. One, Monte had to be the anonymous source that MacShayne used for the article. Two, the shithole was close, and no matter how insane the reporter was, he wouldn‘t have risked driving too far with a handcuffed bullet-wound victim in the car. And three, Monte had been buying video equipment at Kmart, even though he

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already had the building rigged for monitoring. Either the slimy bastard was plotting a new secret camera target or setting up a system for MacShayne. River was betting on the latter. And most convincingly, there were the changes there‘d been to the front room. The big, tarp-covered object, the black fabric draping the windows. Whatever had been brought in, it was being used on Braelan now. He was two blocks out when the gun‘s report popped. He sprinted the rest of the way. The building came into view, and the first thing he saw was the dark-haired figure collapsed facedown on the blood-spattered sidewalk. He managed not to scream—the shot had just been fired, and MacShayne was probably still within bullet range. He raced over to crouch in front of the figure. It moaned, shifted, and tried to raise an arm in defense. Not Braelan. Monte. ―Shit!‖ No matter what Monte had done, he couldn‘t leave him here to bleed to death. If the son of a bitch died, he wouldn‘t be able to get anything out of him. He scanned the area and didn‘t see anything, hear anything. That could just mean MacShayne was good at concealment, but he‘d have to risk the chance. ―Hey. Monte, man, you in there? You‘d better answer fast if you are.‖ Monte‘s head came up slowly, glazed eyes blinking. ―River,‖ he said thickly. ―Fuck happened to you?‖ ―Police brutality. Come on. We‘ve got to move.‖ ―He shot me.‖ Monte planted a hand on the sidewalk and pushed up. His mouth distorted in a grimace. He let out a pained snarl and glanced down at his blood-soaked shirt. Most of the dark stain saturated his shoulder. ―Crazy son of a bitch shot me.‖ ―I see that.‖ River wedged himself under Monte‘s good arm. ―We need to get out of the open before he shoots you again.‖

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Monte came up with him, shaking his head. ―Not gonna happen. He‘s busy.‖ ―Move.‖ River guided Monte away from the sidewalk, toward the shadow of the house. He didn‘t want to think about what MacShayne was busy with. Not yet. Whatever was happening, it wasn‘t going to be easy getting Braelan out. He needed to prepare before he went in—or he‘d just end up dead too. He was actually almost glad Monte had been shot, because now maybe he could get something on the situation that would help. He told himself he wasn‘t glad because Monte was suffering. Mostly. Once they reached the house, he let Monte down slowly and propped him against the wall. ―Let me get a look at it,‖ he said, unfastening the buttons of the ruffled shirt Monte still wore. Monte only flinched a little. He snorted and leaned his head back. ―So you‘re a doctor now?‖ ―No, I‘m an ex-cop. Remember? I‘ve had first-aid training.‖ ―Oh. Right.‖ He got the shirt open and eased the sodden material away. Monte hissed sharply when it cleared the wound, but to his credit he held still. The flesh between collarbone and shoulder was torn and ruptured out, glistening darkly with blood. This was an exit wound. MacShayne had a thing for shooting people in the back. ―Well, the good news is the bullet went through. And you‘re still breathing, so it didn‘t hit a lung.‖ He cupped a hand around the back of Monte‘s neck and pushed him gently forward, then slipped the shirt off the arm. ―But you‘ve lost a lot of blood, and it‘s still going. We‘ve got to stop the bleeding.‖ ―Great. How?‖ ―We‘ll improvise.‖

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He finished removing Monte‘s shirt. The thing was flimsy polyester, useless for staunching blood flow. With a sigh, he set it aside and stripped off his cotton Tshirt. Terrific. He was giving Monte the shirt off his back. He could hardly believe he was doing this. It killed him to stay out here with Braelan so close undergoing God knew what at MacShayne‘s hands. He wanted to smash through the wall and pound the damned reporter to a bloody pulp. The cop in him knew a frontal assault would be suicide—but the rest of him wanted to bind and gag the cop part and bust in there anyway. Damn it, he wasn‘t going to fuck this up. Not when he was so close and with everything he had left to live for at stake. He dragged his attention back to Monte. It took some effort, but he managed to get a rip started in the shirt. He tore it into two roughly equal parts and folded them each a few times for pads. At least Monte‘s circus shirt was good for something. He could use it to tie the pads on. Monte watched him warily as if he expected to be punched any second. His skin had gone pale and clammy with sweat, and his breathing had slowed, but he wasn‘t in shock yet. If River could prevent that, the jerk would probably pull through. He put the pads down and went to work on Monte‘s shirt, trying to separate the worst of the blood-soaked part. Strapping things into place would‘ve been easier with two fully functioning people, but he didn‘t have that option. ―Here,‖ he said, placing one of the pads against the exit wound. ―You hold that. I have to tie.‖ Nodding, Monte pressed his working hand against the folded square and winced. ―Well, River, you‘re better than me,‖ he said. ―Shut up.‖ He held the back pad and cinched Monte‘s shirt against it. ―This is probably going to hurt.‖ ―I mean it, man.‖ Monte gasped at an increase in pressure. ―If I was you, I would‘ve left me out there.‖

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―Good thing you‘re not me then.‖ ―River—‖ ―Jesus, just be quiet.‖ He nudged Monte‘s hand aside and completed the wrap, then tied a firm knot under his arm. He wound the rest as tight as he could make it and knotted the ends at the top. ―You‘ll live,‖ he said. ―But a hospital would be a good idea.‖ ―Yeah.‖ Monte sucked a breath through clenched teeth, closed his eyes. ―Look, you…uh, you know your friend‘s in there, right?‖ He nodded and tried to brace himself. ―All right. Tell me about it.‖ Monte told him. He listened with mounting horror, and by the time Monte stopped, River was shaking with rage. ―I‘ll fucking waste him,‖ he ground out. ―You‘ve got a gun somewhere. You have to. Give it to me.‖ ―I don‘t,‖ Monte said weakly. ―The kids, you know. Maria‘d kill me.‖ ―Oh, come on.‖ He paused, pounded a fist in his palm. ―There‘s one in my room. Give me the key, and I‘ll run up and get it.‖ Monte turned the color of chalk. ―I…pawned it. The Taser too.‖ ―Jesus! You‘d sell your own mother if you could get away with it, you greedy fuck.‖ He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Should‘ve taken Bennett‘s gun, but he hadn‘t wanted to disturb the evidence. As it was, he got damned lucky the son of a bitch had taken himself out of the equation. But he couldn‘t depend on luck for this. ―I‘ve got a crowbar,‖ Monte said. ―Right there, under the steps.‖ He gestured toward the house entrance. River groaned. ―Better than nothing, I guess.‖ He stood and offered Monte a hand, helped him to his feet. ―Look, grab Maria and the kids and get the hell out of here. Go see whatever back-alley quack you were planning on seeing.‖ People like Monte—and that included himself—didn‘t do things like hospitals, even when they

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should. Too risky. ―Don‘t come back tonight. Oh, and I‘m probably going to break some shit in there. I‘m not sorry about it.‖ ―River…I‘m sorry.‖ Monte met his gaze reluctantly. ―He paid a lot, you know? I just couldn‘t turn him down. But I didn‘t know he‘d do anything like this. I swear to God I didn‘t.‖ He shivered and folded the uninjured arm across his stomach. ―I‘ll give you that money back. If you—‖ A quick swallow replaced what River suspected would‘ve been survive. ―Come around tomorrow, and it‘s yours.‖ ―No. Use it for the kids. Buy Diamond a radio to go with those headphones of hers.‖ He managed a strained smile. If he and Braelan made it through this, neither of them was going to steal anything again, period. He‘d make sure of it. ―Go on.‖ ―Thanks, man,‖ Monte gushed. ―You‘re a saint, a prince—‖ ―Will you fucking go?‖ Monte went. River waited until the man got inside, then slipped on Harry‘s rings and retrieved the crowbar. The rage returned stronger than ever as he remembered what Monte had said—the cage, the electricity, the Internet broadcast. Braelan naked and covered with bruises and burns, smoldering in his prison. Monte told him he‘d seen smoke curling from Braelan‘s flesh. One way or another, somebody wasn‘t leaving this building alive.

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Chapter Nineteen It took far longer for Braelan‘s vision and hearing to return after the latest round of scourging, and neither sense was restored completely. Every sound was muffled, every object blurred around the edges. Any movement in his field of sight rendered itself in flashing fits and starts. And the pain… It was as though every drop of his blood had been drained from his body and replaced with white-hot fire. Worse, he could feel his spark ebbing, eroded by constant exposure to the poisonous metal. Soon he‘d not be able to maintain his glamour, would revert automatically to his true form—and once that occurred, his death was only a matter of time. He could not let that happen. Twisted and debauched as some of them were, he‘d not expose the Fae race. He would protect his realm and those of his people who chose to live here among humans. His brothers. He‘d not let them down. And River. He‘d promised. He had to survive. ―You are a stubborn beast, aren‘t you?‖ Mac‘s voice grated against his damaged ears. ―Feel free to change any time. You have one minute before I up the voltage and dose you again.‖ He did not even attempt to acknowledge the bastard. From his crumpled position on the floor of the cage, he studied the structure as best he could, searching for a weakness. He could do nothing with the bars. Fae magic could not manipulate cold iron. The mesh floor appeared seamlessly joined to the railings that supported the bars. If he‘d been at full strength, he might have been able to warp the flooring enough to slip beneath the cage, into the narrow gap between the structure and the floor. But he‘d been wounded and poisoned already when Mac had placed him inside this prison.

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At the back of the cage, he spotted a bundle of thick wires threaded through a plastic collar, feeding into the outer edge of the floor. These wires had to be the source of the shocks that Mac activated with the device. Braelan could possibly slip a hand through the bars and detach them, provided he‘d enough of his spark left. It might give him some time. But crippled as he was with pain, it would do little save delay his end for a few moments. He had to get out of the cage. Away from the cold iron. He shifted his attention to the front portion. The cage door was held shut with a notch-and-hoop latch, secured with a dull gray padlock. A tiny flare of hope zipped through him. The floor was not cold iron. Perhaps the padlock was not either. He would incur severe burns in reaching it through the bars, but it was possible. And it was a far simpler lock than the ATM. It would not require much power. Of course, the instant Mac realized his intentions, he would roast him again. It was impossible to move fast enough to prevent that. ―Time‘s up, my little beastie.‖ Mac held up the device, wiggled it a bit, and punched a button. The shocks did not activate. Whatever he‘d pressed must have been the control to increase the power of the cage. ―One last chance before the pain. Change.‖ Braelan closed his eyes. There was no preparing for this. ―I cannot.‖ For an instant he believed the sound of breaking glass was his mind shattering under this torment. But there was no buzzing, no fresh influx of agony. Mac‘s head whipped toward the sound like a striking snake, lips peeled back from his teeth. Jagged shards of glass cascaded beneath the canvas covering one of the windows. Still gripping the device, the crazed man unsheathed his gun and stalked across the room. ―Why aren‘t you dead?‖ he bellowed. ―You will be now, you yellow bastard.‖ He yanked the door open and strode out. Braelan concentrated every last bit of strength he possessed. Still, it was a struggle to rise, even to his knees. He was soaked in sweat by the time he managed,

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the stuff stinging his wounds as it trickled down. His breath came in great ragged swells. And he could not reach the padlock unless he was on his feet. A shocked intake of air that had not come from him reached his ears. The voice that followed it struck his soul, at once balm and dagger. ―Braelan! Oh, God…‖ He could not speak. There was River, a few feet inside the room—shirtless and thoroughly battered, clutching a length of black metal in both hands. He wore the two enchanted bands on one finger. Whatever magic they held, it was not permanent, for he seemed to pulse between solid and transparent like a spirit not certain of leaving this existence. ―Keys.‖ River stumbled a few unsteady steps, his gaze darting about the room, the metal bar cocked and ready to strike. ―Where are they?‖ A shadow loomed in the open doorway. ―Behind you!‖ The scream scraped like nails up his throat. River reacted immediately. He whirled and brought the bar down hard on Mac‘s extended hand that clutched the gun. Mac screamed. A sharp blast erupted, but the bullet plowed into the floor, and the gun clattered after it. River drew back for another blow. Mac ducked beneath the swing and rolled into the room, clearing the enraged River. ―No!‖ Braelan grabbed the bars, ignoring the way they seared his palms, and hauled himself to his feet. He pressed against the poisonous metal. He could smell his flesh burning. Gritting his teeth, he shoved a hand between two bars and began working toward the padlock. It was a tight fit. Swathes of skin bubbled and blistered along his arm as he forced it through. Mac snarled at him, pressed the button—and then crunched the controls into fragments beneath a foot. Anguish eclipsed the world. With his arm caught firmly between the bars, Braelan could not escape the punishing electricity, even for a second‘s respite. And

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with the controlling device broken, it would never stop. He could pull his arm back inside and take another thrashing, one stronger than any he‘d received. Endless. It would still be faster, less painful than staying here with every inch of him burning and vibrating on the edge of destruction. Or he could keep pushing. Endure the agony. And possibly achieve freedom— or fail completely, if the lock proved to be cold iron as well. He chose to endure. Prolonged contact with the cold iron drained his spark more rapidly than he‘d suspected. As he strained to close the final gap between his hand and the padlock, his glamour spell weakened. He‘d seconds before he lost control completely. With a scream that scraped his throat raw, he pushed forward hard. His fingers closed around the lock, and he sent the final dregs of his spark into it. The click of its release was musical, miraculous. On the heels of the click came the deafening roar of a gun. ―River!‖ Through blinding tears, he fumbled the lock free, released the latch. He jerked loose from the bars and rammed into the cage door. It flew open, spilling him onto the hard floor below. His vision cleared by degrees as the effects of the poison and the electrocution began to abate. He saw a dark-haired, shirtless figure flung against the far wall like a rag doll, bloodied and motionless. Sheer fury brought Braelan to his feet. He did not speak. Would not waste breath on the murderous human who had engineered this hell. His gaze found Mac stumbling up from the floor, features etched in a snarling mask. The arm River had struck with the bar was drenched in blood. ―Damned creature!‖ Spittle flew from his lips as he advanced. Sneering, Braelan snatched the camera from its stand and dashed it hard on the floor, where it cracked in several places. The video on the computer‘s screen went black.

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And then he dropped his glamour. Mac froze. His eyes grew impossibly wide, until they bulged from his head. He looked from Braelan to the ruined camera and back up. ―No…‖ He took a step back. ―You‘ve ruined everything. Foul beast!‖ ―I am Braelan, Prince of Arcadia.‖ His voice thundered through the room, and strength flowed back to him as he moved toward the cowering human, away from the still-buzzing iron. ―And you will threaten my people no more. No Fae, Seelie or Unseelie, will ever fall prey to the likes of you—coward, skulking about in shadows, concealing your black heart behind a false representation of law. I judge you guilty of murder and sentence you to die.‖ Mac remained motionless and quivering until he‘d almost reached him. Then, with nearly inhuman speed, he dashed aside and grabbed the gun from the floor. ―You will die,‖ he rasped, attempting to aim. ―And your brothers. And every last one of—‖ Braelan snatched the gun and hurled it across the room. This mortal was quick—but the Fae were quicker. While Mac screamed and hurled obscenities, Braelan seized him and dragged him back toward the electrified cage, where the buzzing had grown louder than ever. Without ceremony, he tossed the killer inside and slammed the door shut. He barely registered the new burns on his hands. The cries lasted less than a minute before there was a tremendous crack from the back of the cage, like a tree struck by lightning, accompanied by an explosive shower of sparks. Mac and the cage fell silent in the same instant. The human moved no more. Though every inch of him trembled violently, Braelan did not rest. He pivoted and broke into a shambling gait toward the place where River had fallen. Whatever strength had carried him through the confrontation was leaving him in a great flood, and his limbs scarcely cooperated with his need for them to move. But move he did, and he collapsed beside River with a broken sob.

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―You promised.‖ The words were a mist unraveling from his lips. ―Damn you. You swore you‘d live.‖ ―Yeah, I did.‖ River‘s eyes fluttered open, and he straightened with a pained grimace. ―That was a great speech,‖ he said in tones that resembled stones scraping together. ―You a prince or something?‖ The sudden leap from misery to boundless joy sent his head spinning. ―I am,‖ he whispered. ―And you are an incredible human.‖ ―Shut up and kiss me.‖ He smiled. ―As you wish.‖ Braelan did.

*** River wanted to rush over to the cage and pull MacShayne out, maybe give him CPR or something to revive him, just so he could kill the bastard all over again. He didn‘t see how Braelan was even conscious right now, much less moving and talking. Besides the gaping gunshot wound in his back, he had severe burns on both hands and wrists, one arm and shoulder, his chest and feet, even his ass. Lesser burns everywhere. And there had to be massive internal damage; the horrifying shock treatment he‘d witnessed had been the last of many. But he was alive. Just like River knew he would be. Braelan shuddered. ―I heard the gunfire,‖ he said. ―I thought…‖ ―It was the damndest thing.‖ He flicked a glance at the gun that‘d come to rest by the door. ―MacShayne had me. I mean, he had me. Back against the wall, the muzzle three feet away from my face. He pulled the trigger, and it fired. But no bullet came out.‖ He touched the rings on his finger. ―Maybe Harry was protecting me.‖ ―Perhaps.‖

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―Or it might‘ve been because I promised you I‘d live. I‘ll believe anything right now.‖ He smirked. ―Anyway, that pissed Mac off, so he pistol-whipped me, and down I went.‖ Braelan‘s expression faded. ―You must have loved your Harry deeply.‖ ―Yeah, I did. I do.‖ He waited until Braelan looked at him. ―And I love you. More than I ever thought I could love. You saved me just as much as Harry. MacShayne was trying to finish me off when you broke out of there.‖ He bit his lip. ―I just wish I‘d gotten here in time to save you.‖ ―Ah, but you did, love.‖ Braelan‘s smile was radiant. ―You gave me the strength to break free. And you‘ve given me more than that—more than I can explain.‖ ―Yeah?‖ He leaned over and kissed Braelan‘s forehead, afraid to touch anything that wasn‘t his face. ―Well, now I‘m going to save you from the cops. The real ones, I mean. When guns go off around here, nobody ever calls them until the racket stops. And it takes them a while to come around this area, but they‘ll be here. So we have to scram.‖ Braelan glanced down and grimaced. ―This is not the best condition to travel.‖ ―Don‘t worry. I‘ve got it covered.‖ He led Braelan outside and around to the back entrance of the main apartment. Monte kept it locked, but River knew there was a spare key taped under the railing for Diamond. He used it to let them inside, and had Braelan wait by the door while he gathered a few things. Just the essentials—clothes for Braelan, a shirt for him, twenty bucks for a cab. He figured Monte wouldn‘t mind. They dressed and hit the streets. ―Um. Should we take you to a hospital or something? I mean, you‘re a wreck. But I don‘t know if a doctor would…‖ ―My brother will heal me,‖ Braelan said. ―We should return to the Grotto.‖ ―Heal you. Like with magic?‖ ―Yes.‖

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He smiled. ―Damn. Must be nice being Fae.‖ ―Sometimes.‖ Braelan returned the expression. ―Cobalt will heal you as well.‖ ―It works on humans?‖ ―It does.‖ Magic. Knowing it was real took his breath away. What would it be like, living with magic every day? Amazing. Beautiful. Toward the end back there, when Braelan had gone after MacShayne and hammered that speech at him, he‘d felt the power in it. He understood now what majesty really meant, and it stirred him to tears. Braelan was a true prince. And princes became kings, with kingdoms to rule. Braelan‘s kingdom was a world apart from this one. He pushed the thought out of his head and concentrated on hailing a cab. Braelan slept most of the way to the Grotto. River dozed in fits, snapping awake every time a siren screamed in the distance. He‘d probably spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering if another cop would take him in or go crazy and try to kill him. The prospect wasn‘t appealing. Maybe it was time to get the hell out of this city, find some quiet place with lots of land and trees and far fewer assholes with badges. But for now, there was Braelan, prince of the Fae. Prince of his heart. He would follow him anywhere. The cab pulled up in front of Cobalt‘s place, and any adrenaline River had left vanished like smoke. He‘d managed to ignore little things like pain and exhaustion long enough to get them this far. Now, with safety in sight, every stress and blow his body had taken made itself known with strident protests. Rousing Braelan, who was in worse shape than he was, and helping him struggle to the door seemed an impossible task. Somehow, he made it happen.

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He wasn‘t sure how long he banged on the door—long enough to decide they‘d all gone to bed, no one would hear him, and he and Braelan would spend the rest of the night passed out on the sidewalk. Finally, Cobalt appeared. There was a lot of horrified shouting and frantic activity, and they were whisked up to the loft. He tried to stay conscious while they were being healed. Questions were asked, and he thought he answered them, but his replies probably didn‘t make sense. Eventually Braelan demanded—in extraordinarily royal form—that everyone leave them the hell alone and let them sleep. River would‘ve kissed him out of gratitude, but he was already gone.

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Chapter Twenty This morning should have been perhaps the greatest of Braelan‘s life. Indeed, most of it was incredible. He had triumphed over certain death, discovered strength he‘d not known he possessed. He was with his brothers, at last unencumbered by strain and responsibility. And above all, he had found real love—not the shallow excuse provided by physical attraction, but a boundless reservoir of affection and respect. He‘d found someone to live for. Someone he would die for. And now he feared he‘d lose River forever. After the ordeal of the night before, he‘d come to a realization and made a difficult decision. Despite its flaws, he truly loved Arcadia—or at least, the Arcadia he knew could come about if someone were to take charge with the interests of the realm at heart. He was the only legitimate child of the Seelie king. It was his duty—and would be his honor—to lead Arcadia into a new era. But once he laid claim to the throne, he could never return to the mortal realm. The six of them—he and his brothers, and their respective loves—were gathered around Cobalt‘s table. They‘d broken fast together in subdued comfort, and now the rest of them were drinking coffee and apparently enjoying it. He could not imagine why. Cobalt had prepared him green tea, which was somewhat more tolerable. This moment would be the time to announce his intentions to return to Arcadia. But thus far he‘d not been able to do it and risk a broken heart. That was a wound no Fae magic could heal.

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―Well, Brother.‖ Uriskel, who‘d been particularly somber this morning, favored him with an unreadable look. ―I trust I‘ll never again hear you say that you‘ve not atoned for your sins.‖ The statement shocked him. Uriskel had never even allowed that Braelan had wronged him. He always dismissed the issue and stated that Braelan had not been at fault. And now he claimed there‘d been atonement? ―Uriskel, you know I‘ve not. I will never be able to—‖ ―We saw the recording.‖ He flinched. ―What?‖ ―Will‘s quite knowledgeable when it comes to Internet protocol.‖ Uriskel clasped his hands together on the table until his knuckles whitened. ―His intentions were to get the damned thing removed, before it spread. He may have succeeded. Time will tell, and he plans to remain vigilant. But when he found it, we‖—he broke off with a violent shudder—―we started viewing it. To ensure it was the right recording. And we could not stop.‖ Braelan looked slowly around the table. Every face was pale, every eye glittering. Will and Trystan seemed particularly distressed. River appeared caught between sorrow and anger, and he knew without asking that the anger was toward the others, because they‘d witnessed his suffering and humiliation without right. How he loved him for that. But he‘d not allow this to drive any of them apart. ―It is all right,‖ he murmured, laying a comforting hand on River‘s thigh. ―They‘d not meant any harm. I appreciate the effort. I‘d prefer not to have that horrid recording viewed by the world.‖ River grunted assent, but his anger did not abate. Braelan smiled fondly and faced Uriskel again. ―I wish I could agree with you,‖ he said. ―Nothing would please me more than to repay you for everything you‘ve done for me. But I did not atone for anything last night. What that lunatic did had nothing to do with my debt to you.‖

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Uriskel leaped to his feet and stalked around the table, fury crackling from his eyes. He stopped before Braelan‘s chair. ―Rise.‖ River tried to lunge across him and get to Uriskel. Braelan caught him about the waist. ―No,‖ he said, guiding him gently back to his seat. He kissed him and said, ―If my brother wishes to finally take his revenge, so be it. It‘s nothing less than I deserve.‖ Cobalt stared across the table. ―Uriskel—‖ ―Silence, fledgling,‖ Uriskel snarled without looking away. ―Braelan. Come here.‖ He stood, unflinching. He‘d not cower from this. Uriskel made a thick sound deep in his chest, surged forward, and caught him in a crushing embrace. ―You did not yield, and I know why,‖ he rasped, speaking in the Fae tongue. ―All those years I spent in the service of Arcadia… I protected you because you are my brother, but also because you are the realm, Braelan. You‘ve proven that. You suffered more than I ever did—‖ ―Uriskel, that‘s not true.‖ He responded in kind, aware Uriskel did not want this atypical emotional outpouring to be heard by the humans. ―Listen!‖ He drew back. Tears bathed his face, but he made no move to wipe them away. It was another great shock—Uriskel did not cry. ―You withstood unspeakable pain, and you did not yield. You saved countless Fae lives. Likely all of Arcadia. You saved me, and Ciaràn. Do you not recall that we were that madman‘s next targets?‖ ―Aye,‖ he whispered. Uriskel bracketed his face with both hands. ―You owe me nothing, Brother. If I should call you Highness, there‘ll be no mockery in it. You are the true prince.‖ He lowered his hands and smirked. ―And if you do not forgive yourself, I‘ll pound you until you do.‖

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―I heard that,‖ River snapped. ―You‖—Uriskel‘s jaw fell as he reverted to the humans‘ language—―you could not have. How can you hear the tongue of Arcadia?‖ River held up a hand, revealing the inscribed silver bands on his ring finger. ―I‘m fine with everything you said, except that last part. You wanna take that back?‖ Uriskel laughed. One by one, the others joined him. ―Ah, Braelan,‖ he said when he‘d caught his breath. ―You were right. You no longer need my protection. You‘ve this one for it.‖ ―Damn straight he does,‖ River said. While Uriskel returned to his seat, Braelan remained standing. He could delay his announcement no longer. ―I‘ve a confession for you all,‖ he said. ―Oh, man,‖ Trystan said. ―We‘re in trouble now.‖ The laughter was strained this time. He drew a breath and looked to River first. The man‘s expression was carefully neutral, as though he expected something unpleasant but refused to show it. A flash of pain stabbed at Braelan‘s heart as he wished he could prove the expectation wrong. He closed his eyes for a moment. Finally, he said, ―I came here to escape. The Seelie king—our father—has announced his intentions to stand down and pass the throne to me. I‘d no wish to spend my life among the corruption and debauchery that has become the Seelie court, and so I left. I had intended to stay here in the human realm forever with you, my brothers. And I did not expect to fall in love.‖ He smiled at River and was slightly heartened to see it returned. More or less. Cobalt frowned. ―You left,‖ he said. ―And what did the king think of this?‖ ―He did not know, though I‘ve no doubt he does now.‖ He pressed his lips together. ―However. I am now aware that I cannot run from this. As you mentioned, Uriskel, I am Arcadia. I must take my place as king—to protect my people and attempt to heal the grievous wounds that the centuries have dealt to the realm.‖

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River‘s face was hard as stone. His gray eyes grew stormy. ―River.‖ He faced the mortal thief who‘d stolen his heart, and spoke only to him. ―These words will be the most difficult I‘ve ever uttered, but I must explain this to you. The Seelie king…‖ Ah, gods. He could not do it. What if River turned him down? The next thing to leave his mouth could consign him to an eternity of sorrow, an empty life alone. But he‘d no choice. He swallowed and continued. ―The Seelie king cannot leave the Fae realm. Once I assume the throne, I can never return here.‖ River said nothing. ―And so, I must ask you—‖ He broke off with a slight frown and then knelt before River and took his hand. ―I must beg you to leave all that you‘ve known behind, forever, and come to dwell with me in Arcadia. I know that I ask far too much, but this is my duty. I must return. And I cannot live without you.‖ Slowly, River‘s expression relaxed. He blinked several times—and slid from the chair to land hard on his knees before him. Then he threw his arms around Braelan‘s neck and treated him to a hot, hungry kiss. When he drew back, he was beaming. The relief was intense enough to be painful. ―Is that a yes, then?‖ ―Are you kidding? Who‘s crazy enough to say no, I don’t want to live in a magical fairy world? I think I‘ll get along pretty good, actually.‖ He waved the hand with the rings. ―I‘d have followed you anywhere, Braelan. Manhattan, Venezuela— hell, Saturn, if you wanted. But Arcadia…‖ He let out an explosive breath. ―Yes,‖ he said shakily. ―That‘s a yes.‖ ―Thank you, love,‖ Braelan whispered. ―I swear you‘ll not regret it.‖ River smiled. ―I know.‖ Braelan had managed to tune out the surroundings and notice only River. Now, sights and sounds began to edge back in, broadening their private reality. He

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saw the others attempting to feign that they‘d not heard anything. And he heard footfalls on the stairs, approaching rapidly. He and River exchanged a glance and returned to their seats. His love was likely experiencing the same thought: not again. When Nix burst into the room, he relaxed somewhat. Shade was not far behind, but Nix reached the table first, breathless and oddly anxious. ―You‘re here,‖ he said, looking to River. ―I‘ve news for you. One of my contacts thinks he‘s tracked down Harry‘s killer. Some bloody journalist, name of Damon—no, David. David MacShayne. An Irish boy slaughtering the Fair Folk. Can you beat that? Anyway, I‘ve got an address, and I thought we‘d…‖ Nix trailed off as he registered River‘s expression. He glanced at Braelan, then around the table. ―The lot of you look like somebody died.‖ ―Somebody did,‖ River said in perfectly even tones. ―David MacShayne.‖ The leaden weight that had settled in the pit of Braelan‘s stomach eased all at once, leaving him buoyant. He pressed his lips together, but the froth of feeling in him rose like a shot and burst from his mouth in a gout of hysterical laughter. He could not stop, not even when tears sprang to his eyes and he crumpled to the floor from the force of it. At last the fit exhausted itself and he struggled to his feet, wiping at his streaming eyes. ―Thank you for that, Nix,‖ he said. ―You‘ve no idea how I needed it.‖ Nix cast a crooked smile. ―You‘ve lost me, mate.‖ ―Nix, you great daft fool. Come here.‖ Shade actually snorted a laugh. It was the first time Braelan had ever heard evidence of her amusement. Nix went to her obligingly, and she whispered something in his ear. ―Oh.‖ He looked back with a sheepish smile. ―Well, I believe I‘m through with that contact.‖ Braelan swallowed a fresh spate of laughter. He‘d a feeling he would not stop this time. Instead, he moved his chair closer to River, sat down and put an arm

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around him, pulling him close as the others began new discussions and attempted to tactfully fill in Nix and Shade. ―When shall we head for our new home?‖ he said. ―God, that sounds good,‖ River murmured. ―Do you have a private room?‖ He chuckled. ―I am a prince,‖ he said. ―Should I command it, I‘ll have a private castle.‖ ―Yeah? Then I think we should go now. That‘s a lot of rooms to christen.‖ ―Christen?‖ Grinning, River whispered an explanation in his ear. ―Oh.‖ Lust raged through him, eclipsing all else. ―Yes. Now will work.‖ ―Or we could just go into the bedroom,‖ River said. ―You know, so you can say a proper good-bye to your brothers…later. Much, much later.‖ A delicious shudder moved through him. He stood; River followed. And they went.

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Epilogue One year later

―Braelan! Hurry up. They‘re going to be here soon.‖ River‘s shout in the general direction of the bath chamber went unanswered. He sighed, stood from the dressing table and crossed the room to pull the curtain back. ―Braelan?‖ ―One moment, love.‖ The water was still running. ―Make it a fast moment,‖ he said before withdrawing into the bedroom, shaking his head. Braelan always took forever in the shower. Well, it wasn‘t really a shower. There were no pipes or faucets in Arcadia—no plastic or porcelain, either. The shower was a natural spring jetting from the side of the great hill where the royal residence stood, and the bathroom had been built around it. Every structure in the Fae realm was formed around nature instead of against it. But they cheated a little on the shower. It was heated with magic. There was magic everywhere here. And even after a year of living in the middle of it, the magic still took River‘s breath away. He headed back to the dressing table, and just as he started to sit, there was a knock at the bedroom door. Damn it. They had way too many interruptions around here lately. When Braelan took over the throne, there was a lot of mistrust and wariness. Apparently, he‘d been expected to be just like his father, only worse. But the first thing the new king did was dismiss the entire court and appoint new

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members—many of them lowborn. His willingness to listen to the People had moved him quickly from feared to beloved. On the downside, now the People felt comfortable enough with him to barge in whenever, just to say hello. It was seriously limiting their time together. River opened the door, a scowl stamped on his face. At first he thought there was no one there and maybe he‘d been hearing things. And then he looked down. ―Oh,‖ he said. ―Hi, Bob.‖ The diminutive satyr gave a little sniff and tugged at his beard. Though satyrs could speak the Fae tongue and understand English, they had their own language that consisted of grunts, bleats, and the occasional guttural vowel sound. They were named in their tongue, and River had no hope of pronouncing any of it. So he‘d given the ones who frequented the palace his own names. Bob was less than pleased with his new handle. The satyr offered a quick bow. ―Greetings, huma—er, Regent,‖ he said. ―Just River is fine.‖ Braelan had insisted that he have a title, saying it‘d help the court accept having him around. But River, Regent of the Realm, didn‘t exactly roll off the tongue. ―As you say, Regent.‖ Bob was big on ceremony. If you had a title, he used it. ―I‘ve a message for his majesty.‖ ―Well, what is it?‖ ―It is for King Braelan—‖ ―Spit it out, Bob.‖ He drew the line at letting the inhabitants of the realm wander in on Braelan naked. That was his job. The satyr sniffed again. ―Very well. The Unseelie queen requests his majesty‘s favor, and that of his…consort on the morrow to discuss the final details of the merger. And also for tea.‖ Oh, great. Tea with the queen…again. He wouldn‘t have minded, except the Unseelie queen kept trying to convince him to sleep with her. Apparently she‘d

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never had a human. But even if he did swing her way, he was a one-man kind of guy. Well, one Fae. ―All right,‖ he said. ―I‘ll tell him. Thanks, Bob.‖ Bob opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. ―Humans,‖ he muttered before turning to clomp back down the corridor. River shut the door and went for dressing table, take three. Maybe he‘d actually get his hair brushed this time. He sat down and managed to finish his preparations in five minutes or so without interruption. And Braelan still hadn‘t come out. He went back to the bathroom, this time going inside instead of just pulling back the curtain. The shower wasn‘t blocked from view, so he was treated to the sight of a very wet, very naked Braelan standing under the spray, facing the wall with his head leaning against it and his eyes closed. God, just looking at him still made River hard. ―It‘s not been a moment,‖ Braelan said without moving or opening his eyes. He laughed. ―It‘s been a lot of moments. Come on. We‘re going to be late.‖ ―Mmph.‖ Braelan groaned. ―Kiss my royal ass.‖ ―Later.‖ He smirked and grabbed a towel and motioned him over. Braelan left the water reluctantly, drawing the stone wall closed over the spring with a motion of his hand. ―Perhaps we should install a bath,‖ he said. ―I‘m due for a long soak. You could join me.‖ ―Oh, sure. Torture me with a bath we can‘t take until sometime next century.‖ He tossed the towel, and Braelan caught it neatly. A twinge went through him as he caught sight of the faint scars on Braelan‘s hands, leftovers from the ordeal with the psychotic reporter. Because the wounds were inflicted with cold iron, they‘d never heal completely. Most of them were hardly noticeable, except for the dark pink weal burned into his right shoulder from where he‘d forced his arm through the bars. That one still hurt to look at.

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Braelan dried off, put the towel aside, and pulled him into an embrace. ―Did you say something about torture, àillidh? Because I‘ll arrange for that if you‘d like.‖ ―It‘s nothing.‖ He smiled at him. Braelan‘s job was hard enough without having River whine for attention. ―I‘m proud of you,‖ he said and meant it. ―You‘re doing great things here, and they‘re going to be impressed as hell.‖ ―I do hope you‘re right.‖ ―I am.‖ Braelan had invited Cobalt and Uriskel—and Will and Trystan—for a visit. He wanted to tell them about his progress in uniting the Seelie and Unseelie races and removing the law that forbade them from mating. Uriskel was legitimate now. But more than that, he and River wanted their help. The new king had decided to open the borders of Arcadia to humans. Not all at once, of course. In this case, River had been happy to offer some advice—namely, that humans feared what they didn‘t understand, and it would take time and patience to introduce them to the Fae gradually. But both sides could learn a lot from each other, and some day they just might get along. The warm, inviting presence of hands cupping his ass made River remember that they didn‘t have time for this. He groaned aloud. ―You can‘t greet your brothers naked,‖ he said. ―Better go get dressed.‖ ―Mm-hm.‖ But Braelan didn‘t. He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on River‘s lips, then deepened it, tilting his head for a better angle and teasing his tongue inside. For a minute, everything but Braelan disappeared. Like magic. ―Gods, I‘ve missed you so,‖ Braelan murmured against him when they finally drew back. ―Duties be damned. Tonight, you and I will bathe in a moonlit pool and make love until we‘ve exhausted ourselves.‖ River frowned. ―But your brothers will be here, and you‘re convening the court. And tomorrow we‘re supposed to have tea with the queen. And you‘ve got—‖

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―Tonight. And every night thereafter.‖ Braelan kissed him again, fierce and full of promise. ―I am the king. But I am yours as well, and I‘ll not let the one outweigh the other. I‘m quite sure the People will not suffer without my guidance for a few hours.‖ ―Every night, huh?‖ He nestled against Braelan and let out a contented sigh. ―You read my mind.‖ Braelan smiled. ―No. I‘ve read your heart.‖ And he had.

Loose Id Titles by S. W. Vaughn The SKIN DEEP Series Skin Deep Heartsong Unforgiven

S. W. Vaughn S. W. Vaughn lives and writes in upstate New York, a nice place to visit during the two months it isn't snowing. When not writing, Vaughn spray-paints graffiti art on the walls of the writing cave, collects movie posters, and double-checks the dark corners of the house with a flashlight for mice, snakes, and the occasional possum or visiting horse from next door. Vaughn works in multiple genres but prefers urban fantasy and erotic romance.