Part 16 (2/2)

What'd happened?

With a groan he forced himself to a sitting position, his body hardening at the intoxicating scent that teased at his nose.

Champagne?

A fine, crisp vintage that made his entire body tingle with antic.i.p.ation.

For a blissful minute he allowed the fragrance to swirl around him. It was oddly familiar. And, surprisingly, it stirred a complex mixture of emotions.

Arousal. Wariness. Frustration.

It was the frustration that abruptly forced him to recall why the scent was so familiar.

Muttering a curse, Cyn had a searing memory of following a beautiful fairy through a portal. No . . . not a fairy, he wryly corrected himself. A Chatri. The ancient purebloods of the fey world who'd retreated to their homeland centuries before.

He'd been there to help Roke locate his mate, but Princess Fallon had shoved him out of the throne room when it was obvious that Roke and Sally needed time to work out their differences, insisting that he leave them in peace.

He'd only been vaguely annoyed at first. He didn't trust the cunning Chatri as far as he could throw them, especially not their king, Sariel. But, he wanted Roke to work out his troubles with his mate.

Besides, he was male enough to appreciate being in the company of a beautiful woman.

Or in the case of Fallon . . . a breathtakingly exquisite woman.

Her hair was a glorious tumble of rich gold brushed with hints of pale rose. The sort of hair that begged a man to bury his face in the silken ma.s.s. Her eyes were polished amber with flecks of emerald and framed by the thickest, longest lashes Cyn had ever seen. And her ivory features . . . G.o.ds almighty, they were so perfect they didn't look real.

He might be suspicious of Fallon, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy fantasizing about having her tossed on the nearby chaise longue while he peeled the gown off her slender body, he'd a.s.sured himself.

So he'd allowed himself to be distracted by the lovely female as he sipped the potent fey wine, not realizing the danger until his head began to spin and the world went dark.

Idiot.

He should have known that they were plotting something.

He might have a fondness for the fey, but that didn't mean he wasn't well aware of their mercurial natures.

And their love for luring the unwary into their clever traps.

With a low growl he turned his head, easily spotting the female who was sprawled naked on the ground, her golden hair s.h.i.+mmering even in the darkness.

He wanted to know how the h.e.l.l she'd managed to bring them to the caves beneath his private lair. And he wanted to know now.

Cyn moved to bend beside her slumbering form, pretending that he wasn't acutely aware of the enticing temptation of her long, slender body and the fragile beauty of her pale face.

Sleeping beauty . . .

A scowl marred his forehead. Aye. She was a beauty. She was also a powerful fey princess who'd managed to catch him off guard once.

It wasn't going to happen again.

”Fallon?” Cyn murmured, his voice deep and laced with an accent that hadn't been heard in this world for centuries. She heaved a sigh at the sound of his voice, but she remained stubbornly asleep. Cyn knelt at her side, knowing better than to touch her. The feel of that satin skin beneath his fingertips was guaranteed to make him forget he was p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l at her little trick. ”Fallon,” he growled, his voice a command. ”Wake up.”

She gave a small jerk, her lashes fluttering upward to reveal the striking amber eyes with the s.h.i.+mmering flecks of emerald.

For a long moment she studied him in stunned confusion.

Understandable.

Most people found Cyn . . . intimidating.

At six foot three he had a powerful chest and thick muscles that marked him as a warrior. His mane of dark blond hair hung halfway down his back except for the front strands that he kept woven into tight braids that framed his face.

His features were chiseled along blunt lines with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His brow was wide and his jade green eyes heavily lashed. Females seemed to find him handsome enough, but there was never any mistake that he was a ruthless killer.

She sucked in a shaky breath as her gaze lowered to the barbaric Tuatha De Danann tattoos that curled and swirled in a narrow green pattern around his upper arms, emphasizing the perfect alabaster of his skin.

His lips twisted, as he wondered what she would think of the golden dragon tattoo with crimson wings that was currently hidden beneath the thick mane of his hair.

He'd earned the mark of CuChulainn that was branded onto his right shoulder blade after he'd survived the battles of Durotriges.

It marked him as a clan chief.

”Vampire,” she muttered, as if having difficulty remembering who he was.

He narrowed his gaze, wondering what game she was playing. ”Cyn.”

”Yes . . . Cyn.” Her confusion was replaced with a horror as if she were suddenly remembering who he was. A horror that only intensified when she belatedly realized they were both b.u.t.t-naked. ”Dear G.o.ddess.” She shoved herself to a sitting position, curling her arms around her knees as she glared at him with angry accusation. ”What have you done to me?”

”Me?” He made a sound of disbelief, unconsciously reaching to push a strand of golden hair off her flushed cheek.

”No . . .” With a flare of panic she was scrambling backward, a genuine fear flaring through the amber eyes. ”Stay away.”

Cyn muttered a low curse. Her pretense of confusion was annoying the h.e.l.l out of him, but he didn't like the thought she was afraid of him.

Strange when he had devoted several centuries to terrifying his enemies.

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