Chapter 47 - Lost in the Darkness

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A Short Tale of Frustration, Coming Home, Pseudo-Motherhood, a Challenge Answered, Wooing, Telephonic Inquisition, and the Debt

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Monday was lovely. Beautiful. Breathtakingly so, actually, with the sunlight turning the world to diamonds and silver. Frost curled elegantly along the windows. Winter birds sang glorious praises to winter's beauty. The air had bite, but it was more of a nip than a frigid gnawing. So Monday should have been wonderful.

By the time Dylan came home from work, Nuada was ready to tear his hair out.

Maybe it was his own fault for agreeing to Dylan's suggestion that the children stay with them until they were ready to go back to Findias in a few weeks. Maybe he should have made them stay with Erik. The Elven blacksmith had plenty of empty beds because he had so many apprentices coming and going. Maybe Nuada should've said no when his lady suggested the children sleep in the den (Tsu's'di and A'du'la'di slept on the futon-bed and 'Sa'ti was small enough to sleep comfortably on the sofa, with enough room for Bat the Cat and Neytiri the Stuffed Mountain Lion). After all, that meant he was stuck sleeping in Dylan's enormous bed, with linens that smelled deliciously of the floral perfumes from her shampoo and soap and laundry detergent, mingled with the ever-present scent of her. Dylan slept on a pallet she'd made of a bunch of blankets in the mysterious room at the end of the hall that she'd asked him weeks ago not to enter. It played havoc with her bad leg but she had insisted.

He should have stopped this entire venture, the prince thought with equal parts baffled masculine terror and disbelief as A'du'la'di' and 'Sa'ti chased each other through the living room. He'd been training in the den with his lance and putting the clockwork chess set together nearly all of Sunday and Monday (except for the incident with the snowglobe), leaving Becan, Bat, and Tsu's'di to deal with the two children. He'd risked coming out now only to find himself confronted by orchestrated chaos.

Even as he watched, the ewah youth scooped up his little sister under one arm. Exasperated eyes met the prince's as A'du'la'di' cried, "Your Highness, save me," and shot toward Nuada. The Elf in question snagged A'du'la'di' by the collar of his brand new blue shirt and hauled the giggling child back to deal with his older brother.

"Forgive us for disturbing you, Sire," Tsu's'di said, tightening his grip on 'Sa'ti when she squirmed to be let down. "A'ge'lv Dylan suggested that in the last thirty minutes before she is due home that I have these two run around. Like maniacs," he added with a comically fierce face at his little sister. 'Sa'ti merely grinned.

Why? Nuada wanted to ask, but didn't. Only passed a hand over his face and tried not to grind his teeth. He had asked these three to be part of Dylan's retinue. It was his own fault, stars curse it. Never mind that he had no idea what to do with children that weren't in dire need of help or comfort. He certainly did not engage in the adolescent games the two children seemed to delight in (and that he really couldn't make head nor tail of). This cottage was supposed to be his haven. Why had he agreed to let them stay here?

The sound of the bolts sliding back dragged his attention from the current problem to his lady stepping through the front door, a bright smile on her face. "Hey, everybody! I'm back. Who's ready to help me make dinner?" A duet of "me's" came, courtesy of A'du and 'Sa'ti. "Okay, go wash your hands. I don't want to see any dirt or anything under your claws when you come back, got it?" She turned that smile on Nuada. He obligingly released A'du'la'di''s shirt collar. Tsu's'di put 'Sa'ti on her feet. Both children raced to the bathroom.

Sensing an odd tension in the prince, the ewah youth who was now the Lady Dylan's bodyguard - or would be, when they went to Faerie - offered a short bow and said, "If you will excuse me, A'ge'lv." Dylan's smiling nod let him escape to the bathroom where his siblings were squabbling over whether to use the pine-scented soap ('Sa'ti's choice) or the soap that smelled of pumpkin and spice (A'du'la'di''s). Tsu's'di chose the soap that smelled of lilies to shut them both up.

In the living room, Dylan shrugged out of her new black coat - the shredded sleeve of her leather jacket made it a lost cause and she'd had to throw it out - and carelessly tossed it and her new black gloves (both courtesy of a certain Elf prince) on the back of a chair.

Then, because the children's presence meant they were still pretending, she came to Nuada and melted against him. Sighed when his arms came around her. The reassuring pressure of those arms around her had all of the work-related tension of the day slipping far, far away. How was she going to live without this when the time came? His heart thudding steadily beneath her ear. His cheek resting against the top of her head while they just stood together. She'd never had such a quiet and oddly intimate experience with anyone before.

But there was a strange tension in him tonight that had her pulling back to look up at him. His eyes were that lovely melting honey color she adored, but just at their edges she caught a glitter of topaz. A glitter of empty emotionlessness. He was trying to hide something from her. Like that would work. Like that could ever work.

"Cad é? Cad atá cearr?" What is it? What's wrong? He looked tired, she noted. Why did he look so tired? He should have been relaxing the last couple days while she went to church and then to work. Tsu's'di could watch the children if Nuada needed a break from them. And the Elven warrior hadn't complained about these little intruders in their once-private world of firelight and faerie tales.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what had put that icy glitter in the otherwise warm eyes. She dealt with change well. She had to, in order to do her job. In order to deal with her past. So the children coming to live with them in the cottage that had until recently been their safe haven didn't bother her. But maybe it bothered him. Maybe he hadn't appreciated her "retinue" invading their little sanctuary. What could he say if he hadn't? His honor would compel him to offer that same sanctuary to these children who had no home and no safe place to stay. His compassion would compel him.

She reached up as the realization firmed in her mind. Reached up, and gently framed his face between her hands. "Nuada. You are too good for me. You know that, don't you?" The inclining of his head and the smug expression on his face was her answer. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Inis dom cad atá i do chroí."

Dark lips curved into a wistful smile. If only he could tell her what was in his heart. Tell her of the smoldering burn at the very core of him that was equal parts love and desire, edged with need and tempered by friendship. Instead he replied, "Why do you ask me this?"

"You're uneasy with the kids here," she said. "Aren't you?" His eyes went carefully blank. "Don't withdraw from me," she added, and noticed the odd flicker behind his gaze. Noticed, but wasn't sure what put it there. "What is it? What about them being here has you all in knots?" Dylan slipped on the familiarity of her professionalism and said, "I know you're not scared or anything. That's not what it is. It's not nerves or anything like that. So what is it?"

Nuada just looked at her. Clearly he wasn't planning to share. Would not be wheedled, coaxed, cajoled, or begged into answering. Not that she would try any of those other than simple coaxing. Which meant she'd have to hypothesize it out of him instead. No problem. She did that to her patients all the time.

"This is our place," she said when he didn't answer. Her hands slid from his face to clasp behind his neck. The part of her not involved with dealing with the Elf prince squiggled with happiness that she was allowed to touch him this way. Practically allowed to snuggle up to him. The hard, warm sheltering strength of him. But she needed to focus right now. "We're safe and alone here. Without people watching, judging. But now we have three people who require us to be... more than we are in private." A silent nod to the fact that the entire game was a sham. "And now we don't have our safe haven anymore."

"I would not have you turn them out," the prince replied softly. "Never that. They are yours. Ours. And they have nowhere else to go."

Her smile warmed him in ways he couldn't afford to think about right now. "I know you wouldn't. That's not the kind of man you are. But I am going to do something so you don't feel so... whatever word would best describe how you feel right now. I'll see if you can get at least a bit of peace from the craziness."

"What will you do?"

Now she shrugged and flashed him a smile that said this will be fun... maybe.

"Well, I've always wanted the chance to try out motherhood. Although I'd rather have been a stay-at-home mom than a working mom with kids in daycare, but whatever. I'll give it a shot. Let's see how I do."

In the kitchen, Dylan set everyone to work with the same alacrity and decisiveness as a general on a battlefield. Much like Caspar Kabouter of the royal kitchens, actually. She put Tsu's'di to carving some unknown meat from the Floating Night Market. A'du'la'di' chopped broccoli into chunks, making faces at the greens that dared to offend his adolescent eye. 'Sa'ti grated cheese. Becan stirred some sort of sauce or soup in a pot over the stove.

At the kitchen table, away from the softly chattering ewah children and their older brother, Dylan and Nuada sat across from each other and helped make dinner as well. He, the crown prince of Bethmoora, peeled potatoes that Becan had washed earlier that day. Once peeled, Dylan chopped them into medium-sized chunks. And while she chopped the peeled potatoes, she laid out the ground rules for the children living in the cottage.

Every morning, they would go to the apartment nearby where a sidhe woman and her son lived. 'Sa'ti and A'du'la'di' would play with the sidhe changeling boy, Bean, and his human changeling friend Kate. Tsu's'di would drop them off and come back to the cottage to learn fighting from the prince. He was a warrior, and Tsu's'di was not. He had thousands of years' experience. The ewah youth was only into his seventh decade, which put him physically between fifteen and sixteen years old. If the cougar-shifter was supposed to be her guard then he needed to know how to defend her. In the afternoon Tsu's'di would go back to the sidhe woman's apartment and spend time with all four children and help out Lady Peri with any chores, since she didn't have anyone to help out around the house except her son. This would accustom all three to the various menial tasks required of them as Dylan's servants. Lady Peri would also teach 'Sa'ti the basics of what was required of ladies' maids. Afterwards the prince and his lady would fetch them back sometime around dusk so they could all get started on dinner.

And all of that, Nuada knew, would allow the two of them to do what they wanted without having to continue playing the romantic game all the time. It would give him some time away from the children that should not have bothered him, but for some unfathomable reason honed his temper to a knife's edge. Why did it bother him so much? All right, this was his and Dylan's haven. A place where he could be with her without having to worry too much about the political schemes hounding them both, or about the loyalties that demanded he kill the joy in his chest whenever Dylan brushed her hand against his shoulder or smiled at him. But was that all it was?

Only half-paying attention to his thoughts, Nuada added that after dinner he would teach the Lady Dylan self-defense in the den. Alone. The children would do... whatever children did. Dylan sighed and gave him a look he couldn't quite fathom, but nodded. The three ewah agreed.

"Bathtime is right after dinner. Tsu's'di, it's your job to make sure nothing crazy happens during that time. Bedtime is at eight," the mortal said, "for anyone too short to slide back the top deadbolt on the door." When A'du'la'di' snickered at his little sister, Dylan added, "For anyone too short to slide back the top deadbolt with both feet on the floor using their own two hands or magic."

A'du'la'di' groaned, "Awww, nuts." At Nuada's stern glance, the boy ducked his head and added, "Yes, A'ge'lv."

Dinner turned out to be broccoli, potato, ham and cheese soup, which none of the fae except Becan had realized was the point of their various tasks. When dinner was over, Dylan shooed the three out of the kitchen to follow bathtime orders. Then she went to the stove and pulled down a frying pan while Becan put the dirty dishes in the sink. A nod from Dylan had the brownie hustling out of the kitchen once the sink had been filled with hot, soapy water. Dylan pulled milk out of the fridge.

"You should get at least two or three hours to yourself now," Dylan said as she pulled down a bottle of Never, the container of powdered chocolate, cinnamon, and a bottle of vanilla. She poured the milk in a pan. "And an hour or so with me where we can just be... just be ourselves. Plan for things. Or do you need more time?"

He watched her make hot chocolate over the stove for a long moment. "It will do."

"I know there have been a lot of changes in the last couple days," she added, stirring the contents of the pan. "And I know that, as capricious as the fae can be, they don't deal well with abrupt change. This way the kids get to spend time with other kids of similar background, Tsu's'di can start learning to do what you want him to learn about being a guard, and you get to have your own man cave."

Nuada arched a brow. "Man cave?"

She shrugged and added another pinch of chocolate powder. "Yeah, man cave. Last time I checked, you were male; you need your own cave where you can do man-things. Even if you just need to be by yourself for a bit. Everyone needs their own space. That's why my parents made sure all nine of us got our own rooms when we all lived at home - just like animals, people need their own bit of territory to make them feel secure. So how's the chess set coming along?"

Now dark lips curved into a smile. "I started it yesterday morning. I expect you to help me complete it." Her stricken look morphed his smile into a full grin. "As a future princess, you need to learn appreciation for the things our peoples are best known for. Goblins make wonderful clockwork pieces."

"But Laigdech said it was hard!"

"Princesses do not shy away from a task simply because it is hard," Nuada said with a carefully blank face. If he kept grinning it would ruin the effect of the pseudo-admonishment. But the melancholy in Dylan's eyes erased any desire to smile. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged again. "Nothing. But I'm not going to be a princess." She tried not to think the rest of it, but couldn't keep the words out of her head. I'm not going to be anything to you if our plan works out. Not a princess, not a wife, nothing. Luckily Nuada couldn't hear her thoughts unless he was touching her hand. "So, just curious... what's bothering you?" His eyes went blank again. "Will you stop doing that? I know you well enough that I can gauge your moods. So I know that there's something wrong. You'll have to get over that. You gonna tell me what it is over a cup of hot chocolate?"

Nuada waited until she'd poured the hot chocolate into two mugs and handed him the one with the sweet drink laced with Never. Waited until she sat down close to him, with only the corner of the kitchen table between them. Her knee brushed against his beneath the table. He felt more than heard her kick off the boots she'd worn to work and shove them off to one side. The Elf prince merely sipped the chocolate drink. Let it slide over his tongue, rich and hot, before swallowing.

He'd experienced so many new things since meeting this human. Fairy tales before a fire, snowball fights, hot chocolate and... and the sweet thrumming anticipation of caresses and almost-kisses. Thoughts of the almost-kiss at the playground teased his memory. Thrust slivers of regret into his chest. What if he'd told her to ignore the blasted phone and just continued where they were headed? What if he'd been just a little bit faster, a little bit less hesitant? Would he have tasted the lips that drew his eyes and his fingers like a moth to a candleflame?

"Are you going to talk to me now?" Dylan asked softly, gently. Her voice was a satin caress as it slid over him. The light brush of her fingers against his wrist made the nerves tingle and sent warmth humming through his blood. He had never been in love like this before. Never had love hit him like a fist in the belly. Never had a woman affected him this way. Not even...

"How do you know me so well, when you are so mortal?" Unspoken was the question, How do you do this to me? How do you make me feel this way? But he could never ask her that. She was clever. She would know what those questions truly meant.

Dylan gazed into her mug for a time - the mug with the evil kitten, that said Doom - Now in Fun Size. He could tell she was thinking about how best to answer his question. Was she hiding something from him? If she was, it wasn't something important. Nothing he need worry over. He trusted her. So he simply waited until she raised her eyes to his and said, "I care about you. You are an integral part of my life. And the... the love and friendship that I feel for you helps me to see you a bit more clearly than I probably would have otherwise."

A bit more clearly? Only a bit? Somehow the inexplicable friendship that had grown between them had made him as transparent as glass to her. At least, that was how it seemed to Nuada. Even Wink did not see him so clearly. And did Dylan have any idea how ice flooded his veins whenever she said she loved him? He should command her to stop saying that. It would make it easier to refrain from pretending that anything could exist between them. Hell's teeth, he was absolutely pathetic.

Her touch at his wrist jolted him. The concern in her eyes thawed some of the ice. But only some. In her eyes was a gentle, coaxing invitation to tell her anything and everything that weighed down his heart. "The swanmane," he said suddenly. The breath seemed to have frozen in his lungs. "Her punishment."

"Is it that you killed her and now you regret it?"

He shot her a look edged with anger. "You asked me not to kill them. I didn't." Although he'd deliberately and permanently crippled the wolf that had hurt her.

"Then what's the problem?" When he didn't answer, she frowned. "What did you do to her?" Still Nuada didn't speak. Dylan held out her hand, palm up. After hesitating just a bit too long for her state of mind, the Elf prince laid his hand over hers. In a voice that was still a command for all it was so gentle, she said, "Show me." They locked eyes. She didn't know what he saw in hers. Whatever it was must have convinced him, though, because suddenly she saw what he'd done to the swan-shifter that had set two nearly full-grown wolves on a little girl. "You ruined her face."

"It was one of the tools she used to attract savage males to her side," Nuada said softly. "I could not strip her of her magic. That is against our laws. And crippling her the way I would need to seemed... wrong, somehow. So I made sure that when a male looked at her, his first thoughts would have nothing to do with lust."

Now Dylan could see what he'd been trying to hide from her since she came home - self-doubt. Something the Elven warrior didn't usually experience. She knew him well enough to know that, and to know why he was feeling it now. Because of her. Because he had done to the swanmane's face what a pack of vicious human wolves had once done to her own - left it scarred and ruined by the razor edge of a blade.

And what gnawed at him now were two concerns - that he had done something Dylan might not forgive him for, and that he had done such a thing to a fae in defense of a human. In his eyes was the question Did I do right in this? He wanted to ask her; she could see that much in him as well. But would he trust her answer, considering the source?

In the end, she asked, "Did you want to hurt her? Did you enjoy it?"

Nuada jerked back as if she had struck him. "How can you ask me that?" How can you of all people ask me that?

Making sure that he was looking at her and giving her his undivided attention, Dylan said, "Because you need to know the answer. I know the answer. But do you? That answer will tell you if you did the right thing here or not. I told you once that though I believe in forgiveness and mercy, that though my God is a God of both of those things, I also believe in justice. That the laws of the Star Kindler uphold justice. So what you need to ask yourself is, was this justice? Or was it vengeance? And the way you'll know the answer to that question is to answer my question - did you enjoy hurting her?"

After a very long moment, Nuada looked her in the eye and said softly, "No."

"Then all you did was what was needed in order to prevent her from repeating what she'd done that day, while still doing the least amount of damage to her. And you exacted that punishment for the little faerie girl who's currently splashing around in our bathtub. You didn't do it for me, for a human. You did it for one of the fae. It was justice. What else can you ask of yourself, Nuada?"

Firegold eyes studied her. Dark lips quirked into a smile when Dylan cocked her head and attempted to look, as the human put it, "cute." Nuada asked, "What did I do before I knew you?"

"Oh, you were very boring," his lady informed him. His smile morphed into a grin as she added, "I got that much from my time in your sanctuary. Work, work, work - all the time." She shook her head in mock-dismey. "I'm surprised you ever got a girl that way before me. Yeesh. Must be your rippling muscles."

He blinked once, the only outward sign of surprise. "Must be."

Dylan smirked. "I mean, of course there's your charming personality. And your eyes. You have absolutely lovely eyes, has anyone ever told you that? Especially when you're in a good mood. They're the most beautiful honey gold. Elf girls probably go gaga over the color."

"You also mentioned once that I had nice hands," Nuada said softly. So she liked his eyes, did she? And considering she was human and not, say, an ekek or an empusa, Dylan's appreciation was purely aesthetic and had nothing to do with the culinary eye of a seductive flesh-eater.

A blush whispered over Dylan's scarred cheeks and his lady looked positively flustered for a moment. Then she said, "Um... I think you'd have to actually get the girl in order for her to find out you have nice hands. So I don't think that technically counts. Although I suppose it could be the way you look with your shirt off. You do seem to be in various states of undress a vast majority of the time. Someone's bound to have seen you. Add the rippling muscles to that and most girls are goners."

His eyebrow arched. "But not you, my fair lady?"

"Yeah, no. You'll have to do better than that if you want me to swoon over you, Your Highness. I mean, you're not bad looking. We've already discussed that. But there's a world of difference between being hot and getting my tongue to fall on the floor and my eyeballs to roll back into my head."

Dylan hid her satisfaction as Nuada's mouth twitched once. Twice. A third time. He was trying so hard not to laugh. Which had been the point of hitting him with the pseudo-compliments.

"But," she added, "even with all of those plus-points in your favor, I still don't see how you managed to acquire those skills you supposedly have."

Now both his eyebrows winged upward. "Supposedly?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, not buying it. I mean, I haven't seen any evidence of these so-called 'skills.' Granted, it's not like we kiss on a regular basis or anything - or at all; that would be weird - but still. The way you make it sound, all you have to do is look at me and I should be eating out of the palm of your hand, right?" She shrugged again, smirking. "Hasn't happened yet."

"I think I am being insulted," he said, but his mouth was curving into a grin. Dylan grinned back before smoothing her face into a mask of innocence. "Must I truly defend myself against such slander?"

Eyes like melting honey narrowed when Dylan laughed. "Oh, right. Defend yourself? What could you possibly do? It's not like you're going to kiss me or something. Disgusting human, remember? You might like me, but I saw your face when we talked about getting married. The whole 'not sullying yourself with a mortal' thing. You looked almost green, Your Highness. So I am not in the least intimidated by any so-called defense you might futilely attempt to muster because there's nothing you can do. So there."

Nuada studied her for a long moment. Oh, but she was so smug. So confident.

Silly girl.

The Elven warrior felt his eyes shift to gold-kissed ivory as he slowly rose to his feet. "Come with me." He didn't need to keep watching to know Dylan would get up and follow him. When they were back in the kitchen, he nodded to the counter. "Stand right there. Face me, but put your hands on the counter."

Those lovely blue eyes held just a hint of baffled wariness now as she did what he said. He was a prince. A challenge had to be answered... unless the challenger backed down. In combat, that never happened. Backing down was a sign of cowardice. But here, if she backed down from this little challenge, it was because he was making her nervous and the Elf prince would also chivalrously withdraw.

Suddenly he was hoping she didn't back down. Even though there was no chance he was going to kiss her, he wanted the chance - and the excuse - to use some of the... softer skills he'd acquired over the centuries on this woman who could never be truly his. Even if he was just torturing himself.

"I've told you before that you should never challenge an Elven warrior... my lady." There was just enough of a velvet caress in the words "my lady" that she heard it. He could tell by the way her eyes widened, just a fraction. "You're right about one thing - I'm not going to kiss you. Not because you're a 'disgusting human,' as you put it. Recall that I happen to find you quite lovely, and my taste is beyond reproach." He bit back a grin when Dylan rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not going to kiss you because I do not need to kiss a woman to seduce her. In fact, I do not need to touch a woman to seduce her. I could, if I chose, seduce you merely by speaking."

At that, she actually scoffed at him. "Oh, yeah right. Nobody's that talented, okay? Except for that guy in the Wedding Date, but that was a movie, and therefore not real. So again, yeah right. I mean, okay, slut-talking is one thing. But that's not seduction, Your Highness. That's pitiful, and not something I see you doing. You have more class than that."

He blinked, completely thrown off-stride. "Slut-talking?" Where did she come up with these phrases?

Now she was blushing. "Come on. You've been around for more than four-thousand years. You have got to know what slut-talking is." Nuada shook his head, looking completely baffled. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Okay. Um..." Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Was that a flash of panic in her eyes? "Well... you know. You gotta know. Where guys... or girls, I guess... where when they want to make somebody else..." Dylan made a vague gesture with one hand and Nuada had to forcibly swallow the tickle in his throat. Felt like a laugh, actually, but that was of little import at the moment. Flustered, Dylan continued, "So they say... stuff."

"'Stuff.'" The Elf was fairly certain Dylan was currently wishing for the earth to open up and swallow her, judging by the furious state of her blush. "Crude things, I would imagine." His lady nodded, looking anywhere but at him. Good. If she saw his mouth twitch, she might have tried to hit him. "You're right - I have more sophistication than that. However," he added before the look of triumph could totally settle over her face, "I can seduce even you by speaking. If I choose."

Again she rolled her eyes. Well, she would learn shortly. But then she had to gall to challenge him again. "No, you can't."

He rested one hip against the counter, half an inch from where her hand was flattened. He made sure he was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body without actually touching him, even by accident if one of them twitched. Already she was a bit nervous. Well, perhaps not nervous. Wary. Ivory eyes saw the pulse fluttering like a butterfly at her vulnerable throat. Her heart raced, just a little. And Nuada's smile was lazy and slow when he deliberately dropped his voice an octave, turning the words to soft velvet when he murmured, "Yes, I can."

Nuada could tell she didn't believe him. Her next words proved it beyond a doubt. "Fine. No touching me - not my skin, not my clothes, not my hair, nothing. No kissing me, either. No magic. Nothing except talking. And no slut-talking." She lifted her chin and dared to meet his eyes. His return look was a very clear challenge to what the prince considered his lady's reckless bravado. Dylan scowled at him and settled back against the counter. "Well, come on, then, if you're so big and bad."

"Big and bad, hmmm?" Smirking, the prince added very softly, "Dún do shúile."

Dylan swallowed hard. Close her eyes? He'd just said he was planning on seducing her using the sound of his voice alone. Which she knew was utterly impossible, but still! And now he expected her to just close her eyes and let him do... whatever? Her heart jumped in her chest. Maybe she shouldn't have baited him. She'd just been teasing. Well, not entirely teasing. Nobody could seduce a woman just by talking. Not even someone as deliriously attractive as Prince Nuada Silverlance. But now...

Well, what about now? What was he going to do? Talk. He was just going to talk. She'd laid down the rules, put up the proper boundaries. He wouldn't do anything inappropriate. This was Nuada, after all. Her prince. Her brave warrior. His honor would not let him do anything to her that she didn't want him to do. And he wasn't seriously interested in doing anything... problematic with her, anyway. Everything was fine. So Dylan closed her eyes and leaned back against the edge of the counter. When Nuada didn't move, didn't speak, she opened her eyes again and gave him a curious look.

"Breathe, mo duinne," the prince said gently. His soft smile was all too amused. Dylan let out the breath she'd been holding and scowled.

Then Nuada shifted, just a little bit. Somehow that subtle shifting brought him a lot closer. The heat of him was suddenly scorching, even through the snow-white tunic she had borrowed from the Elven warrior only that morning. Suddenly Dylan realized she shouldn't have worn his shirt. Worst possible garment at the moment. Despite the fact that it was clean, it was almost saturated with the scent of him. All that fey, feral wildness. All the spice of ancient pine forests and the rich, warm scent of leather and linen surrounding her.

When the ivory-eyed Elven warrior murmured "dún do shúile" once more, her eyes slid closed almost against her will.

"Okay," she said. Did she sound breathless? She really hoped she didn't sound breathless. "Talk."

Nuada leaned one arm on the counter, so he was closer to Dylan's ear. Close enough that when he spoke, his breath ruffled her hair. "If you touch me first, I win this challenge. If you ask me to do anything that breaks your rules, I win."

"And what happens if you win?"

In truth, he hadn't really thought that far. This was more about pride than winning a prize. Besides, any prize he could win from her was forbidden anyway. Nuada thought of a dream of sandy shores and the memory of a clear night at a snow-dusted faerie metal playground. Thought longingly of almost-kisses. Treacherous thoughts that would help nothing. So instead of asking for what he really wanted, the Elf prince said, "If I win you owe me a second act of service. If you win, I will owe you the same."

She pondered that for a minute before nodding. The smile curving her scarred mouth might have terrified a lesser man. "I like those terms."

"Well, then. Trí do shaoire, mo mhuire?"

By your leave, my lady? A simple question that was not a question this time. No, this time it was a challenge... and an invitation to back down if she was too uncomfortable. She wasn't - yet. Just nervous. Playing games with the Tylwyth Teg was usually something she avoided at all costs. But she wasn't uncomfortable, because of who this particular fae was. There was no caution from the Spirit, either. Well, of course not. Nothing was going to happen. Nuada wouldn't let anything happen.

Dylan nodded once.

His voice held all the weight of a touch when Nuada murmured in her ear, "Mo duinne. Amháin a chara, is féidir liom éisteacht le do buille an chroí." Dear one, I can hear the beating of your heart. "Your heart is already racing. Why is that? I haven't done anything... yet." Warmth settled over her chest, maybe half an inch from her body. His hand hovering above her heart. The promise of a touch. She shivered. Dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks before she squeezed her eyes tightly shut once more. "I can see your pulse, Dylan, like a butterfly fluttering gently at your throat." A soft breath over her skin had her sucking in a sharp breath. His mouth was so close to her neck. A scant couple of inches kept them separated. Nuada almost seemed to breathe in time with her heartbeat. "I can hear your heart pounding, sweetheart. Don't be afraid."

Dylan. Mo duinne. Don't be afraid. It's all right. Do not be afraid, a chumann. Whispers from a dream. Nuada tasted an echo of honey and sweet summer strawberries and somehow he knew that he'd said this to her in a dream. A shared dream? Or one of those forbidden night fantasies that had left him aching and alone, missing her so fiercely during his self-exile from this place? Nuada couldn't remember. He also couldn't afford to get distracted by those memories when the woman in question trembled with nerves - and possibly attraction - when she was merely a scant inch away from him.

"I won't hurt you," he murmured. "Breathe, sweet one. Just breathe. Relax."

"I... I am relaxed."

His breath was hot against her ear when he whispered, "You're lying, love."

Dylan swallowed hard and was profoundly grateful for the counter at her back. Otherwise her knees - which were slowly being rendered into jelly - would have already buckled. She really didn't think this was fair. He wasn't just talking; he was breathing on her. Which sounded creepier than it actually was. And he'd called her...

Love. Oh, he called me "love." Shoot. I'm in trouble.

And the distance between them, so carefully maintained by the Elf prince, was already driving her crazy. Nuada was so close. She could feel his heartbeat because the solid wall of his chest was so close to her body; feel the weight of his firegold-edged ivory gaze as it moved slowly over her face. If he would just touch her - she'd be satisfied with him poking her in the shoulder if he wanted; as long as the tension suddenly simmering between them broke - if he'd just let the hand over her thundering heart drop to hold her heartbeat in his palm, or if the mouth hovering above her neck brushed against her jaw or just something, the tension would break and she'd be fine.

"Mo milis amháin," Nuada whispered. Dylan felt absolutely ridiculous getting quivery over my sweet one. But it was the way he said it. The liquid-silver vowels of the Gaelic language held the soft mists of Ireland and the twilight beauty of Faerie. His breath was the softest touch against her skin, a warm caress against the shell of her ear that held a hint of other caresses, promises he would never make to someone like her. And yet there was such a wealth of longing in his voice.

Nuada was a very good actor, she'd give him that. She already half-believed he really meant such tender things. Maybe this was how he did it - that yearning note in his voice. As if he couldn't live without the woman he was talking to. Dylan felt immensely sorry for any faerie girl Nuada had used that voice on because they didn't stand a chance. And oh boy, neither did she if he kept it up much longer.

"Mo dathúil amháin, my lovely one." He drew a deep breath, and she could almost hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Is breá liom an boladh de do chuid gruaige."

The Elf prince allowed himself a brief smile, though it was edged with more than a little pain, when Dylan's breath caught in her throat. I love the scent of your hair, he'd told her. Oh, and he did. The sweetness of lilies and the richness of a thousand red summer roses. He could afford to be so candid just now because his lady thought this merely pretense to prove his point. Somehow, Dylan still had not learned that pretense made the best shield for truth, despite their courtship charade.

But Nuada wasn't finished just yet.

"Is breá liom do chuid súl," the fae warrior murmured, ghosting his fingers along Dylan's temple and cheek. Not actually touching her. Just a hint of stroking fingertips without breaking the no-touching rule. Her knuckles were turning white from gripping the edge of the counter so tightly.

Just to be a bit cruel, Nuada leaned in until he could almost taste the warmth of Dylan's so very soft skin. If she turned her head just a fraction, his lips would kiss the spot just beneath her ear. "Mo duinne, are you listening?"

She nodded. Oh, wow, he was close, he was so close. Electric potential tingled over her skin with every breath that Nuada allowed to caress her. This had been a bad idea. Very, very bad idea. Even after that time he'd kissed each of her knuckles in front of the fireplace, sending golden shimmers racing through her blood, she hadn't realized just how much Nuada could affect her when he was actually trying. Thank goodness he didn't normally try. "I... I'm listening."

"What did I say, then?"

"Um..." She remembered, all right. But getting it out without her voice quavering could pose a problem. "You s-said that you like my eyes."

"No," Nuada said. His voice seemed to pour over her like warm honey, rich and thick. His lips were so close to her skin. His arm was barely centimeters from the hand she kept curled around the edge of the counter. She could feel the displaced air when Nuada's chest rose and fell with each breath. "No, I love your eyes. Such an impossibly beautiful blue. So very lovely. Tá réaltaí i do shúile."

There are stars in your eyes.

He couldn't say stuff like that to her! Not in Gaelic! She was a sucker for Gaelic! Okay, well, maybe it was because it was Nuada, Dylan thought with no little desperation. Maybe that's why the things he was almost purring in her ear made it so hard to breathe. Because she was deeply, pathetically in love with him and he simply had the knack of making her knees go weak.

But she had to fight back somehow. "So you seduce women by flattering them?"

Dylan had been hoping to push him off-stride a little. Maybe throw him off enough that he couldn't think of anymore sweet whispers to croon in her ear but holy crow who was she kidding? She wondered a bit desperately as she realized that she was gone, she knew it, she was hopelessly gone. If he'd asked her to kiss him right at that moment, even if it was just part of the whole seduction challenge, she probably would've jumped on him.

Then he laughed. A soft, rumbling laugh that was almost a purr. "Sweetheart. I'm not flattering you. I am complimenting you. Judging by the state of your breathing, you're enjoying it. And besides, I'm not finished. In fact I've barely begun... unless you're backing down."

"Can I open my eyes?"

"If you like."

Blue eyes snapped open and locked on his face before narrowing. "Backing down? From a challenge from you?" She demanded. Nuada quirked a sardonic eyebrow at her. "You can just bite me."

His grin was feral and dangerous. It made her heart jolt hard in her chest. "If you like." He shifted closer. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs as the idea of Nuada biting her fully penetrated her fogged brain.

"Okay!" Dylan let go of the counter to hold up both hands, palms out as if to ward him off. "Okay, okay. You made your point. You're sexy, I get it." Furious heat seared her cheeks and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was blushing. Crud-tastic. "You've got skills. I will never doubt your skills again, I promise. You win. I owe you two acts of service. Now could you... I dunno, go dunk yourself in a bucket of cold water?"

That grin took on an edge of lazy amusment. "Do I need to?"

Dylan scowled at him. "Maybe not, but it would make me feel a lot better. In fact, go do it outside."

"It's snowing," he protested.

"Don't be a baby."

He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her. "You are merely displeased that you lost to me. I warned you never to challenge an Elven warrior. Especially, might I add, an Elven prince. I have my pride, mo duinne. I cannot simply allow you to insult that pride, and my skills, without consequences."

With a move so effortless it had to have been practiced, Dylan hoisted herself up onto the counter so they were nearly eye to eye. "Uh-huh. So that was, what? A punishment?"

"More like a reward." Nuada gave her an affronted look when she laughed. "Are you actually laughing?"

Dylan nodded, still giggling. "Reward, huh? Wow. You are so arrogant. I'm trying to figure out if I feel sorry for all of your ex-girlfriends or jealous. But anyway." She scrubbed at her mouth with the back of one hand as if trying to wash away the giggles. "Okay, okay, serious time now. I'm done making fun of you."

Nuada
simply waited. He knew her too well to think that was the end of the mockery.

He was right.

"Can I ask you a question?" Dylan asked. Nuada inclined his head. "Um... do you practice these skills? Like, did you learn from someone? Or were you just born knowing them? Because I can actually kind of see you as short, itsy-witsy little Nuada trying to be all charming and hitting on the servant girls to get extra treats before bed."

The feral-eyed Elven warrior raised an eyebrow. "Itsy-witsy?" She pressed her lips together to lock the laugh away, but it managed to squeak out anyway. Firegold eyes narrowed. Dylan offered the prince her brightest, sweetest smile. "I will be the first to assure you that I was never 'itsy-witsy,' Dylan." By the Fates, he felt ridiculous even using such a sugary term.

Her smile was indulgent. "Sure you were. Everyone was at some point."

"Were you?"

"Yeah, wanna see a picture?" She slid off the counter, which made her body brush against his. Instinct had him putting his hands to her waist in order to slow down her brief descent. Chance landed her pressed against him with her hands flat to his chest. The sudden desire humming in his blood had him sucking in a breath. Dylan made a face. "Oops. Did I land on your foot?"

"No." To Hell with common sense. One kiss wouldn't hurt either of them. Just one little kiss. One searing, smoldering kiss that would leave him burning for far more than he could ever honorably ask of her. He would take just that one little brush of her lips against his and beshrew the consequences. And he wanted to make sure that if anyone else, mortal or immortal, ever dared to kiss her, Dylan would remember the way he had kissed her and compare it to every other pathetic attempt she experienced in her life.

With that in mind, Nuada began to lean toward her.

Her cell phone rang.

The Elf prince yanked himself back the scant two milimeters he'd traveled and snarled under his breath as his mortal lady cast him an apologetic look. "I have to get this. It's late enough it could be an emergency. I'll show you the picture of me when I'm done, okay?"

Eyes hot and copper with frustration watched her snag her phone from the kitchen table and check the readout. Frustration melted away to concern when Dylan went dead white and dropped her phone, stumbling back and swiping the hand that had picked it up against her jeans as if trying to wipe something disgusting off her skin. Her throat worked convulsively, as if she were about to be sick. Her eyes were too large in her pale face. Her other hand was shaking.

"Dylan?"

The phone stopped ringing for a few seconds, then started again. Dylan swallowed hard, shot one wild-shy glance at Nuada, then reached out and picked the phone up again. Her hand shook. "I have to take this call. Um... privately. I'll just... go in my room or... or something. Give me a few minutes." As she limped out of the kitchen, she clicked TALK. Nuada heard her say in a voice like shards of jagged-edged ice, "Just a second."

It was the midnight ice in Dylan's usually warm, gentle voice that made him pause long enough for her to get into her bedroom and lock the door. Otherwise, he would have followed after her immediately. But he'd never heard Dylan talk like that. Not to anyone, not even Eamonn. And he'd only heard her use that tone about someone twice before.

Brief wisps of memory reminded him of the hatred in her voice that frigid afternoon on the roof with the girl, Lisa, and the next morning when Dylan had been on the phone. Talking about another human. A man. Westenra, wasn't it? Was that who was on the phone? Why had Dylan gone so hideously pale?

Because she'd asked for privacy he gave it to her. But they were going to talk when she came out of her room. Who, the prince wondered, not for the first time, is Westenra? And what did he have to do with Nuada's mortal lady?

.

Bres smiled, a smile that could've charmed a bluebird from the safety of its nest if he'd so desired it. In fact, that was exactly what he wanted. But it was no ordinary bluebird that the crown prince of Cíocal desired. No, this was a very special bluebird. One with lovely eyes of liquid amber that watched him now with a touch of nerves mingling like mulled wine with the feminine interest in the depths of those pretty eyes.

Princess Nuala, the Elf prince thought, forcing warmth and charm into the smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. She truly was a beauty. Countless noblemen sought her company. If the Silver Lance had been in Bethmoora and not at his mortal whore's common hovel, perhaps the Bethmooran courtiers would not be so bold. But it mattered little to the Fomorian prince if the rabble here tried to woo the princess away from him. They would fail. They didn't have his charm, and they didn't have the tools at his disposal that Bres possessed; namely, Ciaran's poison.

The prince watched with that same warm, charming smile playing about his lips as Balor's daughter, with a shy glance his way, took a sip of the cider in her goblet. He could almost feel sorry for the poor naive girl. She had no idea that while Dierdre poisoned the king with Kadru's serpentine bite and used her own unique talents in the prince's chambers, the Fomori that seemed so intent on wooing her was also feeding her tiny bits of gancanaugh venom day by day. Barely half a drop every meal. Not enough to alert the princess, who possessed powerful magic and might detect stronger doses of the poison. But it was adequate to leave her just open enough that it was easy to woo her, to charm and romance her, to draw her closer with every day that went by. By now the little princess was wrapped up in the black widow's web of romance and courtship Bres was spinning around her. Which was exactly what he wanted.

Nuada would not return to his father's court anytime soon. Bres knew that. He was too busy sampling the charms of his mortal toy. The king grew more and more frustrated every day, especially with the Dragon of Dilong breathing down his neck about the crown prince's whereabouts and what Balor intended to do about this matrimonial arrangement between Nuada and Ming Xian, the little princess known as the Jade Flower. Nuala worried. In her worry, she confessed some of her fears to the man who was slowly stealing her heart. So the Fomorian prince was confident that before the other Elf prince returned, Nuala would be eating out of the palm of his hand.

In keeping with that sentiment, and his charade, Bres flashed his soon-to-be-truelove a smile that filled Nuala's eyes with honeyed warmth and a charming sweetness that almost made the crown prince of Cíocal regret his decision to cut out and feed her still-beating heart to Dierdre on his and the Bethmooran princess's wedding night.

Almost.

.

And in the shadows of the mortal world, another still-beating heart was slowly being cut out by a man without sanity or soul.

"How did you get this number?" Dylan snapped as soon as she'd flipped the lock on her bedroom door.

"I have my ways." Doctor Lucian Westenra's voice had all the warmth of a cobra as it hissed through the phone speaker. Dylan fought back a shudder. "I just want you to know a few things, Doctor Myers. Just want to explain a few things, now that I'm back from my suspension. Then I'll hang up."

"I don't want to talk to you. I'm not going to talk to you. Goodbye."

But Westenra's icy cobra voice struck before she could pull the phone away from her ear. "Who was the blond man with you the day Lisa tried to commit suicide?"

Her eyes snapped wide. Her heart stuttered. Every protective instinct came roaring to the surface. Dylan's voice was as cold and sepulchral as a winterbound graveyard when she demanded in what might have been an actual snarl, "What do you want?"

"I want some answers, you snotty little bitch." Despite the profanity and the anger she knew had to be there. Westenra's voice remained without inflection or even much volume. "As payment for your meddling. In exchange, I answer the question that I know you've been dying to ask me for years. But my questions get answered first. So, question one. Who was the man with the long blond hair in the business suit who kept staring at you?"

"Jealous?" The word dripped acid sarcasm.

"You know what happened to your sister? To your precious Francesca?" Westenra demanded. Dylan's stomach clenched and she had to fight the sudden surge of fury and nausea. "She was your favorite. That's what you said during our sessions when you were a child. Out of all your sisters, you said, 'Cesca was your favorite. She was always lots and lots of fun. Is she still your favorite, Dylan? Is she still lots and lots of fun? Because Patrick and Xander were wondering about that."

"Do. Not. Threaten. My family."

"Then answer my questions. I'm a man of my word, Doctor, you know that. You also know I can keep both the Blackwoods on a short leash with the right incentive. And with the right incentive I might let them slip the leash like a pair of rabid dogs and see what they do to your precious family. For research purposes, you understand."

Her response was a child's response, but it was the only thing she could force past the choking lump in her throat and her numb lips. "I hate you."

"Who was he, Dylan?"

Oh, she hated the way he said her name. Like they were friends. Like he was the friendly old grandfather or uncle and he actually cared about her. Something hot and wet trickled down her cheeks as she whispered, "He's my boyfriend."

"Name?"

"None of your business," she snapped.

"Just a first name will do," the doctor said gently. "I could always find out for myself, I'm sure, but if I was busy doing that, that would mean no one was keeping an eye on our dear friends the Blackwoods. They know where you live, by the way. They were just telling me about it today. Such an interesting little place you've got. So near the Park. Right on the edge, right? Actually inside the Park, near one of the main entrances. However did you afford the special licenses?"

Translation: I know where you live. There is nowhere that you're safe from me. Trade me the first name of your boyfriend for the safety of your family and yourself.

For the first time Dylan wondered if there was any point in calling the cops. Peabody and Donovan would help take care of this. Of course they would. But it wouldn't go away. It wouldn't solve anything. If the police could have solved this, they would have done it when she was eighteen and fresh out of Saint Vincent's.

But Westenra was too well-connected. Westenra was untouchable.

Just the first name? It wasn't Nuada's true name, which gave anyone who knew it power over that person. More than likely the only people who knew that name were the king and maybe Princess Nuala. And there were other guys named Nuada in the world. Both the Other Kin and humans often used the old names. And if the Blackwoods came here, to the cottage... what if, for whatever reason, the Elf prince wasn't there? What if Tsu's'di wasn't there, either? A long shot, but it always paid to worry about the long shots. Without the two prime defenders of the cottage, if the Blackwoods came here, A'du and 'Sa'ti could get hurt. Even killed.

And she couldn't tell Tsu's'di about the threat or demand he stay without telling him the details because then he'd tell Nuada and Nuada couldn't know about the Blackwoods. There was no doubt in Dylan's mind that those two deserved death but Nuada couldn't risk being the one to deliver it and if he knew what they'd done, the Elven warrior would insist on it. If she didn't answer Westenra's questions, her prince and the children she was supposed to protect would be in danger. So would her sisters and their children. So would her twin brother.

So she snarled, "His name is Nuada, you bast-"

"All right, then. No need to get snippy," Westenra interrupted dismissively. Dylan opened her mouth to hiss something obscene but the other psychiatrist beat her to the punch. "Does he know you're damaged goods? Or that you need serious help?"

Help. You need help. You need help, Dylan. We just want to help you, honey. You need help. Once you get the help you need, you can come home. You need help.

Words from her childhood. The one thing she had always hated hearing. She hated it. A sweetly poisoned lie that she was crazy, that what she saw and what she knew weren't true weren't real she was sick she was crazy, she needed help.

And just like that, she was twelve again.

Even as she was screaming at herself to hang up, to drop the phone, to go back out into the kitchen and slide into Nuada's arms because it was safe there, she stammered, "I... I'm not, I... I'm not. I don't."

"Right. I'll take that as a no, then. What would he do if I told him his lady friend had spread her legs for two boys by the time she was only twelve?"

"I didn't-"

"And what do you think he'd say if I told him about what happened after?"

She tried to breathe. Tried to keep from screaming. Couldn't hang up. If she hung up, the snake on the other end of the line might send the monsters after Francesca again, or one of the other girls. Or send them to her cottage.

She was choking on the ice in her guts when she whispered, "He already knows what happened after."

"Oh, the shock therapy and the drugs, I wouldn't doubt that. Almost ten years of those things leave a mark. Didn't you have to take drugs for the muscle tics at first? And there was some rumor floating around the hospital years ago about you being in rehab. Was that just gossip or was that true?"

For just a minute, Dylan wondered if Westenra were the devil. How else did this monster have insight into the darkest parts of her life? Why was it so easy for him to scrape away her self-control while she drowned in her own memories? He stripped away the ice and the stone that kept her strong enough to ignore the past. Left her vulnerable enough for the demons to come sniffing around, lusting for the scent of blood.

Clearly Westenra hadn't expected an answer to those questions, though, because he kept talking.

"And the isolation treatments. Do you still have hysterics when someone turns out all the lights and leaves you all alone in the dark?" Before she could say anything, he continued, "But that's not what I meant. I meant those unfortunate incidents with Mr. Blackwood and his sons. Does he know about those? And remember, Dylan, I'm a licensed psychiatrist. I can tell when you're lying."

A beat of silence. Then, "Does. He. Know?"

"N-no."

She couldn't stop the tears now. She didn't want to think about this. Didn't want to think about Westenra or those years in the institutions right now. Didn't want to think of her first year of college when everything had been falling apart because she couldn't deal, couldn't take care of John and go to college and have a life and help the fae. Didn't want to think about the poisons that had swum in her veins, the residue that still festered in her body. Didn't want to think about nightmares, about therapy, about the hysterics when she'd failed two classes and lost her first job and only the Hidden Folk and the government had kept her and her brother in their apartment and fed. Didn't want to think about memories.

Not because she thought Nuada would turn on her. No. Dylan knew him better than that. She just... just couldn't bother with all of this right now. Not with so much going on. Not with their return to Findias looming, not with the courtship charade and the political intrigues and she had to get off the phone before Nuada came in or heard her crying or something. But the shadows and the hurt were surging up and for once, for some reason, she couldn't just shove them down again. They had her by the throat with their vicious little fang-teeth and wouldn't let go. Would never ever let her go.

"I see. So, you're probably wondering why I called." When she didn't say anything, just continued to cry quietly into the phone, he said, "See, the thing is, you've been a thorn in my side for years. You, you're so ungrateful. I could have made your life a living hell when you were a child and yet I didn't. I just gave you the things you asked for. It's not my fault you went in that basement, after all. Besides, you all enjoyed yourselves, you're simply too stubborn to admit it. So ungrateful. Always making trouble, always being so difficult. But the only things I've been able to do about you up until now were petty and didn't really work. They just pissed you off, didn't they? Made you more annoying.

"But now... now I've got some leverage, don't I? Because little Dylan is finally pulling her pathetic little life together. She finally has a boyfriend. Someone to love her, to hold her, to honor and cherish her. And you don't want him to learn all of your dirty little secrets, do you?"

No. No, she didn't, because if Nuada ever found out about this, Westenra was as good as dead. Which didn't bother her at all after this hellish phone call. Except that if Nuada killed another human and claimed it was in defense of her, Balor was not going to buy that. And since this wasn't a life-and-death situation, even if by some miracle the king did buy it, would he still punish the prince? She had no doubt that he would, and that surety added a frigid layer of fear to the black emotions churning in her stomach. She wasn't going to let her stupid personal problems put Nuada in danger. Not again. Never again, if she could help it.

Her voice was a mere thread of sound when she whispered, "What do you want?"

"I want you to stop bothering me. Stop interfering at my hospital. Stay out of my business."

"They're my patients!" Dylan protested weakly.

"Well, then, Doctor. You're going to have to make a choice. Who do you care about more? Those snot-nosed little thugs you call patients, or the man you've managed to trick into falling in love with you? Although it's not much of a choice, really. He's going to leave you eventually. Count on it. After all, everyone else did."

She tried to speak. Couldn't. Not even a broken syllable would come out. Because he was right - everyone had left her at some point or another: her parents had left her at Saint Vincents, her sisters had left her once she was out and they realized she wasn't "cured," and even John had left her when he'd been snatched up by that strange dimension and separated from her.

And Nuada had already walked away from her twice. The first time had been the night Eamonn had killed the woodman and his wife. Not his fault, not abandonment, she tried to tell herself, but Westenra's voice was still hissing in her head. He's going to leave you eventually. If she hadn't gone to Findias to stand for him, would she have ever seen the Elf prince again?

And then... and then... during the fight... during the fight where he'd accused her of lying to him and called her... called her...

D
isgusting human whore...

Except he hadn't meant it, he'd said so, he was back, he'd come back. Had saved her life time and again. Saved her sanity. Given her hope and comfort. He'd been her only comfort in the soul-darkness left by her nightmares. Nuada wouldn't leave her again. He cared for her. She was precious to him - he had told her so. Nuada wasn't going to leave.

But John had cared for her. John had loved her, still loved her, more than his own life. He was her twin. They were two halves of the same whole, two sides of the same coin. And John had left her when she needed him the most.

And once the courtship charade was over, once they escaped from it... would Nuada leave her, too?

Third
time's the charm, she thought suddenly.

"Now you may ask your question."

It was like she was drowning in air. Every beat of her heart punched against her ribcage, striking the breath from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Pain spiked through her temples. Wrapped her heart in an ice cold fist and squeezed until all she could do was sit and struggle to breathe through the tears.

"All right. Obviously you're speechless. So let's see if I can guess your question. You want to know why I walked away that night. Right? Of course you do. Why did Doctor Westenra, who was supposed to be the grown-up, supposed to be the one in charge, why did he leave you and the others there that night?" He chuckled now, a warm laugh like an indulgent uncle. "It's simple. Because boys will be boys, Dylan. That's just how it is. All good, clean fun."

Then he hung up.

Dylan just sat there and stared at her phone for a long moment before hitting END.

Boys will be boys? That was his excuse? That was why he'd come down those stairs, seen what was happening, and walked away again? Then he'd had the vicious gall to look her in the eye when she brought it to the three main psychiatrists' attention and tell her that making up stories about other kids and anyone else was not going to get her home any sooner.

Good clean fun, he'd said. Good clean fun had ended Gunter and Allison's life. It had shattered Ruby, the other girl who'd been down in that basement with them that night. And Dylan herself still bore scars on her heart and her body from the twisted sexual games the Blackwoods boys had played with so many of the kids.

Breathe, Dylan snarled at herself, hating her own weakness. Breathe. Don't be pathetic. Stop it. Take a damn breath.

But she couldn't. The world was swimming before her eyes, tears bluring her room into smears of color and shadow with hints of flickering light from the crystal rai flowers. Dylan covered her face with her hands and focused on the moment. Focused on the warm wall of her hands and slowly, slowly began to draw in enough air that she wouldn't pass out. Only when she could draw a full breath without a hiccup, only when her hands no longer shook and her eyes no longer stung, did she stand up and move to the door to go back into the living room.

Nuada stood on the other side of the door, one hand raised as if about to knock. Dylan jumped in surprise. "Whoa. Jeez. H-how long have you been there?"

"I... a few seconds. I came back to tell you the children were in bed." Feral eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "You've been crying."

She quickly shook her head. "N-n-no. Don't be silly. I'm fine."

Dylan tried to slip past him - if she kept looking into his face, kept seeing the concern in her eyes, she'd break down again, her pain would slam into her hard, and she'd only just managed to push it all down again. But Nuada wouldn't let her. One impossibly strong arm blocked the doorway before snaking around her waist and pulling him to her.

"You are lying to me," he said, sounding almost bewildered. "You have never lied to me, never purposely deceived me before. Why do it now? What's wrong?"

"Nuada," she protested, twisting a little. He didn't loosen his grip. "Stop it. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

"Dylan." The slender thread of hurt in his voice made her look up. Their eyes locked. There was such concern and sorrow in those lovely golden eyes. She could feel her mouth beginning to tremble. She bit her lip and looked away. "Dylan. Don't you trust me, then?"

"Of course I do. I'm fine, I..."

No, she wasn't. Sudden fear, sudden hollow weakness, sudden grief speared her through the chest. Her knees trembled. Dylan squeezed her eyes shut as tears pricked the backs of her eyes and the world went blurry once more. No, she couldn't break down now. Couldn't. Not here. Not in front of him. She was already too close to spiraling out of control.

"I'm fine, it's okay, I'm okay. I'm just fine so please, please just... Nuada, it's okay, it doesn't matter, I'm fine, all right? I'm okay, I'm fine. Please. It doesn't matter, just, please, it's fine, I'm fine, please."

I don't care, I can't... it's just a dream, I don't care. Please. I don't care, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it's fine, I'm fine, I don't care, I'm fine, just don't, please it's fine, I'm fine, it's all fine...

Nuada swiftly suppressed a shudder as the memory sliced through his mind. Gods, he still had nightmares about that shared dream sometimes. Of finding her, brutalized and bleeding on a dark stairwell. Blood slicking a dark stairwell. Blood pooling concrete in deserted subway tunnels. Blood soaking into Elven silk sheets. Nuada fought against the insidious thoughts until one surfaced enough to snag his attention. Always, always she tells me she is fine. Rape, gang rape, mind rape, and she insists she is well. Insists she is fine. But she is not fine. Something is wrong here.

"Dylan. Tell me. What's wrong?" His voice was gentle but firm. She shook her head and tried to pull away again. He didn't tighten his grip, but he didn't loosen it, either. Something - instinct, maybe - told him to keep pushing her. "Is it your brother? One of your sisters? Did something happen?"

"No, no. John's fine. Everyone's fine. I'm fine. Nuada, I'm fine."

"If you say that one more time, I am going to dump you in that creek by the little stone bridge in the Park."

Her eyes widened. She would've stepped back but his arm held her in place. "But it's snowing!"

His tone was without pity. "Do not be a baby. Now, tell me what's wrong." She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Looked away, mouth trembling. His eyes went flat. "Very well. You still owe me four questions. I'll use one of them now. Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm upset," she snapped, glaring at him. "Obviously."

The look he gave her could have drawn blood from a stone. "Those questions without proper answers do not count as proper questions. Therefore, I still have four left. Why are you upset?" She looked away then. Gritting her teeth didn't stop the small sound of heart-pain from escaping her rigid control.
That sound was like an iron spike driven right into his heart. So he reached up and very gently stroked her cheek. One hot tear dropped onto his fingers. "Mo duinne. What is it? I can feel your pain. Your sadness. What's wrong? Tell me. Why are you so upset?"

"I can't tell you."

"Dylan-"

She shoved at him. That flash of temper had a brief wave of relief sweeping through him. "I can't! For your sake and mine, I can't. If I tell you, you'll get angry and you'll do something reckless and get hurt. I know you. I know you! You see me in tears and you go ballistic, okay? And even if that wasn't a concern, I can't because... because..." She swiped her hands over her face in a vain attempt to remove any trace of tears but she was still crying, so that didn't really work. Nuada brushed away one of those fresh tears with his thumb. The gentle touch just brought more weeping. Why did he have to be so gentle with her? Why did he have to be so kind? "I can't," she whispered. "Please don't ask me."

"If I promise not to do anything reckless or... or 'go ballistic,' as you put it, then will you tell me?" He could do nothing if he didn't know what was wrong. And besides, he could make that promise and still take care of his lady's problem - if it was possible for anyone to take care of it - since he was never reckless. But Dylan shook her head. Nuada growled, exasperated. "What are you afraid of?"

She sniffled and swiped almost angrily at her cheeks. "Nothing. Now are you gonna let me go?"

"Not until you explain why I can still see the tears glimmering in your eyes," he snapped. She flinched, and for the first time in more than a week he felt like a monster. Far more gently, Nuada added, "Dylan, mo duinne... I look at you and it is as if you're bleeding to death from a wound I cannot see. Tell me what's wrong so I can do something."

Her eyes were wet and exhausted when she met his gaze, and suddenly all of the fight went out of her and she just let herself collapse against him. She didn't cry anymore, but she clung to him with a desperation that unnerved him. As if she thought he might disappear at any moment.

"Sweetheart." The endearment slipped out without conscious thought, and neither of them noticed it. "Sweetheart. Just tell me. It will be all right if you tell me. I promise you. Nothing bad will happen."

"Yes it will," Dylan whispered.

If she told him then she would start to really cry, the hysterical breathless choking crying that involved a lot of tears, snot, and probably saliva. She hated doing that. And once he started being super nice to her, which he always was when she cried (which was why she hated crying in front of him in the first place; it felt so whiny and cheap, like she was using him), she would shatter completely. And once shattered, Dylan wouldn't be able to put herself back together because he would demand the story, the entire story, every detail, and she couldn't do that. She'd shoved aside the memories so that she only had to deal with them in dreams and, occasionally, flashbacks. Usually Dylan didn't even think about most of those memories if she could help it. If she thought about them now, talked about them now while Nuada held her and she was so emotionally shaky, she knew she would have to deal with things she did not want to face. Ever.

"Yes, it will," she whispered into his chest. "Nuada, it will, okay? I can't, please don't make me, I can't, please, I just can't..."

Then Nuada took away her breath and the last of her resolve by pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. He murmured softly, "Yes, you can, and no, it won't. I will not let anything happen to you, mo duinne. I am here. Rely on my strength. I will let no harm befall you, I swear it." Her shoulders began to shake and he felt her tears soaking his shirt. "I swear to you, Dylan, I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered. "It's all right. Tell me. Let me help you. You can tell me."

It was a very long time before she
was calm enough to take his hand and lace her fingers with his. Golden eyes roved over her tear-stained face. Dylan whispered brokenly, "I can't... can't tell you. It's too hard to form the words, it's like swallowing glass... but... but you may look. But only at the parts I deliberately show you. Do you promise?"

"I promise." Nuada drew a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Braced himself. And then he slid into her mind like a shadow.

First she replayed the entire conversation for him. Because this was true memory and not just the bits and pieces she could access on her own, he heard every word, and they filled him with a rage so ravenous and black it shocked them both. No wonder she'd asked him not to do anything reckless. Nuada felt reckless just then. His hands itched to hold sword and spear so that he could use them on this pitiless, heartless creature that dared threaten Dylan. Dared reduce her to this sobbing woman-child in his arms.

Then she showed him just what she and Westenra had been talking about.

Flashes. Vague impressions and blurry images. Words hissing through her memory and his mind like snakes. Vicious words that made him yearn for bloodshed. He could feel everything, there was nothing she could do to prevent that, but she wasn't letting him see it all. She kept most of it blurred because... because why? Because she was worried about something. Something to do with him. But it didn't matter right now. Right now he had to focus.

The feral-eyed warrior pushed past the screaming pain and the heartwrenching sound of twelve-year-old Dylan's sobs. Nuada could feel her pain, her fear. Her desperation. The nauseating dizziness that whispered of oblivion if she just gave in and stopped fighting it, stopped fighting the monster above her. But she didn't stop. She kept struggling, thrashing with limbs shaking with exhaustion and pain and blood loss. Kept trying to scream despite the sweaty hand pressing so hard against her mouth that she cut her lips on her own teeth. She kept screaming, kept sobbing, kept fighting. She'd still been fighting the night he found her in the subway, desperate and trapped. Just as she was in these memories.

In the physical world Nuada pulled her closer, vainly trying to shield her from what had happened long ago. Tried desperately to keep his own mind from slipping back into his own memories, memories of Nuala's terrified screams - a child's screams, a girl's screams, just like Dylan's - and his mother's eyes, the tears running like blood, mingling with the amber blood and turning the ground to mud as his mother screamed and fought against a pack of human wolves. By the Fates, he'd tried, he'd tried so hard to get loose, he'd been screaming for her, for both of them, for his mother and Nuala, fighting like a hellcat, but it hadn't been enough.

Just as Dylan's struggle hadn't been enough. Not when she was a child, not when she was a woman preyed upon by another pack of wolves. Just like his mother. He tasted the salt of her tears in the physical world, the salt of her blood through the mystical link currently binding them.

In the memory, the cruel whispers stopped and the sickening hammering pain eased for a moment. But Dylan was still crying. The salt stung his mouth.

Then a voice. An adult's voice, cultured and jovial. The same voice that had been on the phone, only younger. "Oh, that's where you all went. Don't make too much of a mess. Your father and the janitors will throw a fit." The image of the memory cleared a little and Nuada saw an older man in a white lab coat - maybe forty or fifty years old - smile almost benevolently before turning and walking back up the stairs with more than just Dylan calling for him to come back, to please come back, to help.

Other children. She'd told him there had been other children but he hadn't quite realized... She let him see the faces of those three children. Two girls, both with curly brown hair like Dylan's. A boy with a tangled mop of brown hair and freckles. She let him see the vicious bruises, the iron-laced blood, the tears. But she didn't let him see the faces of her attackers, or her own reflection in the empty eyes of the filthy human animal brutally using her. Or the face of the man that had walked away from her torment, smiling.

Shock, too heavy to hold back any longer, smashed into the Elf prince hard enough that he stumbled out of the mind link with enough force that Dylan almost lost her balance. When they were both steady, he stared down at her almost numbly. His father wanted to maintain the truce with the humans. Wanted to maintain a truce based on shame with monsters who would leave a child in the dark to be brutalized even when she was begging for help. That human had smiled at those twisted boys that had dared to lay hands on Dylan. What kind of monster smiled while a young girl was being raped? When innocent blood stained the floor and pain saturated the room? Just like... just like-

- Emerald eyes glassy with shock and pain
Amber blood soaking into the earth
Too weak to scream now
Too weak to fight back
Mother. Mother! No, Mother!
Nuala screaming, crying
Her sobs echoing in his ears
The light fading from his mother's eyes
Just like... just like... -

The fury burning through him along with the brief flashback left him shaking with the intensity of it. That human wretch had to die. Tonight. He had to pay for what he'd done to that child who'd grown up to be an extraordinary woman. Had to die for what he'd allowed to be done to her. All that pain. All that fear. The human filth could have prevented it all. Monster. Putrid, sickening, black-hearted human filth. To do that, to allow that to happen to a child...

She was just a little girl, Nuada thought as a different pain lanced him. She was twelve years old. Gods, she was only a child and that animal left her there...

Only Dylan's hands on his shoulders kept him from hunting down that monster and putting an end to him before the dawn. Gentle fingertips ghosted over his face, jerking him out of the black, choking fury and the slashing grief. Blue eyes held his gaze and kept him anchored long enough for the prince to get a reign on his temper.

Then she whispered, "I'm sorry, Nuada."

He stared at her. "Dylan. What, in the name of all the gods beyond the stars, do you have to be sorry for?" Nuada drew her to him and rested his forehead against hers. They were both trembling now. Breathing hard. "You cannot think you were in any way responsible. I won't let you think that."

"I don't. I just... I... I tried to shield you from the brunt of it but... but I... what happened distracted me. I don't let myself think about it, so I was distracted. I'm sorry, it's just..." Tears thickened her voice, but the Elf prince saw with more than a little concern that she didn't let them fall. "He left me there. He was supposed to take care of all of us and he just left us there. I wasn't the only one. Gunter... and Allison. Ruby. And then he... there were other times. It wasn't just once. So many other times. Not as often for me - I was in isolation a lot - but-"

"Isolation?"

Now she smiled, and there was an edge of savage satisfaction to her expression that chilled him. He'd never seen her look so... vicious. "Every time someone, anyone, tried to get me to do pretty much anything, I fought, and I usually drew blood. Copious amounts of it. On a good day whoever I damaged ended up in the infirmary. On a great day they stayed there for a long time."

Then her smile slipped away. Her eyes grew vacant as her mind took her down some old road of memory.

"They locked me away in the dark for fighting back. For defending myself. They
stabbed me with needles full of poison and tied me down and locked me away in the dark with the monsters and the eyes, the eyes always watching, and when they let me out I was scared to fight but I fought anyway and they locked me away again. And I screamed and screamed for help and no one ever came, no one will come when you're in the dark. No one. Only monsters who want to break you to pieces and I do believe in faeries," she whispered, and her voice and her words sent ice skittering down Nuada's spine. "I do believe in faeries, I do, I do. I promise I do. I do believe in faeries, I do, I-"

"Dylan," he said sharply, and she jerked as if she'd been stuck with a pin. "Dylan," he murmured. Brushed at the tears she didn't even know glittered on her cheeks. "Do not go down that road. Stay with me, mo duinne. Come away from the memory now."

"Oh," she breathed, and fisted her hands in his shirt. "Oh, Nuada. I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so messed up; you deserve so much better. I'm sorry. I'm sor-"

"Stop." The word was quiet and ruthless and colder than ice.
"Tell me where this man is," the crown prince of Bethmoora commanded softly. The human had to die. Nuada had to paint the walls of the human's pathetic hovel scarlet with his own blood and it had to be tonight, had to be now, he had to die now. "Show me his face."

"No. Nuada, no. You can't. I know what you're going to do. You can't. Your father-"

His fist slamming into the doorframe silenced her protests. "Damn my father!" Nuada's eyes burned molten bronze with rage. "Damn my father," he added more softly, and far more viciously, "damn his soul to the most desolate plain of Annwn if he dares to condemn me for this. That... that filthy human left you. I watched him walk away with a smile on his face. He left you!" So much pain. So much blood. Rivers of it. Four children. Four children. All that blood and pain and despair...

"You can't use the excuse that Westenra left me as a reason to put yourself in danger for me again, Nuada. I'm not worth it."

He almost wanted to hate her for that. Not worth it? What was she not worth? This woman who'd stood by him when he needed a champion, when he needed solace or just a simple show of support, this woman who stood with him no matter the cost to herself... "If not you, then who is?"

Dylan raked her trembling hands through her hair and sighed. Didn't he understand? She was a commoner; he was a prince. For crying out loud, he was the heir. His life was not his own. They had talked about this before. He had to be careful! He couldn't go around pissing off his king and getting hurt or flogged or tortured or maybe even killed just because of her! But first she had to take a breath and reign in the emotion threatening to choke her. Then she took another breath to explain.

"Look, I don't trust your father. I consider him... a threat. Not an enemy exactly but he is still a threat. And I don't trust him not to hurt you. Not after walking into Findias and seeing you chained with iron to the whipping posts with your ribs showing through your blood. You don't trust him. I don't trust him."

"Mo duinne-"

"Nuada, I still have nightmares about that night! Okay? He whipped the flesh from your back without any tangible proof that you'd even done anything wrong. You almost died. I thought you were dead! So please, don't risk your father's anger over this. Just let it go. It's not a big deal-"

"Do not say that," the feral-eyed warrior snarled, cutting her off. Every time she said that, or words like it, she shoved her pain so far down even he couldn't sense it but Nuada knew it wasn't gone. Knew the hurt and the grief still festered inside of her. Was this why the phone call from the demon out of her childhood had shattered her so completely for those few moments of weeping? Because of that soul-poison locked away in her heart? "Not when I see how much this still hurts you. Do not lie to me to protect me, Dylan. This matters to you, so it matters to me." Gently, he murmured, "Sosanna mo chroí ag brón den sórt sin." My heart breaks at such grief.

Dylan sighed and pressed her face into his chest. "Nuada, if I wasn't scared that something horrible would happen to you, I'd let you have him in a heartbeat, because that would be justice. But I can't stand the thought of losing you. Can't bear the thought of you being hurt. It would kill me." The sharply knifing urge to sob into his chest was slowly fading as the warmth of his body seeped into her. She hadn't realized how cold she felt until just then. "And I know, I just know your dad will use this as an excuse to do something awful to you if you do this and I'm telling you I'm not worth that, okay?"

He forced her to look into his eyes before he spoke. "I am only going to say this once to you, so listen well. You tell me that I am your friend. That you love me because I am your friend. I will tell you this, then - you are more than worth a few stripes, Dylan. Everything I have sacrificed, everything that has happened to me, is worth what you have brought to my life. Don't tell me that you are not worth it. You are..." Nuada drew a deep breath before he said, "You are worth everything."

Something passed between them, ephemeral and insubstantial as light and breath, but they both felt it. She just wasn't sure what it meant. Bronze eyes slowly warmed toward the honey gold Dylan loved so much. His palm stroking against her hair was so very soothing. Feeling oddly hollow, Dylan said softly, "Coinnigh dom. Tabhair."

Hold me. Please.

The request was barely a thread of sound in the bedroom. Nuada brushed back a tendril of dark hair with gentle fingertips. Then he slid his arms around her and did as she asked. He held her, and tried to figure out how to ask the thing he needed to ask because this human beast, this Westenra, needed to pay for his crimes. The so-called justice system that Dylan had tried to employ for that purpose had failed her. Now he would step in and call in the debt owed.

But first he needed to know the depth of that debt, to ensure the punishment fit the crime. And instinct made him doubt if it was safe yet to leave Dylan by herself. Every warrior's instinct rebelled at leaving her alone just yet. It wasn't safe for her.

Nuada did not let himself think about why it might not be safe. He would simply do what needed to be done.

"Dylan, listen to me. Listen. I'm going to kill him." The words were calmly and quietly said, but she heard the undercurrent of razor edged steel in Nuada's voice. "Leaving a monster to roam free and victimize others because I was afraid of what might happen to me as a result of doing the honorable thing... that would make me a coward, sweetheart. You call me brave. You call me an honorable warrior. How can I allow you to name me such if I do as you ask and act the coward?" Then he asked what he had to ask. Hated asking because there was a fragility to her that filled him with dread. "He must be punished, for all of his crimes. Will you show me? Will you show me everything?"

She didn't respond for a long time. It may have been an hour. It may have been an eternity. Nuada began to wonder if she would even speak when finally, she took his hand one more time and twined her trembling fingers with his steady ones. She didn't look at him. Didn't speak aloud. Just sniffled and said silently, I'll walk you through it.

The fragility grew sharper, more pronounced as he acknowledged the offer and then, as gently as he possibly could, slid into her mind once more.