The Rise of the Dark Lord Read online

  Burn.

  “And if the beautiful, desirable Mathilda wishes to go find a sacred lamb,” Trae kept talking, “Sarionion and I will accompany her to her destination.”

  “And if her Protectors do not agree with her course of action, we will act as her Protectors.” (Sar)

  “And her lovers.” (Trae)

  “Yes, and her lovers.” (Sar)

  “Fucking hell.” (Ash)

  “And if it is inclement or the journey is long, we will keep her warm with our lovemaking and entertained with endless stories of the fascinating history of the Fae.” (Trae)

  “And we will battle any demon to the death who bars The Mathilda’s path to the sacred lamb.” (Sar)

  “Uh, boys.” (Me) “I said go on the lam not go find a lamb. On the lam means, like, run and hide and keep doing it so no one will find you.”

  “Although it offends my very nature to consider running and hiding, if it is your wish to do so, we will accompany you doing that as well.” (Trae)

  “And we will keep you warm and fed and pleasured while we do it.” (Sar)

  “Mathilda.” (Ash, growly)

  “As you know, I already have a boyfriend.” (Me)

  “We do know this, but we would greatly enjoy if you bestowed the honor on us to share with you the way of the Fae where you could have as many boyfriends as you wish and not limit yourself to the odd human number of only one at a time.” (Trae)

  “Hmm.” (Me)

  Chuckling. (Aidan)

  Wordless growling. (Ash)

  “My lifespan is one speck of yours.” (Me) “So during it, finding one true love is our way.”

  “Indeed, your lifespan is one speck of ours.” (Sar) “So we cannot comprehend why you would not experience as much as you can while you have it.”

  “Hmm.” (Me)

  “Sweetheart.” (Ash, sinisterly)

  “Why don’t we table this discussion while I go back to Prunella and share this turn of events and see what we face next.” (Dad butting in)

  “Good idea, my love.” (Mom)

  So that was how it was decided that BecBec was staying with me.

  Though, you’ll note, in all that, she didn’t say a thing.

  Sar’s Faerie Tale got me to thinking.

  So the next morning, I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room of the Cottage, staring at what was left of the Post-it notes on the walls.

  I did this a long time.

  People came.

  People went.

  “What’s she doing?” I heard Su whisper.

  “Figuring it out,” I heard Josie answer.

  “You want a brownie?” I heard Rory not whisper.

  (Rory was the only one I answered, and obviously the answer was yes.)

  Eventually, my concentration was broken when Mack drifted down in front of me and sat, cross-legged too, our knees touching.

  He stared in my eyes and said, “You need a sweat.”

  Uh.

  No.

  Do as you wish with your life, time and body, but I was one of those gals who never needed to sweat.

  Before I could share this with Mack, he said, “You need purification. You need to reach out to your grandmothers. You need guidance. I know some Lakota. I’ll see if they will allow you to join a sweat.”

  “Oh, you mean a sweat,” I said.

  He smiled. “A sweat.”

  “I think appropriating someone’s culture is the last thing I should do. In fact, I think something like that might be the problem.”

  “It is not appropriation if it’s by invitation.”

  “That’s sweet. But what I mean is, not even Aidan, who’s the foremost specialist in Fae, knew how the elves thought about their monarchs. I got mad at some white dude senator because he was sharing what was important to him, and I didn’t care. So I wasn’t willing to listen. To wit, the problem is, no one is listening.”

  “White dude senators aren’t willing to listen either.”

  “That’s their sin. It won’t be mine.”

  His brown eyes twinkled with wisdom and merriment. “Maybe you’re right and you don’t need a sweat.”

  “You’re also right. I need my grandmothers. But I’ll call to them our way.”

  Dancing naked under the moon, not sweating my ass off in a lodge.

  No offense.

  But I didn’t want any new-agers convincing themselves of their soul’s inner depths because they danced naked under the moon without any real clue why they were doing it and the millennia of history of the ceremony around it.

  “I see why you don’t make me a general,” he said.

  Whoa.

  He so totally got me.

  “The hawk flies in your eyes and he carries the spear in his talons,” I told him something he probably already knew.

  “He always did. And he will be your warrior should you call.”

  Yup.

  He knew it.

  Windspear, indeed.

  I was back in my princess fortress when Ash returned from wherever Ash was hanging out.

  He stood at the foot of the bed staring down at me.

  “I don’t get a good feeling about this,” he announced.

  “This isn’t about brooding. I’ve had a long day. This is comfortable. It’s about resting.”

  “Everyone’s been saying you’ve been sitting on the floor in the lounge for hours.”

  I shrugged against my princess fortress.

  “Though, someone threw away all the Post-its. That was quite a job.”

  Not all of them.

  The Get Donuts one was still up.

  “I’ve decided against planning a war. I’ve decided you and me are going on holiday so we can learn about each other prior to you giving me a five-carat diamond engagement ring from Harry Winston. Cushion cut.”

  His brows shot up.

  “I’ll accept Van Cleef and Arpels.”

  His mouth ticked.

  “Don’t make me slum it with Tiffany’s.”

  He burst out laughing.

  I gawked.

  Man, oh man, my man was G-O-R-E-G-O-U-S gorgeous when he laughed.

  He got more gorgeous when he bent forward, and this time, invaded my princess fortress rather than breaching it.

  He did this crawling up my body.

  I had a mini-o watching the show.

  He settled his lower half on me, his weight in his forearm beside me, and the fingers of his other hand around the side of my neck, his thumb stroking my throat.

  “Where are we going on holiday?”

  “I don’t care. As long as it has a beach.”

  “Why are you giving up on the war?”

  “I’m not. I’ve emailed everyone’s instructions to them. They have a month to see them through, and when we get back, they can report.”

  “We’re going on holiday for a month?”

  “You think six weeks would be better?”

  “I think a lot is happening, and as much as I’d like to be on a beach somewhere, getting to know you better for a month to six weeks, it might be more wise we do a mini-break.”

  Why did the way he said “getting to know you better” a) make me shiver and b) make me think he had no interest in asking how I survived the junior high mean girls?

  “I don’t know anything about anybody, Ash. I didn’t even know I was a witch sixteen months ago. How did I become the leader? And if I truly am, how am I to lead peoples I don’t know?”

  “Mm.”

  “I need to know what they want. I can’t just decide it’s us and them when there is no us and them. It’s just an us. It’s always been an us. We all share this planet. I get tribes and boundaries and cultures and histories and traditions. I just don’t get how all that can’t coexist.”

  “It never has, Matty,” he said gently.

  “Well, I’m not going down in the history books as being one of those people who forced how I wanted things on people just because I am st
ronger and more powerful. Fuck that.”

  Now Ash’s eyes were twinkling with wisdom and merriment.

  “So once I get things set up, I’m not going to sit down to peace talks. I’m just going to sit down and listen. This isn’t going to be guns, germs and steel. This also isn’t going to be peace, love and understanding. I don’t know yet what it’s going to be because I don’t know yet what it is. But once I have more knowledge, I feel light will illuminate the path that needs to be taken.”

  “My witch is wise.”

  “Uh, duh.”

  He started laughing again.

  Then he asked, “Did I get an email?”

  “Yes.”

  At this point, he shifted to dig out his phone, his thumb moved on it and he read aloud, “Guard the Savior of the World and have real sex with penetration of genitalia using genitalia, doing this repeatedly in order to keep her stress levels low.”

  “Are you up for that challenge?”

  As answer, he dipped his head and started some hanky-panky.

  It was so good, I thought we might get to the penetration part (finally!), but eventually, Ash broke away and said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go find some kebabs.”

  Then he tugged me from my princess fortress and off we went to Pete’s for Greek.

  The next morning, my phone ringing woke us up, and upon consciousness, I decided Ash was the best mattress ever.

  “Are we ignoring that?” Ash asked in a sleepy/sexy voice.

  That sleepy/sexy voice?

  There was only one answer.

  “Yeah.”

  Ash rolled so I was his mattress (hmm) and I was pretty sure I was going to get morning penetration (yay!) when a hammering came at the door that could not be ignored.

  “Bloody hell,” Ash muttered.

  We got up.

  I put on the nightie Ash had taken off, he retied the drawstring on his pajama bottoms I’d untied, and we stomped to the door (okay, Ash didn’t stomp, he prowled, I stomped).

  Ash pulled me out of the way so he could open it and I saw Agent Elizabeth Perry standing there with another woman wearing a no-nonsense, dark-colored pantsuit, button-down shirt and sensible shoes.

  Great.

  The Feds.

  “Sir,” she said to Ash.

  “Dios mio,” the other agent said, staring up at Ash with her eyes big (then staring at his chest and then six-pack with her eyes growing bigger).

  Oh boy.

  Bruja.

  She was Hispanic, and as there was a large Mexican population in Denver, I took that leap, and I might not know a lot, but I did know brujas mexicanas had some serious magical mojo.

  “We’re sorry to interrupt,” Perry stated. “But it’s been reported to us that you’re harboring three Fae fugitives.”

  “We are not,” I spoke up.

  She looked to me with a lot less respect than she looked at Ash.

  Humph.

  Obviously, my SuperWitch/Savior of the World status had still not been fully communicated to her.

  “It’s against the law to lie to a federal agent,” she informed me.

  I knew this.

  I didn’t have a lot of time to keep up my witch-world reading (especially when Moning’s Fever series had a lot of books in it, but I digress).

  Still, I’d gotten halfway (okay, a third of the way) through the Federal Witches Agency Laws and Regulations as Pertains to the Comportment of American Witches and Other Magical and Supernatural Beings.

  And yeah, in that third of the way it said about five thousand times (slight exaggeration) that you didn’t lie to an agent.

  “So, again, is it your contention you are not providing safe harbor to three fugitive elves?” she pressed.

  “Well, yes and no, since they’re not fugitives. As far as they’re concerned, they’re free Fae who can do what they wish, but sadly feel they need to seek political asylum, which I’ve granted.”

  Agent Perry blinked at me.

  “Political asylum?” the other agent asked.

  I looked to her. “Hi, I’m Mathilda.”

  “I’m Agent Anita Ramirez.”

  “Cool to meet you.”

  She smiled.

  Perry edged her out by shouldering closer to the door and stating, “It’s not your remit to provide asylum to anyone.”

  “I disagree.”

  “This needs to go through the proper channels,” Perry declared.

  “Uh, Lizzie,” Ramirez said low. “Are there proper channels? I’ve never heard of this.”

  Perry turned only her head to Ramirez. “There are proper channels. There are always proper channels.”

  “Okeydoke,” Ramirez muttered, giving me big eyes.

  Well then, this partnership didn’t seem to be working all that great.

  Then again, Perry’s “Just the Facts, Ma’am” and “It Seems We Have a Failure to Communicate” shtick would get on my nerves in about three seconds.

  I knew this because it did.

  Perry turned back to me. “You need to go through the proper channels. While you do that, we’ll take custody of the Fae and share with the Imperial Order we’ll be holding them until this matter is sorted.”

  Holding them?

  BecBec had been “held” long enough, thank you very much.

  Though I’d like to see her try to hold Sar and Trae.

  Still…

  “Uh, I think not,” I denied.

  “Uh, I think so,” she retorted.

  “Not.”

  “So.”

  “Not.”

  “So.”

  “Those Fae aren’t leaving Mathilda’s protection.”

  Ash said this, so of course, Perry backed down.

  Kind of.

  “Mr. Wilding, this is a matter for the Agency.”

  “Hardly. As I’m certain you’re aware, there’s a staunchly held agreement that peoples of supernatural persuasion may enter American borders and remain as long as they wish, permitted they adhere to natural and supernatural laws while they’re here. However, as Fae rarely fly over American soil, this situation is unprecedented. But regardless, in their time here, the Fae under our protection have not broken any natural or supernatural laws. With what you’re now saying, are you contending the Agency has the right to arbitrarily detain free Fae?”

  Perry shifted uncomfortably.

  I smirked.

  Seriously, my man was hawt when he was being all logical, knowledgeable and authoritative.

  “The Imperial Order have communicated—” she began.

  “The Order handed down a sentence that was unjust and prejudicial,” Ash interrupted her. “At present, you don’t have many Fae flying over your soil. If you detain, or deport, the Fae under our protection, I can assure you, whatever diplomatic issues you’re dealing with in regard to the Order will pale in comparison to the reaction of a nation of angry Fae.”

  Perry said nothing.

  Ramirez said nothing.

  Ash said something.

  “It has been three millennia since humans angered Fae enough for elfin retaliation. If you don’t know of that occurrence, I suggest you look up the lore. And when you do, I feel you, and the Agency, will rethink inviting this kind of Fae attention.”

  “Maybe we should look into this issue and come back,” Ramirez suggested.

  “You do that,” Ash replied.

  He then shut the door in their faces.

  He looked down at me and he appeared annoyed.

  I looked up at him and announced, “Okay, I was totally hoping for penetration of the dual genitalia variety this morning, but I’m so totally giving you a blowjob right now.”

  Ash was no longer annoyed.

  And twenty minutes later, he was so far from annoyed, it wasn’t funny.

  Ha!

  Just a note: Faerie Mounds?

  Those used to be forts.

  Iron Age forts.

  Iron Age forts, mostly in Ireland, but there were some (a
s you know) in England with a few in Scotland and Wales.

  Iron Age forts that humans built in exaltation to the Fae who they lived and cavorted with in great harmony for a while.

  Until they didn’t (though, it was so long ago, no one knew why they didn’t).

  This pissed off the Fae and then…wham!

  A lot of dead humans and deserted forts that eventually were beaten down by the elements, grown over by vegetation and forgotten.

  Except as what they’d been built as in the first place.

  Portals to the surface for the elves.

  A couple of days later, I’d had enough.

  So I headed to the Turret Room where BecBec was staying.

  She’d been through an ordeal.

  I’d given her space.

  Now, we needed to have a chat because it was time for her to get back to the land of the living.

  She’d done nothing wrong.

  She’d saved the life of a good man.

  Things got out of hand afterward, and they might not be in hand now (as such), but at least she was safe.

  It was time to start healing and move on.

  I just hoped, in her true form, she didn’t talk a-mile-a-minute like she did when she was wee, because if she did, our chat would last two seconds because I wouldn’t understand a word she said.

  As I made the Turret Room, I saw Trae outside it.

  “Cool,” I said. “You’re guarding her. That’s sweet, but you don’t—”

  “I am not guarding her,” he replied. “She has just demanded I leave her presence after I made the attempt to draw her out of her shell by offering to provide her great pleasure.”

  Yeesh.

  Total sex on the brain.

  I slapped his biceps what I thought was playfully, doing this prior to admonishing him (gently) about offering to pleasure anybody when they clearly were in no mood.

  I didn’t get to the gentle admonishment part.

  I didn’t even see him move before I was against the wall, my wrist circled by his fingers held against the wall above my head, my body imprisoned by the close proximity of his.

  “You struck me,” he stated, not appearing happy about this.

  Mental note: do not strike an elf.

  “It was playful,” I replied, also not happy about this because he was freaking me out.

  Instantly, he appeared happy about this.

  “I can strike playfully too,” he purred.