"Very well. Have her come o'er here and whisper it in my ear."
"My sister is no' chattel. I do no' tell her what to do."
At that so very public statement of confidence, Aelsong's heart swelled with pride and affection. She looked at her brother with unconditional adoration for all of two seconds before she walked to the Scotia prince purposefully and stood on tiptoe to whisper, "Black Swan," in his ear.
Duff experienced a moment of sensory overload, a little light-headedness, when Song came near enough to kiss. He couldn't decide whether to focus on her very arousing scent which would have to be called Carnal Knowledge if it could be bottled, or the warmth of her breath on his ear, or the sound of her tinkling windchimes voice, or the actual words she said. When he managed to restart his mental processes, it registered that she had mentioned The Order.
He looked down into those hypnotic Hawking blue eyes and said loud enough that everybody in the bar could hear, "The elves are in Scotia under my protection." Under his breath, quietly enough that only she could hear, he said, "Fae's gods, it can no' be."
Aelsong swallowed and looked up with wide eyes, her heart shaped mouth forming a silent "o". She started to take a step backward, but he grabbed her wrist. "What's your name?"
"Aelsong Hawking."
He looked like his future had just turned inside out and his brows drew together as he looked down at her. "Hawking?" His heart was sinking.
She backed up a couple of steps unable to look away then Duff's boisterous friends grabbed him and dragged him away.
Storm went straight back to the bar and grabbed a girl for a dance, making sure they were within Litha's vision so she could see them rubbing against each other suggestively. Litha had never felt jealousy before. She'd never cared enough about what someone else did to be emotional about their behavior. But sitting in that booth, watching Storm's hands drift further down the girl's body while she rubbed up against him made Litha grow warm with anger. The longer it went on, the hotter she got. In fact, she was so mad she was fuming and could have sworn she smelled smoke. That was when someone yelled, "Fire!"
She looked down and saw that her skirt and the booth were on fire. She quickly got herself under control and extinguished the flames on her clothing by patting them out. Not knowing that Litha wasn't in danger, Elora, who was closest to her, pulled her away from the fire thereby setting her own shirt ablaze. In a fit of quick thinking, the people in the next snug doused her with pitchers of beer which, thankfully, had so little alcohol it didn't act as fuel and turn her into a human torch. As an added bonus, it also cooled her skin so that she wouldn't burn. On the downside, she was covered in sticky, smelly beer.
The bartender, meanwhile, had grabbed a fire extinguisher from the kitchen. When the danger had passed they were standing in the middle of a mess composed of smoke, sloshed beer, white foam, and burned leather that smelled so bad patrons couldn't wait to get to the nearest exit. Elora, sensing that somehow this was Storm's fault, insisted that he get out his Platinum American Express and pay for both the damage and the owner's loss of business for the night. Storm and Elora yelled at each other for a couple of minutes before he produced the plastic and handed it over. He was seething, angry enough that he could have set the bar on fire himself. Mostly because on some level he also suspected it was his fault, although he couldn't see how.
He looked around to see if Litha was okay and if she was still watching him. She wasn't. She was leaving, but she did pause at the exit and turned around just long enough for him to see hurt in her eyes. Son of a bitch. He'd wanted that. Now that he had it, he hated himself for it. How f**ked up was that?
Ram took off his shirt and gave it to Elora. In the Ladies' she removed the ruined blouse she'd worn, threw it in the rubbish bin and used damp paper towels to dab away some of the disgusting beer smell. She put Ram's shirt on, thanking the gods that they were only a few minutes away from her bath. Ram wore his jacket over his bare chest and they left making sure they had Song where they could see her.
When they got out of the elevator, Elora stopped Storm in the hall before he unlocked the door to his room. She didn't care that she was standing there in an oversized shirt, smelling like smoke and beer with her hair hanging down around her face.
"Storm, for gods' sakes, don't let what happened between us ruin your chances to have what I have."
Storm's shoulders tensed. After a few beats he turned and gave her a hard, this-is-none-of-your-business expression. "You're overstepping, Princess."
"I can't overstep with you, Storm. I may not be your family, but, in this world, you're mine. I'm going to see to it that you're happy if it's the last thing I do. If I have to tie you to a chair and set her on your lap."
He stared at Elora until he couldn't keep that image from softening the corners of his mouth.
"Yeah." She nodded. "That's what I thought." She started toward her own apartment, then said over her shoulder: "I'm not blind, you know. And don't call me Princess!"
Ram went straight to the bath and started filling the deep tub that just happened to be big enough for both of them with steamy hot water.
"Hey," she protested. "I was going to take a bath. I'm the one who smells like a burned brewery."
He dropped his jacket and leered while removing his boots and unbuttoning jeans.
"Hold your ire and kick your knickers off. I do no’ mind sharin’." He smiled at her like the cat who stole the cream. How could she protest that?
When Elora had rinsed the beer smell out of her hair she lay back against Ram, relaxing into the pleasure of his bare skin and the security of his arms.
"Elora, you're no' responsible for Storm's heart. You have no' done anythin' to feel guilty about."
"You're making too much out of it."
"If it makes you happy to play matchmaker, then ‘tis fine with me so long as I'm the one crawlin' in bed with you at the end of the day." ***
CHAPTER 9
Storm threw the keys on the table, closed his door and leaned back against it. The image of being tied to a chair while Litha sat on his lap made him hard. He figured he must finally be losing it. And who would blame him? He'd had a year of f**ked up. Hell. It hadn't even been a whole year.