Iron Master – Jennifer Ashley Page 0,46
True, Stuart’s jeans, sweatshirt, and short hair stood out among the long-haired, leather-and-fur clad dokk alfar.
Cian led them down several streets lined with four- and five-story houses and around corners before he halted in front of a house that didn’t appear much different from the others, except its walls were painted blue instead of the bright orange of the next-door neighbor.
Cian opened the front door without unlocking it. Peigi, examining it, saw that there was no lock on the door at all. She glanced around the street, trying to see whether other doors were similar, but she didn’t have the chance to decide before Stuart motioned her inside.
Michael wanted to be a traditional male Shifter and not let Peigi enter until he’d checked out the place. Cian only raised his brows as Michael pushed past him.
“Stand down,” Stuart said to Michael. “This place is warded out the ass. No one can cross into Cian’s territory without him knowing.”
Michael halted three feet inside the hall and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I smell the stink of Fae magic.”
“I’d watch it,” Stuart advised. “He’ll only put up with your cracks about the Fae for so long.”
Michael sent Cian an uneasy glance. “I thought he couldn’t understand English.”
“He doesn’t. But I’ll translate for him.”
Michael glared. “You’re a bastard.”
“Yes,” Stuart said quietly. “I am.”
Crispin entered the house and gave Michael another smirk. Peigi thought Crispin resembled Dylan Morrissey, until he took on a derisive expression, and then Crispin wasn’t anything like Dylan at all. Dylan didn’t have to sneer and boast. He just stood there, and you knew he could out-fight anyone in the room.
Stuart guided Peigi into the hall, following Cian deeper into his abode. The house had one room fronting the street but ran a long way back into the property, similar to canal houses in Amsterdam Peigi had seen photos of. A staircase bisected the hall, and beyond it opened a courtyard full of plants and a fountain. Behind that, Peigi spied another hall leading to yet more rooms.
“Nice,” she said, letting out a breath as they stepped into the courtyard. The trickle of the fountain added a soothing note. “I’d love to remodel our little house like this.”
“Good idea,” Stuart said. “We’ll ask Eric.” Peigi caught the teasing glint in his eye and smiled.
Michael watched their exchange, his lip lifting in a snarl.
Crispin, ignoring them, tilted his head to study the walls rising three floors to the roof open to the sky. Balconies ringed the courtyard on the upper floors, decorated with wrought-iron railings. “I thought dark Fae lived in caves.”
“Some do,” Stuart told him. “Very nice caves, with every luxury. Dokk alfar have been around a long time, and our cities are legendary. The hoch alfar are uncivilized newcomers.”
“Yeah,” Crispin said. “That’s why they’re kicking dokk alfar ass.”
Stuart was next to him in a heartbeat, crowding Crispin against the fountain. The spray wet Crispin’s bare legs, and he flinched. “I warned you,” Stuart said. “Keep your mouth shut, or wear a muzzle.”
Michael laughed. “I volunteer to put it on him.”
Crispin lifted his hands, the folds of the cloak falling from his arms. “Truce.” He gave Michael a hostile glance. “But once we’re out of here, you’re one dead bear.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Michael said. “Heard it before.”
Peigi waited until Stuart backed off Crispin, and Crispin busily adjusted his cloak before she continued her conversation with Stuart.
“You once told me dokk alfar didn’t have to build glittery castles and hunt unicorns, and all that shit. Your words.” She glanced around with admiration. “You never said you had such beautiful houses.”
“Functional houses,” Stuart said. “The courtyard draws air and cools the house in the heat of summer. The fountain catches rainwater and filters it for drinking. But yes, dokk alfar homes can be beautiful. Not glittery.”
“Having no glitter is important to you.”
Stuart met her gaze, deadpan. “Damned important.”
Peigi wanted to kiss him. The need surged to step against him, lift her face to his, lick his lower lip, and then kiss the hell of out him. Never mind Michael and Crispin, or Cian who waited impatiently, wanting to speak to Stuart about dire things.
She touched Stuart’s chest, softening her fingers, and saw a flare of need in his dark eyes. Stuart closed his hand on hers, lifted her fingertips to his lips, and nipped one.
Peigi couldn’t breathe. She could only see Stuart, the man who’d pulled her back from despair and let her laugh again, felt his hot breath on her skin. The rest