an excerpt from
SHADOW MAGIC
Magic Series
by Cheyenne McCray
© Copyright Cheyenne McCray, 2009.
Uncorrected Proof Copy
All Rights Reserved, St. Martin's Press

 

Chapter 1

      Paybacks are a bitch.

      And Hannah Wentworth would see to it that Ceithlenn, a dark goddess from Underworld, paid. Big time.

      Banshee, Hannah’s falcon familiar, made a soft cry and gripped her shirt tighter in his talons, reminding her of where she was and why she had come to this secluded pond deep in the forest.

      Those . . . feelings she’d been having.

      Ever since she’d been forced to leave San Francisco, Hannah’s instincts had told her things were about to get worse. Impossibly more dangerous.

      Whatever was coming, Hannah wasn’t about to face it blind or unaware. She would find out what she could, or die trying.

      Hannah knelt on the damp grass beside the pond and dropped the pack she held. She dug through the leather bag until she found her scrying mirror then drew it out and settled it on the grass in front of her.

      Smells of moss and rich wet earth mingled with the scents of evergreens and wildflowers as she focused on the mirror. A breeze ruffled Banshee’s feathers, and stirred her dark hair and the shock of blond that swept down one side of her face. A night bird began its evening song, and Hannah thought she heard Fae voices joining in.

      Her grandmother had given her the scrying instrument after Hannah left her socialite mother to live with her father. The strength of Hannah’s innate talent for alomancy, using the mirror and sea salt crystals to scry, had astonished the high priestess of her D’Anu Coven, and Hannah’s power over this form of divination as well as her connection to the Dragon Elementals grew greater as time passed.

      The ornate ebony wood frame was a fashioned of two Dragons, each biting the tail of the other so that it was a never ending circle. Hannah rubbed her thumb over one of the intricate carvings. Ebony was the most powerful magical wood and was associated with all of the Elements—Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, and aided her in her communication with the Dragons.

      They were her totem and always had been. Even her falcon familiar was the living embodiment of Dragons in her world.

      Hannah tried not to grind her teeth at the thought that she and her Coven sisters had been forced to flee their homes in San Francisco for Otherworld, just days ago.

      No time for that now. Deep breath. We are going to figure out how to toast that goddess-bitch.

      She gripped the soft grass in her fingers as she looked over the mirror. Only Hannah could “see” in the black glass within the ebony frame when she scried.

      Hannah pulled a vial of salt crystals from her pack and tugged out the cork before setting the cork aside. She leaned forward so that she looked directly over the mirror, her hair swinging forward at the sides of her face. The mirror didn’t show hers or Banshee’s reflections.

      She concentrated with everything she had, pushing out all other thoughts to still her mind and prepare herself for the vision to come. Silently, she asked for the aid of the Dragon Elementals and the great Druid Ancestors, and she called on Banshee’s powers to strengthen her own.

      The falcon’s magic joined hers as it flowed through her body.

      Come on . . .

      Her heart rate picked up as it always did before she scried something monumental. The world closed in on her until all that remained was her, Banshee and the mirror. The forest’s sounds and smells vanished and it was as if she floated outside her body.

      Time slowed. She tilted the vial and studied the patterns of the salt crystals in the air as they spilled out of the vial and onto the mirror. The vial slipped from her fingers, dropped onto the grass, and rolled away as she braced her hands to either side of the mirror and analyzed those patterns, too.

      The pounding of her heart grew even more rapid until it felt as if her entire body throbbed.

      Images appeared in the mirror and she tumbled, tumbled into the vision, all five senses, body and mind and soul, as if the events she visioned were truly happening. As if she were truly there.

      Her heart nearly stopped beating.

      Rain pounded down so hard it soaked her to her skin, chilling her, and she had difficulty seeing. But through the downpour she made out humans fleeing from a San Francisco tourist pier. Their terror flooded Hannah so deeply she felt it in her bones. Blood and death and the acrid odor of fear mixed with the rotten fish stench.

      Fomorii demons.

      Magic sparked at her fingertips as she caught sight of malformed shapes attacking humans. A scream rose in her throat.

      But then something enormous appeared, coming closer. A blast of fire bellowed from it as it spread its wings.

      The Fire Dragon. An Elemental.

      Terrorizing humans.

      No! Not possible.

      Inside her vision, Hannah heard herself screaming, begging the Dragon to stop.

      And then it turned its fire on her. Heat slammed into her and she screamed again.

      Hannah jerked out of the vision and with a gasp she almost fell backward. It took her a moment to realize she was in the present again. Her clothes were dry. She no longer felt as if she was burning from the roll of flames that had engulfed her in the vision.

      The images whirled in her mind.

      No sense. They make no sense.

      She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. Her eyes were moist as if she had felt an emotion deep enough that a tear had wet each eye.

      She never cried. Ever. Not since she was a child and had to live through all of her mother’s choices. She had no tears, wanted no tears. Nothing could make her cry.

      Hannah lowered her eyelashes as she looked at the mirror again. It was cold, no vision remaining. But the pattern of the salt crystals remained the same. Whatever change was coming, it involved her totems.

      Especially the Fire Dragon.

      Banshee gripped her shoulder tighter and she winced as his talons went through her shirt and bit into her flesh. Her familiar gave a cry, more than likely sensing her fear and confusion.

      “I’m fine, Banshee.” Hannah raised her hand to his beak and he nuzzled his head against her fingers.

      She eased into full reality and after a few moments realized that it was nearly dark. How long had she been in the vision? It had seemed like only minutes, but the remnants of sunlight had vanished, leaving only a veil of murky twilight.

      Blessed Anu, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding and her mind wouldn’t stop whirling. Hannah bit the inside of her cheek and stuffed her things into her bag after dribbling the salt crystals from the mirror back into their vial.

      Hair prickled at the nape of Hannah’s neck.

      She went still.

      Someone or something was watching her.

      Hannah dropped her pack to free her hands so that she could use her magic if she needed to.

      She twisted to the right, her hands ready. And caught her breath.

      Through the gloom she saw a tall, striking man. Long hair dusted his shoulders, however what light remained was too dim to tell its shade. She could make out his powerful form, though. The outline of his carved biceps and his chest that was bare save for straps crisscrossing it.

       A sheathed sword rested to one side of his hips and he wore snug black pants and boots. He had an aristocratic tilt to his head as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. And studied her.

      Hannah raised her chin and narrowed her eyes. Who did he think he was, watching her like this? Was he one of the D’Danann?

      Somehow she didn’t think so.

      She started to demand that he tell her who he was and that he had no business watching her. But he turned and melted into the darkness.

#

      The following morning, Hannah stood in an open area of the woods, her face tilted up as she studied the unfamiliar crystal blue sky. She frowned as she lowered her head and looked into the forest. The two D’Danann warriors and Rhiannon were late joining her so they could make the journey to the Drow realm.

      Goddess bless it, she hated to be kept waiting.

      Hannah whistled and held out her arm. Banshee answered with a screech and sailed in a wide circle over the forest before he landed with delicate precision on Hannah’s outstretched forearm. The crow-sized falcon knew how to rest his talons on her bare skin without hurting her. Although sometimes he would grip tight enough to get his point across when he felt Hannah needed an attitude adjustment.

      Banshee had something in his hooked beak and dropped it at her feet.

      Hannah glanced down. “Ugh.” A dead mouse. “You know I’m not crazy about your version of presents.”

      As he responded, Banshee raised his wings and kept his cry to a decibel that wouldn’t hurt her eardrums.

      “Yeah, yeah.” Hannah stroked the black feathers on his head and cheeks that made him look like he was wearing a helmet. “I think you do it on purpose just to gross me out.”

      If birds could have an amused twinkle in their eye, Banshee did.

      Like all peregrines, he was striking in appearance. He had slate blue upper parts with bluish speckled bars across his white chest and on his undersides from wing tip to wing tip.

      Banshee worked his way up her bare arm to her shoulder. Hannah brushed back the natural shock of blond that swept over her brows and curved along one side of her face. The thick streak was a stark contrast to the rest of her dark hair. It hung in a straight but sophisticated cut, styled by the best—at Joseph Cappucci’s Salon and Spa near Union Square in San Francisco.

      San Francisco. Her home. Hannah clenched her jaw as Banshee reached her shoulder. Thanks to that goddess-bitch, it was likely that Hannah and the other D’Anu witches wouldn’t be returning to their former lives anytime in the near future.

      Returning to their former lives . . . as if that would ever be possible. Nothing could be the same after what Ceithlenn had done.

      Still, Hannah closed her eyes and pictured herself on Market Street during rush hour. She missed it all. Every bit of it. Bumping into other people as she walked through the crowds. Stopping by her favorite bakery for an éclair. Having a Frappuccino at Starbucks. What she wouldn’t give for a Venti double caramel with an extra shot of espresso right about now.

      With a sigh she shook her head, opened her eyes, and looked in the direction of the D’Danann village. Definitely no Starbucks in Otherworld.

      After Banshee ruffled his feathers and settled himself, Hannah hitched up the small leather pack higher on her opposite shoulder and waited for her companions, one of whom was another gray magic witch, Rhiannon.

      Hannah’s Coven practiced gray magic, unlike all other D’Anu Covens that believed only in white magic. For some of Hannah’s Coven sisters, maintaining the fine balance between gray and black was a fierce struggle. Hannah was certain that none of her sister witches would cross the line.

      But sometimes . . . Hannah worried about Rhiannon and Mackenzie. The way the witches fought with their magic was mayebe too intense. Too close to the dark.

      Hannah shook her head. “What is with me today? Mackenzie and Rhiannon are fine.”

      Once Hannah had become a gray magic witch, she’d had no problems, no guilt, in using a power that could save lives. With her strength of will and her utter confidence in herself, she knew she would never cross the line to black magic.

      Faint voices caught Hannah’s attention. It was time to head to the transference stone and make their way to the realm of the Dark Elves, the Drow.

      In the distance, Hannah could make out Rhiannon and her husband—a Tuatha D’Danann warrior named Keir—as they walked through the forest toward her.

      Eavan, also a D’Danann warrior, accompanied them. The infuriating man wouldn’t stop chasing her. Although he was charming, sexy, and exceptionally good-looking, she didn’t plan on having anything to do with him, much less any other male in Otherworld.

      This wasn’t her home. Unlike four of her Coven sisters, she refused to get entangled in some romantic mess that would pull her between two worlds. She’d seen enough of that thanks to her mother. And thanks to her mother’s choices.

      Her chest constricted at the thought of her less than loving childhood.

      Deep breath. Calm and controlled. She never lost her cool in front of other people and she wasn’t about to now.

      As her companions neared, Hannah brought her hand to her throat and brushed her fingers over the Links of London moon and crescent pendant that rested against her skin. It had been her gift to herself when she guided her software corporation past the twenty-five million dollar mark.

      Her company . . . Hannah’s whole body went rigid and she clenched her teeth. What was happening now to the company she’d built from the bottom up?

      She let her hand fall away from her pendant. The moon and crescent was infused with magical protection and was for intuition and fulfillment, success and optimism.

      Right now she was a little low on optimism and could use all the help she could get. Not to mention the reminder of what it felt like to be in control of her life. Of any damned thing.

      Banshee gripped her shoulder tighter with his talons, bringing her firmly back to the present. She straightened her spine as Rhiannon, Eavan, and Keir finally reached her.

      The tension radiating from Rhiannon when she approached kicked up Hannah’s own. She and Rhiannon had never found common ground, and frankly, had never liked each other. But they were sister D’Anu witches, and Hannah respected Rhiannon for her magic, her talents, her dedication, and her love for her sister witches.

      “Are you ready?” Rhiannon, asked Hannah, managing to keep her tone civil. Morning sunlight gleamed on Rhiannon’s chin-length auburn hair and her green eyes held a hint of irritation. She wore a leather outfit like D’Danann warriors.

      When Hannah and her sister witches fled from San Francisco a week ago, they hadn’t been able to pack much which had limited their wardrobes considerably. The choice had been peasant dresses like the women in the village, or the leathers of the male and female D’Danann warriors.

      Leather won out with all the D’Anu witches.

      It’d be a real bitch fighting in a long skirt.

      “I’ve been waiting for you for a good half hour.” Hannah resisted tugging down her own leather shirt. So much for her Vera Wang tailored slacks and Dior blouses. Her Jimmy Choos and Pradas were back in San Francisco, but at least she had her Arche running shoes and didn’t have to wear D’Danann boots.

      Rhiannon brushed her palms against her pants, her expression turning from irritated to anxious. The demon scars on one of her cheeks stood out a little more as her face paled. Rhiannon was no doubt nervous because the four of them were about to come face-to-face with Rhiannon’s newly discovered father, the king of the Drow.

      Hannah wondered how she’d feel if she found out her father was one of the Dark Elves—and a traitor.

      A determined look came into Rhiannon’s eyes. “Let’s do it then.”

      The four strode through the thick forest. Only the light weight of Banshee on her shoulder, and the slight bump of her pack against her hip as she walked, kept Hannah’s thoughts grounded.

      “A waste of time.” Keir’s expression was thunderous, which was not unusual for the six foot six warrior. “I find it unlikely the stubborn bastard will agree to join our battle.”

      Rhiannon frowned as she looked up at her husband and she sounded edgy and unsure as she spoke. “Even though he said no before, maybe this time Garran—my father—will agree.”

      Hannah held back her own opinions. It wouldn’t do any good to rail again about not trusting the Dark Elves. Two of their sister witches insisted they could and should give the traitorous bastards a chance. Hannah considered the fact that the Drow had sided with the warlock Darkwolf at one time. No thank you. It didn’t matter that they’d had a change of heart later on.

      But the D’Anu witches, Tuatha D’Danann warriors of Otherworld, and the Paranormal Special Forces of San Francisco, desperately needed the help of the Dark Elves against Ceithlenn and the Fomorii.

      If only they could convince the Drow king to commit his forces to battle.

      This time they would.

      This time they had to.

      The moment the trees parted to reveal a meadow and the transference stone, Hannah’s gaze riveted on a woman who stood on the opposite side of the stone. Hannah couldn’t help but catch her breath in surprise and something like wonder.

      Stunning. She was absolutely stunning. No high fashion model could begin to compare.

      It was impossible to look away from the woman. She . . . glowed. Or was it the air around her that did? Such blue, blue eyes. Long, flaxen hair hung in a waterfall of silk to her toes, and she had delicate pointed ears. Her filmy clothing ruffled like the leaves of nearby trees in the breeze.

      The woman stood in her bare feet beside a bridge that spanned a small stream. Water made a tinkling sound as it trickled over stones. The scent of wildflowers and rain-cleansed air swept through the meadow.

      Hannah cocked her head. This must be the Great Guardian her sister witches had spoken of countless times. An Elvin woman of indeterminable age, who was reputed to be wise, intuitive, and prophetic.

      Strange warmth flowed through Hannah as she stepped closer to her companions. Vaguely she was aware of Keir and Eavan laying their weapons on the ground before the Guardian.

      “Rise,” the Great Guardian said in a voice that was like a song to Hannah’s ears.

      It was then she realized all of her companions had bowed. Rippling warmth spread along Hannah’s skin. With her upbringing, she had been taught to never bow to anyone but a queen or king of a foreign country. This Elvin woman was far more powerful than any royalty Hannah had met, and a part of her wished she had bowed with her companions.

      The Great Guardian smiled, her gaze lingering on Hannah.

      Some strange force drew Hannah toward the woman and Hannah didn’t resist. She walked closer to the Guardian until they were only a few feet apart. Banshee stirred on Hannah’s shoulder, but didn’t react with alarm.

      “Much troubles your soul, reluctant traveler,” the Elvin woman said, her words directed to Hannah. “Tell me what burdens you.”

      Hannah held back the sudden diatribe that rose up in her throat. What burdens me? Let’s see . . . my Top Ten, or the whole freaking list?

      “Speak freely.” The Guardian’s gaze firmly held Hannah’s and a pulling sensation tugged against her mind.

      There was simply no choice but to answer. Words spilled out so fast Hannah almost couldn’t believe she was saying them.

      “To start with, who wouldn’t be upset if their world was falling apart, overrun by a goddess-bitch and a slew of demons?” Hannah’s voice held a bite that she hadn’t intended, but she went on, “We’ve lost our homes and had to flee to Otherworld. But more importantly, thousands, thousands are dead because of Ceithlenn. Not to mention, the fact that we can’t get any Anu-blessed help from the armies here, except a few D’Danann.”

      Hannah’s control had nearly shattered, which shocked her like a jolt to her chest and caused her to step back. Banshee sent a warm wave of his magic through Hannah and she sensed his attempt to calm her. Still, she felt anything but.

      The Guardian’s expression remained serene. Despite her respect for the Elvin woman, Hannah fought not to ball her fists at her sides from the frustration, anger, and fear boiling up inside of her. It was all she could do to keep her own expression as collected and controlled as possible.

      “You have much to be angry about.” The Guardian’s blue gaze continued to hold Hannah’s. “You seek the Drow once again for aid. Perhaps you will find some solace for your rage in those dark places below our ground.”

      That’s supposed to make me feel better?

      Hannah’s belly clenched. More words bubbled up inside her, angry words, but the Guardian had already turned to Rhiannon.

      “Your father represents his people, and he must have a reason to lead them into battle. It is true the Drow lean toward what benefits them. It is their way, one we must respect.”

      “Respect?” Rhiannon’s cheeks flushed. “How can I respect a race that isn’t willing to help others for the sake of good, rather than for their own gain?” She propped her hands on her hips. “Even if I am part Drow, I can’t accept that.”

      “You must.” The Guardian looked from Rhiannon to Hannah. “Tell King Garran it has been decided that, providing the Drow help in the battle against Ceithlenn, he will get what he most desires for his people. Conditionally. And he must come to me alone to receive my gift.”

      Following a brief moment of shock that the Light Elves would help the Drow, a twinge of hope sparked in Hannah’s belly. “We’ll tell him.”

      “Thank you, Guardian.” Rhiannon gave an audible sigh of relief. “Anything that can help us defeat Ceithlenn is a good thing.”

      “Anything?” The Great Guardian’s gaze moved from Rhiannon to Keir to Eavan and finally landed on Hannah. “Think well on choices you may be forced to make.”

      As she continued to study Hannah, the Guardian added, “You will know what you must do in the far reaches of the ground, Hannah.”

      Hannah blinked. Confusion tumbled through her like a landslide.

      Before any of them could respond, the Guardian turned, stepped onto the bridge, and faded from sight.

      For a moment, Hannah and her companions remained quiet. Only the sounds of wind whistling through branches and birds singing interrupted the silence. The breeze ruffled flower petals and dandelion fluff floated on the breeze.

      “Why does she do that?” Rhiannon grumbled and marched to the transference stone. “I hate it when she speaks in riddles.”

      Light laughter tinkled through the surrounding forest but was gone almost as soon as Hannah heard it.

      Rhiannon apparently wasn’t wasting any time. She stepped onto the stone, Keir following as he held her hand. Rhiannon looked from Hannah to Eavan and said, “Hold tight.”

      Hannah watched as Rhiannon’s and Keir’s forms wavered like sunshine on the surface of a pond, and then they were gone.

      Eavan looked down at Hannah and looked confused. “Hold tight?”

      Hannah raised her fingers to Banshee’s beak and he nuzzled his head against them. “It means to wait for her and she’ll be right back.”

      “Ah.” The warrior’s eyes were deep brown, an arresting contrast to his white-blond hair. “Then we have a moment to ourselves,” he said in the deep Irish brogue of the D’Danann. “A moment for you to tell me why you avoid me so?”

      I don’t have time or mental space for this right now.

      Hannah met his gaze as she lowered her hand. “I made a policy not to date anyone who flies.”

      He raised an eyebrow. D’Danann were powerful Fae warriors who had the ability to unfold their great wings when they wished to, and then to tuck them away as if they never existed.

      She mentally shook her head at the thought of any of her acquaintances in the City getting a good look at a man with wings. She almost smiled. Wouldn’t that set them on their asses?

      Eavan opened his mouth as if to say something when Rhiannon’s form wavered on the transference stone.

      “Time for you to head back to the village,” Hannah said to Banshee. “It’s not natural for you to go underground.”

      She had the strangest sense that she wouldn’t be seeing him for a while. An empty feeling settled in her belly. Banshee had become a part of her when she was thirteen, when he had appeared out of the night sky just before she’d performed a moon ceremony alone. When he’d landed on her chest of ritual tools, she’d known instantly he was a witches’ familiar. He had filled her with the strength of her magic, imbuing her with warmth and power and heightening her senses.

      Sometimes she wondered what witch had belonged to Banshee, and he to her. Somewhere in the world that witch had likely passed on to Summerland. What had brought Banshee to Hannah, she didn’t know, but she’d thanked the goddess Anu many times that he had come.

      The falcon made a low sound and tugged at her hair with his beak, and she knew it was to reassure her. She held out her arm and he sidestepped until he was far enough away from her face to spread his wings. He pushed away from her arm as he took flight and Hannah watched him for a moment as he circled above her before vanishing beyond the forest. She swallowed back a feeling of loneliness that crowded her throat.

      Hannah secured her pack on her shoulder, turned back to the transference stone, and headed onto it so that she stood beside Rhiannon. The strength of the tension between the two of them collided and Rhiannon took a step aside and cleared her throat. She always made it clear that she hated for most people to get inside her personal space.

      Hannah knew she was pushing buttons whenever she got too close to Rhiannon. Right now they didn’t have time for her phobia, or whatever it was.

      “You’re just going to have to let me inside that little box of yours,” Hannah said, “if we’re going to get there any time soon.”

      “Whatever.” Rhiannon’s eyes sparked before she looked at Eavan. “Come on, I can take both of you.” With an expression of distaste, she held out one of her hands to Hannah, and her other to Eavan.

      Currents of discomfort ran through Hannah’s arm as she clasped Rhiannon’s cool hand. Hannah wondered if the dark Shadows inside of Rhiannon were reacting to her in some way, since Rhiannon didn’t really want to be touching her.

      After seeing in the last battle what that power of those Shadows could do, Hannah felt more than a stirring of unease, like something crawling, under her skin. What if Rhiannon lost control over the Shadows she had inherited from her Drow father?

      Maybe going on the transference stone with Rhiannon was a bad idea.

      Maybe it was a terrible idea.

      “Here we go.” Rhiannon clenched Hannah’s hand.

      The world went hazy then black. Hannah couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, and her skin numbed.

      For a flash, Hannah couldn’t feel Rhiannon’s hand, and a burst of fear clawed at her throat. What if she became lost in whatever kind of vortex Rhiannon was taking them through?

      Bright light suddenly shone in Hannah’s eyes and Rhiannon’s hand grasped hers hard enough to scrunch her bones together. Hannah’s feet met grass, and she was certain she would have tipped over if Rhiannon didn’t have a hold on her.

      Hannah composed herself and shook her hand free of Rhiannon’s. She glanced at her companions and saw that Eavan had made it as well, although he looked a little tipsy himself.

      Keir stood beneath an apple tree at the center of the meadow. A rock outcropping took up a great stretch of room on one side. From the top tier of the rocks, a waterfall spilled into a couple of pools before disappearing into the ground, and the place smelled of grass and flowers that were being tended by a group of tiny Faeries.

      Hannah hadn’t been here before, but one of her sister witches, Copper Ashcroft, had been trapped here for over a year. Hannah glanced up at the apple tree. No wonder Copper wouldn’t eat anything made with apples.

      Hannah noticed that Rhiannon blinked as if the sunlight bothered her, and her skin was already starting to redden. Rhiannon always had some sensitivity to the sun, and it wasn’t until she learned she was half Drow that she discovered why.

      In a voice that lacked enthusiasm, Rhiannon said, “Come on,” and gestured for everyone to follow.

      Hannah flexed her hands at her sides as if she was about to battle the Drow.

      The Dark Elves weren’t to be trusted, and Hannah wasn’t about to start.

 

Chapter 2

      Rhiannon led Hannah, Eavan, and Keir around the outcropping of boulders. Beside a pine tree was a flat, rectangular rock surface. It was the shape and size of a large door and surrounded by dirt, no grass. The flat stone had strange markings scratched into the surface along all sides.

      Without looking at her companions, Rhiannon stomped on the door five times—probably with a little more force than was necessary—then stepped back.

      A fraction of a moment passed before the stone door shuddered and started moving across the ground, to the left. It made horrid screeching sounds as it slid to the side, causing chill bumps to rise on Hannah’s skin. If she had any say, first thing she’d do was have that door greased.

      Keir insisted on leading and stepped onto a set of stone stairs that disappeared into the darkness of the Drow realm. Only one person could walk down the stairs at a time. Rhiannon then Hannah followed Keir, with Eavan taking up the rear. Torches flamed to life along the walls the moment Keir’s boot hit the first step. Hannah still blinked as her eyes adjusted to the change from sunlight to near darkness.

      Cool air touched her cheeks and her hair lifted slightly from her shoulders as a breeze rushed up from below. As she made her way down, Hannah avoided touching the dirt walls. The last thing she wanted to do was get filthy. The passageway smelled of damp earth and moss, not unpleasant scents—but it was still dirt.

      The only sounds were Rhiannon’s and her own breathing, the slight noise of small stones and dirt shifting under their shoes, and the snap and hiss of the torches. The D’Danann were eerily silent as always.

      After what seemed an eternity, when they were deep underground, the four of them stepped off the stairs into a large, circular hall. Only a few torches were lit, giving them just enough light to see. Hannah’s gaze swept the room, taking in the forms of warriors carved into the walls in all manner of action.

      Her heart jumped a little when four men melted from the partial darkness—two on either side of Hannah and her companions.

      She contained her surprise at how stunningly handsome each one of the Dark Elves were despite their soft toned blue-ish gray skin. Amazingly, it suited them. Their tall, muscular physiques were so well-defined they could have been sculpted from marble. Shining hair rested on or fell below their broad shoulders, their hair in shades ranging from silvery blue to gray to black around their pointed ears.

      Leather straps attached to breastplates crisscrossed the Dark Elves’ bare chests. They also wore metal shoulder plates and snug leather pants. Quivers with arrows were secured to their backs. The arrows looked to be created from pewter and probably some other alloy to strengthen them.

      Hannah narrowed her gaze. The detailed edges of their shoulder and breast plates were 24 karat pure white gold with touches of yellow gold. If anything, she knew her fine metals and gems. Each of the Dark Elves wore a small fortune.

      “Keir of the D’Danann, who may we have the pleasure of meeting today?” asked a warrior with a deep voice and an unusual accent as he and one of his cohorts blocked the way.

      Keir turned slightly to allow the Drow to see the rest of the group behind him. “You should remember the king’s daughter, Rhiannon. Our companions are Hannah of the D’Anu and Eavan of the D’Danann.”

      “Forgive us, Princess,” the deep-voiced Drow said. Each man bowed To Rhiannon. “If we had seen you, we would have taken you to the king at once.”

      Even in the dim lighting Hannah saw Rhiannon’s cheeks redden. “Yeah. Well. We would like to see Garran, my, ah, father, right away.”

      A small burst of Adrenaline heightened Hannah’s senses at the realization they were about to meet the infamous king of the Drow. Rhiannon’s discomfort was obvious and Hannah found herself feeling a little sorry for her even though they didn’t get along. To find out the king of the Drow was her father—Rhiannon must have been torn in so many different directions.

      The men bowed again, then turned and led the way as Hannah, Rhiannon, Keir, and Eavan followed.

      Hannah raised her eyebrow when they were taken to a chamber that was like walking into half of a geode. The entire room sparkled from the natural crystals, including the ceiling. At the back of the room was a door that looked to be made of obsidian. An oval black granite table, surrounded by high-backed padded granite seats, took up one side of the room. Freeform carvings of Drow warriors graced the chamber.

      A large, black padded granite throne commanded the center of the room. A matching smaller throne stood to the side of the larger one.

      Hannah’s throat grew dry and she a quivering sensation under her skin at the sight of the man reclining on the larger throne.

      Bless it! Her body’s reaction to the sight of him must have been due to the legendary magic of the Dark Elves that supposedly captivated a woman to the point she never wanted to leave the Drow realm.

      Absurd.

      The more she studied him, the more she realized there was something . . . familiar about this man. His powerful build and the way he held his head at a regal angle.

      Hair rose along her arms.

      The man who watched me at the pond.

      She knew it with every fiber of her being. A combination of anger, lust, and fascination tingled along her nerve endings and she bit the inside of her cheek to try to rein in her bizarre reactions.

      The man, whom she assumed to be the king, looked as if he could be a model for a world class gym—only he had blue-ish gray skin—more gray than blue. His muscular body was finely sculpted—even through his leather pants she could tell he had athletic thighs. She’d bet he’d have a tight ass, too.

      Gem-encrusted leather straps crisscrossed his bare chest. He didn’t wear a breast plate, but he did wear shoulder plates. His long silvery-blue hair hung loose around his shoulders, but his pointed ears showed through the strands. No doubt the Drow king was centuries old, like the D’Danann, but his appearance was that of a man in his mid thirties.

      Hannah stood beside Eavan, slightly behind Keir. Rhiannon stepped forward. She raised her chin as the king rose and walked down the dais toward his daughter.

      By the goddess, Hannah thought through her confusion, Rhiannon had better not piss him off a second time.

      King Garran’s unusual accent and sensual voice caused a skitter to travel down Hannah’s spine. “Rhiannon.” He caught his daughter’s hands in his. “You have come to see me.”

      Rhiannon cleared her throat. “Yes . . . and to ask the same favor of you again.”

      Garran paused then gave a nod, his expression thoughtful as he released her hands. “Allow me to meet your companions.”

      As Rhiannon turned to introduce the three of them, Hannah met Garran’s gaze for the first time. Liquid silver. His eyes were the most beautiful liquid silver she had ever seen.

      Their surroundings seemed to vanish as his gaze drew her in. Rhiannon’s voice buzzed in Hannah’s ears, but Garran didn’t look away from her.

      He came toward her with the grace of a predator, every muscle in his body flexing with his movements. He rested one of his hands on his sword hilt.

      When Garran reached her, Hannah found it hard to breathe. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but she didn’t care for it. These sensations were touching her deep with warmth that felt as if it were wrapping its way around her very soul. It was on a level she knew wasn’t Drow Magic.

      What in Anu’s name is going on?

      She gathered her usual cool reserve and gave him what she hoped was a “back off” stare.

      He took her hand and a jolt of something shot through her as he raised her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across her skin. The warmth inside her both tightened and expanded at the same time, nearly overwhelming her.

      When the Drow king raised his head, his expression was so sensual that she literally felt like she could dissolve on the spot. Melt into a pool like the liquid silver of his eyes.

      She swallowed and bit the inside of her cheek. Hard.

      He didn’t release her hand. “The woman of mystery,” he said softly so that she was certain only she heard. His sensuous Elvin accent sent a thrill through her belly. The accent wasn’t Irish like the D’Danann. More old-world, as those who lived in the days of King Arthur might have spoken. “What is your name?” he asked in a louder tone of voice.

      Words almost wouldn’t come to her. “Hannah Wentworth.” She snatched her hand away then struggled not to clench it at her side. “Of the gray magic D’Anu witches.” Why she didn’t say anything about last night at the pond, she wasn’t sure. And why he didn’t seem inclined to talk about it added to her confusion.

      “It is most certainly my pleasure.” Garran held her gaze for a moment then turned to Keir and they clasped each other in that centuries-old hand to elbow handshake. “Keir, D’Danann.”

      He released Keir and offered his hand to Eavan, who hesitated before accepting it and returned the same hand to elbow grip.

      “King Garran,” Eavan said with a slight nod as they released each other. Hannah detected a note of hostility in his tone and wondered if it had anything to do with the king flirting with her.

      Garran met Eavan’s gaze. “And you are Eavan of the D’Danann as my daughter said.”

      Had Rhiannon introduced Eavan? Hannah’s ears had been buzzing so loudly she hadn’t heard a word Rhiannon said.

      Garran turned to his daughter and smiled. “Please. Join me. We were just about to feast.”

      Keir put his arm around Rhiannon’s shoulders. Before she realized what he was doing, Garran touched Hannah’s elbow and directed her out of the chamber and into the hall. Her stomach twisted into a knot as he guided her across the great circular hall and into another chamber that was obviously a banquet room. The table was large, rectangular, and could probably seat fifty people.

      After releasing Hannah’s arm, Garran drew back a chair that stood beside the largest chair at the head of the table, and Hannah sat on it. Amazingly, the padded leather was as soft and smooth as a velvet night sky, and so comfortable Hannah couldn’t help but relax.

      Garran then seated Rhiannon directly across from Hannah, on the other side of the table and Keir pulled out the seat beside her. Eavan eased next to Hannah as Garran took the chair at the head of the table.

      For the first time in her life, Hannah was nervous around a man. Beneath the table she dug her fingernails into her pack that she held in her lap, trying to get the strange feelings under control.

      The long table quickly filled with Dark Elves, all male. Where were the women?

      While Hannah did her best not to look at Garran, his sensual voice reminded her of summer nights and star-filled skies. It flooded her senses as he spoke to some of those gathered around the table.

      Before she knew it, servers had placed trenchers before each person and the table was laden with platters of chicken, beef, and pork. The scents were enough to cause Hannah’s mouth to water. Bowls of potatoes, sugar snap peas, and yellow squash were arranged around the meat dishes, along with fresh fruit and large hunks of cheese and bread. The bread smelled warm and freshly baked.

      The entire time, Hannah was far too aware of Garran. She felt odd—jittery—in his presence but flushed with heat.

      No man had ever made her feel the kind of electricity sizzling under her skin from being close to him. How could she feel this way when he was one of the Dark Elves, a being who couldn’t be trusted. A traitor.

      And he has blue skin for the goddess’s sake!

      From the other side of her, she sensed Eavan’s tension and decided to ignore him, too.

      As Garran spoke with Rhiannon, she couldn’t help but listen to his rich voice. Hannah tried to stay completely aloof, but it was difficult as she noticed his soft smile and gentle manner as he talked with his daughter. Rhiannon seemed to have set their differences and her anger aside for the moment as her father told her stories of the mother she never knew, and of his love for them both.

      A sigh came out of nowhere and Hannah tried to hold it in as her thoughts brushed her own childhood.

      The dull roar of conversation rolled over Hannah as she tore tiny pieces off a chunk of bread and let them fall onto her trencher. In some ways she was like Rhiannon. Hannah had never known a true home, and what a real family was like.

      Instead, she had spent her childhood being dragged around by her mother who went from husband to husband to husband. Selena Wentworth was born of “old money,” and spent it lavishly. Her husbands each demanded alimony once Selena divorced them and had moved on to the next man. She paid the alimony without batting an eyelash or putting a dent in her checking account.

      Hannah tore bigger pieces of bread off until there was nothing left in her hands. She fought back the childish feelings that tightened her stomach as she thought about her mother. A mother who would rather attend parties, luncheons, and social gatherings than spend time with her own daughter.

      Hannah sucked in her breath. What in Anu’s name was doing? Thinking? She was no longer that little girl who needed attention and never received it.

      “Why did I not see you at my daughter’s and Keir’s joining, Hannah?” Garran asked, drawing her away and giving her a reprieve from the unwanted thoughts. His rich voice flowed over her like honey.

      She frowned as she worked to regain her composure and force better forgotten memories away “I was at the wedding.”

      “You must have left the room.” Garran leaned closer to her. “I would have seen you.” He lowered his voice another octave. “Sensed you. Like last night.”

      Something inside her told her she would have felt him, too. The innate power of his presence made her dizzy, and that was enough to make her grind her teeth. Was he using Drow magic on her?

      “Why were you watching me last night?” she asked, keeping he chin high but her voice just as low as his.

       “It is not often one comes across such beauty. And magic.” Garran gave her a lazy look as his gaze traveled from her face to her breasts and back, causing her nipples to tighten. “I wager you have many surprises.”

#

      Garran’s lips twitched as he studied the beautiful woman who looked at him with such disdain.

      Hannah Wentworth might not wish to be attracted to him, but in every fiber of his being he held certainty that she was.

      Hannah’s dark brown gaze slowly traveled from his eyes, down his chest, to his abs. Fortunately she could not see beneath the table, unless that was one of her D’Anu talents. He had to refrain from shifting in his chair as she perused his body. Instead, he leaned back, propped his elbows on the chair’s arms and steepled his fingers.

      She brought her gaze back to his. “My talents would be wasted here,” she said, then turned to speak to the D’Danann warrior on the opposite side of her.

      Garran did smile then. This woman was not easily rattled or embarrassed, something he found more than intriguing. Her mere presence heightened his senses. The soft scent of her skin—woman, and something light, clean, and fresh. Need vibrated through his body, deep and carnal.

      He wanted her. Wanted to taste her sweetness, to feel her slim body beneath his as she cried his name.

      His gaze moved from her to her companion and he narrowed his eyes. The man sitting beside Hannah clearly desired her. A moment’s anger at the D’Danann traveled through Garran, a foreign sense of jealousy. But the feeling quickly diminished as he saw that Hannah was dismissing the man, just as she had dismissed Garran.

      But unlike her reaction to him, Garran felt no currents of attraction between her and the D’Danann warrior. At least not on Hannah’s part.

      Instead, the sexual awareness remained between Garran and Hannah. Tangible, strong threads that could easily be woven into a tight rope.

      Hannah turned her attention to her trencher and frowned at the pieces of bread she had shredded on it before looking at the rest of the food on the table. Raucous laughter broke out from the opposite end, but the D’Danann and D’Anu did not join in. They appeared far too serious.

      Hannah took a few grapes, more bread, and a bit of cheese, but merely picked at her food as he watched.

      Garran’s gaze settled on his daughter who sat on the opposite side of him. She looked so much like her mother that every time he saw her, his chest seized and he felt that lonely ache that sometimes took residence in his heart.

      Since the time Rhiannon’s mother had passed on to Summerland no woman had attracted him like his daughter’s companion, this Hannah Wentworth. Not enough to truly stir such intense feelings of desire along with the need to possess. Not enough to go beyond flirtation, such as his enjoyment in attempting to seduce Copper Ashcroft, or his pleasure in having sex with any number of women.

      Until this fresh, exciting D’Anu witch.

      Still, he could ill afford such a distraction, especially with so many weighty matters at hand.

      Garran smiled as he studied his daughter. They had spoken of her mother and earlier he had shared some of the joyful memories with Rhiannon. But he had not yet touched on her life now.

      He laid his hand over Rhiannon’s where it rested on the table. “Are you happy with your mate?”

      Rhiannon had been focused on the D’Danann, Keir, and she cut her gaze to Garran. She cleared her throat and nodded. “I am. Very happy.”

      He offered her a smile and squeezed her fingers. “Then I am pleased for you.”

      “Thank You.” She looked uncomfortable with his hand on hers and he released it before selecting a hunk of white cheese and setting it in his trencher beside his healthy serving of pork.

      “We will eat.” He tore off a piece of bread from a loaf that sat before him and brought the piece close to his mouth. “Then we will talk about why you have truly come to see me.”

#

      After dinner, only Hannah and her companions remained seated at the table with Garran. Heavy currents still ran between her and Garran and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

      The king had introduced them to each member of his “Directorate,” something like a high council, and they met the leaders of the order, Sepan and Hark, along with Garran’s First and Second in Command, Vidar and Carden. The men had made it clear they expected to stay for the discussion with the witches and D’Anu, but Garran had dismissed all of them.

      Now just two guards were positioned to either side of the door inside the room, and two on each side of the door in the great hall.

      The dishes had been swept away and all that was left behind on the smooth, clean table were mugs of ale that had been placed in front of each person.

      Garran leaned back in his chair in a casual pose, his elbow resting on one arm of the chair while his free hand stroked his chin. No longer did Hannah see the teasing light that had been in his liquid silver eyes, but the seriousness of a warrior, a king.

      “You have come once again to seek the aid of the Drow.” Garran looked to Rhiannon and to each of her three companions in turn. “Tell me why my people should assist you?”

      Rhiannon frowned. Hannah felt a pinch in her gut that told her this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d begun to hope.

      Hannah thought it best to speak first and start with the urgency of their situation. “Ceithlenn has killed thousands in our city,” she said. “Somehow the goddess collects their souls and the souls make her stronger—strong enough that she was able to bring her husband from Underworld.”

      Astonishment crept over Garran’s face. “Balor? In your San Francisco Otherworld. At this moment?”

      Rhiannon nodded and gripped her mug of ale in both hands. “The god is searching for his eye. Darkwolf still wears the eye on a chain around his neck, and if Balor gets a hold of it . . .”

      “All who stands in his way will perish,” Garran said in flat tone.

      “That’s why we need your assistance.” Hannah relaxed her hands when she realized she was clenching them on the tabletop. ”We can’t do it alone.”

      Rhiannon leaned forward in her chair and pushed her mug of ale out of her way. “There are only a handful of us—the D’Anu witches, what D’Danann warriors the Chieftains will give us, and the San Francisco Paranormal Special Forces.”

      “But this matter does not concern us.” Garran’s voice remained calm and Hannah’s temper rose in a slow burn. “Balor is not in Otherworld,” he added before taking a drink of his ale.

      Rhiannon’s face turned nearly scarlet and her scars stood out against her cheek. “Don’t you care about me and those I love? You’re supposed to be my father. Won’t you help your own daughter?”

      As he studied Rhiannon, Garran said softly, “I would.” Then he raised his voice as he thumped his mug of ale on the tabletop. “But I am the king of the Dark Elves and I bear the responsibility of making the decisions as to what is best for my people.”

      “The good of the many outweighs the good of the few?” Hannah back when rigid as she spoke. “That is such—such—”

      “Bullshit.” Rhiannon said, her green eyes burning with fire. “Thousands, if not millions need you. That is the many. You are the few.”

      Keir’s expression had turned thunderous and Eavan narrowed his gaze. Likely they were reining themselves in from locking horns with Garran.

      It was obvious that no matter how hard they pleaded, Garran wasn’t going to budge. Hannah looked at Rhiannon who nodded.

      Hannah leaned forward in her seat, her gaze fixed on Garran’s. “What if we were able to offer something to your people in return for helping our people?”

      “Then you would have my interest, as king as well as a father and a man.” Garran drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “What do you bring to barter?”

      Hannah took a deep breath. “The Great Guardian said she will give you something you want for your people in exchange for helping us.”

      Garran stopped drumming his fingers. Shock registered along the strong lines of his face making Hannah wonder what could be so important that it would affect the king so strongly. “The Guardian said this?” he asked, a hard edge to his tone.

      Rhiannon wrapped her hand around her mug of ale again, but didn’t take a drink. “The Guardian met us at the transference stone right before we came here.”

      Irritation was evident in Garran’s expression. “You failed to mention her offer immediately, for what reason?”

      Rhiannon sounded like she was talking through gritted teeth. “Because I wanted to know if you would do it out of the goodness of your heart. Apparently you don’t have one.”

      Garran’s look turned thoughtful for a moment as he met his daughter’s gaze. He glanced toward Hannah again. “What exactly did the Elvin Guardian say?”

      “You’ll be given something for aiding us, something your people want.” Hannah swept the lock of blond from her face to join her dark hair. “Conditionally.”

      Rhiannon added, “She said you have to go alone to talk to her.”

      Garran leaned back in his chair again and stroked his chin with one hand while his stare seemed to travel somewhere in the distance, like he didn’t see any of them at that moment.

      Finally, he shifted in his seat and looked to each member of Hannah’s group. “I will visit the Guardian to hear what promise she can make me and my people. Then I will make my decision.”

      Rhiannon’s shoulders relaxed and the tension coiled inside Hannah unwound a little.

      “But I have my own condition.” He looked to each person. “One of you will stay with my people and serve as liaison to yours.”

      Hannah frowned. “Why?”

      “My reasons are my own. That is my condition.” He turned his gaze on Hannah. “One of you will stay here while I talk to the Guardian. And if we go to war alongside your people, that person will remain with the Drow and at my side. Do you accept?”

      It couldn’t be Keir or Rhiannon—neither of them should be separated like that. And Eavan . . . Hannah glanced at him. Definitely not the liaison type.

      Yes, she needed to do what was necessary to help out an entire city, if not an entire world.

      “Yes, I’ll do it,” she said before anyone else could respond. “I’m the best woman for the job.”

      A pleased smile crept over Garran’s features even as Eavan growled, “I forbid it. I will stay.”

      Hannah swung her gaze to Eavan, audacity burning her insides. “Do not ever think you can tell me what I can or can’t do. I will stay and that is absolutely final.”

      Eavan opened his mouth to say something but she let her expression speak louder than her words. “You do not want to argue with me.”

      She cut her gaze back to Garran. “I have my own condition.” The coiled tension in Hannah’s belly magnified and she had to force her hands to relax on the tabletop. “No one is to attempt to use any Drow magic on me.”

      A slight smile curved the corner of Garran’s mouth. “Done.”

      “No godsdamn way,” Eavan said as he stood. His chair almost toppled, but Hannah caught it with a quick tug using a rope of her magic.

      “Sit, Eavan.” Hannah’s glare met Eavan’s as he shot his gaze toward hers. “I made the choice. If it’s the only way we’re going to get the help we need, then I’ll do it.”

      “Then I will stay, too.” Eavan made a low growling noise in his throat, his expression dark as he scowled.

      Garran’s voice was firm. “Not more than one of your delegation.”

      “It will be me.” Hannah looked at Garran who was once again casually relaxed in his chair with a hint of humor in his smile.

      When Hannah glanced at Rhiannon, she saw that Rhiannon’s lips were parted and she was staring at Garran.

      “You should all go back now.” Hannah pushed her chair from the table. “You have a lot of work to do if we’re going to fight Ceithlenn in San Francisco.” She caught Garran’s eye as he got to his feet. “And we have a lot to do here to make it happen.”

      If eyes could literally twinkle, Garran’s did.

      Eavan grumbled a lot more and Rhiannon scowled like she was pissed while Keir just had the same dark expression that he always did.

      Except when he gazed at Rhiannon. When Keir looked at Rhiannon, it was like the whole world revolved around her and as if she was something treasured and precious to him.

      Sometimes Hannah wondered what it would be like to have a man look at her like that.

      Right. She shook her hair back as they reached the stairs. After all the men who had run through her mother’s fingers like water, and had taken all they could from her, Hannah didn’t believe very strongly in solid, real, loving relationships. She had seen four of her sister D’Anu witches find men who seemed to fit the bill, but she knew it was different for them. She was Selena Wentworth’s daughter. She was different.

      Hannah’s muscles clenched as she spoke to Rhiannon. “I need you to watch over Banshee while I’m gone. Take him to San Francisco when you go back. Please.”

      Rhiannon looked surprised and paused a moment before she said, “No problem. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

      A breath of relief, yet sadness flowed through Hannah. She hadn’t been parted from Banshee since he had first come to her. Not like this—for who knew how long. “Thank you,” Hannah said before she took a step back.

      “Are you certain?” Eavan’s expression softened and his eyes appeared darker, concerned, when he turned to Hannah. A part of her felt touched that he was worried about her.

      “Of course.” She forced a smile. “I’m always confident in my choices.”

      Sure you are, her consciousness whispered and she mentally slapped it down.

      Eavan gave a single nod before stepping onto the stairs that eventually led up into the sunlight.

      “I will see you soon, daughter,” Garran said when Rhiannon glanced at him.

      She studied him for a long moment before she went up the stairs behind Eavan.

      Keir did that old handshake with Garran before following Rhiannon.

      Keep cool.

      Hannah resisted fidgeting and tugging down on her leather shirt, “Are you going to see the Great Guardian now?”

      His silvery-blue hair shimmered in the low lighting when he shook his head. “When it is dark, sweet one.”

      “Excuse me?” Hannah folded her arms across her chest. “My name is Hannah.”

      Sweet one my—

      Garran looked like he wanted to laugh. “Come. Let me show you our realm. If you are to serve as liaison, then you must know and understand my people, at least at a basic level.”

 

Chapter 3

      Rich scents of earth and minerals swirled in the cool air brushing Hannah’s skin as she walked beside the king. She gripped the strap of her pack tight before releasing some of the tension coiled inside her and letting her hand fall away.

      They strode across the great round hall that had many doors around the circumference. Her shoes made soft sounds against the marble, but Garran was as silent as the D’Danann.

      Despite the fact that his skin was a grayish-blue, the man was gorgeous. It would have been impossible not to appreciate the litheness of his movements, his grace—and power. Power in every flex of his muscles, in the way he held his head, in his very presence. He was a king in every sense of the word.

      Garran paused and gestured to the excellent carvings on the walls. “Some of our finest craftsmen created these grand works of art.”

      The carvings were mostly of male warriors in battle. Then heat burned Hannah’s skin as she slowly looked around the enormous circular hall. Were women kneeling to the men in some of the artwork? Oh, my goddess. Most of the Drow women even wore collars.

      Hannah’s gaze snapped to Garran’s. Heat flared up her body and she clenched her hands at her sides. “Don’t you dare tell me,” she pointed to the carvings, “that Dark Elves treat women as subservient?”

      Garran raised an eyebrow. “It is our lifestyle.”

      “Oh, no.” She shook her head as she ground her teeth. “You cannot make me believe female Drow enjoy being treated like that.”

      His shrug was casual. “They would have it no other way.”

      Hannah considered decking him. Or better yet, using her magic to make him a collar—and a leash. “You probably don’t give them a choice.”

      “Certainly we do.” He tried taking her by the elbow and guiding her to a door, but she jerked away from his touch. “However, it is a rare thing for a woman to choose not to serve a Master.”

      A Master?

      The thought of Garran on the floor with the magical collar and rope was looking better and better.

      He swept his arm out in front of him, indicating they should go through a large arched doorway that spun off from the great hall. “You will see.”

      Her lips tight with anger, Hannah walked beside Garran as they entered an underground city. For the moment awe replaced her anger.

      Stalactites spotted with glowing lichen projected down from the great cavern. The entire ceiling sparkled and more lichen caused a blue glow to give a soft light to the city.

      Homes clung to rock outcroppings and footpaths wended their ways around the cavern walls. Most of the city spread out across the smooth, obviously well worn floor of the cavern. Narrow streets wound from one building to the next. It reminded her of the D’Danann village, yet not.

      Wonderful aromas spilled from shops that sold bread and other bakery goods, including what smelled like coffeecake. Hannah’s mouth watered even though she was still full from dinner.

      All she saw were males who gave low nods to Garran as she and Garran passed them. In turn he inclined his head and greeted each person by name. The respect in their gazes and voices, and the way they responded to him with their gestures and expressions, told her how well they thought of their king.

      Where are the women?

      In between Garran acknowledging every male they walked by, they came across a butcher shop, a place that offered leather work, as well as a smithy that made the breast and shoulder plates most of the warriors wore. It looked like everything one could think of could be found in this underground city.

      Except a Starbucks.

      She shook her head. First thing she was going to do when life returned to “normal” in San Francisco, would be to buy one of those frappuccinos she’d been craving.

      Her gaze riveted on a glittering blanket of gems ahead in a windowless display. Goddess, a fortune in jewelry was spread out. Diamonds the size of eggs, rubies as big as a fist.

      Gem encrusted leather collars?

      Hannah’s head snapped up. She traced her crescent and moon pendant with her fingers before dropping her hand to her side as she caught sight of a few women on the path in the direction she and Garran had been heading.

      The women were so scantily clad they might as well have been wearing nothing. Practically sheer tops were so short they exposed the roundness of the underside of the women’s breasts and the filmy material hardly covered their nipples. They also wore short gauzy skirts that hardly reached the bottoms of their ass cheeks.

      Most of the women wore collars.

      Collars for Anu’s sake! Like dogs or other animals, they wore collars and served a Master.

      Heat filled her as she watched the women. Their skin was smooth and supple in the cavern’s soft lighting, their curves in all the right places—their bodies virtually perfect.

      A couple of the women whispered to each other when they saw their king with Hannah and they bowed to him almost shyly. But otherwise the women smiled, talked, and laughed among themselves. Despite the fact they wore collars, they appeared . . . happy.

      “Explain to me,” Hannah said through gritted teeth, “why these women allow themselves to be collared and why they are practically naked. Are they sex slaves or something?”

      “The collar means a woman belongs to a Master.” Garran came up short and they stopped in front of the jewelry store as he glanced down at Hannah. His expression softened. “Sex is important to any consenting adult relationship, but our way of life is not ‘all about sex’ as you would say.”

      Hannah braced her hands on her hips as she glared up at him. He was so damned tall she had to tilt her head. “Then what is it about?”

      “Come.” He touched his hand on her elbow. “We will talk.”

      One thing Hannah never did was cause a scene in public. She clamped her jaws shut as she realized that was what she’d just about done. She blanked her expression and held her carriage high as she usually did.

      Garran guided her past a fish market, the scents reminding her of home and the wind off the bay, causing memories of her old life and a twinge in her belly. They strolled beyond the market to a display of wooden figurines and children’s toys. Then the smells of fresh fish and wood drifted away as they continued on to what appeared to be a park.

      Children wearing rough-spun tunics and pants laughed and played on the flat, moss covered rock area filled with boulders and stone statues. Hannah couldn’t help a smile as she and Garran stopped outside the park and watch the children racing, kicking black leather balls, climbing boulders, or sitting cross-legged on the mossy ground playing with toys. They had wooden dolls and figures including something that looked like the ugliest troll she could imagine. Some of the male dolls were dressed like warriors wearing breastplates and leather chest straps, and even leather pants. The female dolls tended to have iridescent clothing that shimmered in the blue lichen lighting.

      Barbie and G.I. Joe had nothing on these dolls.

      Hannah touched one of the smooth boulders surrounding the park. “I never thought about Elves having children.”

      When she glanced up at Garran, he wore an amused expression. “Did you think we are created from stone?”

      “Actually, I had been wondering if you were.” She turned her attention back to the park. Several women were dressed in a little more clothing than the ladies Hannah had seen in the village, but they still wore collars. They sat on rock benches at various places around the area, many talking as their children played.

      A pinging sensation bounced around in Hannah’s heart. The mothers looked so happy as did the children. Hannah hadn’t had the kind of childhood where she was allowed to play with other children. She’d been sheltered, watched by a nanny, then sent to boarding schools where fraternization was discouraged.

      One of the children threw a baseball-sized black leather ball that overshot the kid he’d been throwing the ball to. It rushed straight for Hannah. Garran snapped his hand up and caught the ball before it would have slammed into her face.

      Relief whooshed through her. That would have hurt like hell.

      A young boy dressed in a royal blue tunic and pants trotted toward them with a chagrined expression. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

      Garran squatted so he was eye-level with the boy and handed him the ball. “You have great strength, Jalen.” The boy clutched the ball to his chest and looked at Garran with wide blue eyes. Garran placed his hand on the boy’s left arm. “Continue your practice, most especially your control. One day you will make a fine warrior.”

      Jalen nodded hard enough that his blue hair fell into his eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

      Garran eased to his feet and gestured to the park. “Enjoy your game of carta.”

      The boy nodded again before whirling and bolting to where other boys and girls had stopped playing and were staring at Garran. Some waved and gave shy smiles and Garran acknowledged them with a slight incline of his head.

      It was odd seeing Garran as more than a king and a warrior. A strange whirling gripped her insides and she had no idea why.

      She let her gaze drift from Garran to the boys and girls. “They’re beautiful.”

      “Children among Dark Elves are rare,” he said softly, with what sounded like a touch of longing, and she moved her gaze toward him. “They are much treasured.”

      The distant look in his eyes surprised her for a moment before she realized he was probably thinking of his own daughter, Rhiannon, who had been raised among humans and kept far from him—in San Francisco. A part of her melted and it took a lot of effort to make herself return to the subject that still bothered her.

      “You haven’t explained this whole Master/slave thing,” she said and his attention cut to her.

      “Our women are not slaves.” His words had a hard edge to them and he had an even harder look in his eyes. “It is an exchange of power, protection, and pleasure if you will.”

      Hannah frowned. “I’m not following you.”

      Garran folded his arms and leaned his hip against one of the larger boulders. “Our men are far stronger physically than our women. They rely on us for protection and to provide for them.”

      She crossed her own arms beneath her breasts and her frown turned into a scowl. “So the males make them walk around with hardly anything on, wearing collars, and calling them Master?”

      “In turn,” Garran continued as his gaze held hers, “the woman holds the power to give the man pleasure.”

      Her cheeks heated as her anger rose. “So this is all about sex.”

      He shook his head, his silvery-blue hair shimmering in the soft glow given off by the lichen above. “A Drow female who serves a Master has the power to please him in all aspects of his life. Family, home, and yes, sex.”

      Hannah huffed out her breath. “I don’t get it.”

      Garran took her by the elbow again. They walked along a path and she tried to calm down about the whole woman serving a man thing. Barbaric.

      He came to a stop in front of another jeweler’s display. He glanced at one of the gem-studded collars then turned his gaze on her. “Wouldn’t you enjoy belonging to someone, Hannah Wentworth?”

      Belong to someone? Having a Master? More heat flushed over her and her whole body tensed. “I want to talk to you,” she said, nearly grinding her teeth as she spoke. “In private.”

      He winked and smiled, and she thought again about using her magic as a rope and collar.

      As the heat in her body ramped up even more, she and Garran walked from the city through a honeycomb of passageways. They entered a dim hallway where arches opened in various directions, and he led her through one of the arches. The whole time they walked, Hannah’s temper mounted.

      They eventually reached the end of a short hall that led to a door on the right. The sound of rushing water met Hannah’s ears as he drew her into a chamber.

      A bedroom—likely his. In the far corner, water tumbled from a high rock, spilling into a pool the size of a sauna. Rich tapestries of Drow warriors in battle draped the walls. Rugs lay scattered on the floor in the same rich colors as the tapestries. On one wall hung swords, a quiver of arrows, and a bow, along with other weapons. All would be incredibly expensive in her world. The metals and gems glittered in the soft blue lighting shining from lichen on the ceiling over their heads.

      A huge bed that looked as if it had been carved from an enormous round stone commanded the center of the room. “You sleep in a rock?” she muttered. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

      “Try it.” Garran moved closer to her and she felt such power in his presence that it grasped hold of her like a tight embrace. “The bed is quite soft.” He reached up and trailed the knuckles of one of his hands down her bare arm. “Almost as soft as your skin.”

      Immediately a jolt, like spellfire, shot through her body from the places he touched. Goose bumps pebbled her skin and she pushed his hand away as she backed up.

      She let her anger replace her awareness of him as a man. Her voice lowered to a growl. “No wonder you were all sent to live underground. All of this woman serving a Master and who holds the power is crap. You’re barbaric heathens.”

      Garran’s eyes darkened, no amusement, no teasing left in his gaze. She almost took another step away from him as a chill traced her spine.

      “It is not for you or any others to judge our lifestyle.” His jaw tightened and the temperature in the room dropped as if winter had shrouded the last whispers of fall. “The Elders are judgmental, hypocritical bastards who had no right to do this to my people.”

      Hannah swallowed hard as she resisted rubbing her arms from the chill. The realization that he was right hit her like a snowball to her belly, icing her insides. She had always held to the strong belief that no one group had the right to judge what another race did, or to dictate what those people could or could not do, or banish the race because they were different.

      As long as it was consensual, this Master thing was really none of her business or anyone else’s. If it was true slavery, though, that was a whole different ballgame.

      Hannah let out a breath and she could see it in the icy air. This time she did rub her arms with both hands and started to shake from the cold. Somehow Garran had changed the temperature with his anger and his Drow magic.

      “You’re right.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I have no right to judge you or any of the Dark Elves. As long as the women are happy about it, then it’s nobody’s business but your own.”

      The air in the room warmed dramatically as Garran’s expression softened and his jaw relaxed. “Do you say this from fear? Or do you believe it to be true?”

      “I have mixed feelings.” The goose bumps on her arms vanished as the temperature warmed. “I don’t agree with it, but when you put it that way, you’re right. No race should be banished or segregated for their lifestyle.”

      Then the thought of the Fomorii came to her and she scowled. “Unless the race is like the demons from Underworld, creatures that murder and feed off of other beings.”

      He gave a slow nod. “Then you do understand.”

      She relaxed her arms at her sides. “I don’t agree with your lifestyle, but I understand a little better.” Her frown returned as she held his gaze. “But don’t you ask me if I want to belong to anyone again. Especially in public—if you want all your manly parts to remain intact.”

      Garran smiled and reached up to trail his fingers through her hair. “Agreed.”

      A shiver wracked her body, and this time not from any chill in the room. His hand slid from her hair as she stepped back, needing to get away from his touch.

      “What I really don’t understand,” she said, letting her voice harden again, “is why you chose to help open the door to Underworld.”

      Garran’s muscles flexed when he tensed and his jaw tightened. “I was promised that my people would have what they most desire—to again walk in the light.” He moved his hand to his chest. “To no longer be marked as we are.”

      Her heart caught in her throat. Marked for their choice in lifestyle?

      He brought his fingers to his head and raked them through his silvery-blue hair. “Agreeing to such a bargain to open the door was a mistake that I realized almost too late.” His gaze slipped away and pain was etched across his features. “For some it was too late.”

      Garran shook his head like he was shaking off a bad dream. “Balor would never have granted us our former lives as promised by Darkwolf. I sensed it in Ceithlenn’s thoughts the moment she escaped through the door.”

      “You helped set her free.” A surge of anger rose in Hannah again, despite the pain on Garran’s strong features. “You should have been helping us return her to Underworld all along. Or kill her.”

      Garran stepped forward and brought his hand up to finger the lock of blond hair curving along one side of her face. The way he kept touching her—it made it so hard to think. “I know this, Hannah, Wentworth.” His voice was low, soft. “But I serve my people and they come first. Can you not understand that?”

      The flames in her chest didn’t want to recede. Coming to terms with his original choices—she wasn’t sure she could. “I’ll have to think about it.” She met his liquid silver gaze. “A lot.”

      He studied her, his face so close to hers now that she felt his warm breath on her cheeks and a shock of desire hit her straight in her belly. The power of it nearly made her stagger backward.

      Dear Anu. He must be using Drow magic and I’m not as immune as I thought I was.

      “I have more to show you.” He gave her his usual cocky grin, and she straightened and raised her chin, forcing the lust and need away. “You do not yet know our primary means of commerce—a most important aspect of the society you will have to represent to your people, should we form an alliance.”

      Commerce. Money. Business.

      Yes.

      Now here was something Hannah could sink her teeth into. And maybe observe without wanting to emasculate her host.

      Garran’s hand was warm and big around hers and she didn’t try to shake off his hold as he led her out of his chamber, down the hallways, and to the great round hall. This time she ignored the carvings on the walls of the collared women bowing to warriors, and concentrated on where they were going next.

      After they crossed the hall, they entered a carved-out tunnel that smelled of dark earth and minerals. She’d never been claustrophobic, but the walls seemed to close in on her, and she was relieved when they walked out and into a cavern.

      “Beautiful,” she murmured as she took in the massive space. They stood on a platform in the middle of a huge sparkling cavern. “And amazing.”

      Otherworld was truly a place filled with surprises and this was no exception. Veins of white and yellow gold marked the earthen and rock walls. Rubies, emeralds, and other gems that had to be worth billions were organized in huge mounds, far below where they stood. If she and Garran continued on the path leading from the platform, they would wind down in a slow circle until they reached the bottom where Drow workers toiled.

       Overhead hung stalactites that shimmered in the low glow filling the cavern. The lighting was created by more of that lichen she’d seen in the city and in Garran’s room. Stalagmites also burst up from the cavern floor, and the Drow worked around them.

      Some of the Dark Elves sifted the jewels and ore from the excavated earth. Against one wall stood multiple pick-axes along with buckets and shovels.

      The Drow below weren’t dressed the same as the warriors. Instead they wore simple gray shirts and pants and most had their hair drawn back with leather ties. She watched as the dusty workers traveled in and out of various tunnels. The passageways were so dark she couldn’t see into them.

      She looked up at Garran. “What do they use for light?”

      He shrugged. “Drow need no light to see by when we dig or travel through tunnels. Our senses guide us. But we do require some, as you can see, in our city and in our pit.”

      “Why do you need light there?” She tilted her head to the side. “If you don’t in the tunnels.”

      Garran laughed. “To live a comfortable life where we can see clearly and not have to rely on our senses.”

      “Ah.” In the middle of the cavern was a huge area that looked as if the dirt had been freshly turned. “At the center of the cavern,” she said as she looked from it back to Garran. “Did you mine there, too? The rest of your tunnels lead off, away from the pit, not down into the floor.”

      Garran rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before meeting her gaze again. “That . . . was a mistake.” The pain on his face was so intense she felt it all the way to her belly. The roguish look was gone from his eyes and for a moment all she saw was sorrow and remorse.

      Hannah shifted her gaze back to the freshly turned earth. “It’s where your people dug and found old passageways and caverns that led to the door to Underworld. Copper told me about that.” Then suddenly Hannah understood Garran’s pain and sorrow for him touched her soul. “Your brother died down there just weeks ago—murdered by a Fomorii demon.”

      “Yes,” Garran said quietly when she looked at him.

      Hannah didn’t know what to do or say. With her upbringing, she’d never been the huggy-touchy type, but right now the urge to comfort Garran was almost overwhelming. And she didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it.

      He took her hand and squeezed. “Enough for now.”

      Garran drew her through the passageway and into the great hall. Without saying anything more, he led her to another hallway and then to another room with a waterfall tumbling over rocks in one corner. The water splashed into a roughly circular pool, much like Garran’s chamber. The room was decorated in navy blue velvets and gold brocade with beautiful tapestries gracing the walls.

      “Where do you get all of these—these things?” Hannah asked as he released her hand and she stepped onto a navy and gold patterned rug. Her experienced eye told her the rug was so well-made it could have been Persian. She walked to a bed that was much like Garran’s, and rubbed her hand over the velvet coverlet. “And the food—things that are raised above ground? Like the vegetables we ate for dinner and the fish in the market?”

      She turned to Garran to see him with his shoulder hitched against the chamber’s doorway, his arms across his chest. The pain was no longer in his expression. Instead he wore a smile that looked like he was entertained by her question. “Did you think we would eat bats and grubs?”

      Her normal aplomb returned. She could give as good as she got. “Of course.”

      This time he laughed out loud. “At night we barter with various beings that live on the surface.” His eyes suddenly held a dark, smoldering look. “As you can imagine, we have much to offer.”

      “You certainly do.” Hannah held his gaze. “Gold and gemstones, of course.”

      Garran studied her for a long moment

      Breathing didn’t come easy and her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt as her gaze locked with his. Intense desire flooded through her like she’d never felt before. Her nipples hardened and ached and a tingle traveled from her belly to between her thighs.

      The roguish glint returned to his eyes that traveled over her body, making her wish she was naked and it was his hands instead of only his gaze stroking her.

      Who was this Hannah who was being totally turned on by the king of the Dark Elves?

      “Stop it.” She sucked much needed air into her lungs. “You’re using Drow magic on me.”

      The corner of his mouth quirked. “So you desire me.”

      Mentally attempting to douse the flare of lust coursing through her, she narrowed her gaze and glared at him. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

      It was as if a rope bound her, tugging at her, trying to draw her to him with his gaze. “I used no magic. Something exists between us, a magic we share.”

      “Not possible.” Hannah licked her moist lips and wiped her damp palms on her leather pants. She straightened and glared at him. “I don’t believe you.”

      Garran’s expression turned hard, angry even. “I gave you my word, Hannah Wentworth.” He moved forward and she took a step back to find herself pinned against the wall. “I never break my vows.”

      “Yeah, right.” The desire she’d been feeling spiked and she shivered all over as she looked at him. “Stop it.”

      In a fast movement he had his hands braced on the wall, over her head. She was a fairly tall woman at five-eight, but he towered over her, his masculine scent surrounding her, his entire presence dominating her.

      A tangle of thoughts twirled through her mind.

      Duck under one of his arms.

      Punch him.

      Knee him in the groin.

      Kiss him.

      It was the last option that pressed against her mind, bending her brain so that she almost couldn’t think any longer. Her gaze settled on his lips before she looked up to meet his liquid silver eyes.

      “Nothing’s going to happen,” she finally managed to get out, her voice low and husky. “No way.”

      His expression was still hard and he moved his face closer to hers. A shiver wracked her body when he lightly brushed her lips with his before he drew back. “It will.” To her surprise he pushed away from the wall, taking his warmth and the power of his presence with him. “But not now.”

      Hannah’s composure had eroded so completely from the lust and desire that she had to fight to regain a semblance of that composure back.

      “It is time I visit the Guardian.” Garran glanced at the doorway. “You may retire here while I am gone.”

      She wasn’t about to argue. At this moment she needed time alone, time to compose herself.

      “Rest well,” he said before he turned and strode out of the room.

      Hannah stared after him. He was delicious—the way he moved, the flex of muscles in his back and shoulders, his snug leather pants molding to what looked like a very tight ass . . .

      All too soon he had vanished from sight.

      She shook her head to rattle the thoughts out.

      Drow magic.

      But he had given his word, and she believed him. She actually believed that this man, someone she’d always thought to be a traitor due to past events, was truthful.

      At least in this.

      The strength of Garran’s character—from her usually right-on intuition—told her he was a good man, even if she didn’t agree with what he’d done before she’d met him. He did what was in the best interest of his people.

      She rubbed her temple with one hand as she shut the arched wooden door with her other then walked to the bed and perched on the edge of it. She couldn’t get the man out of her mind. She could imagine the feel of his lips . . . what he would taste like . . . how it would feel with his mouth on her breasts . . . the silk of his hair in her hands . . . his thick hardness pressed against her belly . . .

      Hannah squeezed her eyes tight and took a deep breath.

       Tomorrow. Tomorrow things would be different. She would act the diplomat, maintaining the five C’s. Calm. Cool. Composed. Collected. Controlled.

      She opened her eyes again and stared at a tapestry of a Drow couple, and the collar around the woman’s neck.

      Or not.

 

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