Big, Bad Red (Fairy True 2)

Weapons weren’t really her thing anymore. Normally she went for a more discrete approach to getting her way, but no one broke into her treasure room and walked away unscathed. Her reputation was the only thing keeping the king and the other jackals out there from scratching at her door until there was nothing left and she was out on the street again, just another jaded babe in The Woods.

“It’s my sword.” Determination and the barest hint of desperation clung to him.

“Really?” She shrugged. “It’s in my possession.”

“It was stolen from my family generations ago and I mean to reclaim it.” Nothing but cocky self-assurance now.

“I don’t offer reparations,” she said. “I conduct business.”

He closed the distance between them, and for a second she basked in the bad-boy vibe coming off him in waves. It was enough to make even an experienced girl like herself blush. Another night, a different kind of break-in, and she might have gotten more out of this than the gnawing feeling in her gut that shit was about to go sideways.

“You don’t have a second buyer.” One side of his mouth curled up in a smirk that was a serious danger to panties everywhere.

“That’s what you’d like to think.” She dropped her hand an inch until it nearly touched the intricately carved grip. “Tell me how you got in here.”

“I have my ways.” Liam’s gaze went left, zeroing in on her hand over the sword.

“So do I.” And he was about to find out just what a girl who grew up alone in Dublin learned to do in order to stay alive. She lowered her hand. The sword felt warm against her palm, as if someone had just put it down after a long battle.

“No, don’t,” Liam yelled.

It was too late. Red curled her fingers around the grip and lifted it out of the case.

Everything went fuzzy.

It was like being hit by six bolts of lightning at once. The air around her hummed. The room wibbled and wobbled. Liam grabbed her shoulders as the sword dropped from her grip. In the distance she heard it clang against the concrete floor.

But looking up into Liam’s blue eyes—so blue they reminded her of a postcard she’d seen once of the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Greece—she couldn’t care less about dropping a million-dollar sword. All she could focus on was him. His square jaw. And his arms, his arms, they were huge and covered in enough Celtic tattoos to make her brain flatline and her heart go into overdrive.

How did the saying go? A woman like her doesn’t run toward a man, but if he has tats she might power walk? Yeah, that was it. Saints and fairies preserve her, she was power walking toward him without moving a muscle. He was perfect. Fucking perfect. How had she not noticed all of this before?

“God, you’re hot.” All she wanted was to burn with him.

Deep worry lines formed a V in his forehead. “Oh, shit.”

His muttered curse was the last thing Red heard before everything went dark and she passed out in Liam’s strong arms.

Chapter Three

There weren’t any windows in the treasure room that Liam could see from his position on the floor, but according to the clock on his phone, it was way past dawn. Red sighed and snuggled deeper into his arms. She’d wake up pissed, he didn’t doubt it for a minute, but until then he got to look his fill at the woman fate had declared his true love.

Like wolves, werewolves mated for life, and as soon as she’d touched that sword, she’d sealed the deal.

Liam shifted against the hard ground. His ass had gone numb four hours ago, but he couldn’t leave Red by herself as she slept off the love spell’s initial whammy. No doubt she’d have questions. The why. The who. The how. The what now. As long as he could keep her away from the when, he?

??d have a chance to make it all work out.

His phone buzzed. Trying not to jiggle her awake, Liam pulled his cell from his pocket and answered in a whisper. “Yeah?”

“So you are still alive.” Max’s voice boomed through the speaker. The man did not have an inside voice. “Did you get it?”

“Sort of.” Glancing down at Red, he didn’t let out his breath until she nuzzled her check against his chest and let out a contented and sleepy sigh. Her short gingham skirt had risen to show off several inches of brown thigh, the sight of which had tormented him throughout the night. “She touched it.”

“That’s fast even for you.”

Normally that would have made him laugh, but not today and not about Red. He pushed down the instinct to growl his disapproval. “Take your mind out of the gutter, Max. She touched the sword.”

“No.” Every trace of laughter evaporated from his best friend’s voice.