Warrior Fae Princess (Warrior Fae 2)

One day soon, they’d tell him his time was up. That he was of no more use, and could return to his life. One day soon, he’d have to face reality.

Today was not that day.

He strode by them without a word.

“You are on the road to greatness,” the Red Prophet shouted, crouching at the base of a large tree at the edge of the field. Her shock of red hair stood around her head like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket. “First stop, Bang Train!”

“She is a nut,” Charity murmured as she ran her lips up Devon’s neck. “And you need a shower.”

“I’d love a shower.”

Even with Charity cradled in his arms, the women they passed looked at him with inviting stares. They were very open in their sexuality, and almost aggressively open in their desire to bed a shifter. He found it harder to ignore the complete lack of regard from the men, who smiled and nodded at Charity, then looked away as though she were being carried by a donkey. Except on the battle yard or in meaningless sexual conquests, it seemed the fae were consciously trying to ignore the shifters and their obvious curiosity regarding shifter magic. It was almost like they’d been told the ways they could intermingle, but outside of that, shifter interaction was forbidden.

Something he wouldn’t bother Charity with at the moment. His pack had decided that they needed to give her a fighting chance. Until she was secure here, they wouldn’t bring up their bad living conditions, how they were treated, or Dillon. It was the last that was hardest for Devon to bear, but he agreed that if they revealed all, Charity would internalize the guilt, and quite possibly start blowing things up. Sometimes you really didn’t know where her mood would swing, at least in her current magical situation. Until she was established here, they would lie low.

She ran a finger across his cheek. “I forgot how handsome you are.”

“It only took you a week to forget what I look like?”

“No, don’t be stupid. I’ve been inundated with very attractive people, but they are all so…manicured. So polished.”

“And you prefer an unkempt knuckle-dragger?”

Her smile lit her up from the inside out. His heart dribbled down his ribs.

“Yes,” she said. “I like the rough-and-tumble, smoking-hot shifter who has clubbed me and will now drag me back to his lair.”

“Her lair.”

“Fine, my lair.” She captured his lips, opening her mouth so he could fill it with his tongue. When he entered her house, the whereabouts he’d heard in passing from Kairi, Charity’s assistant, he let her down gently in the foyer, her body sliding against his, before backing into the door to close it. He worked her pants, pulling them open before pushing them down over her hips.

Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, and he growled into her mouth. He used his foot to shove her pants the rest of the way to the ground. She shrugged out of her shirt and fumbled with the straps around her waist.

“Curse these things—” she started.

He tore one of the straps apart before unwrapping her. “Shower first?” he murmured against her lips.

She dragged him across the room, her lips needy and insistent. Her hands stroking just right.

The bathroom had a luxurious spa-like setup, the opposite of the camping-style facilities in the cabins the pack had been assigned. There was a stone stall for showering, and while there wasn’t plumbing in the Realm, the fae had arranged a gravity system whereby water would be released from a flat spout. A large copper tub sat on four legs beside it, without a spout. Kairi was probably in charge of arranging warm water to be brought in for a bath. Through a half-door was a little commode, needing a bit more privacy, and a basin was set up opposite the shower, the water kept in a pitcher.

The wildly different accommodations were yet another reminder there was a distinct class system in this place—and while Charity was at one end, Devon was at the other.

Charity turned to pull a lever, pushing her tight, round butt against his erection. A surge of lust stole through him, and he slid his shaft between her legs, flush against her warm wetness, so ready for him.

“I missed you,” she said softly, angling, trying to get him inside her. He didn’t bite—he needed a wash before they went any further. “I know it was only a week, but—”

“I missed you too,” he said, pushing her into the stone enclosure and pulling a fabric screen behind him. “More so because I worried about your recovery.”

“Men. Always with the one-upping.” She turned in his arms with a sweet smile.

Devon slid his hands down her wet hair as the warm water fell from the—bamboo?—spout three feet above them. It cascaded like a waterfall, shimmering against the blue-gray stone behind it and shining in the natural light from the many high windows.