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Rhodri
I did not expect Lady Renna’s daughter to be so interesting. The way Tarrien described her, as a hard-nosed and uncompromising police officer without a humorous bone in her body, had me imagining someone completely different to the obviously intelligent and very sexy half-banshee who faced us in her office.
How does she do her job, surrounded by death? How does she balance the banshee power that swirls within her, with her human duties as an officer of the law? Banshee magic is part of Winter Faerie and as such, we are already connected, even though I could not sense anything in her while standing in her office.
Tiredness was evident in the tightness of her skin around those large hazel-colored eyes, and in the faint lines each side of her beautiful mouth. I cannot imagine the agony of what she must go through every time her team catches a murder case. Perhaps it drains her, and her magic takes time to replenish?
Inspector Maewen Jones is an enigma. I am glad she has agreed to pool our resources and work together. I have the feeling it is better to have someone like Maewen on our side, than against us.
It is frustrating that she needs to head home and sleep, but she is half-human, after all. I guess she does not have the stamina of a full fae like myself or Tarrien.
“Look, I need to go home, and I need to eat,” she says. “Why don’t you guys join me? We can eat pizza while we talk.”
Her offer is a generous one, though pizza is not something I have ever eaten before so I am not sure about that part of the invitation.
“I’ll have to sign out a vehicle from the fleet, gents,” she says. “Don’t think you’ll both fit on the back of my motorbike. It’s only a few blocks, but I’m not walking it at this time of night.”
I laugh and show her the filigree ring on my thumb. Tarrien has a similar one; in fact, all Winter fae wear one.
“We can meet you there,” I say. “Fae, remember? We raise a portal, and we jump. Would you like to accompany us down the faerie paths? It will be quicker than your motorbike.”
Maewen’s eyes narrow.
“I’ll meet you there,” she says, and reels off an address. “At the front door, please. Don’t go inside my apartment without me.”
I am not used to being ordered around by anyone. At first, her tone annoys me. But then I decide to shrug it off. Maybe it is the way of humans, to have less respect for their leaders? I do not spend long periods of time in the human realm, though I have been here often, of course. Many of the Winter Court’s subjects have permanent homes in realms other than Faerie, and it is my duty as the heir apparent to understand as much as I can about all worlds in which our subjects reside, not just my own.
That task has become even more important, since the Accord was struck thirty-odd years ago. Winter fae became a party to the Accord when my father, the king, signed the Agreement. We need to remain as informed as we can about happenings everywhere. Unfortunately, my father is not as capable as he once was. Things changed when Mother was banished, and over time, the task has fallen to me, to keep an eye on the various realms.
Perhaps I should start extending my visits to the human realm from now on. Especially if there are creatures as intriguing as Inspector Maewen Jones to pique my interest along the way.
True to her word, Maewen meets us at the entrance to her apartment. She carries two large flat cardboard boxes in her arms, from which a delicious smell rises. Is that pizza? How have I not tried this delicacy, before now?
“Hey boys, come on in. Welcome to my humble abode.”
She balances the boxes on one arm and leads the way inside a very small suite of rooms. In fact, it can hardly be called a suite. There is only one room, as far as I can tell, that doubles as both living and sleeping area. There is a food preparation area in one corner, two compact sofas divided by a coffee table in the middle, and a large bed and chest of drawers in the opposite corner. A fold-out screen separates the bed from the rest. There appears to be a bathing room off to one side, but that’s it. The space is neat enough, but it is hardly cozy or homely.
Humble is the right word. Do all police officers have so little in this realm? Our warriors in Faerie are treated much more generously than this. Most have large suites within the royal palace, as well as the opportunity for multiple homes wherever they wish to set them up.
“Take a seat, and dig in,” Maewen says, setting the boxes on a small table by the couch. “I’ll be with you in a sec.”
She disappears into the bathroom, presumably to freshen herself up, or perhaps to remove her gun belt and stow it safely away. I follow Tarrien’s example and sit beside him on one of the two sofa couches, leaving the other for our host when she returns. Tarrien opens the boxes and removes a slice of flat pie, so I do the same.
The taste when it hits my mouth is divine. Hot and spicy and full of grease, which should turn my stomach but instead, is quite delicious.
When Maewen returns, my mouth is full so I give her a greasy thumbs up. She flashes me a surprised grin, and my pulse rate jumps unexpectedly. When she smiles in a genuine way, her whole face lights up.
She should smile like that, more often.
Maewen sits opposite us and carefully places her mobile phone on the table in front of her. Only then does she grab some pizza for herself. Once she has eaten three slices, she wipes her mouth and fingers on a paper napkin and sits back with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, I needed that. Now, how shall we do this? Do you want to go first, Rhodri, and share what you know?”
I also wipe the grease away with a napkin, and lean back. “Ladies first.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m not a lady, so nope. Royalty should go first.”
“Oh, no. I insist.”
“No, I insist. You’re my guest.”
We lock eyes in what feels like an unwinnable glaring match, until Tarrien huffs out a breath.
“For the love of the winter gods, I’ll go first.”
He proceeds to provide a summary to Maewen—and to me, as I haven’t yet heard the full story—about what happened when Indie was held captive in the Badlands.
The poor girl. It must have been terrifying for her to be kept immobile by magic, helpless and unmoving, and believing she was about to be murdered in such a heinous manner.
Shame fills me. Shame that I carry the exiled queen’s tainted blood in my veins. Shame that my father, the king himself, has been so caught up in his internal grief at banishing the woman he loved—that he perhaps still loves—that he has been unable to perceive the growing threat. Or perhaps he has seen it, and chooses not to do anything about it.
I am not my parents, I remind myself.
I have free will to choose my own path.
While Tarrien speaks, Maewen sits forward, listening intently, and I have the opportunity to study her in more depth. At first glance, there is a definite surface brashness, and yet I suspect that may be a front. Every so often her guard drops and I catch a glimpse of something else in her expression. Something sad and haunting and indescribably lonely.
The need to take her in my arms and hold her, not for sexual gratification but simply to comfort her, grows. I shift in my seat, unused to such strange impulses. Sex to a fae is as natural as breathing, and while there is definitely an element of sexual attraction to the banshee sitting across from me, it feels like there is something else layered over the top of that desire. Something that does not lend itself to any kind of label I’m familiar with.
Lost in my musings, I realize Tarrien has finished speaking.
“And, Indigo is all right?” Maewen asks. “I mean, I know she’s safe, physically. But...mentally?”
“Yes, she’s incredibly strong and resilient,” Tarrien answers.
Again, there’s a glimpse of vulnerability in Maewen, just for a moment. She might pretend to be disinterested in her banshee family, but she is obviously relieved to hear that Indie is okay. As am I.
She shoots a glance at me, as if uncomfortable with my keen regard. I turn my attention back to Tarrien, to allow her a moment to gather herself.
“Indie is back here at her apartment in the human realm. Lady Renna accompanied her.” His expression turns fierce. “I have ensured her home and her workplace are laced with protections. No one is getting to her again without first having to go through me.”
Maewen taps her mouth with a finger as she considers Tarrien’s response. Whatever it was that I saw in her is now well-hidden once again.
“The whole thing sounds a lot bigger and more organized than I thought,” she says. “Which is both a bad thing, and a good thing, I guess.”
“How so? What is good about that fact?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“If it was simply a nutter—a necro or two gone rogue—then potentially anything goes. The whole thing becomes completely unpredictable and could go off on any tangent, based on the whim of a literal madman. If there is someone in charge, and a group with an actual plan and a purpose, then we just need to work out what that purpose is, find those in charge, and thwart them. There is less chance of things going off-road on this, now that we know Rhiannon and Targon are controlling the whole thing.”
“Off-road?”
“Just an expression. Never mind,” she says. “So, Tarrien, you said they called it the Restoration Movement, when they were holding Indie?”
Tarrien nods.
“Hmm. I wonder if it is related to the Accord,” Maewen says. “Restoring things to how they were before the Agreement was put in place. I’ve heard whispers over the years that there are such groups working covertly to that end. Nothing concrete, mind you.”
Tarrien shrugs. “Possible. It wasn’t long after the Accord Agreement was struck, between humans and supernatural creatures of all species, that these attacks first started. So, the timing fits.”
“Why would that benefit my mother?” I ask. “Or your father, for that matter? Humans already know about supernaturals. Destroying the Accord now won’t change that knowledge, though it might cause untold chaos if...”
I trail off as a sick feeling settles in my gut.
Chaos. Divide and conquer.
My mother always thrived on chaos. One of my earliest memories from when I was a young child, is sitting beside my parents at a Winter Solstice celebration. I remember the tiny smile on Mother’s lips as she studied the happy revelries of our subjects in the fields and forests around us.
“Watch this, Rho, and remember the lesson.” She reached out with her magic—silver strands that I could see even then were laced with darkness—and the happy crowd in front of us suddenly started to bicker amongst themselves. When actual physical fights broke out, I remember my father releasing a pained sigh and leaning over to frown at her.
“Leave them be, Rhiannon. It is Yule. Solstice is supposed to be a time of joy.”
My mother pouted.
“Divide and conquer, Tryppton,” she said. “You don’t do enough of that, dear husband. Not nearly enough.”
But she did relinquish her hold on the Winter Court revelers, and then leaned down to whisper in my ear. “When you are grown, I will teach you how to rule properly, Rho. Create chaos, cause division, and then whatever power you desire will be yours for the taking.”
I blink hard as the memory stabs at my brain. If only I had known then what I know now...
I stare at Maewen who is frowning at me, no doubt because of what she perceives as my wandering attention.
“Chaos. That’s what she wants,” I say in a flat tone.
Beside me, Tarrien nods. He remembers my mother well enough, too.
“If the Accord is ripped away, there will be no rules in place to guide how we all live together,” I say. “Peace and harmony will disappear, and chaos will reign. She wants to use that chaos to slide in and rebuild her power. I am certain of it.”
“She sounds...well...” Maewen clears her throat and doesn’t finish.
She sounds like a monster. Those are the words I know she held back. Those, or something similar. I don’t blame Maewen for her almost-insult. My mother is a monster. She’s the only fae I know personally, who has let the darkness that is in all magic to rise up and take control. I never knew, as a child, that those dark strands at her core are not meant to be visible at all.
There is darkness in all fae, but we must never give in to it. We cannot.
“The important thing is,” Maewen says after a pause, “how do we find her and Targon, now?”
My turn to face her. “I have a few suggestions about that. We should—”
Maewen’s phone rings loudly, cutting me off, and she releases a swear word I have never heard before.
“Not now.” She rubs her eyes briefly before picking up the device and answering the call in a gruff tone.
She really does seem overly tired. Does she not have anyone in her life to keep an eye on her and make sure she looks after her own health? Rests when she needs it?
“Another?” Maewen barks into the phone. “Where?”
She jumps up and moves away from us, over to the kitchen area. It is such a small space—and, of course, using my fae senses—I can still hear both sides of the conversation. Judging by the intent expression on Tarrien’s face, he is listening in as keenly as me.
There has been another vicious attack, and it sounds like an abomination might have been involved.
“Three humans dead this time, boss,” says a male voice on the other end of the line. “Do you want us to proceed in the usual way, or wait till you get here?”
“You know what to do, Durand. You might be new to my team but you’ve been with SUDAP long enough to know the drill. Cordon it off and get forensics in as soon as you can. The supe forensics team, not the standard. I’ll be there shortly, but don’t wait on my arrival.”
“No problem.”
She pokes at the phone screen, ending the call, and shoots us an apologetic look. “Sorry, Rhodri, Tarrien. We’ll have to finish this tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess, given its now after two am. I need to be somewhere.”
“An abomination attack. We heard,” I say, and ignore her instant frown. “We will come with you.”
“No,” she says, speaking slowly as if Tarrien and I are children. “You will use your magic rings and head home to...well, wherever home is for you both, and leave this investigation to me. I suggest you return to my office at, say, midday, and we can take up our discussion then.”
I open my mouth to dismiss her suggestion and scold her for her disrespectful attitude, but Tarrien gives a tiny shake of his head and touches his ring. I hear his voice then, in my mind. All winter warriors can communicate telepathically with the royal family, when it is required. The ring helps facilitate that communication.
Let her go, Rhodri. We can follow without her being aware of it. She’s a stubborn one, he says. As are all Renna’s children.
Yes, she is. This one...particularly so.
Maewen rushes around gathering a jacket and re-fastening the gun belt she had removed before we ate.
No point arguing, I tell Tarrien. We can work around her.
Clearly, Maewen is used to being in charge. So am I. Technically, given that banshees herald from the Winter Court, I am her monarch’s heir, and that trumps her status as a police officer, no matter what realm she resides in.
She won’t like it when we turn up unannounced, but perhaps she won’t find out. And if she does?
A grin lifts my lips at the thought of that scenario. I can imagine those large hazel eyes flashing in annoyance as I announce that I can do what I wish. Whether Maewen likes it, or not.
I enjoy the idea of making her eyes shine bright with emotion—in annoyance...or in the throes of passion. Either would be pleasing to me.
She bends to fasten her boots and I can’t help noticing the perfect roundness of her arse and the shapely length of her thighs in those skin-tight black trousers.
What would Maewen do if I stepped forward right this minute and pressed my burgeoning organ into her shapely rear, cradling my hard flesh in the soft valley of her folds? Clothing is nothing, to a fae. I could remove it all, in an instant. What would she do if I took her from behind, thrusting deep inside her channel and filling her with my manly need?
What would she sound like, if I were to run my hands up the long line of her back and around her ribs to cup the fullness of her breasts? Would she moan, if I squeezed her nipples tight? Or would her breath escape in a gentle mewl? Would her eyes remain hazel, or would they shift to a deep emerald green, telegraphing her need when I withdrew from her body and turned her so I could kiss her sexy mouth as deeply as I wish?
I accidently release a throaty growl at the thought of Maewen in the throes of passion. Maewen, kissing me, climbing into my arms and wrapping those sexy legs around my hips as I take her again, filling her with my hot and urgent seed.
She halts her frenetic movement and turns to stare at me, her gaze dipping briefly to the erection I cannot hide. Heat rushes into my cheeks as her mouth drops open. We remain there in a weird, frozen tableau. Tarrien clears his throat in an awkward fashion and grabs my arm. He opens a portal and drags me backward into the faerie path with him. Just before the light claims me, I note that Maewen’s eyes have, indeed, become green.
It is only afterward, when we have travelled to the address we overheard during the phone call, that I realize Maewen did not volunteer any information during our discussion. She encouraged us to talk, and yet she shared little. A skill no doubt born of police training, and one that both annoys and intrigues me.
Inspector Maewen Jones is complex and fascinating, and when this disastrous situation with my mother is resolved, I intend to find out more about the banshee-hybrid police officer who refuses to supplicate herself to royalty.
I resolve to make it my mission to stare into her beautiful hazel-green eyes as she orgasms around my cock.
