Read Online Blade Dance (A Cold Iron Novel Book 4) by D.L. McDermott - Free Book Online
Authors: D.L. McDermott
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gotten out of bed in the middle of their lovemaking and left. Humiliated, she’d decided she’d rather be single than be given pointers on how to behave in bed.
She doubted that a supermacho crime lord like Finn would appreciate a woman who was both uncontrollably aggressive and completely unskilled in the sack, which meant, she supposed, that he’d get exactly what he deserved out of their bargain. Maybe that was something, but damn, she wished it made her feel better.
F inn passed home from Ann’s backyard. There were still two beers sitting on the kitchen counter, just where they had left them, and the little platter of meat and vegetables that Ann had found so amusing. The house felt emptier than it had before her visit. After the gathering at the Navy Yard earlier that night, he had wanted nothing but peace and quiet, but now the empty house just felt oppressive.
He took his beer into the TV room, which had once been the taproom back when the building had served as a tavern and still sported a yawning fireplace and Georgian paneling. There, on the pewter-gray sectional, sat the Fae he had been waiting for.
Iobáth had made few concessions to changing fashion or human society since the fall. He wore his nearly white blond hair long. Unbraided, it would undoubtedly touch his knees. His sword was the same enchanted blade he had carried before he had surrendered —uniquely among his race—to the Druids. His tunic was spider silk, embroidered with silver wire. His jeans looked new, but to Finn’s eye they were the only thing about him that was not distinctly Fae.
The Aes Sídhe called him the Wandering Penitent, this warrior who shunned his own kind and spent his days making amends for his role in the drama that had destroyed their world. He was, apart from Conn of the Hundred Battles, the finest Fae swordsman this side of the wall between worlds. That put him on an equal footing with Finn. And made him a dangerous person to deal with.
“How the hell did you get in here?” asked Finn.
Iobáth’s expression didn’t change. He said simply, “There are no wards on the house.”
Of course there weren’t, because Finn’s son wasn’t speaking to him and that meant that the Fianna had no sorcerer to cast such protections. They needed Garrett back. There was a Druid on the loose, for fuck’s sake. “That is part of the reason I summoned you.”
“Understand this,” said Iobáth. “No one summons me. Not even Finn MacUmhaill. I go where my conscience dictates.”
A Fae with a conscience. Finn had always been baffled by the idea, but just lately, in the wake of his falling out with his son, he’d begun to understand a little. “Then it is part of the reason I appealed to your conscience,” said Finn. He was a leader of men. He knew well how to draw warriors to his banner. But Iobáth was no ordinary warrior. He was not motivated by the same desires as other Fae.
“Your message indicated that there was a threat to the wall between worlds.”
“None of us wants the Queen and her Court back,” said Finn. He wasn’t sure whether the chill that ran down his spine at the thought was for the Queen or the cold in the room, so he crossed to the hearth and began to make up the fire.
Iobáth cocked his head. “No? The Prince Consort seems as eager as ever to be reunited with his eternal love, though rumor has it that his sojourn in the Otherworld was not the reunion he had hoped for. Donal would have the Queen back because he despises human weakness and misses exercising power without restraint. You . . . you have never much cared about freeing the Court. Only hunting Druids. And exacting revenge.”
He did not say her name. Finn appreciated that. He did not like hearing her name from others. It was sacred to him. His private mantra. He had repeated it for years. He even talked to her shade, when he was alone and did not know which way to turn, though he had no belief in ghosts or an afterlife. But
She doubted that a supermacho crime lord like Finn would appreciate a woman who was both uncontrollably aggressive and completely unskilled in the sack, which meant, she supposed, that he’d get exactly what he deserved out of their bargain. Maybe that was something, but damn, she wished it made her feel better.
F inn passed home from Ann’s backyard. There were still two beers sitting on the kitchen counter, just where they had left them, and the little platter of meat and vegetables that Ann had found so amusing. The house felt emptier than it had before her visit. After the gathering at the Navy Yard earlier that night, he had wanted nothing but peace and quiet, but now the empty house just felt oppressive.
He took his beer into the TV room, which had once been the taproom back when the building had served as a tavern and still sported a yawning fireplace and Georgian paneling. There, on the pewter-gray sectional, sat the Fae he had been waiting for.
Iobáth had made few concessions to changing fashion or human society since the fall. He wore his nearly white blond hair long. Unbraided, it would undoubtedly touch his knees. His sword was the same enchanted blade he had carried before he had surrendered —uniquely among his race—to the Druids. His tunic was spider silk, embroidered with silver wire. His jeans looked new, but to Finn’s eye they were the only thing about him that was not distinctly Fae.
The Aes Sídhe called him the Wandering Penitent, this warrior who shunned his own kind and spent his days making amends for his role in the drama that had destroyed their world. He was, apart from Conn of the Hundred Battles, the finest Fae swordsman this side of the wall between worlds. That put him on an equal footing with Finn. And made him a dangerous person to deal with.
“How the hell did you get in here?” asked Finn.
Iobáth’s expression didn’t change. He said simply, “There are no wards on the house.”
Of course there weren’t, because Finn’s son wasn’t speaking to him and that meant that the Fianna had no sorcerer to cast such protections. They needed Garrett back. There was a Druid on the loose, for fuck’s sake. “That is part of the reason I summoned you.”
“Understand this,” said Iobáth. “No one summons me. Not even Finn MacUmhaill. I go where my conscience dictates.”
A Fae with a conscience. Finn had always been baffled by the idea, but just lately, in the wake of his falling out with his son, he’d begun to understand a little. “Then it is part of the reason I appealed to your conscience,” said Finn. He was a leader of men. He knew well how to draw warriors to his banner. But Iobáth was no ordinary warrior. He was not motivated by the same desires as other Fae.
“Your message indicated that there was a threat to the wall between worlds.”
“None of us wants the Queen and her Court back,” said Finn. He wasn’t sure whether the chill that ran down his spine at the thought was for the Queen or the cold in the room, so he crossed to the hearth and began to make up the fire.
Iobáth cocked his head. “No? The Prince Consort seems as eager as ever to be reunited with his eternal love, though rumor has it that his sojourn in the Otherworld was not the reunion he had hoped for. Donal would have the Queen back because he despises human weakness and misses exercising power without restraint. You . . . you have never much cared about freeing the Court. Only hunting Druids. And exacting revenge.”
He did not say her name. Finn appreciated that. He did not like hearing her name from others. It was sacred to him. His private mantra. He had repeated it for years. He even talked to her shade, when he was alone and did not know which way to turn, though he had no belief in ghosts or an afterlife. But
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