Read Online Cassandra's Dilemma by Heather Long - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Long
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casual tenderness in his caress. Touching him impaired her ability to think. His touching her destroyed it completely.
“No, but I know Wizards. Many resent their Fae ancestry. Few, if any, have good relations with their Fae parents.”
“And why is that, do you suppose?”
“Some were the products of ill-informed trysts, but even those where the father lingered—relations were not always positive.” Electricity sparked along her arm as his fingers trailed sensuously up her flesh. Her nipples tightened into hard buds.
“Cassandra, you must accept that you do not know everything about us. What you have learned of Underhill
—
of the Danae and her court
—
it is what we have allowed you to see.”
“I’m not stupid. I’m perfectly well aware of the PR campaign you have waged on me since day one. You don’t spend nearly a year meeting with the Danae and her entourage Underhill and aboveground without getting a taste for the manure in the manna.”
Helcyon threw his head back and laughed. The rich, warm sound of it poured over her like honeyed molasses. Cassie stared at him, startled. It was a real laugh, a genuine, from-the-belly laugh. It carried no note of his cultured chuckle or barely patronizing amusement. Instead, it sounded like mirth.
“You prove to me time and again that we were right to choose you, Cassandra.”
His amusement tickled her. Staring at the way the amusement softened his features, she nearly missed the shadow behind him. It crept up toward the picture window, an oily black mass of motion. Helcyon whirled, kicking the chair out from beneath him to crash into the creature as it shattered her beautiful picture window.
Glass shards flew through the air, sparkling with late-morning sun. Helcyon stood between her and the writhing, black mass, sword drawn. His body vibrated with pure, entrancing power. She could see the veins throbbing in his shoulders. His scent changed from warm cinnamon and vanilla to sage, lemon, and something hotter, spicier.
Cassie’s nose flared because, in direct opposition to Helcyon’s spicy goodness, the inkblot from hell smelled of roofing tar on a hot summer day, acrid and harsh. She choked as the scent clogged her nose and mouth, as though a hand reached out to suffocate her in the scent.
Helcyon’s sword sliced at the air between them, spinning and moving fast enough to generate its own music. Cassie’s ears roared at the harsh notes the sword carved along the inkblot’s flank. The creature’s screams filled the air, foghorn loud with their intensity.
Clapping her hands over her ears, Cassie tried to back up a step. The ink stuck to her feet. Helcyon swore, and his sword danced close to her feet, slicing through the ribbon-thin bonds that stretched around him from their attacker to encompass her.
“Salt!” he yelled over his shoulder, dancing forward to thrust, parry, and slice. “Salt!”
Cassie looked around wildly before grabbing the Royal Albert blue-rose sugar bowl from the table and throwing it, underhand like a softball, at Helcyon’s oily opponent. The entire picture window was blotted out now, allowing no measure of sunlight into the room. Black tendrils waved toward her like so many tentacles from an octopus. The fine china impacted on the oily mass with a wet thunk.
“Salt! Dammit—salt.” Helcyon spared a moment to point his sword toward the salt and pepper shakers on the counter, five feet from the table which vanished underneath the weight of the tall, inky blob.
Cassie dashed across the floor, swearing as a tentacle shackled her ankle, sending her crashing into the floor. She found no purchase on the sandstone tile, doused in coffee, blood, and other viscous fluids.
“Helcyon!” Cassie screamed as the creature dragged her backward. Helcyon twisted, and his sword sliced through the air, severing the shackling tentacle. Cassie banged her knees scrabbling forward on all fours to grab the Morton salt container off the counter.
“No, but I know Wizards. Many resent their Fae ancestry. Few, if any, have good relations with their Fae parents.”
“And why is that, do you suppose?”
“Some were the products of ill-informed trysts, but even those where the father lingered—relations were not always positive.” Electricity sparked along her arm as his fingers trailed sensuously up her flesh. Her nipples tightened into hard buds.
“Cassandra, you must accept that you do not know everything about us. What you have learned of Underhill
—
of the Danae and her court
—
it is what we have allowed you to see.”
“I’m not stupid. I’m perfectly well aware of the PR campaign you have waged on me since day one. You don’t spend nearly a year meeting with the Danae and her entourage Underhill and aboveground without getting a taste for the manure in the manna.”
Helcyon threw his head back and laughed. The rich, warm sound of it poured over her like honeyed molasses. Cassie stared at him, startled. It was a real laugh, a genuine, from-the-belly laugh. It carried no note of his cultured chuckle or barely patronizing amusement. Instead, it sounded like mirth.
“You prove to me time and again that we were right to choose you, Cassandra.”
His amusement tickled her. Staring at the way the amusement softened his features, she nearly missed the shadow behind him. It crept up toward the picture window, an oily black mass of motion. Helcyon whirled, kicking the chair out from beneath him to crash into the creature as it shattered her beautiful picture window.
Glass shards flew through the air, sparkling with late-morning sun. Helcyon stood between her and the writhing, black mass, sword drawn. His body vibrated with pure, entrancing power. She could see the veins throbbing in his shoulders. His scent changed from warm cinnamon and vanilla to sage, lemon, and something hotter, spicier.
Cassie’s nose flared because, in direct opposition to Helcyon’s spicy goodness, the inkblot from hell smelled of roofing tar on a hot summer day, acrid and harsh. She choked as the scent clogged her nose and mouth, as though a hand reached out to suffocate her in the scent.
Helcyon’s sword sliced at the air between them, spinning and moving fast enough to generate its own music. Cassie’s ears roared at the harsh notes the sword carved along the inkblot’s flank. The creature’s screams filled the air, foghorn loud with their intensity.
Clapping her hands over her ears, Cassie tried to back up a step. The ink stuck to her feet. Helcyon swore, and his sword danced close to her feet, slicing through the ribbon-thin bonds that stretched around him from their attacker to encompass her.
“Salt!” he yelled over his shoulder, dancing forward to thrust, parry, and slice. “Salt!”
Cassie looked around wildly before grabbing the Royal Albert blue-rose sugar bowl from the table and throwing it, underhand like a softball, at Helcyon’s oily opponent. The entire picture window was blotted out now, allowing no measure of sunlight into the room. Black tendrils waved toward her like so many tentacles from an octopus. The fine china impacted on the oily mass with a wet thunk.
“Salt! Dammit—salt.” Helcyon spared a moment to point his sword toward the salt and pepper shakers on the counter, five feet from the table which vanished underneath the weight of the tall, inky blob.
Cassie dashed across the floor, swearing as a tentacle shackled her ankle, sending her crashing into the floor. She found no purchase on the sandstone tile, doused in coffee, blood, and other viscous fluids.
“Helcyon!” Cassie screamed as the creature dragged her backward. Helcyon twisted, and his sword sliced through the air, severing the shackling tentacle. Cassie banged her knees scrabbling forward on all fours to grab the Morton salt container off the counter.
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