Read Online Silver Skin (A Cold Iron Novel) by D.L. McDermott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: D.L. McDermott
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excellent plan, he thought wistfully. And it had fallen apart the moment Helene Whitney had crossed his threshold with another Fae’s magic on her shoulder, because to save her life he must place freeing her from this unknown Sídhe ’s control ahead of seducing her.
The episode in her office, though, had suggested the two might not be mutually exclusive. If he could rein in his Fae nature and resist exerting compulsion on her while she was reliant on him for her safety, she might come to see him in a new light. It was a different kind of seduction. Instead of showering her with gifts and sensual pleasure, he could perhaps earn her trust.
It had taken an act of will not to cup her breast as he drew his mark on her shoulder. She was not curvaceous like Beth, but lean and athletic. The first time he had seen her, he had fantasized about having her long tanned legs wrapped around his waist.
The same fantasy now made light work of his search through the storage vault. He’d felt a few objects of Fae and Druid power hidden in the shelves, and he uncovered them now. There were three silver brooches, Fae jewels that radiated subtle protective spells. He pocketed them to investigate more closely later. There was a sword with a mild enchantment. The workmanship was undistinguished and the magic faded, so he bled off the last of its power and left it, inert now, in its box.
He had hoped to find some Druid iron, something he might give to Helene, but he discovered only a handful of their crude stone implements, and these, which he found misshapen and distasteful, he left.
His search took less than an hour. He returned to Helene’s office, using her key card to enter.
She was gone.
There was no sign of a struggle. The gleaming chrome and glass desk was untouched, not even a fingerprint to mar its pristine surface, the pencil can and small objets d’art all neatly in place.
She might have gone down the hall to the ladies’ room. She might have been called away by a colleague. She might be doing any number of safe, mundane things, except that it was the first time since his wards had burned her geis that she had been out of his presence. Unprotected. Vulnerable.
He didn’t like it. Precognition was not one of his Fae gifts, but an instinct for danger was.
Miach reached out to Helene through the geis . He had not abused her trust, had not inscribed anything but a simple locator spell on her shoulder. Now he wished he had done more. Helene could hardly be expected to admire his honesty if it got her injured or killed. . . .
She was somewhere to the east, above him, and because he could not feel her emotions or touch her thoughts through the geis , he had no idea whether she was simply visiting a gallery in the museum or being controlled by her Fae assailant.
Too much of the building’s fabric contained iron for him to pass to her, so he was forced to take the wide marble stairs, up and up, through airy white galleries filled with abstract modern art, until the steps ended and he was on the top floor and he could still feel her above him.
That’s when he knew something was wrong. No security guards patrolled this level, which appeared to be devoted to student shows. The white lights above an emergency door were flashing. Someone had tripped a silent alarm.
Miach ran. Through the door. Up a flight of concrete stairs.
Then he recoiled. At the landing the concrete steps ended, and an iron staircase began.
Black, wrought iron. Two flights. Scaling them would cripple him, but there was no good reason for Helene to be on the roof. And no time to summon help from Liam or Nial or any of his half-blood family, who were not vulnerable, as the true Fae were, to the power of cold iron.
He forged up the stairs. Pain shot through his body as soon as his foot struck the first riser, but he ground his teeth and kept going, taking the stairs two or three at a time. They shook with his passage. Halfway up the first flight he was
The episode in her office, though, had suggested the two might not be mutually exclusive. If he could rein in his Fae nature and resist exerting compulsion on her while she was reliant on him for her safety, she might come to see him in a new light. It was a different kind of seduction. Instead of showering her with gifts and sensual pleasure, he could perhaps earn her trust.
It had taken an act of will not to cup her breast as he drew his mark on her shoulder. She was not curvaceous like Beth, but lean and athletic. The first time he had seen her, he had fantasized about having her long tanned legs wrapped around his waist.
The same fantasy now made light work of his search through the storage vault. He’d felt a few objects of Fae and Druid power hidden in the shelves, and he uncovered them now. There were three silver brooches, Fae jewels that radiated subtle protective spells. He pocketed them to investigate more closely later. There was a sword with a mild enchantment. The workmanship was undistinguished and the magic faded, so he bled off the last of its power and left it, inert now, in its box.
He had hoped to find some Druid iron, something he might give to Helene, but he discovered only a handful of their crude stone implements, and these, which he found misshapen and distasteful, he left.
His search took less than an hour. He returned to Helene’s office, using her key card to enter.
She was gone.
There was no sign of a struggle. The gleaming chrome and glass desk was untouched, not even a fingerprint to mar its pristine surface, the pencil can and small objets d’art all neatly in place.
She might have gone down the hall to the ladies’ room. She might have been called away by a colleague. She might be doing any number of safe, mundane things, except that it was the first time since his wards had burned her geis that she had been out of his presence. Unprotected. Vulnerable.
He didn’t like it. Precognition was not one of his Fae gifts, but an instinct for danger was.
Miach reached out to Helene through the geis . He had not abused her trust, had not inscribed anything but a simple locator spell on her shoulder. Now he wished he had done more. Helene could hardly be expected to admire his honesty if it got her injured or killed. . . .
She was somewhere to the east, above him, and because he could not feel her emotions or touch her thoughts through the geis , he had no idea whether she was simply visiting a gallery in the museum or being controlled by her Fae assailant.
Too much of the building’s fabric contained iron for him to pass to her, so he was forced to take the wide marble stairs, up and up, through airy white galleries filled with abstract modern art, until the steps ended and he was on the top floor and he could still feel her above him.
That’s when he knew something was wrong. No security guards patrolled this level, which appeared to be devoted to student shows. The white lights above an emergency door were flashing. Someone had tripped a silent alarm.
Miach ran. Through the door. Up a flight of concrete stairs.
Then he recoiled. At the landing the concrete steps ended, and an iron staircase began.
Black, wrought iron. Two flights. Scaling them would cripple him, but there was no good reason for Helene to be on the roof. And no time to summon help from Liam or Nial or any of his half-blood family, who were not vulnerable, as the true Fae were, to the power of cold iron.
He forged up the stairs. Pain shot through his body as soon as his foot struck the first riser, but he ground his teeth and kept going, taking the stairs two or three at a time. They shook with his passage. Halfway up the first flight he was
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