Unlike on Mortal Earth, humanity hadn’t killed off all its evolutionary cousins on Mageverse Earth, probably because they didn’t breed as fast. Brounies -- or Brownies, as they were called in Scottish legends -- were distant cousins of the Sidhe, renowned for their artistry with food and textiles.
“Maireade!” Conal grinned, rising from his seat to take the tray from her. He put it on the table and turned to give her a warm hug. “I’ve missed you!”
The Brounie hugged him back, then stepped away to look him up and down. “You look tired. Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” He gave her a white and charming smile. Helena wondered if Maireade saw the edge of pain in his eyes. He rested a hand on Helena’s shoulder as she stood to shake the woman’s extended hand. “And this is Helena Baker and her partner, Liam. Helena, my good friend, Maireade Tira, the best chef in New York.”
Maireade rolled her eyes, though there was a pleased little curve to her mouth. “Flatterer.”
“Not judging by all the mortals in the main dining room.”
“Thanks to you and all the free advertising DCN has given Cornucopia over the years.” She flashed Helena another smile. “If it hadn’t been for Conal, I’d have probably ended up homeless or dead after King Ansgar banished me.”
Helena shook her head. “Is there anyone Ansgar didn’t abuse?”
“No,” Birk said, and there was a definite edge to his voice. He raised his glass of honeystar. “Long live King Llyr, who did the Sidhe the great service of killing that son of a bitch.”
It had gotten quiet in the room, so much so she could clearly hear the clatter and voices coming from the dining room. Every eye in the room was focused on her. Not the first time people have stared at you as if you don’t belong, Helena reminded herself.
“No way she’s his girlfriend.” The woman’s voice was only a little muffled, as if she spoke behind a silencing spell she didn’t quite have the power to pull off.
Glancing around, Helena spotted a pair of stunning redheads who looked enough alike to be sisters. They sat a couple of tables away, their heads together, long and slim and very pale in shorts and tees.
“It’s a fling at most,” Redhead Two agreed. “After all, why would a man like that want a litter?”
Redhead One tittered. “Maybe he’s into animal rescue.”
Rage ripped through Helena like a flash fire. Her temper wasn’t the best during her Burning Moon to begin with, and those two bitches would have pissed her off regardless. Her first impulse was to shift and demonstrate why enraging a werewolf was a bad idea. Unfortunately, yielding to that impulse would prove the stupid twits’ accusation that Helena was nothing more than an animal. Besides, it would embarrass the hell out of Conal. So she clamped her lengthening fangs together and fisted her hands beneath the table to hide her growing claws.
Conal frowned at her. “What’s wrong?” Evidently, Sidhe hearing wasn’t as acute as the Direkind’s.
“Bitches.” Essus pivoted on Conal’s shoulder and shot across the room. Sparks spilled in his wake as he flew, coming in for a landing in the middle of the roast xyvex in front of Redhead One. The plate skidded as she recoiled in astonishment. “Watch your racist mouth,” he said, his beak snapping in his rage. “Count yourself fortunate Conal doesn’t even know you’re alive.”
“I… I…” Redhead One stammered, an expression of horror on her face. “I didn’t mean…”
Essus began to glow. “Get out,” he hissed, a little flame licking from his open beak. The two Changelings yelped, grabbed their purses, threw down handfuls of bills, and fled. The phoenix eagle glared around at the dining room, his eyes yellow and fierce. “Does anyone else have a comment on Conal’s love life?”
“What the hell did she say?” Conal demanded, astonished and beginning to get pissed.
No one said a word, just stared at Essus in fearful, wide-eyed shock. A couple of the more powerful ones conjured shield spells, apparently aware of the kind of damage he could do. “I didn’t think so.” With a sharp nod, the phoenix eagle took off, leaving the plate behind, leftover food charred black and smoking.
To Helena’s surprise, he landed on her shoulder rather than Conal’s. She braced herself for the sharp prick of claws, but he evidently encased them in some sort of protective spell, because they merely gripped.
“Nice work,” Liam said from his holster -- high praise coming from him.
Essus rubbed his feathered head against her cheek. “Don’t listen to the little idiots.”
Helena, her face hot with embarrassed rage, forced a casual shrug. “I encountered plenty of bigots even before I got Bitten. It helps the sting when you can turn into seven feet of werewolf and eat anyone who pisses you off. Not that I would, but I like having options.”
“What. The hell. Did she say?” Conal demanded through clenched teeth, his eyes frigid with rage.
Essus lowered his voice. “That it couldn’t be more than a fling because you wouldn’t want a litter. Then the other one speculated you were into animal rescue.”
“No, I’m not.” His voice hadn’t lowered whatsoever. Everyone in the room could hear him as he turned and caught the back of Helena’s head in one hand, staring into her eyes, his stare direct, demanding. “I want a woman who is brilliant, courageous and dedicated to saving people who need saving.” He smiled, slow and sensual. “You.”
As Helena stared at him in mortified astonishment, he took her mouth in a blazing kiss. After a frozen minute, the heat of his mouth ignited her Burning Moon hunger like a match to gasoline. She began to kiss him back, one hand instinctively fisting in his shirt as their tongues swirled, lips pressing, stroking.
For one wild moment, she wanted to crawl in his lap. She could smell the arousal rolling off him in dark, delicious waves, rich and male as sandalwood. Driving her hunger higher. At the same time, the solely human part of her writhed, acutely aware of the watching Changelings and the amused Sidhe staring at them from across the table. Even as he fought a grin, Birk shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Probably getting a hard-on from all the pheromones. God knew she was getting incredibly wet.
When Conal drew back at last, he gave her a hot, glittering smile. “Siobhan doesn’t have a prayer against you.” He turned to Maireade, who looked as mortified as Helena felt. Gesturing at their untouched meal, he said, “Have this boxed up and delivered to the penthouse, please. We’ll eat it later.”
When he started to reach for his wallet, the Brounie made a warding gesture. “There’s no charge. Conal, I’m so…”
He gave her a reassuring smile, probably in reaction to her obvious misery. “You can’t control what bigots choose to do in your establishment.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Mairead growled. “Those bitches aren’t getting back in the door. Ever. Call in your order and I’ll have a fresh meal prepared and delivered.”
“Thanks.” Conal rose, taking Helena’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “We’ll call around noon and order something.” He gave Helena a deliberately hot smile. “We’re going to be… busy for a while.” The two of them strode out past the watching Changelings, Essus glaring from her shoulder. Helena maintained her best FBI face all the way out the door, not sure who she was more pissed at: the bitch sisters, Conal, Essus or herself. All of them had embarrassed the fuck out of her.