Campbell Manor, later that evening
Hopkins was standing in the middle of the floor when Fiona and Christophe stepped through the portal into her drawing room.
“Welcome home, Lady Fiona,” he said. “Would you care for tea?”
She started laughing. “Only you, Hopkins. Only you would offer me tea when I’m stepping through a magic doorway.”
“If it were my place, I would be asking where you’ve been for the past several hours. I might ask where Denal is. I might ask how you stepped through a ball of light to appear in the middle of the drawing room. But I won’t ask any of it. So I repeat, would you care for tea?”
Only a slight reddening of his face and his exceedingly clipped tone gave away how worried he must have been, and she felt like an utter heel. She hugged him. He stepped away, but not before she saw the relief on his face.
“I do adore you, Hopkins. And I owe you an explanation. Why don’t we have tea, and I’ll tell you all about Atlantis. How is Sean, and where is Declan?”
“Sean is fine, healing rapidly. Sunday is his day off, of course, so he’s off with his friends somewhere. Declan is doing the same. I made up a story about you showing Christophe the sights of London when he asked where you were.”
“Thanks. I wouldn’t want him to worry, and I’m sorry I made you do so.”
They followed Hopkins into the kitchen, and he set about making sandwiches while Fiona filled the kettle and put it on to boil. While they ate, she told him about Atlantis, and after the first thirty minutes or so, he finally quit treating her as if she were mad. Christophe sat silently, eating several sandwiches, and let her tell the story. A couple of times she caught him examining her as if she were a new species of butterfly and he a scientist. It was oddly disconcerting.
“I can hardly believe you were really in Atlantis,” Hopkins said. “Maeve a Fae princess. Now,
Christophe’s expression darkened. “If she harms him, she will answer to me. I have little love for the Unseelie Court.”
“I truly believe she won’t,” Fiona said.
“I hope you’re right.”
He didn’t sound convinced, but to be honest with herself, neither was she. The Maeve who could hold such secrets so closely for so long wasn’t the woman Fiona knew.
“I’d love to see it someday,” Hopkins said. “I’ve long been a student of mythology—although, we’ll have to reclassify, won’t we? You’ve just changed everything. Fiction has become fact.”
“The world should be used to that, after vampires and shape-shifters revealed themselves,” Christophe said. “But we’re not openly announcing anything until we can raise Atlantis to the surface to take its place in the world once more.”
“It seems like a lot of people know,” Fiona said doubtfully.
“Yes, but what can they say? Atlantis exists? It would show up as a tabloid story.” Christophe shrugged and, standing, took the plates to the sink and turned on the faucet. “We still have to retrieve the Siren and two other gems before Atlantis can rise.”
“I can understand your urgency,” Hopkins said, jumping up to help clear their few dishes. “Even after you gave us your proof, we didn’t believe you. I’d so very much like to see it.”
“That can be arranged,” Christophe said, grinning. “Be nice to me and you’ll get your chance.”
“Then again, I’ve heard Morocco is an interesting place to visit,” Hopkins replied, not missing a beat.
Fiona laughed at the two of them and crossed over to the sink where Christophe was washing their dishes. She picked up a hand towel and began to dry them.
“Lady Fiona,” Hopkins said, sounding shocked. “A lady does not do dishes.”
“You know, that’s silly,” she said. “I have to eat. Why should I be exempt from cleaning up after myself? If you really want to help, will you please figure out another disguise as good as the Uma Thurman look? We’re heading out to a werewolf pub, and this time we’re taking the Ducatis.”
Chapter 29
The Melting Moon
Christophe parked the motorcycle next to Fiona’s and removed his helmet. There was something very sexy about her on a bike. Raw power controlled by a delicate, graceful woman.
Come to think of it, that came uncomfortably close to describing their relationship. He was certainly acting completely out of character lately. Wanting to actually
Nah. That last was pretty normal.
Her eyes sparkled, framed by long, lush lashes and sparkly makeup. She looked like a celestial fairy from a bedtime tale. A wicked one. She carefully shook out her hair.
“I like you as a redhead. Hot and spicy,” he said, his voice pitched low.
She flashed a sexy “come hither” smile. “Really? Tell me more, big boy.”
“Smile at me like that again, and you’ll see how big I can get,” he growled. “Everything about you makes me hard. I’m worse than a youngling with his first woman.”
She tucked her helmet under her arm and put a hand on his chest. “I like it.” She kissed him, but he forced himself not to linger over the taste of her lips. Not in the parking lot of a shape-shifter pub.
“I’ve never been here before,” she said, looking up at the pub’s sign. A full moon, painted a stark white against the dark wood, dripped a single crimson drop onto the words “The Melting Moon.” “Beautiful sign. I wonder how old it is. Pub signs have become a hot collectible, did you know that? Some of the old names are so evocative, like this one. I always like the ones with animal names and figures. The White Boar, the Blue Sow—”
“The Red Dragon,” he said, smiling at a distant memory.
“Oh, you’ve been in a few pubs in your centuries, haven’t you? It’s hard to remember that you’re so ancient.” She dodged when he tried to grab her.
“I’ll show you ancient later when I get you alone and naked.”
“Now, there’s a promise I like,” she said, putting her arm through his. “Come on, let’s go and meet some werewolves. Maybe we’ll meet an American one, here in London. Get it?”
He didn’t understand why she started laughing when he shook his head.
“I’m not sure there will be any American wolf shifters here, and they prefer that term, by the way. The word ‘werewolf’ is a grave insult. Most stay near their home packs.”
She laughed harder, and then she started humming something about werewolves in London. He was beginning to realize he understood far less about women than he’d ever suspected.
The first thing he noticed when they walked into the pub was the spicy, almost pungent scent of wolves. Lots and lots of wolves. The crush of bodies in a fairly small space made him twitchy, but they needed information and he’d learned that this was the home base of the London pack alpha and her mate.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Fiona had to speak almost directly into his ear to be heard over the din of conversation and the pounding beat of rock music. Her warm breath on his ear made his cock twitch, and he firmly told it to behave.
First he was talking to pigeons, now body parts. This was not good.
“I smell human.” A shifter who looked about the size of an orca lurched over from the bar to stand in front of Fiona, swaying and drunkenly leering at her. “Want to give me a little taste, sweetkins?”
She took a step back and tilted her head to look all the way up into the drunk’s face. “Right, then. Definitely the right place.”
Christophe sighed. “I knew I’d wind up in a fight if we came here, but I didn’t think it would happen this early.”
