Tempting Ballad Page 2

  Renn was all slender lines he couldn’t help but drink in, the darkened hues of midnight shading his sepia skin. Those full lips pursed as the satyr stared him down, curved horns peeking through from his wild, thick black hair that begged for a good tug. His eyeliner had streaked from sweat, and a sheen glistened along his skin. His thin tank top plastered to him, revealing a toned chest Kincaid had explored every inch of.

  Most of the time, one night was all he could hold onto when it came to lovers—most of them couldn’t handle his work schedule, his one-track determination, or his long-term plan to upheave the fae Courts. However, one night with Renn Cantrell made him want to try for more.

  Renn crooked an eyebrow. “Is this part of your Anarchy in the UK: Fae Edition plot? Because the last time we did you a favor, we got dragged into your mess.”

  “Which I’m happy to keep you out of—or at least on the fringes,” Kincaid responded. His fingers itched to reach out and touch Renn, to drag him closer. “Look, I know I didn’t disclose the whole truth last time. Would you have helped me if I had?”

  Renn shrugged. “The band, no. Me? Depending. I don’t give a damn about the Courts.” The disdain in his tone made his position clear, and Kincaid didn’t want to ignore the trickle of relief at the sound. If most of the folks he associated with knew his true aims, they’d run from him screaming. The fact Renn approached him here in the first place meant more than the satyr could know.

  “Look, I get running off with me is a big request,” Kincaid started. While he’d gathered the ammunition to sway Renn, he wasn’t sure how deep his family ties took him or where his loyalties lay.

  “I’ll do it,” Renn interrupted, his tone weighted with a seriousness he never expected from the teasing satyr. “If you’re telling the truth about finding my sister, I’ll do it.”

  “I am,” Kincaid responded, relief rushing through him. Each part of this plan had been a precarious step, listening to the wood creak and wondering if he would fall through. “The information wasn’t easy to come by, but I’ve got more connections than you could dream of.”

  Renn took a step in closer, a predatory gleam returning to his eyes. “Vigilante against the establishment and rich guy CEO with more connections than necessary? Bust out some fancy tech and you’re pretty much fae Batman.” Inches away, the scent of sweat and cloves coming from Renn had him growing hard in a heartbeat.

  He reached out to trace Renn’s cheek with his fingertips. “If that’s how you get your kicks, I’ll be whatever you want, sweetheart.”

  Renn exhaled a sharp breath, the pulse of his neck fluttering. “Don’t fucking tease, Mr. I’m Here for Business.”

  Kincaid couldn’t help his grin at the man’s eternal sass. He’d never met anyone who dared to mouth off at him like they were equals, not after he’d risen the ranks in both the Courts and his company. Power had a way of making people veer away.

  He slipped his fingers through Renn’s hair and dragged him closer. The man’s lithe body pressed against his, smooth skin he wanted to bite. The hard press of Renn’s erection against his thigh tested the constraints of his willpower.

  “Look, I know you’ve got to get back with the band,” Kincaid murmured, Renn’s lips a whisper away. “But my hotel’s in Boston. Meet me after your gig tomorrow night, and maybe I can ditch the business suit and we can get into something a little more fun. We’ll head out the morning after you arrive.”

  Renn cast a guilty glance to the venue, Alchemy, as if the band listened from inside. Kincaid knew he was throwing out a big ask—not only would the rest of Discord’s Desire disapprove, but based on how long they took, he’d be depriving them of their drummer.

  Kincaid tugged Renn’s hair, unable to resist himself. The man’s moan thrummed against his lips, and desire roared inside him.

  “Fine,” Renn responded. “Tomorrow night. But I’m holding you to your end of the promise. If I talk to your fancy fae family, you’re helping me track my sister down.”

  “Believe it or not, my heart still has a bit of juice left in it. And a little sister of my own at that, one I’d overturn an entire outdated system to protect,” Leo murmured. “There’s no way I would duck out of finding yours.” The inch between their mouths was agonizing, but the feel of Renn’s silky strands between his fingers and the press of his hot, sweaty body spiked Leo’s need so high that if he gave in, he’d be taking him here in this alley.

  He gave Renn’s hair one last tug and stepped to the side, forcing the distance between them.

  Renn licked his lips, disappointment clear in his eyes. “You’re a fucking cocktease, you know that?”

  Kincaid couldn’t resist his grin as he pressed the business card from his hotel into Renn’s palm. “A little waiting never killed anyone. Besides, I’ve got to hold onto some incentive to make sure you end up in my bed tomorrow night. Last time I gave you my personal number, you pulled the vanishing act.”

  Renn shrugged. “Not like you called.”

  Leo lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t beg. But if I have my way tomorrow night, you will.”

  “Promises, promises,” Renn said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. The outline of his erection made Leo’s mouth water, but he hadn’t been kidding—he needed Renn to show tomorrow night, in more ways than one. Renn turned on his heel and tossed a hand in the air. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. You put a cigarette in that mouth and I’m not letting it anywhere near my cock.”

  Kincaid’s smile widened. The horny little fuck had a filthy mouth, and he couldn’t deny he loved it. He leaned against the brick wall and slipped his hands into his pockets as he watched Renn walk away.

  ****

  Breakfast was the best time to plan a revolution.

  Sunlight streamed in through the wide windows framing the Boston Harbor at the aptly named hotel, and Kincaid settled back in the carved walnut seats, surveying the cup of coffee in front of him. He’d requested the seat in the corner of the room, tucked away enough that the average diner wouldn’t hear their conversation. Not like he planned on broadcasting their discussion anywhere this public.

  Marisa sat at his right, her black hair pulled into a tight bun and her pinstripe dress the ultimate mix of business and class. To his left sat one of his right-hand men from the beginning, Claude Martinez. The selkie was as loyal as they came. The man had saved his life early on and held just as big of a grudge with the Seelie Courts—especially the King.

  “Have you made any headway with the Ashewarrens?” Marisa asked, taking a sip from her Bloody Mary.

  “That’s in progress,” Kincaid said, drinking another gulp of coffee. The steaming liquid offered relief, the exact sort of intensity to keep his head in the game. Not like his mind hadn’t drifted to a certain satyr multiple times last night. “We’ll be pioneering into that route. In the meanwhile, I need both of you strengthening our alliances on the Seelie side of the equation. Who have you contacted recently?”

  Leo’s ultimate aim had never been anarchy. The Courts were corrupt, the system needed to be dissembled, but he planned for a new future, for a better route than the antiquated nobility no longer fitting this new world they lived in. The hunters offered a convenient distraction right now at least. He needed to figure out a way to sway them to his side, but they remained as elusive as ever.

  “We’ve managed to acquire all of Alberich’s remaining assets that hadn’t been seized by the King,” Marisa spoke up. His sister was a powerhouse, her skill for wheeling and dealing sometimes outpacing his own. Back when he’d taken the first steps down this path, they’d been for her—so the Courts could never tear apart another family again.

  “I’ve been in talks with the Court prisoners. Most of them might be scumbags and partially insane, but you know there are wrongfully accused in the mix. And a dungeon-wide riot might be the exact thing to keep the King occupied,” Claude responded.

  “The Accords weren’t enough to overturn the status quo,” Leo murmured. “Som
ething needs to be done about him.” And yet, a retinue constantly protected the Seelie King, and the man roamed from the Otherworld to random locations across the human realm with such an expediency he was difficult to pin down.

  “Isn’t it a bit early for talk of regicide?” Claude responded, a grin curling his lips.

  “Never too early with this crowd,” Marisa murmured, rolling her eyes.

  The server swung over, and the table silenced on impulse. Kincaid hadn’t stopped scanning the room, the vigilance something that branded his bones for as long as he could remember. Their orders were placed before them with efficiency he’d expect in the Otherworld, and before he could even offer his thanks, the server flashed a smile and sped off.

  Kincaid tugged his Eggs Benedict forward, the sharp scent of the hollandaise causing his stomach to rumble. Marisa sank a spoon into her poached egg, and Claude dove into his smoked salmon and crème fraiche over a bagel. For several moments, silence dominated the table as they set into their food.

  “Good work, both of you,” Kincaid said between sips of coffee and bites of his breakfast. His plan followed less direct steps and more an untamed garden of connections and enemies eliminated or distracted while he continued to move forward. There was one way to get what he wanted, one key item on his agenda they’d need to cross off, but he hadn’t reached that yet. He wouldn’t be there for a while.

  Yet ever since the Accords had been shattered, he’d vaulted closer to his goal than ever before.

  “There’s a rumor floating around that might concern you, though,” Marisa spoke up, pointing the tines of her fork in his direction. She gave him a knowing look, meaning this was less business and more personal. “Hunters have been spotted in the city, and word on the street is, they’re searching for a venue to crash.”

  Goddamn. He knew who’d be broadcasting loud and clear on the hunter radar.

  “That should be simple enough to handle,” he said, flashing his sister a grin. She’d been the only person who’d figured out his interest in Renn Cantrell was a little more than business, and of course, she’d be keeping a pulse on the band.

  He could leave well enough alone and just wait for Renn to arrive at their discussed time. In fact, he should do that.

  However, with Discord’s Desire drawing attention from fae and humans alike, there was no chance on the planet the hunters would miss the chance to murder every fae in the place—the band included.

  Chapter Three

  The RV chugged along under Trevor’s grandmotherly supervision while they made their way to Boston. They had a whole stretch of gigs to play in Puritan City, which offered a thriving music scene to dip into.

  Renn leaned against the vinyl booth, tapping against the side of his empty coffee mug. He’d already finished java number three for the day, and he wasn’t sure if guilt, hunger, or anticipation steered his nerves right now. The hollow thump in his chest had expanded ever since he’d told Kincaid he would show up last night, but he couldn’t turn back.

  Even if the idea of ditching Discord’s Desire for any stretch of time twisted his stomach into knots.

  Even if the idea of them replacing him with a new drummer made him want to retch.

  Yet Renn had been searching for word of his sister Belle for years now, from the very day she went missing. After fifteen years of dead ends and splintered leads, he’d never given up—not like the rest of his family.

  “Winter’s breath, you keep tapping on the mug and you’re going to break it,” Jett called over as he approached from the back.

  “We’ll buy a new one,” Kieran said with a shrug, his head in Liz’s lap on the other booth seat as she ran her fingers through his hair. Blissed out like this, the man was the total opposite of the firecracker lead singer he’d first met, like the man had been body snatched.

  Renn bared his teeth and lifted the mug. “I’m practicing.”

  Liz’s phone buzzed, and she gave Ky the nudge off her lap.

  He let out a mix between a whine and a groan while she made her way closer to the front of the RV.

  “Poor baby,” Jett called over to him. “You can come sit in my lap.”

  Renn flashed a grin. “You can sit in mine and come.”

  Jett let out an annoyed noise while Ky’s eyes crinkled with amusement. He let out a bark of a laugh.

  “Fuck,” Liz’s voice rang out from up front.

  Kieran shot like an ion thruster down the aisles while both Jett and Renn looked her way. Liz spewed curses even after she hung up with whoever spoke on the other end of the phone. Whatever caused her reaction, the news couldn’t be of the pleasant, kittens and puppies, variety. Ky skidded to a halt in front of her in time for her to suck in a deep breath. Like that, her features melted into her normal, cool demeanor, pure opposite of their lead singer’s bluster.

  “So, that was the owner of House of Blues,” Liz began. Based on the storm clouds in her eyes, she wasn’t promising sunny skies. “The gig is cancelled tonight because someone called in a bomb threat. I’m really sorry, guys. We’ve never booked a bigger venue.”

  Renn’s chest twisted tight. Tonight had been about more than playing at some flashy venue. This had been his last chance to play with the guys on stage, to pound his heart out before he ran off to Kincaid’s hotel room to hunt for his sister. Before everything changed. He didn’t know if he’d have a place to return to here after the way he’d be ditching.

  And Ky, Trev, and Jett, Liz too, they’d fight for him if he confessed the whole story with his sister. Hell, even Danica might be swayed. But the rest of them held a grudge against Kincaid deeper than the Mariana Trench, and they’d try to convince him not to go.

  He also knew he’d regret it the rest of his life if he let the first lead on Belle in over a decade slip through his fingers.

  Ky slipped an arm around Liz’s shoulders. “Stop beating yourself up, babe. I’ll just give you a personal show.”

  “Get a room,” Jett groaned. “Preferably not in this RV.”

  “We should at least have a night out on the town,” Renn suggested. “If I can’t pick up anyone at our concert, I’ll have to start prowling the bars.” Bold faced lie, but he liked to hide behind them. His heart twisted. The words bubbled up on his lips, threatening to spill over, but he closed his mouth and swallowed them back.

  “Fae-friendly or avoid all contact?” Jett asked. Ever since the Accords broke, they’d stuck to their usual policy of operating on the fringes.

  “I mean, I’m not going to run at the sight of our kind,” Renn responded with a shrug. “But we should be avoiding hunter hotspots.” Something nagged at him, the subtlety of a bomb threat, and the fact that they were an all-fae band playing in a large public venue. His nerves thrummed louder and louder in the silence, and he tugged out his phone to start skimming for the local bars.

  “I’m all for running on sight at my kind,” Liz commented, a less than amused look on her face. “Especially considering their greetings are slash and burn.” As a hunter who grew up apart from her own, she’d never gone through the same anti-fae indoctrination the rest of them clung to.

  He paused on one listing. “Found our spot for tonight,” Renn announced. “We’re heading to the Hanging Tree.”

  “Well that’s a bit maudlin,” Trevor called from up front as he made his way to the back. They all glanced at each other, seeming to realize at the same time the RV was no longer moving. “Y’all can stop stressing. We have plenty of other gigs to play. Besides, Dani’s meeting with us tonight.”

  Renn’s heart lodged in his throat every time they mentioned the future. Where his had been a clear line a mere day ago following whatever route Liz mapped out for them with the rest of the band, now he shook the magic eight ball and got ‘reply hazy, try again.’

  He’d always been like this. Dive into the next adventure without a thought, tumble headfirst into the newest idea. However, the band here—they weren’t tenuous connections like his shitty family—
this was something real, bonds that had kept him with the same people for years. His stomach clenched, and he tapped a percussive beat to the side of his empty mug again.

  If he wouldn’t get the chance to play with them one more time, then he’d have to savor every minute they had tonight.

  Before he left.

  ****

  The Hanging Tree was all red oak from the floors to the ceilings, the Edison bulb drop lights casting mellow halos on the floor. The woodburned print of a Ouija board decorated the back, and a small stage graced the far wall of the place. No live music played, and the static volume of people packed into this joint drowned out the radio attempting to play over their sound system. Renn claimed a table on the far end closest to the stage, sliding into his seat before everyone else approached.

  Jett sank into the seat beside him and cast a surveying glance around the room. “What do you think the prospects are like tonight?”

  Renn wrinkled his nose as he glanced around. He spotted a few stunners by the bar, from the brunette girl with the smoky eyes and perilous curves to the hot guy, all muscles and flame red hair. “I’ve got a couple in mind already, but I’m willing to grab some food with you lot before I go to pillage.” He wanted every spare second he could with their makeshift family before he headed to Boston Harbor Hotel tonight.

  “So benevolent,” Liz drawled. “Gracing us mere mortals with your presence.”

  Renn snorted, and Kieran plopped into the seat across from him. Trevor sat next to him, and Danica and Liz both claimed opposite end seats.

  “I’m shocked I didn’t arrive to find you guys burning down a building or fleeing from a hunter attack,” Danica commented, flipping open the menu. The woman wore a royal purple dress, her hair pulled into a neat chignon—night and day different from their jeans and leather crew. “Word in the Courts is there’s a group led by Darren Andrews descending in Boston tonight.”