Page 32 of Hunt the Dusk
I shrugged. “I guess so.” I took the lead this time, climbing the steps into the spacious structure. One moment I was in the pavilion and the next I was standing on a plush green carpet in a stone room lit by wall sconces, facing a muscled monolith on a bronze throne.
I blinked at the impressive male, all oiled pectorals and biceps, and…that face…Those eyes.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” What was his name? We’d met at the Cosmic Stars club. He’d been the bouncer there and…Shit, shit, shit.
He grinned. “Hello, Orina.”
“Crush!” I exhaled, relieved that I’d remembered.
“You will address the high clan leader by his given name!” a liveried guy to my left ordered.
“It’s all right, Tom,” Crush said. “She’s with the Order.”
“But your grace, we must?—”
Crush gave him a flat look, and he pressed his lips together and made a zipping motion.
“You can leave us,” Crush said, and Tom’s eyes rounded. “I swear to the moss and the stone, if you ask me if I’m sure, I will lose my shit.”
Tom bowed quickly and backed out of the room through a side door.
Crush relaxed in his seat and rubbed his hand over his chest, making a face. “I fucking hate this stuff.” He grabbed a towel from under his seat and wiped his skin. “No use, I’ll need to shower it off. Anointing oil, every fucking time I take the throne for an audience.”
The knots in my belly immediately eased. “You’re the clan’s high leader?” Why had I asked that? I mean, it was obvious.
“Crushale Highcrag at your service.” His grin was disarming. “Crush for short.” He climbed off his throne and grabbed a shirt from behind it, which he pulled on before running a hand over his shorn head. “Sorry about that; they’re big on the pomp and ceremony here. Follow me.”
He ducked through an arch into a corridor that led to a cozy sitting room area dotted with large sturdy-looking armchairs and a huge sofa that could probably fit all five of us on it. There was one window hung with thick winter drapes, but the view kept shifting between forest, mountain range, and lakeside.
Crush headed to a side table housing a golden jug and a couple of goblets. “Make yourselves comfortable then tell me why you’re here.”
I slipped into the nearest chair. “I could ask you the same question.”
He poured a drink from the golden jug. “I’m a Highcrag, last of the troll bloods on this side of the veil. The only royal blood this settlement of fae has, and so I get to rule.”
“So you’re what? Like a king here?”
“I consider myself more of an intermediary. I maintain the peace between the seelie and unseelie clans that have formedhere. I’m not sure how things were in faeriebeforethe evacuation, but the unseelie and seelie divide seems to work the best on this side of the veil. My word is law when they can’t agree on a path.” He took a glug of his drink, then offered me the jug. “Do you want some?”
“What is it?”
“Honey milk.”
“I’m not a fan of honey.”
“I’ll have some please,” Merry said. “I haven’t had honey milk for…well, ever.”
His gaze dipped to her and lingered. “You’re the clanless half-blood? The one raised by humans?”
Her cheeks colored, and a hint of steel entered her gaze. “They were fantastic parents.”
Crush exhaled. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He handed her a goblet of milk. “Here. Drink. It’s good.”
The hard look left her face as she accepted the goblet and drank. “Mmmm.” She licked her lips and his gaze dropped to them briefly. “That’s good.”
He topped up her goblet. “I’m glad you like it. You’re welcome here any time you want to be among your people. You don’t have to pick a side no matter what they say.”
“I don’t?”
