Prince of Air and Darkness by Jenna Black Page A

horseshoe instead. Feeling silly once more, and yet unable to resist the impulse, she leaned forward and stretched the horseshoe out in Phantom’s direction. The wolfhound shied away, hackles bristling. She leaned back into the couch and met her mother’s eyes. Her mom made no comment, and Kiera tried to tell herself there was no significance whatsoever to Phantom’s dislike of the horseshoe.
    “I’ll give it a try,” she said, not at all sure she would. She let her mother see her to the door, Phantom hanging back instead of staying on his mistress’s heels as usual.
    Her mother was in the process of closing the door when a thought suddenly struck Kiera and she stuck her hand out. “Wait!”
    “Yes?”
    She hefted the horseshoe. “You keep claiming my father is the king of the fairies. If that’s so, why can I touch the horseshoe?”
    “He’s the King of the Seelie Court, not the king of the fairies. And though you’re at least half fey, you’re mortal, so the iron can’t hurt you. If you were ever to go to Faerie and partake of food or drink there, you’d lose your humanity, and then you wouldn’t be able to touch it anymore.”
    “Somehow I knew you’d have an explanation.”
    “See if your skepticism can survive when Hunter refuses to touch the horseshoe.”
    Kiera made a noncommittal sound and hurried away.
    ****
    Hunter woke in the morning with a headache that made him wish he were dead. He groaned and tried to will himself back to sleep, but it felt like someone had jabbed an icicle in his eye. His stomach churned, and he was poised to race for the bathroom. When the wave of nausea passed, he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. He’d only had that one swallow of whiskey last night, but it seemed that alcohol did not go well with the healing potion his mother had sent. Wincing, he dragged himself to the bathroom where he turned the shower to the hottest setting he could stand.
    The steamy air seemed to dull the pain, and when he emerged, Hunter felt much better. He suffered a brief chill when he went to the kitchen for his breakfast and saw the hook that still protruded from the ceiling. He quickly removed it and tossed it in the trash. Once he’d made himself a pot of strong coffee, he retreated to the living room to rethink his strategy.
    Yesterday’s torment, though terrible, had been nothing compared to what he would suffer if he failed in his mission. Yes, he liked Kiera. And no, he didn’t want to hurt her. But what he wanted would never, could never matter. He was a Prince of the Unseelie Court, and his life was not his own. Conscience be damned, he was going to have to find a way to get her into his bed.
    Despite the disastrous results of the interlude in the elevator, Hunter had learned an important lesson: even when Kiera succumbed to the glamour, it had an ill effect on her. As his mission required he sleep with her often enough to get her pregnant, he couldn’t afford to leave her riddled with morning-after regrets. It was time to dispense with glamour entirely and let his natural charm win her. He did have some, after all.
    Hunter’s conscience gave him another kick in the gut conjuring an image of his inevitable success. After he’d seduced and betrayed her in cold blood, Hunter would be forced to take her baby— his baby—and raise it amidst the brutality and cruelty of the Unseelie Court, under the Queen’s watchful eye. How many times had he cursed his own father for leaving him to his mother’s tender mercies?
    But of course, he wasn’t planning on leaving his child to the Queen. If he played his cards right, if he did an adequate job of acting the dutiful son, he could be a true father to his child. He could shield his child from the evils of the Unseelie Court, could maybe even mold him or her into a power that could rival the Queen’s. When he’d first been given this mission, the idea of turning the Queen’s intended pawn into a weapon against her had