Bad Boy's Bard, page 12
If Hunter’s Moon in rehearsal had been amazing, Hunter’s Moon in performance was nothing short of a revelation. Niall was mesmerized by the interplay of the band with each other—manic Hamish, sly Tiff, quiet Josh, intense Spence—and Gareth. Bloody brilliant Gareth.
He shone. Sparkled almost. His grin flashing, curls flying. The electronic instruments and the presence of the other musicians muted his bard’s power, but it was there nevertheless.
The audience felt it. The band felt it. And Niall most definitely felt it.
The band swung from their opening instrumental piece into a song about love lost—one of those that Hamish must have been complaining about, because Gareth’s voice, with Tiff on backup, was enough to bring a duergar to tears. Niall caught himself dabbing at his own eyes because it was obvious that this was a song from Gareth’s heart, Gareth’s experience.
This is how he felt after I left.
Goddess, how could he have done this? He’d never intended to fall in love. Had never intended to make Gareth love him. It had all been a lark at first, no different than any of the other tricks he got up to in the Outer World. Rob a stagecoach. Smuggle brandy from France. Aid in a revolution—on both sides.
Eliminate the Seelie bard.
He ought to have left before things got so serious between them. Then Gareth wouldn’t have had this heartache following him down the centuries. Wouldn’t have had to mourn a lover who had never been more than an imposter, whose entire relationship with him had been based on a deception.
Gareth would never have been put in danger, and Niall would never have had to endure his incarceration. Everyone would have been better off. Yet Niall could never regret falling in love with Gareth.
For loving him still.
Onstage, the band swung into “Lover’s Reel,” and Gareth locked gazes with Niall. Niall could almost read his mind: This is for you.
Even though he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Gareth, Niall sensed when the crew in the wings near him began to sway and then dance; could see peripherally that the audience was doing the same. Even the band was moving—Josh swaying, his eyes closed as his violin sang; Spence dancing behind his keyboard; Hamish bouncing higher than usual; Tiff moving her feet in counterpoint to her bass line.
I can’t resist him. Not anymore. I’m no more immune to his allure than anyone else.
If what he’d endured already had been worth the price, then surely succumbing now—taking this second chance to love him again—surely it would be worth whatever happened later. He was different now. Gareth was different. Even Faerie was different, or would be once the Convergence was complete.
Who was to say that a broken Unseelie prince couldn’t find happiness with the last true bard, a lord of the Seelie court? Stranger things had happened.
Although no matter how Niall racked his brain—in the small amount of space not taken by Gareth’s music—he couldn’t think of a single one.
I’ll worry about it later. For tonight, I’ll live for us.
They had to do two more encores than usual. The audience wouldn’t let them go, and frankly, the band didn’t want to leave either. After his big mistake during “Lover’s Reel,” when he’d let his emotions cloud his common sense and played directly at Niall, unleashing his bardic powers and forcing everyone to dance, Gareth had contained himself. He’d only glanced at Niall from time to time, forcing himself to look away from Niall’s smoldering gaze and interact with the audience.
Oddly, it hadn’t been that difficult. He’d felt Niall’s presence there, knew he was watching, and that spurred Gareth to perform better than he had for years. Not that he ever stinted in performance. He owed it to the band and the fans to give his all. But tonight was something special, because tonight Niall was there.
The band bounded offstage, for once Josh just as lively as Hamish, and boiled down the hallway, whooping with joy. Gareth, out of breath and flying on postshow adrenaline, stopped next to Niall.
“Well?”
“Bloody brilliant.”
Gareth beamed. “You think? I hoped—”
“Oi, Gareth,” Hamish called. “Green room now.”
Gareth shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. We’ve got a postshow ritual. It won’t take long. Since we’ve got another show tomorrow night, we don’t have to strike our instruments or clear out the dressing rooms.”
“It’s all right. Do what you need to do. I’ll wait.”
“No way. You come along.” Gareth waggled his eyebrows. “There’s champagne in it for you.”
Niall grinned. “Well then, lead the way.”
Gareth was tempted to grab Niall’s hand, but he didn’t want to push things—yet. Although he didn’t quite trust himself not to jump him once they got home. He hadn’t been this high after a performance for a while, and he needed something to bring him down.
They walked into the green room just as Hamish popped the cork on the champagne. Before they drank it, though, they guzzled water like dying camels. Niall retreated to the corner again, watching them with a bemused smile, although when his gaze caught Gareth’s, there was a definite spark.
Hamish held up the champagne bottle by its neck. “Here’s to Hunter’s Moon and the best damned show we’ve ever had.”
Spence, with his arm across Josh’s shoulder, grinned and flipped Hamish off. “Speak for yourself, douchebag. All of our shows are the best we’ve ever had.”
“Aw, come on, mate. Admit it. This one was special.”
“I admit nothing. But if you’re pouring, I’m drinking.”
Everyone had a plastic glass full of champagne as they laughed and joked and came down from the high of the show. Niall took his own glass over to the corner, not intruding on the band’s camaraderie. Every time Gareth caught his gaze, Niall smiled at him, but made no move to join them.
Finally, Josh nudged Gareth with an elbow. “Go on. He’s the reason you were on tonight. You played for him. We were onstage, sure, and the audience was incredible. But for you, it was all him, wasn’t it?”
Gareth frowned at him. “Did I— I didn’t mean to let you down.”
“You didn’t. It’s just that your energy came from somewhere else tonight. I don’t begrudge it. None of us do. So go talk to him.”
“Forget that,” Spence said. “Take him home and take him to bed.”
“Shh.” Gareth glanced at Niall, but he didn’t seem to have heard Spence’s less-than-quiet comment. “It’s not like that. He’s not ready. If he still doesn’t remember—”
“I don’t think it matters if he doesn’t remember.” Josh gave Gareth a little shove in Niall’s direction. “Tonight you made a new memory. Work with it. We’ll see you at the sound check tomorrow night.”
Gareth let himself be pushed—not that he wanted to fight it. At the moment, there was nowhere else he’d rather be than with Niall. After every one of Hunter’s Moon’s concerts, he’d always felt a certain desolation when the performance high wore off and he was on his own, alone in his house in Laurel Canyon or wherever they’d stopped on tour. Tonight, he wouldn’t be alone. He couldn’t take Niall home to LA, but at least they’d be under the same roof, even if they weren’t in the same bed.
“So . . .” He fetched up next to Niall, hoping he appeared casual as he downed the last of his champagne and tossed the cup in the recycling bin. “Are you ready to go?”
“If you are. Hamish said the band was heading out to a bar. I don’t want to stop you if you want to go along.”
“No. I’m ready to call it a night. We’ve got another show tomorrow and I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Unless you want to go out?”
“Not me. I’m a more sit-by-the-fire kind of bloke these days.”
Gareth smiled at him and grabbed his jacket. “I think that can be arranged.”
When they got back to David’s house, the windows were dark, as were Bryce’s next door.
“Bryce and David were heading off to that druid confab. I guess it’s still going on.” Gareth pulled the SUV into the garage, and the automatic door slid shut behind them. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“I’m inclined to think good. At least it means they’ve got something to talk about, right? If there was no news, they’d be home by now.”
“I suppose you have a point.”
They walked into the kitchen, and suddenly things got awkward. They were alone in the house, with nobody to observe them or judge them or insulate them from each other. While an hour ago, Gareth would have sworn this was what he wanted, now he wasn’t so sure. Then he remembered: there were only two bedrooms. He wasn’t about to sleep with his brother-in-law—assuming his brother didn’t suddenly come home anyway—and Niall hadn’t exactly invited him to share the guest room bed.
True, there had been those smoldering looks during the concert, a certain heat and tension in the car as they’d driven home, but now Gareth wasn’t sure what to do. If he moved too quickly, assumed too much, he might ruin everything. But what if Niall wanted him to make a move?
Then there were Niall’s injuries. Would they allow him to do anything amorous, even if he wanted to?
I’ll never know if I don’t do something.
“So . . . do you want a snack? Something to drink?”
Niall tilted his head, studying Gareth from under quirked eyebrows. “No. I’m fixed, thank you.”
“Right. Then . . . I’ll bed down on the sofa. If Bryce were home, I’d see about staying with him—”
“Bryce?” Niall snorted. “The two of you can’t speak two sentences to one another without a catfight. What’s that about anyway?”
“He’s a druid.”
Niall’s eyebrows traveled halfway up his forehead. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
“Druids and fae—traditionally we don’t mix. And his relationship with my brother is . . . complicated.”
“What relationship isn’t? Show me an uncomplicated relationship, and I’ll show you two people in matching comas.”
“I’m also not pleased because their relationship was founded on a treasonous action by Mal: conspiracy with the Unseelie. With Eamon, actually. The two of them had no business facilitating Eamon’s plot.”
“But it was a good thing, surely. It deposed the Unseelie King.”
“You know about that?”
Niall gave him an exasperated look. “It was hard to miss.”
Gareth flushed. “I suppose. But one of the things that came out of that other than the seed of the Convergence was the knowledge that fae were created by the elder gods to be subservient to druids. And that a bond can be formed between a druid and a fae that puts the fae in the servant role.”
“And you object to your brother submitting to another man?”
“I object to any kind of coercive relationship, to any kind of power imbalance. You should know that better than anyone.”
“Should I?”
“That’s what happened to you. You were forced into a situation that stripped you of choice. How can that be good?”
Niall ran both hands through his hair. “You know what? I think that poor dead horse has been sufficiently flogged, don’t you? Do you suppose we can lay the beast to rest?”
Heat washed up his chest. “Right then. I’ll just . . . get the sofa ready.”
Niall advanced on Gareth, one slow step at a time. “Why?”
“Because . . . because I’m tired?”
“Are you? Even if you are, there’s a perfectly good bed right down the hall. Although it does have a distinct disadvantage.”
Gareth swallowed. “It does?”
Niall nodded, his eyes dark and intense. “You’ll have to share it with me.”
As much as Niall remembered from their time together, regardless of what he claimed, the one thing he truly couldn’t recall was their first kiss. Considering what a wild, reckless care-for-nobody he’d been back then, chances were their first kiss—Gareth’s first kiss ever—wouldn’t have been as tender, as careful as it should have been had Niall known the truth.
As much as it shamed him, he wasn’t sure if it would have mattered even so. He’d been living the Unseelie creed to the fullest back then, searching for the next thrill, the next mark, the next situation he could send spinning into beautiful chaos with himself at the center of the storm.
With Gareth, he’d landed in the eye of that storm, the danger he’d craved wrapped up in the forbidden nature of their relationship.
Gareth edged closer until his breath ghosted against Niall’s cheek. “That sounds like more of an advantage to me.”
Niall’s own breath seemed trapped somewhere under his heart. He twined one of Gareth’s curls around his finger, and Gareth stilled but for the quick rise of his chest. Gareth had drawn him then as he did now. If Gareth had asked, would Niall would have abandoned the Unseelie code for his sake?
How could I? His nature was bred in his bones, the stamp of his gods-bedamned father as inescapable as the shape of his nose or the color of his eyes. But once, during that brief time with Gareth, he’d wished—Goddess, how he’d wished—that he was capable of that kind of change.
He tugged on the curl. “I don’t remember our first kiss. Was it gentle? Tender? Reverent?”
Gareth smiled crookedly. “You know, I’m not entirely sure myself. I think you may have kissed me behind the stables after we held up the coach and distributed that baron’s gold to the villagers. If that’s the case, I doubt tenderness was the order of the day.”
“Adrenaline-fueled, eh? Those tend to be less nuanced. No matter. Since neither of us remember, then, let’s make this one count as the first.”
Gareth’s pupils were huge, nearly merging with the dark ring around his iris until only a narrow band of blue remained. “You’re so beautiful,” Niall murmured. He traced Gareth’s top lip with his finger and was rewarded with a gasp. “I may remember nothing else, but I remember that. And your hair . . .” He laced his fingers through the honey-brown curls. “I love your hair.”
Gareth let out a soft half-laugh, although it seemed like he had to search for the breath for it. “You always said that.”
I did. Because it’s true. “You’ll have to remind me of everything else I always said. Everything you said to me. Everything I did to you, or that you did to me. I want to know about it all. From what you remember.” Because then Niall would have the memory of what Gareth had felt then, even if his feelings changed completely when he learned the truth.
“Does the past really matter? There are things there that you don’t want to share.” Gareth traced Niall’s cheek with a gentle finger, and Niall shivered. “And there are things I don’t want to share either.”
“Really? What?”
Gareth chuckled for real this time. “Didn’t I just say I didn’t want to share?”
Niall shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying it on, eh?”
“You always said that too.”
“Shite, I was a right bastard, wasn’t I?”
“No.” Gareth cupped Niall’s jaw in both hands, the calluses on his fingers rough against Niall’s skin. “You weren’t. You were lovely. Everything about those times was lovely.” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together for a moment, but Niall could still see them tremble. “Goddess, Niall, I’ve missed you so much. You’ve no idea.”
Oh I do, my darling. I do.
While Gareth’s eyes were still closed, Niall leaned forward until his mouth was a whisper away from Gareth’s. “Then let’s waste no more time. New memories are better for us both.”
He pressed his lips against Gareth’s, gently, with every bit of the tenderness and care he ought to have shown all those years ago. Gareth’s lips parted under his, but Niall didn’t take the bait and deepen the kiss. Not yet. This was about firsts. About exploring. About learning the shape and softness and texture of Gareth’s lips. This was about restraint, not abandon. About sipping from the cup, not gulping.
Because Gareth was worth every moment and more. In the not too distant future, Niall might be denied this privilege; he needed to store up every sensation now, while he had the chance.
So he teased out the first kiss to two, three, a dozen. Still only the feel of lips on lips. Some soft as the brush of a lark’s wing. Some firm and insistent, but always, always reverent and so, so thankful for the gift.
But then Gareth must have lost patience, because he growled deep in his throat, a sound that made Niall’s already hard cock throb in his unfamiliar underdrawers. He grasped Niall’s jaw more firmly and angled his head, fitting their mouths together and laving Niall’s lips with his tongue until Niall gave in—how can I not?—and opened for him.
Only his hands on Gareth’s hips kept him standing as his knees turned to water. The taste of Gareth’s mouth, still sweet with champagne, was achingly familiar even after all these years. Niall matched stroke for stroke, call with response, as willing—no as eager—to give as to receive.
Gareth pulled back, breathing hard—as was Niall, for that matter—and pressed their foreheads together. His curls tickled Niall’s face, and Niall wanted to shout with the sheer joy it. He’d always batted Gareth’s hair out of his face when Gareth rested his head on Niall’s chest after lovemaking. In his years in the forge, he’d regretted that. He’d have given anything for that gentle torment. Now he had the chance for it again.
But would it be fair to take it now, allow an intimacy that should contain nothing but truth, when such a huge lie still lay between them?
Two lies, if it came to that, and a number of smaller deceptions and half-truths. Now that Eamon and his bride were about to change the nature of Faerie, Niall actually had a chance for a future with Gareth at the new court. Or even here, in the Outer World, where Gareth had a life and a career and Niall had champions in the very air.
But if they were to succeed, this new relationship had to be clean and free of past deceptions. Niall had to trust Gareth—that his feelings for Niall were strong enough to overcome any sense of betrayal. And that Niall would be able to convince Gareth that Seelie and Unseelie weren’t as inimical as he believed.
