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“He’s not an official employee, if that’s what’s you’re asking. In fact, there’s probably some there who’d rather he didn’t help.” I couldn’t help grinning. “He has ruffled a few high-profile feathers over the decades.”

“Always a worthwhile pursuit, I find.”

He resumed his breast caressing, and my pulse rate spiked again. We needed to get a room and soon.

“So where does Loudon Fitzgerald live? If it’s in Deva, that hardly equates to a whole lot of time together.” A smile twitched my lips. “Unless, of course, you plan to take advantage of my company and make an evening of it.”

“Oh, I definitely plan to take advantage of the situation. Fitzgerald lives just outside Swansea, and I have booked an overnight stay in what is basically a treehouse surrounded by lovely old oak trees.”

And Swansea just happened to be a place I needed to go to investigate a token we’d found under the bed of a dead man. The fates, it seemed, were falling in my favor for a change.

“A treehouse? I hope it has decent facilities, because I am not one for sleeping rough.”

“You’re a pixie,” he said with a laugh. “All you should need is the song of the trees and a thick bed of leaves on which to lay.”

“I’m a pixie born and bred in Deva. I love trees, I love forests, but I also have a deep and abiding love for a proper bed and bathroom facilities.”

He shook his head sadly, though deep amusement glinted in his eyes. “I find this lack of adventure in a pixie troubling.”

“My brother got all the adventure genes. I got all the ones needing basic comforts.”

He laughed again. “Then you’ll be pleased to know the treehouse comes with a basic kitchen and bathroom facilities.”

“Basic I can cope with.”

“Does that mean you’ll accompany me?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.”

I smiled at the satisfaction so evident in his voice. “I take you want me there not just for seduction purposes, but to enforce truthful replies?”

“No, because he’s elf kind and immune.”

“Fitzgerald isn’t an elf name, though, so does that mean he’s a half-breed?”

We did seem to be coming across a few of them at late, even though I’d been under the impression “accidents” rarely happened.

“As far as my understanding goes, he’s full-blood. He apparently adopted the use of a more common name to make his dealings with humans easier. Distrust of elves does run high in some quarters.”

And with good reason in many cases. “Unless he also changed his appearance, it wouldn’t have helped all that much.”

“I thought the same. But he is of Autissien stock, so I asked some friends who live near that compound if they could ask around. Apparently, he underwent plastic surgery after a fire in his youth left him disfigured. His family subsequently disavowed him.”

Because light elves were, generally speaking, against any sort of plastic surgery. They considered themselves divinely beautiful—and they absolutely were—and believed therefore that their gods-given perfection should not be messed with.

“Then why am I accompanying you to see him if I can’t magic him?”

He caught my chin with his free hand and lightly turned my face toward him. Then his lips came down on mine, his kiss long and lingering.

“Aside from the fact I get to spend more time with you,” he murmured eventually, “Loudon is something of a lecher, and you, my dear, are gloriously sexy. Wear something that suitably enhances your assets, and he will be too busy ogling to pay full attention to what I might be asking.”

I laughed. “Well, if he follows the usual light elf creed, it shouldn’t be too hard to distract him. But be warned—if he starts getting handsy, I’ll smack him down.”

“If he starts getting handsy, I’ll smack him down.” He kissed me again and then murmured, “Shall we take this elsewhere?”

“I think we should.”