The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) by Jessica Aspen

morning of the same night.” Solanum said. “They’ll just have gotten home. You’re one lucky sod.” Logan stumbled at the news of his reprieve.
    Solanum rolled his eyes. “You need food. You should be made up of ether and dreams like me.” Solanum snatched another clump of the forbidden flowers. “Then you could survive deprivation better.”
    “I’ve survived just fine. I’ll keep my mortality.” Logan headed for the cottage. Solanum’s antics made him feel tired, and much older than his meager three centuries.
    The puca snorted his disagreement.
    “I need food though, I’ll give you that,” Logan said. His stomach growled. The smell of bacon lingered on the air and the juices in his mouth ran. “I hope they feed me before killing me.” He attempted to walk to the door, but the energetic puca cut him off.
    “Aaah, maybe they’ll kill you just to set me free.” Solanum danced in a shaft of sunlight. His deeper than black coat gleamed, razor sharp hooves cut into the soft, green grass, sending clumps flying.
    Logan hid his shudder from the puca and forced a light tone. “Sorry, you’re a family heirloom, just like the hounds and my father’s sword. I’d set you free, but I’m not sure the world would survive.” He darted to the side, but Solanum was quicker. “Maybe I’ll just auction you off.”
    “If you actually owned me.” The puca tossed his gorgeous black head, sending his long mane rippling. “Who else would stand beside you while you risked your balls deceiving the queen? Who else would revel in the blood and fire and lies, hmmm?”
    His capering hooves sparked cold flame off the cobbles as he danced back and forth, blocking Logan from the door. Finally he relented, let Logan through, and danced his way to the forest. “I’m off to find something to play with.” He tossed an evil look over his shoulder.
    Solanum reveled in carnage and blood, and like all pucas, his middle name was deceit. Logan bared his teeth at the puca’s back. “Don’t go too far, I won’t be here for long.” It was some ancestor’s canny bargain and Logan’s black luck that Solanum was loyal to Logan’s family. And would be until the last one died.
    Logan released the hounds into the forest to hunt. They, at least, would come when he called. Squaring his shoulders, he let himself into the early morning silence of the house and followed the tantalizing smell of breakfast. He hesitated at the kitchen door, unsure if it was relief or concern that curled in his stomach at the sight of only two of his seven uncles waiting for him beside the lit hearth.
    Rinnal, head of the family, reclined in his favorite chair, puffing on his meerschaum pipe, a gift from the leprechauns. Logan rocked uneasily back onto his heels at Rinnal’s stern glare. Angus, second in command, leaned on the hearth next to his brother, tamping tobacco into his own pipe.
    They were both tall, muscular men whose rock hard muscles and sharp skills with sword and shield Logan respected. Both near three thousand years they would live another thousand years, easy. In the human world they’d pass for near forty, but small signs of change around the house reminded him that, like himself, they were mortal. Rinnal’s chair had a few more patches, the kitchen floor a few more creaks. Even his uncle Angus’s treasured tobacco pouch looked like it had been replaced.
    “Are ye going to wait there all day, or are ye coming in to straighten out yer mess?” Rinnal puffed rings of rich, homey cherry tobacco out with each word.
    Angus finished filling and tamping his pipe and made ready to light it. He flashed his trademark womanizer grin from under a thick black beard. “Saw what ye’ve put into the front bedroom. Did ye bring her here for yourself, or for us?”
    Hot possessive anger surged under Logan’s skin, burning the tips of his ears and revving him up despite his exhaustion.
    “Ah, quit pulling the lad’s leg.” Rinnal spoke through