Macabre Melody: Book 7 in the Spellsinger Series

by Amy Sumida

  So, Slate Devon sent his gargoyle goons to catch us. Which meant that he likely sent them to catch the Sasq'ets too. I had been right; they'd died in the arena. But why put the bodies back? I frowned at him; I needed to feel this out a little more. Pick away at him until he bled the truth.

  “I did plenty to that gorgon today,” I said grimly. “I'll get out of here, and then I'm coming for you.” You fucking sadistic bastard. Did you watch them get skinned? Or did you turn away while your champion took his prizes?

  “A threat?” His eyes gleamed. “Not the best tactic in your position.”

  “You're right. I shouldn't have warned you.” Tell me more; go on and brag. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  Slate backtracked to the girl instead. “You don't even know her name but you care if she eats?”

  “My friend Cerberus asked me to help her people.” I waved at a bottle of wine between us. “You mind?”

  Slate's lips twitched into a quick smile. “Help yourself.”

  I poured myself a glass and took a sip. “Not bad.”

  “It should be better than not bad,” he said. “It's two-thousand dollars a bottle.”

  I widened my eyes at that. I've never understood spending that kind of money on wine, and I have lots of money to blow. Oh, I'm willing to dish out some dough for a better tasting beverage, but nothing tastes good enough to warrant two grand. That sip had proven it to me. In my opinion, it was a waste of money. You were literally pissing it away.

  “Anyway,” I went on, “they're Cer's friends, and Cerberus is my best friend. His people are my people. Her name doesn't matter; I swore I'd protect them. I'm not in a position to protect the others at the moment, but I will damn well do all I can to protect her.” I stared at him; waiting for him to say something about the Sasq'ets who died in his arena; to taunt me with the ones I couldn't save. But he didn't so I went on. “Regardless of all that; she's a child. People are supposed to protect children. It's an unspoken rule called morality.”

  “You don't have to put on this act with me,” he said in exasperation. “I work with thieves, murderers, and mercenaries. I'm impressed more by your prowess in the arena than by your sympathies for this girl.”

  “I don't give a gargoyle's fuck what impresses you, Devon,” I snapped. “You think that I planned this speech to make you like me? That's bullshit and you know it. I just fucking vowed to kill you. Why would I try to win you over after that?”

  “Are you always this crass?” He asked as if he were truly interested.

  “I adjust my speech to suit the situation,” I said in my queen tone. “As a champion,” I said the word snidely, “in a fighting arena, I think crass fits the bill. Lots of F-words and maybe even a few Cs and Ds. This pretty room doesn't change the fact that I'm still a prisoner.”

  He smirked. “Fair enough.” Then he frowned. “Are you talking about the C word that I think you're talking about?”

  “Cocksucker?” I asked sweetly.

  Slate burst out laughing; a guffaw of sound that just sort of popped out of him. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe I'd made him laugh and then sipped at his wine. His eyes were still full of that laughter when he lifted them to me. It made him attractive in a whole new way. A way that made my mouth dry. I looked determinedly down at my food.

  “Why do you find it so difficult to believe that I could care about a little girl?” I asked as I sliced into the lamb. “Jago said something about it too. Is it the same reason he's baffled; because I'm vicious in the arena?”

  Slate stared at me a few minutes—the amusement fading from his gaze—and then took a deep breath as he considered me further.

  I went back to eating. I wasn't going to keep asking the same question; he'd heard me just fine. Besides, the lamb was good; better than the wine. I still drank my whole glass and then poured another; if for no other reason than to waste his money. But even that didn't break Slate's stony stare. Stony. I almost giggled at that.

  “I've heard things about you,” he finally said. “They haven't been the most... flattering.”

  I stopped eating. Put my fork down. Took a sip of wine. Not too much; it might sour in my stomach with the shit he was bringing up.

  “Are you going to respond to that?” Slate didn't have my patience.

  “What did you hear?” I asked in a conversational tone. “That I'm a killer? That I'm heartless. That I nearly destroyed an entire race? An entire planet? That I brutalized my own people? My own parents?”

  His eyes widened at the last bit.

  “It's all true,” I said grimly. “Except for the heartless part. It turns out that even killers can love. Who would have thought?”

  “That's it?” Slate asked furiously. “It's all true?”

  “I'm not going to sit here and explain my actions to you. Frankly, what I did is none of your fucking business. It had nothing to do with you or your people. What I felt back then is none of your business, and what I feel now, about the girl, is none of your business. The only thing you have a right to be concerned about is the bargain we made; that's it.”

  “You asked why I was shocked,” he pointed out. “You made it my business. I don't give a fuck about your feelings, Elaria. Everyone has issues; keep yours to yourself. I'm just telling you why I don't believe you.”

  “Fine.” I went back to eating. “We've established that you think I'm a murderous bitch incapable of caring for a child. Glad we got that out of the way.” And right back atcha, asshole.

  “You will accept the meals you've won from here forward,” Slate said imperiously. “I can't have my prize-champion falling over from malnutrition.”

  “We had a deal,” I growled around my mouthful of veggies.

  “I'll feed the girl too,” he snapped. “Her name is Tessa, by the way.”

  “How the hell did you find out her name?” I grumbled.

  “I told you, Elaria; I hear everything.” He leaned back in his seat and stared at me smugly.

  “I thought you saw everything?”

  “That too.”

  “How did you become a zone lord?” I asked him suddenly. Let's shake things up a bit.

  “We're making dinner conversation now?” He asked in surprise.

  “I only have Jago to talk to,” I muttered. “They moved Cerberus.”

  Slate chuckled. “Every gargoyle covets this position. It's power and prestige; not just among the Gargoyles but among all Beneathers. This is my world; subject to my whims.”

  “You make this place yourself?” That's right; sink back into a casual conversation; get him talking. Sure, I could come out and ask him about the Sasq'ets, but I wouldn't trust what he said. It needed to be a slip of the tongue.

  “My brothers and I made this zone.” His face softened. “They don't have the head for business that I do.”

  “So, you got to be the leader?”

  “That's right.” Slate considered me. “Since we're talking like civilized people; I've heard that you have five lovers. How did that happen?”

  I nearly spewed expensive wine all over the table. “You do hear a lot, don't you?”

  He smiled and looked me over. “You're beautiful, but not the sort of beauty I'd imagine could sway five men into sharing one woman.”

  “Yeah; I know.” I smiled at him instead of being insulted. Truth was truth; no sense getting upset over it. “I guess I'm just lucky.”

  Something in my face must have betrayed me because Slate's smirk disappeared and he leaned forward to stare harder.

  “How did it happen?” He asked again.

  “How did I get five lovers?” I asked just to mess with him and draw it out.

  He nodded; unruffled.

  “They're not just my lovers, by the way.” I sipped my wine and stared back. Maybe if I gave him a little, he'd loosen up and do the same. “Four are of them are my fiances, and the last is my mate. He didn't want a ceremony; said it was unnecessary. We're already bound tighter than any words could bind
us.”

  “The griffin,” Slate said.

  “Sounds as if you don't need me to tell you my stories.” I went back to eating. “You got me all figured out,” my tone implied that he never would.

  “You're the one who wanted conversation,” he pointed out.

  I looked up as I chewed. He lifted a dark brow at me in challenge.

  “Got any more wine?”

  Slate chuckled and stood.

  “Well, fuck me,” I whispered as his body was revealed. And no; that wasn't a Freudian slip. I was just surprised, and I was slipping further into my champion—Cerberus inspired—potty mouth.

  Slate scowled at me. “What?”

  “I just...” I waved at the sculpted perfection of his body; the muscles that came on full display beneath his tight, black shirt and jeans.

  Slate was taller than Jago and formed in a sleeker way. Not too big, not too lean; just fucking perfect. Like a predator cat. His shoulders, the expanse of his chest, his biceps, even his damn thighs; everything looked built to chase prey and kill it efficiently. I was used to an in-your-face type of masculinity, but Slate was something more subtle; more pervasive and insidious. He was a spark to the senses followed by a slow burn that rose higher until it became an inferno.

  I'd been too focused on fury before, and he'd been half covered by furniture and a tailored suit; looking all harmless, all businessman and zone lord. Now, he was in bad boy attire with his bad self on display. Sly move. I wondered if he'd done it on purpose. If he knew the effect he had. Had he heard my comment about his metrosexual look and decided to change into this... GQ biker ensemble? I analyzed his confused expression and wasn't sure. So, I decided to tell him the truth and see what he did with it. Maybe it would unsettle him enough to relax his guard around me; figuratively and literally. In fact, I might even lay it on thick just for fun.

  “I wasn't expecting all of that. You need to prepare a girl before you put that in her face.” I waved a hand in floppy circles at his chest. “I'm sitting right here; like a foot away from you. It's a lot to get slammed with. What are you, like, built out of marble? Did your mama carve you outta stone? Are you literally a chip off the old block?”

  Slate stared at me in shock for three seconds before another surprised bark of laughter shot out of him. I giggled a little too; I might have taken it a bit far. Rolling with the moment.

  “I think that's the most adorable compliment—or string of compliments—I've ever received,” Slate murmured as his eyes heated.

  “Whoa now, buddy.” I held up my fork between us as my smile faded. “I didn't mean anything by that. Just an observation. Five men, remember?”

  His smile lost a sliver of its radiance, but Slate wasn't the sort of man to be dissuaded by competition. In fact, it looked as if he was the type who was intrigued by it. As his eyes wandered over me, I realized that my little bit of fun may have just been a red flag waved in front of a gargantuan bull. Gargoyle-gantuan.

  “Hey! Knock off the lust look.” I swung my fork back and forth in front of Slate's face. “You don't even like me. I'm a murderous bitch.”

  Slate's grin disappeared entirely, and he turned crisply on his heels. I thought I heard him mutter something like, “So, everyone keeps telling me,” as he strode through a door behind his chair. I frowned after him, and then quickly slipped my knife under my shirt. I wished I was still wearing my sweater; it would have hidden the knife better. But Jago had brought me a few sets of prison clothes—black cotton tunics and pants—and taken my sweater and jeans. At least the top was loose. If I sucked in my stomach, the knife handle shouldn't show.

  Slate came back a few minutes later with a fresh bottle of win—already opened—and his usual, arrogant expression firmly in place.

  He poured me another glass and then resumed his seat. “You were going to tell me how you managed to convince five men to share you.”

  “How I managed.” I chuckled. “You've got a knack for being a dick, don't you?”

  “It's a gift and a curse.” He held out his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture.

  That earned him a giggle.

  “I collected them one at a time.” I shrugged. “Torin was first, and then I met Declan. I thought Torin had cheated on me so I left him. Declan tracked me down, I nearly got together with him, but Torin interrupted us. Cleared up a few things; found out he hadn't cheated. Got back with Torin. Meanwhile, Banning kept telling me that we were meant to be together because we'd been in love in a past life.”

  “A past life?” Slate asked in derision.

  “Yeah, I know.” I smirked. “I was convinced he was pulling a Dracula on me, but it happened to be true. I know it for a fact; got the memories to prove it.”

  “What? Reincarnation?” He scoffed.

  “Hard to believe, don't I know it,” I said. “But, it's true, and what Banning told me was true as well. I loved him; still do. So, there I was; in love with two men and falling for a third when my parents and several of my aunts got kidnapped by one of my father's best friends.”

  Slate lifted his brows.

  “Oh, your little spy network didn't tell you about the sirens being stolen by a witch?” I asked gleefully. I was getting into this. Talking about it all felt cathartic. “The man's name was Thomas Frost, and he created a spell called the Rooster. It gave him power over the sirens; sexual power. He kidnapped them and put them under his thrall. Used them. Made them his little hen harem.” I stopped to grind my teeth together; remembering what he'd done to my family. “A group of us went after Frost, and I killed him. As he died, he cast the Rooster on me.”

  “He cast a spell on you that he'd already cast on himself?” Slate asked; obviously intrigued, despite himself.

  “Yep.” I nodded. “Magic wants to live. It left him eagerly, clung to me, and did exactly what he knew it would do; fucked with my life. Even after death, that man continued to torment me.”

  Slate frowned and then his eyes widened. “It made you want more than one lover.”

  “It made me need more than one. Several, in fact,” I said. “I won't go into the torrid details, but it took awhile for Torin to come around. For awhile there, it was only Declan and Banning, but they weren't enough to satisfy the spell. It needed energy, and it started consuming me from within; literally burning me out. I had to find another man and fast.”

  “The griffin.”

  “The griffin,” I confirmed. “Gage. A witch cast a spell for me; to draw to me the man I was meant to be with. It brought me Gage. He's the first griffin to take a non-griffin mate.”

  “The other griffins, his family, they're okay with your... relationship?” Slate asked.

  “They are,” I said with a little of my own surprise. “Griffins value strength and a spellsinger is even better than a griffin in their opinion. Worth the sacrifice. I'm a rare bird.”

  “So you are,” he murmured. “That's four. What about the fifth?”

  I looked Slate over; considering whether I wanted to go into the whole goddess thing. I didn't. That would lead to other questions that I didn't want to answer.

  “Darcraxis,” I said. “Darc came along last... and first.” I made a huffing sound of amusement. My life was so strange.

  Slate cocked his head.

  “But that's a story I'm not willing to share.” I went back to eating.

  “Fair enough,” he said softly. “So, how are you liking the fights I've chosen for you?”

  I gave him a fuck-you look.

  Slate chortled. “Excellent. That was just the reaction that I was hoping for.”

  “I'll bet it was,” I said and then frowned. “Is it because of those rumors you've heard? Is that why you're giving me hell?”

  Slate shrugged. “Would that bother you?”

  “No; it would make sense to me. But you don't seem like the type torture a stranger based on rumor.” I narrowed my eyes at him thoughtfully.

  “You confirmed the rumors,” he reminded me.


  “Just now.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps I was bored.”

  “So, you said to yourself, 'Hey, Slate, let's go fuck with that bitch over there. We heard some nasty stuff about her; that's enough justification to torture someone, right?'”

  Slate chuckled. “Something like that.”

  I started eating again. When had this become about me? I was supposed to be getting him to talk, not the other way around. It pissed me off.

  “You're not going to try to change my mind about you?” He asked.

  “I told you; I don't care what you think.”

  “Even if it affects your well-being?” Slate's voice lowered to a dangerous tone.

  I sighed deeply and set down my fork before I met his stare. Something was squeezing tight inside me. Guilt; it could crush you if you let it. I decided to face it instead. Know thyself. It was good advice. I knew that ignoring my guilt wouldn't just poison me, it would give Slate power over me. He said that he worked with thieves and murderers; surely he recognized the same qualities in me. Better to just acknowledge it all and keep it real... on both sides.

  “I deserve everything you dish out, Devon. But does that make it right for you to cook it up?” I lifted a brow and stared steadily at him. I may be a murderer, but so are you, buddy. “Or does that make you a monster too?”

  Slate scowled and sat back in his seat. He stared at me in silence while I finished my meal, and then he walked me back to my cell in silence. As soon as I was inside, he threw me against the wall; quick as a snake. I gasped as Slate pressed his body against mine; showing me exactly how hard those muscles were. My heart was pounding in my throat. His stare wavered; dropped to my lips. I could barely breathe; he was pressed so tightly against me. He eased back enough to slide a hand beneath my shirt. I shivered; a jolt of shocked fear. Was he seriously going to rape me after all that?

  Slate's fingertips trailed over the bare skin of my belly. Oh, sweet stones, was it even going to be rape? Come on, Elaria; fight him! I was about to thrash against his grip when his fingers closed around the handle of the knife I'd stuck into my pants. My face flushed as he pulled it slowly out; sliding it up my side, over the outer curve of my breast, and then he set it against my throat.