Macabre Melody: Book 7 in the Spellsinger Series

by Amy Sumida

  Slate's warm lips brushed over mine in the exact way they had in my dream.

  “Oh, Gods,” I whispered in horror. “I betrayed them.”

  Slate stiffened and pulled away. “It was just a little fingering. You didn't betray anyone.”

  “A little...” I gaped at him. “Really? If I were yours, and I did that with another man—”

  “You are mine!” Slate roared. “You can't betray them here because there is no 'them' here. Do you understand me, Elaria? You're mine within the Zone. I am God here, and I own you.” He grabbed my collar and pulled me forward with it. “Tell yourself whatever you want to ease your wounded pride, but the truth is; the man who controls your magic, controls you. You can fight me and what your body feels for me, but it doesn't make an ounce of difference. I could take you now if I wanted to, and you'd be powerless to stop me. I could bend you over this table, pull up that skirt, and fuck you until you made that growling scream again.”

  “Then why didn't you fuck me this morning?” I snapped. “If I really am yours; why did you tell me to run?”

  “Because I don't rape women!” Slate shouted. The words echoed around us, and he looked startled. He took a deep breath and tried again, “I'm not a rapist. I don't like crying women carrying on about how I took them against their will. I like my women eager and anxious for what I can give them.” Slate leaned in and took a deep breath. His eyes closed and he shuddered as he growled, “Wet. Writhing. Wanting. When you finally realize that you want me too—when you say the words and make it clear that you know what's between us and that you want it—then I'll fuck you. I'll make you mine in every way.”

  “That's never going to happen.” I was proud of my steady voice. If only my hands would stop shaking.

  A hesitant knock sounded on the door.

  “Enter!” Slate snapped as he glared at me.

  “Your dinner, Sir.” A nymph came in with a tray of food.

  She looked back and forth between us—still glaring at each other—and set the tray down on one of the tables near the door before she scrambled out of the room.

  Slate's glare shifted into a self-deprecating smile. “Look at us,” he murmured. “We're so fucking hot for each other that we're about to tear each other apart.”

  I looked away.

  “You can't deny it, Elaria,” he whispered as he slid a hand around my waist. “Not after this afternoon. You want me.”

  “The needs of my body have nothing to do with the needs of my mind. Or my heart,” I said coolly. “It doesn't matter how much I want to fuck you because I don't love you, Devon. When my heart isn't involved, I can resist anything; anyone.”

  “We'll see about that,” Slate said softly; all of his heat gone. “Eat your dinner and then head backstage. You're on in twenty minutes.”

  Slate strode out of the room, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Leave it to the arrogant zone lord to shove it all in my face instead of doing the polite thing and ignoring what was brewing between us.

  Fuck; it had been real. I had betrayed my lovers. I was a cheater. Slate was wrong; I didn't belong to him. I belonged to Torin and Banning and Declan and Gage and Darc. Five men and I still couldn't be true. You'd think the Rooster Spell was still inside me. But no; the Rooster was dead. This was all me. The knowledge was a fire beneath my skin. I made a mistake but it wouldn't happen again.

  I was going to put an end to this disastrous attraction.

  Jago had said that I wouldn't be there forever; that must mean that I could still earn my freedom. I had to prove my worth to Slate in his club since he'd taken the arena away from me. I needed to show him that I could work the crowd as well as I worked him. Then maybe, I could use that to bargain for my release.

  Tonight, I'd keep my eyes away from the Zone Lord when I sang.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The crowd was thicker tonight, and I was surprised to see a lot of gargoyles among the other beneather races. When I spotted a familiar face, I knew just who I was going to single out.

  It was always good to have one or two men in a crowd to sing to. It made the ladies happy that I wasn't macking on their men, and kept the other men from hitting on me after my performance. I had concentrated on Slate before; working his whole we're-an-item angle. But not tonight. Tonight, it was business, and I needed a substitute.

  Instead of coming out swinging, I decided to start with a sexy and fun song by Bishop Briggs. “Baby” was naughty and wild; a woman in love with a man she knew was bad for her, but he rocked her world like no one else. When the tapping slide of the music started, I caught Jago's eye and lured him closer. He edged his way to the railing of the second tier on my left; bringing his head to the height of my knees.

  I winked at him, and Jago grinned brilliantly.

  I started to sing; swishing my hips and making my way slowly to Jago. Beneathers filled the dance floor in seconds; moving back and forth to the gentle beat. Then they saw my focus and went wild. Great music to dance to—to move in their souls as well as their bodies—was amazing, but nothing stirred the emotions like sex. And I was about to tease them with it. Weave a lie over the crowd that would leave them salivating.

  I swayed down to a crouch and leaned forward; drawing a hand through Jago's silky blond hair as I sang to him about how good in bed he was. Good enough to make me forgive how fucking insane he was. Jago's eyes went hot, and he swayed to the music with me; his hand sliding up my thigh to my waist. I could see the question in his eyes; How much of this is real, Diva? I winked again, and Jago laughed; just the smallest bit of disappointment coming through. He was my safety net; a man I could flirt with onstage who wouldn't try to hunt me down afterward. It would do great things for him too, and Jago knew it; the women were already staring at him with interest. Make a guy look wanted, and he became so. Jago's pretty face didn't hurt either.

  I determinedly kept my eyes on Jago; as if he were the only man in my world. Despite my focus, I could see Slate out of the corner of my eye; standing at the window again. His body looked tense; tight with fury. I nearly laughed. As much as I had intended this to be about business, I couldn't seem to help myself. Slate had pissed me off and turned me on. So, Jago was going to be my sign to Slate; a big banner proclaiming that he would never own me, and I would never want him enough to betray my lovers. Again.

  Gods; that stung. But maybe it was good that it had happened. It would keep me from making an even bigger mistake. I straightened—drawing a finger beneath Jago's chin as I stood. I kept my eyes on him; pretending to sing and dance just for him. For his part; he leaned against the railing and accepted it all as if it were his due. He smirked and looked me over as if he knew every inch of my body intimately.

  And the Quarry ate it up. By the time I finished the song, they were singing along with the explicit lyrics; calling Jago crazy but so hot that it didn't matter. Lamenting with me about how something so bad could look so good. Jago couldn't have been happier. He nodded at me; letting me know that he owed me one and then slid back into the crowd to reap the rewards of his assistance.

  Oh, yes; this was going to be fun.

  Hours later, Jago had helped me out three more times and had finally chosen his prize for the evening. He waved me a thank you as he headed for the door with a mermaid; the Earth variety, not the water fey type. I accepted my applause and headed offstage; sweaty and exhilarated. Eli was waiting for me again, but before he could say anything, Slate's voice boomed in the hallway.

  “Cole; get lost!”

  Eli glanced at Slate then gave me an apologetic look and scurried through the door beside the stage steps and into his control room. I turned to face Slate and flinched.

  The Zone Lord was shaking with fury; veins standing out on his neck and a nerve ticking in his cheek. His eyes were beyond burning; they were like lasers. Every footstep was a gunshot. Every breath a battle cry.

  I stepped back, but I forgot that I was standing on the stairs. I stumbled. Slate's hand shot out and
grabbed me around the waist; yanking me to my feet and then down the stairs. Except he pulled so hard that I simply fell off them; right into his arms.

  Slate caught me and turned with one movement; slamming me against the cold stone wall. I was already warm from the stage, and Slate was burning with anger; it felt as if steam should be rising from where my skin met stone.

  “Are you trying to force me to force you?” Slate snarled as he shoved his entire body against mine. “Do you want this? Right here; in this dingy hallway? You want me to take the choice from you so that you can blame me for it?”

  The side seams of my dress ripped as Slate shoved my legs apart and hoisted my thighs around his hips. He ground his cock into my sex; hard. Even through his pants, I could feel it twitch. Slate's mouth covered mine and before I could protest or even gasp, he stole the breath from my lungs. His tongue lashed against mine brutally; filling my mouth in a kiss that was more of an attack than affection. One hand pawed at my breast viciously as his hips started grinding into me.

  Then, suddenly, everything changed. Slate's hands gentled. His tongue pulled back and started to tease. His lips softened. Slate moaned into my mouth as his hand started massaging my breast; his thumb brushing my nipple. I could feel his rapidly pounding heartbeat against my chest. It was incredible—mind-blowing—but not enough to blind me again.

  As soon as he eased up, I angled my head away and said firmly, “Stop.”

  Slate tensed. “Don't do this,” he whispered. “Don't play this game with me. I warned you how it will end.”

  “I'm not playing,” I said firmly. “I can't do this with you. I wasn't trying to make you angry tonight, Devon. I was trying to show you that I don't want you enough to hurt the men I love.”

  He dropped me as if I'd burned him.

  I stumbled but didn't fall. My dress fell though; in taters around my thighs. I smoothed it down as I tried to still my racing heart.

  “I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  “The wrong impression?” He growled in disbelief.

  “All I was trying to do was show you that I'm not beaten.” I lifted my head and met his stare. “I'm not going to be yours in every way. Find another woman to slake your lust on.”

  Slate's eyes twitched; narrowed. He grabbed my hand roughly and started walking down the hallway. I let him pull me along but I didn't go quietly.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a private party in my lounge,” he snarled. “You are going to wear that ruined dress proudly and blush when I allude to the way it got torn. You're going to hold my hand, my waist, my damn dick if I decide to whip it out, and you're going to smile as if you want to.” He stopped and stared me down. “Because you do want to, Elaria. We both know you do.”

  I glared at him and stayed silent. Nope; I wasn't going to win this battle either.

  “Frederick and Allan have already spread the word that I've got a new woman who's so important to me that I go driving around the Zone like a teenager trying to find a place to make out with her. That's not me. It would take a damn special woman to make me into that man. So, you will be that woman, and you will be a loyal one. No one makes a fool of me in my own zone and certainly not in my own club. Understood?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  So, that was it. It wasn't that Slate wanted me so badly it had driven him to rage. It was that I had made everyone think I was choosing Jago over him. His pride had been hurt, not his heart. I knew all about pride and how a leader needed to retain his; how he had to look powerful if he wanted to stay in power. If I didn't make things right, Slate might very well kill me simply to save face. Then his monster secret would be safe too; two birds, one stoner.

  I slid my hand up from his to clutch his arm possessively. “I'm a very good actress, sweetheart,” I purred.

  The tension left Slate's shoulders instantly and his smirk returned. “Wise decision, Spellsinger.”

  Slate walked me up to his private lounge and my second show of the evening began.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I entered the lounge to applause. My eyes widened at the collection of well-dressed beneathers and the smiles they wore. Slate guided me around the room once; introducing me to the Zone's most influential residents. Yes; residents. The Gargoyles weren't the only ones who preferred to live below ground with other beneathers. The Zone had whole sections that were dedicated to housing.

  Frederick and Alan were among the guests. I expected their smiles to be more like leers after what they thought they'd witnessed, but the men were respectful. I suppose that was more for Slate than me. Once the initial introductions were over, I was paraded before each of them individually.

  “So, you decided to ditch the blond for his boss?” Agata watched me carefully.

  Agata was a gorgon; her snakes covered in a shimmering silk scarf that was patterned to look like snakes. It was an odd effect—startling even—as I'm sure it was meant to be. The silk trailed over one arm glamorously—accenting her cleavage—but it also moved restlessly. No one likes to be blindfolded, not even hair-snakes. Agata had a voluptuous body displayed in a clingy black dress and hands that kept trying to wander over Slate's shoulders.

  Slate should be with her; they'd be perfect together. She could turn people to stone and then he could control them. No fight, no frustration, just a bunch of stone sycophants.

  “Who? Jago?” I asked her nonchalantly.

  Conversations quieted around the room, and the other guests moved closer. Everyone wanted to hear what I said next. I almost laughed. Here were these powerful, magical beneathers, and their lives were so boring that they needed to fill them with tidbits of mine.

  “Jago's just a friend,” I went on. “I can't be mooning up at Slate every night; that's not good for business.”

  Slate's lips twitched upward as he stared down at me. Not quite a smile but it had potential.

  “Slate didn't seem to be in on the ruse,” Drago—a ryū with snow-white hair and sin-black eyes—lifted a brow at me.

  By the way, Drago is a common name among dragons for obvious reasons. I've met eight over the years. There are two types of dragons; the Ryū (Asian dragons) and the Drachen (Western dragons). Drachen tended to be the more aggressive of the two. I should know, I've dated one. The Ryū settled in Japan and China, but they aren't actually Asian; they came from planet Ry, as the Drachen came from planet Drach. The distinctions were more in their dragons forms than in their human. Ryū could fly but they were wingless; using the magic in their flowing, colorful whiskers to keep them aloft. Drachen, however, had massive, leathery wings. Obviously, their original planets had caused them to evolve differently.

  Despite not actually being from Asia, most Ryū had an exotic look to them, and this guy was no exception. But his features weren't Asian. Close but no opium pipe. His eyes were a touch too slanted, and his lips were too full. Alien instead of Asian. Ryū had a hierarchy among their kind; the five taloned dragons were emperors, the baddest of the bad. I glanced down at Drago's hand and wondered. No; he had to be a four. A five-claw wouldn't be living under another beneather's laws.

  “I may have forgotten to mention it to Slate.” I gave Drago a wink. “We girls have to keep you guys on your toes or you might lose interest.”

  “You did it to make him jealous?” A wendigo named Finbar looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or hide behind someone in fear of fallout. “You like playing with fire, don't you?”

  “Slate is a tough man to get a reaction out of.” I leaned against Slate, and he slid his hand from my arm to my ass. I nearly slipped character then, but I managed to grin through it. “Sometimes he needs a little push.” I pinched his ass to make him let go of mine, but he only chuckled and settled his hand more firmly—with a good squeeze.

  “I'd say it worked.” Drago smirked. “Your man here crushed the glass he was holding. It was quite a rare display of emotion from our inscrutable zone lord.”

  “Oh
, honey, I know it worked.” I slid my leg out to showcase the tear in my dress. “The glass wasn't the only thing that suffered.”

  The women in the room stared enviously from my dress to Slate's smug face.

  “I expect I'll get an even bigger reaction later,” I purred.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” Slate growled and covered my mouth with his.

  The men chuckled, the women fumed, and I tried my best to look as if I were enjoying myself. Or rather, to look as if I were enjoying myself without actually enjoying myself. The man simply tasted like sin; the smoky bite of whiskey enhancing his own flavor and luring me in deeper. When Slate finally broke our kiss, I was breathing hard, and he was giving me one of his rare, gentle smiles.

  “How romantic.” A kitsune named Susan sighed as her tails twitched. “How did you two meet?”

  I looked at her in surprise. They all had to know that I fought in the arena, They had to know what my collar meant. Didn't they? I glanced around and saw the same curious look on every face. Holy shit; they really thought that I was there of my own free will.

  As I floundered, Slate took over, “A couple of my men caught Elaria along with her friend Cerberus. But she caught my attention with her very first fight.”

  Okay; so they did know that I was a prisoner. And yet they still thought that I was with Slate because I wanted to be. Perhaps it was Slate himself. Looking at it from their perspective, I may have assumed the same thing simply because it would be ridiculous for Slate to force a woman. He obviously had his pick. Hell, they came running when he called; no matter how he called. I'll tell you what; if any man ever told me to get my ass over there, I'd do it only so I could kick his ass.

  While I'd been wrestling with the situation, Slate's eyes had shifted to me in what appeared to be true affection. I nearly believed it myself. Oh, yeah; the collar meant nothing under that look. They believed every word.