by Amy Sumida
Despite my heavy disappointment, I kept my smile in place as I ended the song, and then I hurried offstage; not waiting for the applause. I ducked behind the curtains and pulled out the note.
We are coming for you. Be ready. Six days.
Six days! I was shaking with excitement as I slipped the note back into my dress. Six days and I'd be with the men I loved again. No more blood-drenched sand, no more performing at the whim of an arrogant—
Slate appeared at the top of the stage stairs; his silver eyes glinting in the shadows of the curtained wing. “What are you doing?”
“Just catching my breath.”
Slate looked me over with narrowed eyes and then held his hand out to me. I took it; the crisp edges of the paper nudging my breast with a reminder that I wouldn't have to put up with this man for much longer. A wave of anxious energy surged through me, and I nearly stumbled. Slate caught me.
“Are you all right?”
“I don't know,” I whispered as I searched myself; from my mind to my magic and my head to my toes. There was something... off. A tightness in my chest and a tremor in my gut. “I don't know.”
“I'm taking you home,” Slate declared as he put an arm around my waist.
No, you're not, I thought to myself. My home is high in the sky, not under miles of stone. We are two different creatures, Slate Devon; one meant to fly and one meant to dig. Soon, I shall fly again and leave you in the dirt.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“What are you doing?” I pulled on Slate's arm as he slipped through the crowd; heading toward the dance floor.
As soon as I stopped singing, Eli had to slam some music at the crowd or they'd go ballistic. Currently, Bryce Fox's “Horns” was playing. The beat was sexy and strong; perfect for some dance floor grinding, and that was just what most of the beneathers were doing.
Slate shrugged out of his jacket and flung it over the nearest railing. I was still looking at it in confusion when he pulled me against his chest and slid us into the middle of the mob. Dancers parted like hot butter for the knife of Slate's broad shoulders. Then we were there; beneath twinkling lights, surrounded by sweaty, groping beneathers. The lust was thick enough to drizzle over skin... and lick off.
Hips angling against mine, Slate led me with a hand pressed to my ass and another across my back. His stare was a prison; his hands my shackles. But this was one cell I didn't want to escape. Had I just been anticipating leaving him? Why? The body beneath my hands was thick with muscle and desire; hot, powerful, and hard against my thigh. His shoulders rolled; one hand moving from my ass to my left hand. Slate wove his fingers with mine and then flung me away.
I don't know how I spun without hitting anyone. I assume they parted for me. But even in the twirl, my stare sought Slate. I was almost disappointed when he pulled me back to him facing out; my back to his chest. But then my waist was encircled by his strong forearm; pressing me back until his shaft was cradled against my ass. Slate's free hand slid up, over my breasts, skimming my throat, and then caressed my face; turning it toward his.
It was just a brush of lips against lips, but it electrified my body. Those strange tingles shot through me again, and Slate inhaled sharply. He felt them too, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he swayed us through the chorus. The dangerous lyrics spun around us; a man succumbing to a succubus. Knowing she had a power over him that was beyond human but loving every second of it. With Slate pressed tightly against me—his hands roaming my body—the music became even more intoxicating. I was lost to it all.
The graze of fangs along my neck snapped me out of it. I jerked and spun to face Slate. He grinned down at me; showing off a pair of thick canines; more bloodhound than blooder. His eyes were brighter and his cheekbones higher. The gargoyle was peeking through.
Slate pulled me back against his chest and brushed his lips along the curve of my ear, “Don't run, Elaria. That would end badly.”
I swallowed roughly and forced myself to relax. This was so wrong; all of it. I needed to fight. I needed to push him away. Anything but stand there and let him hold me as if I were his. Because I wasn't. It was bad enough that I had let him touch me when I'd thought that I was dreaming. But this; wide awake and completely aware of what was happening. No; not acceptable, Elaria. You have men who love you and who you love. They were probably going crazy with worry over me, and there I was; dirty dancing with my captor. So fucked up. What was wrong with me? I didn't want Slate. I wanted to go home. I wanted to get married. I wanted...
A tingling seared my whole body, and I melted over Slate's chest. I expected him to laugh or growl in triumph. He didn't. He shivered and laid his face in the curve of my neck.
“What the fuck?” I whispered.
The tingling ran through me again. Shit; this wasn't my magic returning. This was another magic altogether. Someone was fucking with me; possibly with Slate and me both.
I jerked away and grabbed the front of his shirt desperately. “What do you feel?”
Slate blinked rapidly; the lust starting to fade from his eyes. “What? You expect me to spout poetry or something?”
“No; just tell me straight,” I growled. “What are you feeling right now; no romance or bullshit. I'm talking about your body. Physical sensations. Anything out of the ordinary?”
Slate's eyes narrowed and then his focus turned inward. “I see you and this shiver runs through me. I try to turn away, and your voice pulls me back.”
“It's not those tingles again?” I asked; trying to ignore the way my body leaned toward his automatically. “The energy we felt before?”
“No,” he said immediately. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. “That never returned. Is that what you're feeling?”
“Yes, but it's gotten stronger,” I whispered and looked around the club suspiciously. “Any ideas on who would fuck with us like this?”
Slate's deadly eyes scanned the room as he started swaying with me absently. I wasn't sure if he was doing it subconsciously or if it was a camouflage; an attempt to look oblivious while he searched for our enemies.
“I may have a couple of names,” he muttered.
“Those hooded men? Who are they, Devon? Why do they want me dead?”
Slate's gaze flicked down to me and then away. “I will handle this.” He took a deep breath—his body shivering—and pushed me away determinedly. “Don't run; I'm barely holding back the beast. Walk away from me slowly. Meet me upstairs.”
I nodded and slipped into the crowd. They instantly closed around me. I glanced back; Slate's gleaming stare was still on me. I turned away from him and strode steadily through the dancers. Slowly. Don't run. Don't run. I made it to the edge of the dance floor and felt Slate moving behind me. Felt him! As if there were an invisible line running between us. Fuck! This had to be a spell.
I felt both instant relief and fear at the thought. Relief that I hadn't been betraying my lovers; someone had subtly enchanted me. It had been so slow and quiet that I hadn't suspected a thing. But if it wasn't me, then someone who had some serious juju was messing with me. They'd been able to not only infect me with their spell but also Slate. And I didn't peg him as a guy easily overcome by enchantment.
I made it up to Slate's private lounge; the bouncer at the bottom door giving me a little nod before he opened it for me. The cacophony of the club became blessedly muted and cool air hit my face. Without the heat from all the bodies below and the pound of the beat, I could think clearer.
I went behind the bar to pour myself a drink. I could think, but I was still shaking. I needed some liquid courage.
“So, you're the Spellsinger who has my brother in a twist,” a deep voice rumbled.
A man came out of a shadowy corner. I tossed back my shot before I turned to face this fresh hell. Because if this man was related to Slate, this was bound to be a torment. His brother; that made this guy...
“Binx, I presume,” I said as I looked him over.
Binx was bigger th
an Slate; a mammoth man that couldn't look harmless if he tried. The kind of big that's just too much. The guy's muscles had muscles. There was a resemblance to Slate in his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, but Binx had the face of a brawler. Thick nose, wide jaw, gargoyle-gray eyes. He narrowed those eyes at me as he crossed his bulging arms. He probably couldn't let them hang at his sides; they wouldn't fall right.
“That's right,” Binx rumbled. “And you're Elaria Tanager; the murderous whore.”
“Oh, wow; right to the point.” I chuckled. “I'll admit to the murderer part, but what makes you call me a whore?”
“The fact that you have five boyfriends and now you're after my brother.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Binx blinked in confusion. “No.”
“But you fuck a lot of girls.” Statement, not question.
“Of course.”
I rolled my eyes. “Does that make you a whore?”
“No; I'm honest with them,” he snarled. “They all know it's just sex.”
“So, I'm a whore because I committed to the men I love.” I strode out from behind the bar and stepped up to him. “If I just fucked them all, I'd be a good, honest person like you?”
Binx gaped at me.
Slate came into the room laughing. “She got you there, Brother.”
“Slate, you gotta set this bitch loose,” Binx growled. “I saw you down there. That ain't you; fawning over some skirt. What the fuck? Get it together!”
“Maybe I want something more than a meaningless fuck at the end of the night.” Slate slid me a warning look.
That startled me. If Binx were my brother, I'd want his help with our spell issue. But it was Slate's call; if he didn't want Binx to know, he probably had a good reason for it. Hell, maybe he suspected Binx of casting the spell. I didn't know what his family was like. He'd mentioned that his brothers had helped him build the Zone but that was it.
“Maybe you want more than a fuck?” Binx gaped at Slate; his arms falling to his sides as if he couldn't conceive of it.
I was right; his arms hung out awkwardly, giving him a rounded look. Ridiculous. He belonged on the Jersey shore.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Binx roared. “With her?” He waved a horrified hand at me. “The killer with a flock of cocks?”
I snickered.
“You find something funny, bitch?” Binx snapped at me.
Slate went still.
“Yeah; I do. When the Rooster Spell first forced me into taking multiple partners, Cerberus called them my Cock Collective. But I like your term much better. It makes me think of dicks with wings.”
I laughed again; harder.
Binx gaped at me. He did that a lot. At least he had good teeth.
“You've mentioned this spell before, Elaria. How exactly did it force you?” Slate lifted a brow and gave me a pointed look; Did it feel similar to what we just felt?
“It was a symbiotic spell.” I shook my head; answering his unspoken question. If there was one thing I was certain that this was not; it was the Rooster. “It gave us power, but we needed to fuel it. If it wasn't able to take enough energy from the men, it would take it from me; slowly killing us both. Burning me inside out. Originally, it fed on lust, but in me, it changed to—”
“Love,” Slate finished pensively.
“That's right.”
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” Binx growled. “You had to add men to your cock collective and love them. That must have been hard for a cold-hearted bitch like you.”
“Call her a bitch one more time, Binx.” Slate set his deadly stare on his brother.
“Great balls of bedrock! Are you serious?” Binx shouted. “You're taking her fucking side? Listen to yourself, Slate. She got you messed in the head.”
“I'm messed in the head because I don't want you calling my girlfriend a bitch?”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.” A third man entered the room.
He had what I was beginning to call the Devon cheekbones but even without them, I would have seen Slate in his face. He was slimmer than the other two but by no means thin. Not surprising; most gargoyles were muscular. His hair was the darkest of the bunch; a pure, glossy black. He shifted his gaze to mine and gave me a soft smile.
“Hello, Elaria, I'm Slate and Binx's older brother; Aaro.” He walked over to me with his hand extended.
“Nice to meet you, Aaro.” I shook his hand; it was as warm as his smile.
“Oh, lovely.” Binx rolled his eyes. “Would you like to offer the bitch tea too?”
Slate moved faster than I could track. A sound like cracking wood echoed through the room and then Binx fell flat on his back. Out cold.
I gaped at Slate; standing over his brother with one hand clenched into a fist and his chest heaving with fury. He took a deep breath, shook out his hand, and looked up at Aaro.
“Fucking Binx has a jaw like a boulder,” Slate growled.
Aaro chuckled and stepped over Binx's prone body to get to the bar. “Do you have any bar-tending skills, Elaria?”
“What's your poison?” I smirked at him as I went back behind the bar.
“An old fashioned, if you please.” Aaro slid onto a stool. “Sit down, Brother. Let the barbarian sleep it off. He's only worried about you, you know.”
Slate sighed. “I know, but damn him for being an asshole about it.”
“He's an asshole about everything. Why would he be different with this?”
I listened intently as I poured Aaro's drink. I was fascinated; I admit it. Each of the Devon boys was completely different. It made me wonder what their parents had been like. The names alone...
“So, you two are dating?” Aaro lifted a brow and looked back and forth between us. “I see that she's wearing one of your criminal collars. What I don't see is how a relationship could blossom with that between you.”
I looked away.
“Ah.” Aaro chuckled. “This is all a show.”
“Not all,” Slate muttered.
Aaro's brows shot up; along with mine. I knew that Slate was attracted to me; how could I not? But his words had felt like a declaration of more. It had to be the spell.
“What's going on?” Aaro asked; suddenly very serious.
“Elaria and I have been experiencing some strange sensations.”
“If I have to explain those to you, Brother, then I despair for you both,” Aaro teased.
“Funny.” Slate slid onto the stool beside Aaro's as I set Aaro's drink before him. “Would you mind making me a whiskey, sweetheart?”
Our eyes met; both of us surprised by his endearment and tone. There was no one here to perform for.
“Sorry,” Slate muttered. “That just came out.”
“Interesting,” Aaro murmured. “What are these sensations like?”
“Tingling. Although, Slate only experienced that once.” I gave Aaro a look. “And yes; it's nearly sexual. For me, it sort of makes my muscles relax and everything seems...”
“Easy,” Slate finished for me. “No reason to hold back. No reason to deny what I...”
“Feel?” Aaro asked as he speared Slate with a look. “Shit. You really are falling for her.”
“It must be a spell.” Slate took the glass I offered him and stared down into the golden liquid as if it were all the alcohol's fault.
“Brother, I'm sorry to say this but no spell can make you love someone.” Aaro set his hand on Slate's shoulder. “There are love spells but their results are closer to obsession than affection; they're not like this. And they're not subtle either.” He waved a hand at Slate. “You wouldn't have the power to deny her anything. You'd be at her feet right now; begging for the smallest scrap of affection. And you can be damn sure that she wouldn't be wearing that collar.”
Slate shot a furious look at Aaro.
“I'm saying that's what one of those spells would do.” Aaro handled his brother expertly. It was obvious who the scholar in the family was. “I
'm not sure what this is. A tingling? Sounds similar to the effects of alcohol; a mild relaxant to lower inhibitions. Honestly, I don't understand why anyone beyond the two of you would cast such a spell. There are no benefits to it unless you call a burgeoning love affair a benefit.”
“I don't,” Slate snapped.
“Easy, Brother.” Aaro still had his hand on Slate's back. “She's in this with you, remember? There's no need to be cruel.”
Slate shifted a suspicious stare up at me.
“Hey!” I snapped. “Don't fucking look at me like that. I'm wearing your gods-damned collar, remember, dickhead? I can't enchant anything with this on. I should be looking at you like that.”
Slate's lips pressed together, and then both he and Aaro started laughing.
“I like her,” Aaro said to Slate. “She's funny. And she speaks plainly.”
“You have no idea.” Slate gave his brother a look.
“Perhaps this isn't a bad thing,” Aaro suggested gently. “No one's will is being twisted and if anyone could use a little lightening up, it's you, Slate.”
No one's will was being twisted? No; that couldn't be right.
“My will is being messed with.” I laid my hand flat to the bar to keep it from shaking. “It has to be. I'd never betray my lovers, and I've done things with Slate that I shouldn't have.”
“You haven't done anything wrong,” Slate scoffed. “A kiss, a dance, a little grinding of hips. That's not a betrayal.”
Aaro shook his head. “I don't think you'd see it that way from their side of things.”
“Thank you.” I lifted my hand toward Aaro in a finally gesture. “And you know that's not all, Devon.”
Slate grinned. Then he saw my expression. “Don't do that.” He snatched my hand. “You were out of your mind that day; it was the only reason I did”—he glanced at Aaro—“what I did. You needed something to bring you down. If they love you, they won't hold that against you.”
