Sea Fae Trilogy

by C. N. Crawford

  When flames ignited from Salem’s wings and in his eyes, all sense of hope dissolved. He sliced his sword through the air, arcing it back and forth in a wild display of his skill.

  I winced at the sight of him, and my heart squeezed in my chest. It was almost like my brain couldn’t compute what was happening here, that Salem was now my enemy. And all I had was a little dagger.

  And yet, somehow, that was exactly what was happening. He was stalking me with a lethal grace, and if I let myself plummet into the despair of pure betrayal, it would all be over for me.

  I clenched the hilt of my dagger tight.

  All that stuff about trust me, and have faith… it was all going up in smoke.

  I thought he’d said something about how he could be dangerous to me… If he stayed here too long, he’d be the death of me. That couldn’t be right.

  I pulled myself back another step, grimacing as pain rocketed up my leg.

  I reached into my little leather satchel, pulling out the sea glass I’d hoped never to use. As I did, I kept my eyes on Salem.

  Salem’s eyes were locked on me, his expression something like delighted malice. He was moving at a leisurely pace, a cruel smile on his beautiful lips. Overhead, storm clouds gathered. I half wondered if I’d manifested them myself, with the weak remnants of my water powers.

  Another step back.

  What exactly had Lady Richelle said? Salem had to kill “the monster that plagues us.” “The creature that stands in our way.”

  The truth slammed into me like a fist. I was the thing that stood in their way.

  I was Salem’s mate. With his curse, he couldn’t be king. And until he killed me, he’d remain cursed. In Lady Richelle’s eyes, I meant the ruination of their kingdom.

  Tears stung my eyes. “I’m the monster, aren’t I?”

  “Oh, at last she understands.”

  At that point, the truth lodged in my brain like a flaming arrow. Maybe Salem didn’t want to be king here, but my life meant the destruction of his true destiny—to become a god.

  I stumbled as I backed away from him. The pain of betrayal was splitting me open, making it hard for me to think straight. I’d believed him.

  Richelle’s laughter pealed across the amphitheater. “Did you really think that a divine king would sacrifice everything for you? I could see you were his mate. I could see the bond between you. But it’s not enough, is it, Aenor? You spent more time in a dirt tunnel than you did as a noble. You’re not his equal. Not at all.”

  Salem’s eyes burned with fire, and he tilted his chin down. “Sorry, swan. But I have a destiny far greater than you.” He lifted his arms to the skies. “You wouldn’t stand in the way of a divine being, would you?”

  You absolute swine.

  It was hard to think straight when you felt like your chest was splayed open, ribs exposed. I felt like someone had dropped me from a great height, shattering me. I couldn’t breathe. Magic crackled down my arm, weaker than it needed to be. My uncontrolled emotions raged, and the storm clouds now completely hid the moon. Fat droplets of rain started to fall, hammering down on the water.

  Unfortunately, my Morgan powers would do nothing against Salem. He was immune to them.

  I shot a panicked glance at the tunnel from which I’d come, wondering if my friendly guards would step in anytime soon, but I didn’t see them in there at all. Maybe the enchantment had worn off.

  It wasn’t even that I wanted the guards to save me from dying. I’d faced death many times before. What I wanted them to protect me from was so much worse: betrayal by my mate. Because a sword could kill me, but the betrayal would truly destroy me before I even hit the ground.

  Desperation cut through me. I was frantic to wake up from this nightmare. This was all wrong.

  Salem stalked another step closer. He was swirling his sword around in mesmerizing arcs. Rain soaked his crisp white shirt, until I could see the thickly corded body beneath. I saw him for what he was now—an angelic warrior, full of godly wrath.

  And the gods didn’t care for us. They never had.

  Did you really think you were good enough for him?

  I could barely breathe, my billowing rage suffocating me.

  When Salem’s attention was rapt on me, it was like the light of a star beaming over me, warming me. And now, I felt like he’d dropped me into a dark pit, banishing me. I wanted to rip his heart out and throw it off the cliff.

  My thoughts raced, out of control. I couldn’t move fast—not on my shattered leg.

  “Salem.” My voice cracked when I said his name, and I hated that. I hated how weak I sounded, that I was pleading with him for my life.

  No. I wouldn’t think of myself like that.

  I wasn’t weak.

  Mama had been a fanatic in a bloodstained dress, but she’d been right about some things. She had taught me to always rely on myself. To never expect anything from men, because they would break my heart, every time.

  She hadn’t been wrong, had she?

  That hatred in me started to morph into pure, cold wrath. Icy anger pounded in my blood where my magic should be, and my thoughts became clear. I gripped the sea glass hard, its surface smooth between my fingers.

  The survivor in me roared as Salem took another step closer, his eyes alight. I was backed up against the curving wall now. I could hear Richelle bellowing above us, urging Salem to strike the blow that would kill me.

  I clutched the shard, and when Salem’s blade swung for me, I ducked. I blocked out the pain in my leg and shifted closer to him from below. I was aiming near his heart with the sea glass, striking up—

  His elbow smashed into my face, so hard it felt like my jaw cracked. I fell back hard against the wall, then slid into the water. Agony splintered my skull, the blow like lightning bolts where his elbow had made contact. I’d dropped the sea glass.

  I’d been too slow on my injured leg, too sloppy. Frantic, I tried to search around the shallow water for the sea glass, my hands grasping at nothing.

  But Salem’s sword was already at my throat, pressing against my jugular. He glared down at me with cold, divine judgment, the rain sliding down his skin. His eyes were the color of gloomy dusk.

  My heart stopped. This was all wrong. Surely, this was all wrong.

  My mate would end my life, and the world seemed to fall out from under me.

  Aenor

  Lightning flashed in the dark sky behind Salem, touching down on one of the shattered columns. Even in the rain, Salem’s wings burned with flames, and dark smoke curled into the air.

  “A sacrifice!” Salem boomed. “To remove my curse.”

  I was still dizzy from the blow to my temple, and his voice sounded strangely distant. Pain fogged my mind, but I couldn’t escape the sense of pure wrongness. Was this really Salem?

  As soon as I started to stand, that sword would be in my neck.

  Scanning my surroundings, I scrambled to make another plan. I was in the center of the semicircle. Where I’d fallen, I didn’t think Richelle could see me, because she was just above me.

  Think.

  Hard to think when the word betrayed sang in my mind, a forlorn requiem for our mating bond.

  Rainwater slid down Salem’s sharp jaw line, and he wore an easy smile. Was this all a game to him?

  I could imagine how I looked to him—sick, with dark magic in my veins. My blue hair stuck to my head, my body battered from my fight with the bull. Cowering against a stone wall.

  Aenor Dahut, Flayer of Skins, Scourge of the Wicked, did not cower.

  My hand shot out, lightning-fast, and I swiped for his wrist. I carved sharply through his skin, and he dropped his sword in the water. I sprang up, slashing at his chest with the sea glass—but that fucking instinct stopped me again.

  His hand shot out, catching my wrist in a crushing grip. He tightened his fist so hard that I thought he might break my bones, and I dropped to my knees again in the cold water.

  My desire to pro
tect him would be the death of me. Gods damn it.

  “Aenor.” One of his eyebrows rose. “Did you think I’d give up the heavens for you?”

  This was all so wrong. Wrong as the seas drying up and the sun going dark. Wrong as a corpse rotting on the wrong side of the wall.

  Cold rain slammed into the water around me, sliding down my skin. For thousands of years, Salem had dreamt of becoming a god. And killing me was the only way he could get there. He’d spent millennia dreaming of his destiny in the skies again.

  How much time had we spent together? A matter of days, no more.

  And yet, still… It was like my brain was breaking, unable to believe what was happening. Salem wouldn’t do this. There was something I was forgetting, some reason I knew it to be true.

  He was crushing my wrist, the one still holding the sea glass, but I kept my grip on it.

  Then his other hand clamped around my throat, and he lifted me by the neck, slamming me back against the wall. He pressed against my throat, but not so hard I couldn’t breathe. My toes were still on the ground.

  All he had to do was squeeze, or unleash his fire.

  And yet…

  He wasn’t doing it, was he? No, his muscles were starting to shake now, jaw clenched tight. It looked like he was fighting himself, and that smile was gone. Now, his eyes flashed with something like rage as he looked into my eyes. His wings were blazing with magical fire, bright flames in the gloom of the night. The scent of smoke and pomegranates coiled around me.

  Richelle had said that she’d been consulting with a higher power for instructions—and the higher power had been his wife. She had cursed him somehow, and she was the only one who could release his curse.

  Whoever she was, she wanted me dead. A tendril of rage threaded through my body.

  Gods have mercy, I couldn’t let this be my grave. Aenor Dahut, Scourge of the Wicked—killed by her mate, because he’d had better things to get on with, and she’d gotten in the way.

  Red hot rage split me open.

  I didn’t deserve this.

  “Aenor.” This time, his voice cracked when he said my name. And for a fraction of a second, that cold mask slipped, and I saw anguish there. The anguish of a fallen man, bereft of meaning and sense.

  From her seat above us, Richelle bellowed, “Make your sacrifice, King Salem! Lift your curse! It is the only way to achieve your destiny.”

  His fingers were still tight around my neck, hot on my skin. I was looking up into the face of the fallen god to which countless souls had been sacrificed.

  And yet…

  I wasn’t dead.

  By now, he could have killed me a hundred times over if he’d wanted to.

  Hot magic beamed from his body, warming me.

  Maybe this wasn’t Salem—the man who’d walked barefoot after he’d fallen, who’d marveled at birdsong and dawn’s light. The man who’d felt terrible about killing a deer, and who’d locked himself in a cage to save me. The man who’d told me to trust him, to have faith. The Salem I knew didn’t wave his sword around like a dickhead.

  We lived in a world of illusion and deceit. But the fact was that I either trusted him or I didn’t.

  I brought my knee up as hard as I could into his groin, and he dropped his grip on me. Then I slammed the sea glass into his neck.

  Blood spurted over me.

  Wounded, he grabbed me by the shoulders, slamming me against the wall again—like the bull. His hand was on my neck once more. With his muscled body, he was pinning me to the wall, jaw tight with determination.

  I hadn’t expected his reflexes to be so fast, but then, I’d never had to fight him before.

  I reached into my bag and tightened my fingers around the hilt of the dagger.

  His powerful body pressed against mine, crushing me. His smoking scent curled around me, and he breathed in, closing his eyes with the smell of me.

  “King Salem will rule by my side!” Richelle’s voice carried over the arena.

  Survive.

  My thoughts were crystal-clear, and I saw exactly what I had to do. Darkness welled in me, the lust for blood that was my birthright.

  I thrust my dagger into Salem’s chest, angling it up so it pierced his heart. Now, his streaming blood soaked my skin. As I stared into my mate’s eyes, my blade in his chest, the civilized me fell away. I was born of two murderers. Killing came naturally to me.

  I pulled the blade out again, and Salem staggered back, stunned. I kicked him hard in the chest with my good leg, and he fell back into the water.

  Lady Richelle thought I was a monster.

  And you know what?

  I fucking was. And that was why I was still alive.

  Pain screamed up my leg, but I did everything I could to block it out. I turned, leaping up to grip the edge of the curved wall above me. Snarling like a wild beast, I hoisted myself up over the ledge. The crowd started screaming as I pulled myself level with Lady Richelle in her stony throne.

  I had an idea of what I must have looked like to her—the ragged whore, soaked in the blood of a fallen god. Blue hair plastered to my head, dagger in my hand. Limping and deranged.

  I was her monster.

  And I was here to end her life.

  She lifted her hands to blast me with magic, but I brought the blade down hard into her heart. Once more into her throat for good measure, and I pulled it out again.

  Unlike Salem, she couldn’t survive this weapon. Her eyes bulged as she clutched her heart, and she slumped over.

  Roars erupted from the crowd, probably braying for my blood. Aenor, witch slayer. Monster.

  Before the mob could descend for me, I turned and leapt. I was aiming for Salem’s arms, hoping they’d be outstretched.

  Because sometimes, falling was a leap of faith.

  Aenor

  Did I really think an ancient warrior god such as him would give up his entire destiny for a common fae like me?

  Yes, frankly, I did. I still did.

  And when Salem reached out to catch me around the ribs, I felt like the light of the stars was shining on me again.

  I slammed into him, and he wrapped his arms around me. As he pulled me in close to him, his wings spread out behind him. One hand gripped my bum, the other locked tight around my waist. Without thinking about it, I wrapped my legs around his abs and slid my bloodied dagger into my satchel.

  Salem’s fingers flexed on me, desperate for me. His expression had changed completely from that cold indifference to something fierce and primal, like he wanted to devour me. Around us, the mob was screaming, their cries echoing off the rock. They were climbing down from their stone seats, running for us.

  “Aenor.” When he said my name, it sounded like a quiet prayer.

  “We need to go,” I said. “Now!”

  Salem’s wings started to beat the air, and we lifted into the rainy skies. He held me so tight—the grip of a drowning man clinging to the rope that would save him.

  I let out a long, slow breath, silently thanking the gods that I’d been right to trust him.

  But it had been there throughout the fight—drowned under the sea of my panic. That little fleck of light at the bottom of my brain that told me something was off about him. That it wasn’t really him.

  At first, it had been the way he moved across the pit with his sword, slashing it through the air, showing off. That wasn’t his style. When he wanted to kill someone, he did. He didn’t mess around with flashiness. Someone had been controlling him, making it a show. Then there was the fact that he could’ve burned me to death a million times over.

  And most importantly, it had occurred to me that Salem could still control my mind. If he’d wanted me dead, he could have compelled me to walk straight into his sword, or off the cliff.

  I rested my head in the curve of his neck for a moment, catching my breath. From beneath us, the screech of the mob rose into the air, deafening even from here.

  Lightning filled the sky. The fae
of the Court of Silks had filled the arena, and their cries soared up to us like birds.

  Salem’s wings beat a slow, steady pulse. I took deep breaths, in tune with their pounding.

  “Aenor,” he whispered.

  Just moments ago, I’d been close to ending his life. Now, one of my hands was pressed against his cheek.

  Rivers of red flowed from his neck and down the front of his shirt where I’d stabbed him. The blood soaked my dress, mingling with the icy rain. Our lips were close enough that I could kiss him if I wanted, and he was still looking at me with that searing expression. There was something haunted in his eyes as they shifted from red to a dusky blue.

  “Explain to me what just happened,” I said. “I have my theories, but I want to hear it from you.”

  He let out an agonized sigh and nestled his head down by my neck. His breath warmed my throat. “I almost killed you.”

  “I know. I was there. But tell me what happened from your perspective.”

  “Lady Richelle was controlling my mind—the way I can control yours. It was the wine I drank, I think. She took over me completely, commanding my body to do exactly what she wanted. She’s far better at it than I am, frankly, an expert puppeteer. You must have figured it out, Aenor? When you killed her, you broke it. You knew I wouldn’t try to hurt you of my own accord, right?”

  “I had moments of doubt.”

  He angled his wings, veering over the forest of Mag Mell. His head was still nestled into the crook of my neck. “When she made me hit you with my elbow…”

  “I stabbed you,” I said, my pride demanding that my skill was acknowledged.

  “You did. But Aenor, you must have known from the start that I wouldn’t swing my sword around like an ostentatious twat.”

  “I did wonder about that.”

  “It was stupid of me to drink that wine. I was so eager to impress, to play my role, that I was careless.”

  My wet hair whipped into my face from the speed of our flight. I glanced down at the ground below us, and my stomach swooped. We were flying fast, high above the trees, in what seemed like a jagged pattern.