Thief of Souls (Court of Dreams Book 2)

by Bec McMaster

  Interestingly enough, her cheeks turn red.

  “If you think your precious prince will save you,” she hisses, “then you should think again.”

  I grab her wrist. “I don’t think Keir will save me.”

  “No?” There are dark shadows beneath her eyes. “You think I’m fool enough to imagine last night was happenstance?”

  “Last night?”

  Belladonna leans closer. “Tell him to keep his filthy claws out of my dreams, and I won’t have to strike back. Now do what I asked. Kill Mistmark and we won’t have a problem.”

  She stalks away.

  Anissa gives me a pained smile. “It’s the wedding. She’s on edge.”

  I rub at the knotted curse suddenly writhing in the center of my chest. “You have terrible taste in friends.”

  Anissa gives a sad little shrug. “I know. But someone has to be there for the Evil Queen. She’s not all bad.”

  Horns suddenly echo through the air.

  Dogs go wild in the distance.

  I shake my head. “A rousing endorsement.” I see Belladonna shoot one last vicious glance over her shoulder. “I think you’re being summoned.”

  Anissa flees after her mistress as though she doesn’t want to be punished by lingering.

  I decide to test the theory that Keir can hear me. “What. Did. You. Do?” I growl in his direction.

  There’s a long moment with no response, and then I can sense him inside my head. Hot possession. The scent of burning amber. A very smug sensation, somewhat akin to a cat purring. “I told you. I will take care of it.”

  “Stay out of my head.” I turn for my chambers. “You’re going to get me killed.”

  “Never,” he says.

  And then he’s gone again, and I hate the fact that I feel a little alone.

  12

  The hunt went overlong, and somehow, the white hart managed to escape into the swampy fens to the north of the court.

  The huntsman was confounded. Its tracks simply disappeared into the swamp. The dogs ran around in circles. And nobody got to kill the beast.

  “It just… vanished,” the huntsman finally admitted.

  I caught a glimpse of the look in Keir’s eyes as he watched Malechus rant and track mud through the edge of the swamp, until he was forced to finally concede and send us all home.

  I didn’t dare ask him if he had done something.

  As if in retaliation, Malechus is in a rare good humor tonight. He calls for more wine. More mead. More music. He will have his glory, no matter whether he must wring it from us in blood.

  I dance and dance until my feet ache.

  There’s a wildness to the music that brings a rush of blood through my body. Or maybe it’s the company. Keir spins me in his arms, again and again, until I’m dizzy with it. For once we have this one night in which there is nothing to do beyond enjoy the pleasures to be found. There are too many curious eyes upon us, and one must make certain appearances if one is to be beyond suspicion.

  “I need something to drink,” I plead as the music lulls.

  “I’ll be back.” Keir bows with a vicious smile. “Don’t fall in love with any strangers until I return.”

  I watch him go, slightly bemused by his good mood tonight.

  Maybe it’s you. Maybe he’s enjoying himself because he’s with you.

  The thought sours my mood a little.

  I turn and almost walk right into Rhea.

  The second I see her, her kohl-rimmed eyes bright and malicious, my heart skips a beat. “What are you—?”

  “A little gift for you, toadstool.”

  She blows a handful of powder in my face.

  I jerk away, trying not to suck it in, but the merriment has left me breathless. It’s too late. The powder hits my lungs.

  Grabbing her by the dress, I shove her against the wall of the ballroom cavern, a knife pressed low to her abdomen. “What did you poison me with?”

  “Not poison,” she says with a laugh, her arms wrapping around me with an intimate embrace. Our bodies twine, and then she’s undulating against me, careless of the knife. “I wouldn’t dare.” She breathes the words against my neck. “Your prince can take no umbrage with this, can he? Tell him it’s my little gift to him.”

  My heart skips a beat, but it’s the stealthy slide of lust through my veins like raw honey that makes my eyes widen with horror.

  It’s not poison.

  Fingertips trail between my breasts, setting me alight. The tips of my nipples harden, and I shove away from her. It’s too late. I’m on fire. Burning within.

  I’ve never inhaled rapture, but the fae of the Blessed courts use it to enhance their celebrations.

  Snorting a pinch of it is enough to transform lovemaking. A male will be hard for days, driven only by the urge to fuck his way inside a female. A female, on the other hand, will want to rut with anything that’s hard enough….

  I’ve heard talk that some of Malechus’s wildest debaucheries are filled with little bowls of the stuff, and small straws through which to imbibe.

  No. No, no, no, no….

  I have to get out of here.

  I shove my way through the gathering.

  Slamming into the hard planes of someone’s chest, I fight to trap the gasp that echoes in my throat. “Sorry—”

  Malechus.

  Hard, lean, staring down at me with predatory intent.

  “I’d like a word with you,” he says with a chilling smile. “Dance with me.”

  “I’m afraid I have to—” There are hands on my wrists. Hands that shackle and bind. Hands that make me wilt into his touch.

  “This way,” Malechus says, leading me toward the balcony.

  Every instinct inside me starts screaming, but my feet, treacherous beasts that they are, carry me after him.

  “Would you care for a drink?” Malechus asks, snapping his fingers to one of the servants as he pushes me—none-too-gently—onto the balcony.

  The ballroom beckons through the gauzy curtains. The music seems discordantly jarring, until I want to scratch my nails down my forearms. There’s sweat down my spine. Under my nose. If I grind my teeth together hard enough, maybe the feeling won’t overwhelm me?

  “No.” I need to get out of here, before the rapture has me at its mercy.

  Malechus takes a bottle of elderberry wine and pours us both a goblet, regardless of what I said. “Relax,” he purrs. “I have a good friend taking care of your handsome prince. We won’t be caught.”

  “Caught?” Caught doing what?

  He offers me the goblet. My choice is either to take it, or dare risk having him touch me.

  Instantly, my mind throws half a dozen sensations into view. Malechus’s hands gripping my wrists. His teeth on my throat. His tongue on my skin….

  I’m heating up.

  How long does it take for this drug to fully take hold?

  “Thank you.” I grab the goblet and retreat to the far end of the balcony.

  “It’s my pleasure,” he murmurs, his blue eyes alight with heat as he stalks after me. “Or it could be….”

  “Could be?” It’s too hard to focus on my words. All I can do is repeat his.

  “Merisel, was it?” His eyes seem amused, and I cannot, for the life of me, work out why.

  “Yes.” I half-snort a mouthful of wine in my eagerness to distract myself.

  He rests one hand on the railing beside my hip, and every inch of me tenses. “I always wonder what sort of secrets a woman hides.” He breathes the words, trailing his fingertips barely a quarter inch from my body as he follows the contours of my gown. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  And then his finger comes to rest between my breasts.

  Heat ripples out from his touch in concentric circles. I bite back on a moan as the prince leans closer.

  “Ah, there you are. Such pale, pale skin you have….” His smile turns vicious. “I wonder whether Keir has any idea what a delightful gift he has to un
wrap….”

  Heart pounding. Breath catching. I bite into my knuckle. It can’t be mere coincidence that Rhea accosted me half a minute before Malechus sought me out. “Did you do this?”

  “Do what?” His voice is little more than a roughened purr.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I shove him back against the wall, putting my knife to his throat. I can’t remember drawing it. It’s like I’m making jagged leaps forward in time. “Did you send Rhea?”

  “Rhea?” Malechus tilts his head back, but he appears completely unconcerned by the threat of the knife. “Oh, I can see why you’ve caught Keir’s attention.” He suddenly fists a handful of my skirts. “Be careful, my lady. If you start such a dangerous game, I will finish it.”

  “I’m not playing a fucking game.” That hand. In my skirts. I’m sweating again. Need to get out of here.

  But he seems to sense it, because his thumb strokes against my thigh.

  “I like games,” he whispers. “That’s the one thing my father taught me—set the board, cast your pieces in play, and see what reckless mayhem ensues. Every fae prince will show his true face when you twist their arms. This entire elaborate scheme is bringing all the secrets to the surface.”

  What is he talking about?

  “Stop it. Get your hands off me.”

  “Is that truly what you want?” He steps forward.

  Somehow, my back is the one against the wall. I can’t remember moving. Malechus captures my hand, squeezing it tight around the blade. He turns it, forcing the point against my throat.

  Everything within me goes still with liquid anticipation. I want to scream with frustration that my body’s barely obeying me at all.

  I need to twist this back on him somehow.

  “Your father. The king of the Court of Blood? I thought… you’d be a little careful… about playing games with him.”

  Malechus’s smile deepens as he leans closer. “Want to know a little secret, Merisel?”

  I shake my head. Desperately.

  But his lips graze my jaw, and it’s all I can do not to melt into him.

  “In two days’ time, my father will no longer matter.” The knife trails down my throat, pressing against the curve of my breast. “I will finally have the power to destroy him.”

  The horn. He has to be speaking of the horn.

  “You’re going to overthrow him?” Maybe that’s what this is all about—he wants the power of the horn to wield against his father.

  Malechus withdraws, just enough to search my expression. “Why the fascination with my father?”

  “He’s the king. He’s the one who rules. You can play these pretty games, but none of them truly matter. He’s more powerful than you will ever be.” I bite my lip, trying to force my brain to think. “Is that why he’s not here? He wasn’t invited? You didn’t want to risk a confrontation with him?”

  If I just keep talking, then maybe I can ignore the influence of the drug.

  Instead, Malechus slides the tip of the knife down my throat, letting it slice through the thin lace decorating my breast.

  Every inch of me goes still.

  And he knows it.

  “My father is unimportant. Do you know what power is, Merisel?” he whispers.

  “What?”

  “Truth.” He angles the blade until its point draws a single bead of blood. “So many of the fae lie. They lie with a dozen little truths, all half-twisted. But they don’t know that I can see right through their lies.” The blade presses deeper and I gasp. “Tell me: Why did you—?”

  “Merisel?”

  Keir.

  I break away from Malechus with a soft cry as Keir appears, stark and imposing in black.

  “Ah,” he says, his eyes raking over us. “You found her. My thanks, Malechus.”

  The Prince of Knives runs his tongue over his top teeth, but the blade in his hand has disappeared. “So I did. All yours, Keir.”

  He captures my hand in his before he goes, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Enjoy the night, my prince. She’s ripe for the plucking.”

  And then he’s gone, leaving me shaking from head to toe. I’ve never been so relieved to see Keir.

  “Merisel?” His frown turns stern.

  “Get me out of here.”

  I can barely breathe by the time Keir drags me into the maze. The itch riding beneath my skin makes my vision waver. All I am is want. Need.

  I need to fuck him. I need his hands on my skin. His mouth.

  We pause somewhere, and he growls under his breath as I grind against him and slide my hands beneath his coat.

  “Zemira.” Capturing my wrists, he lashes them within one fist as he fumbles with some sort of latch. “Damn it, stop it.”

  “Why?” I kiss his throat, licking at the throbbing pulse of his vein.

  “Because I know you don’t want this,” he growls, shoving open some sort of door. We stumble through, and I manage to get my arms around his neck. “Not really.”

  “I do.” He does too. I can feel the thick fist of his cock driving into the silk that covers my abdomen. “Kiss me.”

  “No.” He unwraps my arms from around his neck. “No,” he repeats, pushing me away.

  Every vein in my temples throb. I want to scream. I want him. I don’t want him. My heart’s pounding so fucking fast, I can barely breathe.

  “What happened?” he demands. “Who did this to you?”

  “Rhea.”

  Somehow, we’re in the hidden garden where Belladonna first tried to kill me.

  I turn and wade into the pool of blood lilies, trying to choke down the scream that wants to escape me. Underwater vines lash around my skin, and it hurts, but the feeling isn’t pain. It’s denial. It’s lust, driving through my system like a carriage tumbling over the edge of a treacherous mountain path. If I don’t let myself crash, then the pain of sheer, unresolved lust will drive me to tear my own skin.

  “Zemira!” Keir crashes into the water after me.

  Hard arms lock around me.

  No. No. I fight to free myself, but it’s like dragging my own fingernails down my skin. I want him. I want him so much I want to scream.

  “Don’t touch me,” I gasp, Sifting away from his arms until I’m trapped against the wall of the garden. Even the rasp of the stone against my skin sets me on fire.

  “I’m going to kill her. Slowly,” he promises, stripping his coat from his arms as he stalks out of the water, tearing at the lashing vines that wrap around his thighs. “Here.”

  I don’t want his coat.

  No. My eyes drop to the sleek press of his shirt against his body. I want to run my teeth over his skin.

  Then I’m in his arms, punching out of the shadows and sliding my hands under his shirt. The sensation of his skin takes away some of the edge. This. This is what I want. What I need.

  “Zemira, no.” He captures a fistful of my hair, forcing my hungry mouth away from his. “Let me knock you out,” he whispers, hands cupping my face. “At least until the drug is out of your system.”

  “It hurts.”

  “I know.” He lowers his forehead to mine. “I know.”

  I don’t even care anymore whether this is real or not. “Make it stop hurting.” My hand slides down his abdomen. “I want this. I want you to fuck me—”

  “No, you don’t.” He captures my hand. “Trust me.” His pupils are ringed with solid gold. I’ve never seen the dragon so close to the surface. “Let me make you sleep until this is over. I’ll watch over you, Zemira. I promise nothing will hurt you.”

  I can barely breathe.

  Instead I nuzzle into his throat, desperate for the touch of his skin upon mine. The ache between my thighs burns like acid. I need him. There. Inside me. I need this.

  I need help.

  “Please,” I gasp before my treacherous mouth can say anything else.

  “As you wish,” he breathes, and then the world grows hazy around the edges and I collapse into his arms as
darkness overwhelms me.

  13

  I dream of a dragon trailing his claws through my hair, and kissing his way down my throat.

  “Mine,” he hisses, and then he thrusts inside me, sinking his teeth into my throat hard enough to bruise.

  Then a gentle hand soothes my hair. “Sleep,” someone says. “Sleep and it will all be over. You’re safe.”

  Safe. “I don’t think I even know what that word means,” I mumble.

  The hand stills. Someone growls under their breath. “But you will, Zemira. You will. I will always protect you.”

  I snuggle into warmth. I can’t fight it anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting.

  “I don’t want to be alone….” I whisper.

  Maybe I’m imagining it, but there’s a soft sigh and warm hands lock around me. “Never,” he promises.

  Waking up feels like being hit square between the eyes by a hammer.

  Light gleams through the curtains, my mouth tastes like something shit in it, and I feel like I wrestled a bear last night. Maybe I did. I vaguely recall Keir having to pin me to the bed, and not in an amorous manner. The sheer indignity makes me furious. It’s not enough that rapture steals all your wits and leaves you with nothing more than furious desire, but now I get the post-rapture headache.

  And humiliation.

  “Thirsty?” There’s a Keir-shaped blur sitting on the edge of the bed—well out of touching distance by the look of it.

  A vague memory of me begging him for his cock chooses that moment to replay itself. I groan and roll onto my face, dragging the pillow over my head. “Go away.”

  He laughs under his breath. “Ah. Safe to come closer then. Here. I have water. It will make you feel better.”

  As much as I want to crawl under the blankets and hide, my tongue is cleaving to the roof of my mouth. I could drink the Burning River dry right now.

  Coming out from under my pillow, I reach for the glass and gulp it down without looking at him.

  “None of what happened last night is your fault.” Keir’s voice roughens. “I want you to know that.”

  And there it is….