by May Dawson
As the tub fills, I sit on the edge of the marble bath. When I pour in the jar of the bubble bath, the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle blooms in the air. I inhale deeply, eager to slip into the tranquil hot water as white suds pile up promisingly.
There’s a small distant sound, a thump that I almost can’t decipher. It takes me a second to realize it’s coming from the door into the apartment.
Someone bangs at the door. Of course they do.
I’m tempted to ignore them. But the dark lord’s daughter isn’t guaranteed any vacation time. It could be important. Impatiently, I get up, pulling on the fluffy robe left at the side of the tub. I yank the ends into a knot as I cross the room. The apartment is so big, my would-be visitor might give up and leave before I reach the door.
I check the peephole with my hand already on the doorknob. Mycroft stands out in the hall, his face impatient. But impatient is pretty much his default setting. It doesn’t mean anything new is wrong.
I swing the door open. “What is it?”
His eyebrows rise. “Hello to you too.”
“Oh, come off it,” I take a step back, raising my arm to invite him in, no matter how caustic my words may be. “You’ve been cold and mean to me all day, for some reason.”
It’s been more than all day, at that. It’s been weeks, except for his occasional breakdowns when he kisses me.
“I’ve barely seen you today.”
“And now you’re being argumentative even though you know damn well it’s true.” I leave him behind as he closes the door behind him. I’m already retracing my steps toward the bath. “Come on. I was just going to take a relaxing bubble bath. Feel free to come ruin it for me.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Forget him.
I do know one sure way to punish Mycroft. I loosen my robe, and, as he pads behind me on his stealthy feet, I let it slip over my shoulders. For a second, it hangs at my elbows, revealing the curve of my back, the shape of my ass. Then I straighten my arms, letting it drop away entirely as I walk.
He says nothing, and yet I can feel the rise of tension between us. When I turn my head over my shoulder, there’s hunger written across his face. I sweep into the bathroom.
“You’re angry,” he notes.
“Do you think so?” I step without hesitation into the tub, going down the three marble steps, even though the water is so hot that it makes me wince. There’s no going back now, though. I’d like to play it as cool as Mycroft does.
He sits without hesitation on the floor beside the tub, his back against the wall. He’s so close to me. I could splash him if I were in a playful mood.
Funny how that impulse conjures up an entire quick fantasy: splashing Mycroft, earning his playful wrath. Mycroft rolling up his sleeves, beckoning me closer, full of threats. I’d grab his shoulders and yank him into the tub with me, soaking him, earning myself the kind of spanking he’s teased me about before.
I can imagine his fingers in my wet hair, my fingers teasing apart his slippery, wet buttons, the way the two of us would move together in the water. This once-tranquil water would turn into waves until we soaked the floor.
But Mycroft and I haven’t even had sex yet. I thought we were going to, at one point; sex has felt sweetly inevitable from the passion with which he has kissed me before. And yet, here we are now, with Mycroft sitting stonily, fully-dressed, beside my tub.
I let myself float beneath the bubbles, the water holding me up as my hair drifts around me. It’s a foolish fantasy, no matter how much my core tightens at the very thought of Mycroft’s strong hands on my body, his hard cock pressing against me. The most affectionate Mycroft is with me now is when we’re on the mats together.
“I need your help,” he says abruptly, and I almost dip under the water in my surprise.
I sit up, getting my knees underneath me on the slick marble of the tub. “Excuse me?”
He levels a look at me. You know damned well you heard.
Even Airren will admit he needs me—even though it’s hard to believe that he does when he’s always so cool and confident—but Mycroft? The only time Mycroft ever admits he needs me is when he can’t hide the passion in his kisses.
“Do you remember the black magic in that pawn shop?” he asks me.
“The magic that almost killed you? I do remember that.” I’ll never forget the way it felt when he staggered and went down.
“It wasn’t the magic, it was the hit that came with it,” he says drily. “And I’m doing better.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten between me and that hit.” It still bothers me, thinking of how hurt he was. His still face flashes in front of my eyes again. And on the heels of that memory, I remember him, half-conscious, drawing me against his body like I was his salvation.
He shrugs, but he says nothing. His fingertips absently skim the water, drawing trails through the suds, but his eyes are fixed on the marble wall across from me.
“What do you want to do about the black magic?” I ask finally.
“There was a man being controlled by it. His name was Loren. I want to find him and release him.”
That sounds like a good thing to do, but why now? While Moirus Neal is in the cells below and my men are so intent to change my mind about his fate?
“Are you in or out?” he demands before I can ask another question.
“Of course I’m in,” I snap. “But why?”
“Because cruel magic like that can’t be allowed to stand, Tera.”
“I know that,” I say. “I meant why now, why do you have this pressing need now…”
“I’ve wanted to deal with it since I knew about it,” he says. “My strength is coming back. I’m ready to fix this.”
“I thought Cax said you didn’t have the juice for a spell just the other night.”
“Cax doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Hurtful,” I say on Cax’s behalf.
“Whenever you’re finished with your very important bath, we can leave and save that poor man from whoever’s tinkering with his mind.”
That kind of magic is illegal. But that doesn’t stop everyone, of course. It certainly never stopped my father.
“You know I’d like to help,” I say. “But how can I, of all people?”
“I need someone to watch my back. That’s all.”
“My question remains…”
“I trust you to have my back.” He rises to his feet in one sudden, smooth movement and snatches a towel from the shelf. He shakes it out, holding it for me to wrap myself in. “Well?”
“Croft, I don’t have magic…”
“Believe me, I’ve spent the last few months of my life discussing your lack of magic. I’m aware.”
“What do you think I’m going to do if you run into trouble? Kick someone in the shins?”
“You figured something out when you were face-to-face with Moirus.” He shakes the towel at me. “Are you seriously trying to talk me out of taking you?”
“No.” I rise suddenly, and bubbles slide down my body. I cross my arms over my breasts, not that it matters. It always feels like he looks right through me. I’m tired of being so vulnerable. “I’m just trying to understand. You never seem to want me around.”
“Right.” His voice is heavy with disbelief, and then his face shifts, with alarm and uncertainty. Maybe he finally realizes that I mean it. “Tera, believe me. I’m bringing you because I want you with me.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head.
I cross my arms over my breasts. “I can’t help but think that this little mission is suspicious. You guys don’t like my decision.”
“Don’t like is an understatement.”
“And now you’re convincing me to leave the castle, to ride hours away—or are we taking a portal?”
“Riding. I don’t have a safe exit point for us to portal.”
“It just seems a little convenient.”
Mycroft folds the t
owel in two impatiently, dropping it on the counter as he sighs. When he turns back to me, his face is resolute. He knits his arms across his chest.
“I’ve watched you dance with the prince. The Fox is in love with you. I know you and Cax have begun…” He glances away. “And of course, you already were with Airren.”
“Are you jealous? Really?”
“Madly.” He says the word so casually, I wouldn’t believe he meant it, except there’s something haunted in his gaze.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
His lips part in surprise, then he’s back to cool and amused. “This is why I don’t tell you the dark secrets of my heart.”
“I mean, what’s wrong with you that you don’t dance with me? That you aren’t the one…kissing me…” I can’t say the other word; it’s too bald, too honest. I’ve wanted Mycroft in my bed for a long time. It aches that he doesn’t come.
“I don’t deserve you.” His voice is soft.
That’s the real, dark secret of his heart, isn’t it?
I raise my hands in bewilderment. “And what do I deserve? The dark lord’s daughter? Really?”
“Everything,” he says. “You are so much more than anyone realizes.”
I shake my head, looking away.
There’s a splash, and my gaze snaps to him as he wades into the tub. The water soaks up his trouser legs while he’s still on the first step, but he keeps coming. When the two of us are waist-deep in the tub, he reaches me and wraps his arms around me.
Shocked, I twine my arms around his neck, looking up at him. He’s so much bigger than me that he dwarfs me.
“I want to believe there’s a future for you and me, Tera,” he says, his voice low and seductive and pained all at once. “But it’s not now. It’s not until you have your powers, until you see yourself as equal and worthy. Not until you’re ready to see me as I am.”
I start to pull away. My cheeks are starting to flush. “Then I should say the same to you. You’re an idiot to think you’re not worthy—”
Before I can pull away completely, his eyes are intent on mine, and he leans forward. Do I have it in me to resist him? Do I ever?
His lips graze mine. I press my lips together tightly, starting to turn my face away.
I can’t do it. I kiss him back. I lose myself in his lips, in the heat of his hands against my body, at the water lapping against our thighs as we exchange quick, fevered kisses.
His hand skims the curves of my ass. His fingers sink into my skin as hot and feverish as a brand, and he groans into my mouth. I rise onto my tip-toes, feeling the slick marble underneath my feet and the hard lines of his solid, muscular body all along mine.
Knowing that I won’t slip, not when I’m wrapped in his arms, I kiss his neck, then nip the lobe of his ear. His hands stroke across my thighs, then suddenly wrap around my legs, drawing me up. My naked breasts are pressed against his shirt as he turns, pinning me between his hot body and the cool marble wall.
But before things can go too far, he pulls away from me abruptly. The look on his face is as if it’s painful for him to tear his body away from mine, but he does just that, carefully lowering me down. He looks down to make sure my feet are on solid ground.
The wet linen of his shirt slides through my grip, and I drop my hands to my side abruptly. I won’t hold onto him, not when he doesn’t want me to.
“We should go.” His wet shirt clings to his broad shoulders and the narrow taper of his waist as he suddenly strides away across the bathroom. He doesn’t look back at me. Maybe he doesn’t dare to. “I’m going to change. Be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Clothes on?”
“It would help. Otherwise, you’ll make rather a stir in town.”
I hate him, I hate him. And yet…
Chapter 31
Airren
With Tera out of the way, we split up to prepare for Neal’s second interrogation. Rian will avoid us for now, pretending that he doesn’t know what we’re up to. The prince can’t countenance this kind of act against our own state’s constitution.
But he’s a fool for Tera too. He isn’t going to stop us.
“I’ll let you know when we’ve done the dirty work,” I tell Cutter, who needs his share of plausible deniability too.
When he nods, I add, “I’m glad you’re here.”
He’s a good man, and he’s been working hard to eliminate the corruption in the Corum police department, which reeks of dark magic and True loyalties. We don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I’m glad he’s on our side.
“I wish I could say I’m glad to be here,” he mutters. “Dirtside would feel like a vacation right now.”
“You’ll get it done.” I don’t doubt him, no matter how hard things have gotten back in his department. I clap his shoulder with my hand and head into the interrogation room. I’d sent Cax off earlier to gather the supplies we need.
But it’s Devlin who shoulders open the door, with Cax coming in behind him. Devlin carries a wooden crate filled with supplies. “Rian told me about your interrogation of my prisoner.”
“Helpful of him.” I eye the Vasilik prince. I’d be certain he was here to ruin my interrogation, but the wooden crate makes me wonder. “But we’ve established that he’s actually one of ours.”
“He escaped,” Devlin says. “His sentence still stands. So…” He plunks the crate on the tabletop. “Interrogate away. You’re doing nothing wrong.”
This revelation is genuinely helpful. That makes me feel more suspicious. What is Devlin’s game?
Behind his shoulder, Cax shrugs. I look through the crate: there’s the endry root, the alder cones, dried cornflowers, Frankincense, Hemlock, a glass bottle, a razor, flint.
“You’re going to get your hands dirty?” I question.
“I don’t mind it,” Devlin says coolly.
I wonder how much he’s dirtied his hands with the murders of the nobility in Vasilik. I can’t convince my mother to leave Vasilik; our only tense conversations are about just that, as she tries to steer the conversation back to small talk. The worst part is that my three sisters won’t leave unless she does.
My mother’s a harmless fool, but that doesn’t guarantee her safety.
It doesn’t stop me from loving her and wishing she was safe, either.
I can’t help her now, but I can help Cutter root out the True. I can make things better in Avalon. So, no matter how I feel about the Vasilik prince, the two of us work together with Cax to form the spell.
When we’ve finished, an electric blue potion bubbles and sizzles in the glass bottle. We’ll have to wait until it cools to feed it to Moirus Neal.
Then I think about the sheer terror in Tera’s eyes every time she looks at him, and I think eh, maybe not.
I take the long glass neck of the bottle in my hand and move it across the table out of Neal’s reach. “Have them send him in, please. And fetch Cutter.”
Cax moves to the doorway to talk to the guard. As I draw the heat from the bottle, sending steam whirling up toward the ceiling, Devlin pulls out one of the seats at the table. Its legs scrape across the stone floor. The sound is almost as irritating as his presence to begin with.
“Do you plan to stay?” I ask.
He glances at me over his shoulder. “There’s no pretty girl to keep me company on the other side of the glass.”
Oh, no. Tera is a pretty girl, but it’s not up to Devlin, son of a murderer, thief of thrones, total prat when we were at boarding school together, to say so.
“Great,” I say. “Going to be a crowded room.”
Devlin shrugs.
When Moirus Neal comes in, I realize I sent Cax away too early. I nod at the guards to leave the room, and close the door between us. Moirus lopes toward the single chair on the other side of the table, favoring his side where Tera drove the knife in. He seems to think he’s in control here.
I murmur the words of the spell, and the mirror image of the room behind us ri
pples. Now no one on the other side, in the viewing room, can see us. The treaty between Vasilik and Avalon leaves Moirus Neal as Devlin’s prisoner, and the Vasiliks don’t have tidy little rules against tampering with anyone’s mind. But still, I’d prefer my privacy. No reason to invite trouble.
“Would you do me a favor, please,” I say to Devlin even though I’d rather not.
“I told you I don’t mind,” he says. “What do you want?”
“Hold him.”
When Moirus sees the bottle of blue potion in my hand, he begins to struggle. I half-expect Devlin to be useless—he didn’t seem like he paid much attention at any of our lessons, including hand-to-hand combat—but he quickly kicks the legs of the chair out from under Moirus. When Moirus tilts back, his cuffed hands rising in the air, Devlin’s arm bars his throat, his hand locking around Moirus’ jaw. The entire movement is smooth and graceful, subduing Moirus in a split-second.
If only Devlin would surprise me in other ways, such as by bucking his father’s bloody legacy.
“You’ve got reason to fear this,” I note to Moirus.
He shakes his head, pressing his lips together so tightly they turn white. Lines of tension appear at the corners of his mouth.
It doesn’t help him. Within seconds, he’s choking on the potion. The prince’s jeweled hand locks across Moirus’ lips, pressing against his nostrils, forcing him to swallow the potion or drown in it.
As much as I want to help Cutter, I don’t much care whether Moirus drinks or drowns.
When I nod to Devlin, he stands back, releasing Moirus. There’s a look of disgust on Devlin’s face as he claps his hands together, as if he feels dirty after touching Moirus.
“Thank you,” I tell Devlin. To be fair. It was good work.
There’s a flicker of surprise across his face before he nods.
The two of us take our seats across from Moirus. There’s a quick knock before Cax and Cutter enter. Cax leans against the door, waiting. Cutter draws out the third chair, flips it around, and sits. No matter how weary he is, his eyes are alert and cunning.
