The feel of his fingertips on my skin sent a shiver through my body, and I closed my eyes, my loneliness just now hitting me like a tsunami. “I’m not lying to you. I told you the truth.” Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes again.
“I need to see everything. Okay?”
“Okay.” I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but he cupped his hand around my neck, pulling me closer. He seemed to drink me in with his gaze. Instinctively, I reached up, wrapping my arms around him, no longer sure what we were doing. I only knew I needed his heat, or the cold would consume me.
As if in a trance, I stared into his eyes, that deep green flecked with gold that spoke of ancient forests, of fingers curling into the mossy earth, arched backs, the thrill of the hunt. Footfalls hammering over the earth like heartbeats, the rush of blood, hands and knees in the dirt. This close to Roan, the world seemed to fall away around me—no ice, no gaping eyes, no death. No Mistress of Dread.
For just this moment, the rest of the world did not exist—just me, and the man before me. Slowly, his powerful hands stroked down my back, sending molten heat racing into my core. He gripped under my ass, then hoisted me up until my face was level with his. I locked my legs around him, arching my back.
Roan’s golden skin entranced me, and he tilted back his head, giving me a view of his alluring throat. When we’d been in the woods that day, our minds clouded by magic, Roan had bit my neck. And right now, I could think of nothing else but closing my teeth on his throat, piercing the skin just a little. I needed to make this perfect creature mine.
Wait—what? Why was I thinking about that?
I didn’t know. And yet—drawn in by his scent and his warmth—I lowered my mouth to his neck, brushing my tongue against his skin. Driven by a primal need, I let my teeth graze over his throat. As I did, an ancient power claimed my body, pooling in my ribs, my belly. Euphoria surged, and I moaned, arching my back to grind my hips at him, no longer in control. I felt him harden against me, and with a groan, he ran a clawed finger down the front of my shirt, ripping it open. As I felt the air over my bare breasts, I was consumed by an overpowering urge to claim him. I needed to sink my teeth into his skin, to taste him. Mine. Why? I’d never wanted to bite anyone before, and yet the thought overwhelmed me, until one word alone screamed in my skull. Mine.
I rocked my hips against him, my teeth pressing harder against his throat, wanting to feel my bare skin against his. And that’s when I felt my canines lengthen. Without realizing what I was doing, I pushed them deeper, piercing his skin just the way I’d needed to. Perfect ecstasy. A wave of power lit up my body. This is where I belong. This is where he belongs. Mine.
My senses heightened, and I could smell everything around me—the leather on the chairs, the oak in the walls. Roan’s deep, mossy scent. The smells overwhelmed me, the powerful sensations strangely familiar, like a long-lost power I’d just reclaimed.
I flicked my tongue against his neck, soothing the place where I’d bit him, tasting copper and salt. A low moan escaped him, and my mind whirled with images, memories—but not from my life. A girl with cheeks like shiny apples, laughing, trying to skip rocks across the river. Somehow, I knew her name was Morgana, and that she’d look after me. Here, the air smelled of wild strawberries, and the sunlight pierced the canopies of oak leaves, dappling the ground with flecks of amber. A tall woman walked along a forest path, her blond hair tumbling over a honey-gold gown. Gossamer wings cascaded from her back, catching in the sunlight. She turned to look at me, her eyes shining with love. Then, nightfall, when the Sluagh crawled from the shadows and swooped from the darkening skies. There were men coming for us, men who wanted to flay the skin from our bodies, and my heart pounded like a war drum…
My eyes snapped open, my heart thundering. I’d dragged my claws down Roan’s back, piercing his skin through his clothes—
Hang on. Claws?
Horrified, I unhooked my legs from his body and stepped away from him, shaking. I gaped as my claws slowly retracted into my skin, their tips red with blood. The metallic taste of blood stained my tongue. “What the fuck was that?” I pulled the front of my ripped shirt together.
Roan’s eyes had turned gold, his horns gleaming on his head, ears pointed. His long, pale blond hair flowed over his shoulders, body glowing with golden light—he’d dropped his glamour and completely unveiled. And yet, for the first time, the sight of him unveiled didn’t terrify me or make me want to run screaming from him in horror. I looked at Roan, the real Roan, and felt instead a strange surge of warmth. I could almost see him in his natural element, among the towering oaks of Trinovantum, the sunlight flecking his hair with gold, or racing through the woods after his prey, moving like the wind.
“You were discovering your fae form. You were unveiling.” Slowly, he transformed before me, his hair darkening and shortening, eyes returning to that deep green.
He reached for my cheek, brushing his thumb over my skin, his green eyes burning with intensity. I reached up to touch his hand. What had just happened?
My legs trembled, and I tried to regain control of myself. I’d lost myself there, drawn in by his memories, lured in by that powerful need to bite him. “I don’t understand what just happened. I lost control.”
He pulled me close, holding me against his body. The slow, rhythmic beating of his heart calmed me, my chest pressed against him. “I just needed to see for myself. I needed to see some of your memories. And you saw mine.”
I felt… different now, as if a strange, warm glow had sparked in my chest, a tiny flame that burned within me. “Who is Morgana?”
He took a deep, shuddering breath, as if trying to master himself. “She was my sister.”
“And the beautiful woman with the wings?”
Before he could answer, a knock sounded, on the door, then Nerius’s voice boomed through the oak door. “Are you still interrogating the prisoner?”
Roan’s body tensed against me. He tightened his powerful arms around me, one hand protectively around the back of my head. “She’s no longer a prisoner, Nerius. Abellio cleared her.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Go speak to Abellio,” Roan barked.
I looked up at him. “Why didn’t you mention your little mind-reading excursion?”
“He doesn’t need to know that,” he said, his voice softer now. Something seemed different about him now. “He just needs to do what I say. The important thing is that I know you were telling me the truth, and we need to discover why the king wants you dead.”
An image of Gabriel’s body came unbidden into my mind. I should never have gotten him involved in the world of the fae. “We need to find out why the king wants me dead, and then I would like to personally deliver his death.”
“Ambitious. I like it.”
“With your help, of course.” I stepped away from him, still clutching the pieces of my shirt together. “It seemed like you’ve heard of the Mistress of Dread.”
“I have heard of something similar several times. Lately, I’ve been hearing about it from Gormal. He was obsessed with the Masters of Dread, though none of us believed they were real. It’s just an old fae legend”
“Who’s Gormal?”
“The Lord of Balor. He is working with us, against the king. He has been researching the Masters of Dread. He knows more about them than anyone else.”
My pulse raced. We were on the right track. “Where do we find him?”
“He’s nearly impossible to find, for a number of reasons. For one, he is very secretive, and no one knows where he lives. I see him only at the meeting of the Council.” He frowned, biting his lip. “Of course. The key.”
“Right. I’m the key. The Mistress of Dread is the key.”
“That must be why I was supposed to take you to the Council. It was a guarantee that you’d meet Gormal.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Can’t we find him now?”
“No. He w
as one of the men ambushed while traversing the secret path.”
My stomach dropped. “Oh. I see. Was he killed?”
Roan shook his head. “Captured. The banshees took him.”
Banshees took the man who knew most about the Masters of Dread, and then, a few days later, banshees tried to kill me. This was feeling less and less like a coincidence.
Roan cleared his throat. “There was one other place I’ve seen a mention of the Masters of Dread. In my own library. I’ll take you there.”
I nodded, looking down at myself. “Maybe I can get a shirt first? You’ve ripped mine. For the second time, I might add.”
He let his gaze rake slowly up and down my body. A sly smile curled his lips. A smile? On Roan? “Sorry about that. It’s hard to control myself around you.”
“You’ll have to try or I’ll be sending you my shopping bills.”
Dressed in one of Roan’s shirts, I followed him through a hallway on the upper level, half-distracted by the strange warmth in my chest. As I walked down the hall, I glanced out the lattice windows. Storm clouds had gathered on the horizon, and a few rays of sunlight pierced the gloom, illuminating the ruddy brick walls of Roan’s mansion. Four wings enclosed a courtyard dappled with flowers. Over the other side of the building, the turrets of the Tower of London loomed, and to the right, the modern, glassy façade of the Gerkin building towered over the city.
I moved on, hurrying to keep pace with Roan. “How is this entire castle in the center of London, near the Tower, and I’ve never even heard of it?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew the answer. “It’s glamoured.”
“Exactly. This was once my family’s London home, but the fae homes in the human realm are always hidden.”
“What happened to your family?”
He took a sharp breath. “My parents were accused and convicted of treason. My entire family was imprisoned or killed. I’m the only one who remains.”
My heart tightened. “I’m so sorry, Roan.”
He led me to a mahogany door, carved with images of stags’ antlers entwined with hemlock boughs. “It was a long time ago. Hundreds of years. And now, I have finally returned.” With one hand on the door, he met my gaze. “The house is hidden from the king as well. For now.”
He pulled open the door into a towering library, with wooden ladders connecting one level after another of books. Leafy vines grew between the center of the shelves, and a rowan tree grew from the center of the room. Light from an oculus high above streamed into the library, illuminating the tree’s red berries and the dust motes floating around the hall. Cobwebs hung between the shelves.
“I haven’t had this room cleaned yet.” Roan walked into the room, running his fingertip along a dusty row of books. “I spent a lot of time in here as a boy, reading about the ancient fae wars.”
I quirked an eyebrow. I could almost imagine him as a golden-haired boy, huddled under the tree, lost in a book.
An ornate rug covered the floor, its surface embroidered with a forest scene—a beautiful woman in a white dress, standing by a stag in the woods.
I crossed further into the hall, inspecting some of the books on the shelves, all bound in leather, their spines faded.
Roan stared at a shelf, narrowing his eyes at the titles. As he searched for the right book, he said, “Tell me what it felt like.”
“When I bit you?”
He turned to me, eyes flickering with surprise. “No. When you reflected the fae terror back at them.”
I closed my eyes, my mind whirling with that terrible attack. Why hadn’t I seen them attacking Gabriel? If only I’d turned my head earlier, or if I’d found my power sooner, instead of after he was dead… A wave of sorrow washed over me. His hazel eyes, staring blankly at the sky…
I took a slow breath, trying to focus on the banshees, what I’d felt. “It felt like I was amplifying their fear.”
“What do you mean?”
“I could feel their fear and I…” I searched for a way to put it. “I threw it back in their faces. I drenched them in their own terror.”
“That shouldn’t be possible,” he muttered, returning to the shelf.
As he searched the titles, the door creaked open, and Elrine strode in. Or perhaps I should say she flowed in.
When I’d first met her, she’d been imprisoned, starved, and tortured. Watching her now was like watching a gazelle running in the woods, a being possessed of complete grace and composure. She walked with complete certainty, as if she derived a sensual pleasure from every sway of her hips or movement of her arms. Her long, cherry-red hair draped over a silver gown, the neckline low enough to expose her creamy-white skin. She gazed at both of us as she approached a tall mahogany chair. She sat in it languidly, making the dark hard wood seem somehow comfortable. A soft scent of wood anemone and grass followed her.
“Hello, Cassandra,” she said lightly. “This needs to stop.”
I blinked. “Uh… hi. What does?”
“Your emotions. You have to get them under control. You’ll bring any fae within a mile to our door, and we’re kinda trying to lay low here. I understand Abellio has cleared you, and you are no longer our prisoner. I must admit, it surprised me. But Abellio is never wrong. So you can relax now, okay?” She shot a sharp glance at Roan. “What’s going on with you? You’re glowing.”
He didn’t answer, and I felt that flame glow brighter in my chest. Yet still, that undercurrent of sorrow and guilt washed over it, and I had no idea how to get it under control. I glanced at Roan.
Roan looked at me, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “Elrine is right. I can’t hide such a torrent. I’m doing my best, but it feels like I’m trying to dam a river with a few sticks.”
I bit my lip. “Give me a moment.” I shut my eyes, trying to clear my mind. I was a psychologist. I knew you couldn’t just freeze over your emotions and expect them to melt away. I had to live with the grief, to let it in. I had to sit with the knowledge I would never see Gabriel again. With my last memory of him, lying in a pool of his own blood. I had to live with the question of whether or not I could have stopped it…
Elrine cleared her throat, and I opened my eyes. Okay, these feelings were not going away anytime soon. Bring on the mental prison of ice.
I imagined an empty riverbed, and I collected all the sadness and guilt, laying it across the rocky floor. The corpses I needed to bury—my mother and father, the birth mother in the London Stone, Gabriel’s corpse… I lay them all down and flooded the river with icy water, then let it freeze over with a bone-deep chill.
I shivered, opening my eyes. I wasn’t happy, but I’d contained my emotions. A bottled vessel full of roiling feelings frozen beneath the surface. With my emotions under control, Roan visibly relaxed, and I realized for the first time how much effort he’d probably been putting into trying to mask my presence.
“Well done.” Elrine nodded. “I’m impressed with your control. I understand why you were so devastated. I heard about Gabriel. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” My voice sounded hollow.
“He helped you find me and Scarlett when Siofra held us. I will always be thankful for that. To him, and to you.”
I tightened my jaw, keeping my control, and kept silent.
“What are you both doing in here?” asked Elrine.
“Learning about the Masters of Dread,” said Roan. “I’m sure I saw something in here once.”
Elrine folded her arms. “Dread. Surely it has something to do with Weala Broc.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s the king’s house, yes? The Court of Terror. And my lineage, apparently.”
“Exactly,” said Elrine. “One of the Unseelie courts. King Ogmios of Weala Broc is the head.”
“And the Rix, and all the other terror leeches like me, right?” I asked. “I’ve seen the emblem. The skull under water.”
“The Drowned Man,” said Elrine.
I pressed my finger on my lips.
“The king sent banshees to kill me because I’m supposedly the Mistress of Dread. Why would one of the king’s own kind be a threat to him?”
Elrine shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you that.”
I frowned, trying to piece together how this had all started. I’d never been able to feel fae terror so clearly until that one moment with Gabriel. Why then? I’d been in life-or-death situations before then, even after I’d discovered my magic. But this had never happened before.
The Stone.
It had all started after I touched the London Stone.
The Stone had either given me those powers, or ignited them within me. I just didn’t know how to explain any of this—the lost week, the screams that had rung in my skull, the visions I’d seen of another fae’s life.
“What do you know about the London Stone?” I asked.
Roan had pulled a book from a shelf, and he frowned at the open pages. “There. The Masters of Dread.” He pointed at the book’s page emphatically. “It’s very vague. There’s a mention of them as possessing the power to take and give fae fear. Something about a rumored Master of Dread twelve centuries ago who bathed the fae village of Oxendon in nightmares for a fortnight.”
“Yeah, but that’s impossible,” Elrine said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you can’t use fae emotions with magic, Cassandra. Only human emotions.”
“But I did that. I used the banshees’ fear against them.”
Elrine raised a skeptical brow, and said nothing.
Roan shut the book in disgust. “There’s nothing else here. We need more information.”
“What are the chances we can find this Gormal person?” I asked. “The Lord of Balor?”
Roan studied me. “We know banshees are from the House of Arawn, the Court of Sorrow, but there are so many factions of banshees, we don’t know where to look. But the banshees who took him are likely to be the same ones that attacked you.”
Agent of Darkness (Dark Fae FBI Book 3) Page 8
