Gena Showalter - [Lords of the Underworld 13]

by The Darkest Craving

  “To them, I’m a human servant without a mistress in sight. I have no business being in this part of town, alone with a man, unless I’m getting boned by him on a daily basis.”

  One of his brows arched. “Boned. Who taught you to talk like that?”

  “You! I studied you and your friends for years, remember, and picked up on your verbal cues.”

  He massaged the back of his neck, and she wasn’t sure whether he was fighting a smile or a scowl. “I hate the double standard here. Those same women would have stripped for me just last night, and I wouldn’t have had to speak a word.”

  She gaped at him. “Uh, maybe we should get a bag for your ego. That might make it easier for you to carry it around.”

  His lips twitched for several seconds—definitely fighting a smile. “Let’s get you out of sight before I gouge out a few eyes and dangle them from a necklace I’ll be presenting to you as a gift.”

  I would totally wear that.

  They leaped back into motion. He bypassed the shoe shop, the ribbon store, the millinery and stopped in front of one of the dressmakers.

  With his hand on the doorknob, he said, “What do the Fae use as money?”

  “You might find this hard to believe, but...money.”

  Another twitch, before his frown returned. “What happens if someone touches the skin on your face or your shoulders?” As he spoke, his gaze traced the areas in question—and glinted with hunger. “The same thing that happens when they touch your hands?”

  Her ability to breathe abandoned her. Was he thinking about touching her here, now? Her blood heated, and her knees almost buckled. “No. My hands are the only problem.”

  Did that needy voice belong to her?

  “And you know this because...”

  “Because I had a mother, and she told me so. Back then, I couldn’t control what happened with my hands—” and still might not be able to “—but nothing ever happened when she helped me dress.”

  He lifted his hand, his fingers closing in on her face. A tremor shook her. Any second now...

  Two giggling girls walked past them.

  Cursing, he dropped his arm to his side. “Okay, then.” He stalked into the small building, tugging her behind him. A bell tinkled overhead. The scent of floral perfume hit her first, the preferred fragrance of the Opulens and one she despised. Kane clearly felt the same. He wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips—and he looked utterly adorable doing it.

  I’ve got to get this...whatever it is under control.

  An older woman with silver hair and typical Fae eyes sauntered out from the back. She wore the current fashion, an elaborate gown of yellow silk, material twisted along the belled skirt to form a bouquet of roses. Her skin was lined from a life of hard work. Like Josephina, she was half Fae, half human, but unlike Josephina, she would age to her death. The human part of her was clearly stronger than the Fae.

  “I’m Rhoda, the owner,” she said, the words slow and precise. Her expression brightened. “And you’re...you’re...you. How may I help you, Lord Kane? Anything you desire is yours.”

  “I want her,” Kane said, dragging Josephina forward and forcing her to stand in front of him. He placed his hands on her shoulders to ensure she wouldn’t bolt, a tremble spilling from him and into her. “Better dressed.”

  Maybe it was irrational, but once the initial shock wore off, she experienced a sudden urge to cry. She wasn’t good enough as she was. Her father had told her. The queen had told her. Now, Kane’s actions told her. The mighty Lord of the Underworld beloved by all didn’t want to be seen with a servant wearing rags.

  Her gaze met his in the mirror across the room, and he frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  I can hold it together. At least for a little while. Later, she would probably hide under her covers. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk behind you from now on. You won’t have to be seen with me.”

  His fingers dug into her. “Sweetheart, I don’t like the way this material chafes your skin. It’s too pretty to be streaked with red.”

  Oh. My.

  * * *

  KANE TIGHTENED HIS grip on Tink, and the trembling in his hands increased.

  He wanted this woman. So bad.

  He wished he were the man he used to be. He would have laughed and flirted with her, relaxing her. He would have charmed her, delighted her. She would have welcomed his attentions—would have even begged for them. Instead, he’d hurt her feelings in the worst way.

  “Please, let me do this for you,” he said.

  She turned and faced him, peering up at him with those electric blues he should have found as unappealing as all the others, but...hers were different.

  He liked that they changed colors with her moods. Liked that right now they were laced with multiple shades of blue. A mix of light blue, dark blue and something in between, creating a sort of poetry, a kaleidoscope of loveliness no one would ever be able to re-create.

  “It’s a wonderful gesture, and I am beyond grateful, but you can’t. I can’t wear anything but my uniform. If I do, everyone will have permission to tear the clothing off me—no matter where I am or who I’m with.”

  And she would end up naked. As beautiful and naturally sensual as she was, the men around her would gawk, possibly reach out and touch her. Possibly even try to do more.

  A bead of rage rolled through him, growing larger the deeper it reached.

  He looked to Rhoda. “Make her a new uniform, just in softer, better quality material. And add pockets. Lots of pockets.” He wanted her armed and at the ready at all times. Prepared—as he hadn’t been. “Can you finish it within a couple hours? I want her to leave wearing it.”

  “Of course, of course, that’s what I’m known for” was the reply. “I hate to bring this up to so distinguished a customer, but...how will you pay, my lord?”

  “With this.” He withdrew the wad of cash he’d stuffed in his boot before beginning this journey.

  Rhoda nodded. “Very good. I’ll take her back and—”

  “No. She stays within my sight at all times.”

  Tink flattened her gloved hands on his chest, and he responded instantly. His heart sped into a now familiar beat, and the increased flow of blood caused his body to ready for her. For all the things he wanted to do to her.

  It was painful. Far more than before. It was pleasurable. Far more than he was willing to admit.

  The need he felt for her...the edge of it sharpened daily, hourly, and if he wasn’t careful, it would soon cut through him, severing the ties of his good sense, his better intentions, and his concern for the complications.

  Disaster roared with fury. Hate her! Leave her!

  Kill you, Kane roared back.

  Rolls of fabric tumbled from a table to the floor, the heavy spools hitting Kane’s feet with a surprisingly harsh thud.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rhoda said, rushing to clean up the mess. “I’m not sure what happened.”

  Adamant, Josephina shook her head. “I can’t disrobe in front of you.”

  “Why not?” But he already knew the answer. They weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends, not really. She would be vulnerable. He couldn’t promise not to look. Like the men he’d just disdained, he would look.

  He should be ashamed. He’d picked up on a bit of palace gossip and knew her mother, who’d been considered a lowly human, had been the king’s mistress. He knew her mother had been taunted, and suspected she had even been shunned. Any hint of impropriety had to remind Tink of her mother’s anguish. Perhaps even make her feel she deserved the cruel words the two Opulens had uttered outside.

  But she didn’t. That kind of thinking had to stop—now.

  “I just can’t,” she insisted.

  “You can. You will. Like I said, I don’t want you out of my sight, even for a second.”

  “Kane...”

  A pleading tone. One he might have heeded if she had been underneath him—have to get her unde
rneath me. He gritted his teeth. “Keep arguing with me. I’ll find another way to change your mind. A far more intimate way.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t.”

  He leaned down until his lips hovered just over hers. “Try me. Please.”

  Red infused her cheeks and she glanced back at the shop owner.

  How could he have forgotten about Rhoda?

  Straightening, he met the older woman’s shrewd stare. “Where she goes, I go, and that’s non-negotiable.”

  A nod, and the woman turned away, saying, “Please, follow me.”

  Kane peered down at Tink. “This is for your own good, I promise you. I can’t take the chance you’ll leave, and I won’t allow anyone to hurt you.”

  “That’s great, wonderful, but this is going to ruin my reputation,” she muttered. “Worse than it already has.”

  “I’m sorry for that.” But it had to be done. “I’ll think of something to fix it.”

  “Before or after men start seeing me as more than a blood slave?”

  A direct hit. Jealousy bloomed, hot and razor-sharp. “That happens, and men will start dying.”

  “But—”

  “Sweetheart, I need you to stop stalling.” He gave her a little push, forcing her to move forward. He trailed behind her. They entered a small room in back, where another girl bustled about, moving drapes of fabric out of the way, revealing a chair for Kane and a stepstool for Josephina.

  A stepstool perched in front of a three-sided mirror.

  He eased into the cushioned seat. A pin stuck him in the back, and he grimaced.

  In record time, Tink was stripped to bra and panties, and he noticed both garments were woven from plain white cotton. Molding to her. Hiding the details of her femininity from him...begging him to seek. He was unable to cloak his reaction, every inch of him hardening. Her body was a work of art, slender, yet so beautifully curved. Bronzed to perfection, without any kind of tan line. Toned from the amount of work she was forced to do every day.

  He gripped the edges of his chair to keep from reaching for her.

  He could help himself. He could.

  The seamstress attempted to remove Tink’s gloves, but she shook her head.

  “They stay.”

  Rhoda looked to him for confirmation.

  He nodded. Maybe Tink could control her ability to absorb another person’s strength and abilities, maybe she couldn’t, but they wouldn’t be taking any chances until he found out.

  Tonight, he would find out.

  She would have to put her hands on him. On his skin.

  The arms of the chair cracked.

  Tink was measured and fitted with different fabrics to discover which one felt the best to her. Once the decision was made, the two seamstresses began the arduous process of cutting and sewing the dress.

  Toward the end, Tink’s stomach began to growl.

  “Hungry?” he asked, with a tinge of guilt. He should have fed her before bringing her here. Being classified as a servant, she probably wasn’t given proper meals.

  Disaster chuckled with delight.

  Never again, Kane thought.

  “I’m starved,” she replied, still not daring to meet his gaze.

  “I have food,” Rhoda said, and waved her assistant away.

  The girl puttered from the room, returning several minutes later with a rolling cart piled with sandwiches, cookies and a pitcher of tea.

  Tink appeared dazed. “For me? Really?”

  How eager she sounded, when such treatment should have been an everyday occurrence for her.

  Should, should, should. He was already sick of the word. From now on, he was going to take such good care of her.

  “For you,” he said.

  Holding the new, as yet unfinished dress to her chest with one hand, she reached out with the other and claimed a sandwich. He watched her as she ate, the way her eyes closed in surrender, the way a smile curled the corners of her lips, the way she chewed and savored.

  So lovely. So sensual, even without meaning to be. So mine...

  His skin prickled, and maybe he moved. Maybe he spoke. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Her lips parted on a startled exhalation. Could she see the rawness of his need?

  “Kane.” A breathy entreaty.

  In that moment, the cry of the demon ceased to matter. The past faded, leaving only the present...the future, and the unstoppable tide of the pleasure to come. Every bone vibrated. He needed to get inside her. Here. Now.

  It would be agony.

  It would be ecstasy.

  Tension coiled low in his gut, only to spring apart and jolt him into a stand. “Leave us,” he said, his voice a broken rasp.

  No questions. No protests. The two seamstresses flittered from the room, shutting the door behind them.

  The teapot shattered on the tray, dark liquid spilling everywhere.

  Tink didn’t seem to notice, was too busy watching him. “I-is something wrong?”

  Silent, he stalked toward her. A predator with a purpose. He was done resisting. Done thinking about all the reasons why not. Today, he was taking something.

  Perhaps sensing the dark, greedy urges driving him, she straightened with a snap. Her breathing quickened. “Kane,” she said.

  “Tell me to stop.” He stood a mere heartbeat away, their gazes locked together, trapped. Nothing else would halt the madness.

  “I...I can’t.”

  He breathed her in. The scent of cleaning supplies had faded, and she smelled of rosemary and mint again, sweet and innocent. Perhaps she could finally wash away the taint inside him. Or burn it away with passion—he could feel the intense heat radiating off her body. Perhaps she could melt the ice that had taken residence inside him.

  Perhaps she could save him.

  She swallowed, licked her lips. “Wait. I think you’re right. I think I should tell you to stop. This isn’t right.”

  “No. It’s not. It’s necessary.”

  I’ll hurt her, I swear I will.

  Kane ignored the demon, pressing ever closer to Tink.

  “Stop?” she said, a question when she’d probably meant it to be a statement.

  “Too late.” Unless... “Have you ever been with a man?”

  She gave a slow shake of her head.

  That answer should have ended this.

  It didn’t.

  He should walk away.

  He didn’t.

  Possessiveness clawed at him, so sharp, so deep, he knew he would feel the wounds for the rest of eternity and be glad for it. He brushed his fingertips along her jawbone, and oh, she was just as soft and electrifying as he’d imagined. She nearly unmanned him when she leaned into the touch, seeking more intimate contact. He gave it to her, cupping the back of her neck, fisting her glorious hair, and forcing her gaze to stay with his.

  “I won’t let myself take you—” not here, not now “—but I want something from you. Need it.”

  A tremor swept through her. “What do you want?”

  Disaster banged against the sides of Kane’s skull. I’ll hurt her. I will. Hate her so much.

  He gnashed his teeth. Shut up! You hate her because she’s the only relationship I can have that won’t end in disaster, and that—

  There it was. The answer. The reason the demon hurt him whenever Tink neared. She was a blessing and not a curse. Of course the demon wanted to be rid of her.

  She really was Kane’s “mine,” just as his instincts had screamed.

  His. And not the demon’s.

  He looked into her mesmerizing eyes, and felt a swell in his heart. His fingers hadn’t abandoned the silkiness of her hair, and were now holding on to her as if she were a lifeline, causing her neck to arch. He should probably loosen his grip. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He wanted to own her, even in the smallest way, whatever the future held, and this was how he’d go about it.

  “Let me kiss you, Tinker Bell.”

  She wet her lips, and whispered, “What about Syn
da?”

  “I don’t want Synda.”

  And now, he was done talking. He swooped in, not bothering with preliminaries or gentleness, but thrusting his tongue inside her mouth, then against hers, unleashing all the intensity of the need driving him. She softened against him despite the ferocity of his claiming, and welcomed him fully. The utter sweetness of her taste stoked the fire inside him from a blaze to an inferno.

  She held nothing back, leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving herself up to his total domination.

  And dominate he did.

  Taking. Giving. What he wanted was too powerful to contain. It was overwhelming. Shattering. A connection more binding than flesh and bone. Undeniable. Uncontrollable. He crackled with new life as he fed her one frantic kiss after the other.

  And still he yearned to give her more. He jerked her so firmly against him, not even air separated them. His passion was insatiable, demanding her total acceptance, and an unending obsession. More than she was probably willing to give, more than she’d probably ever expected to give. But he demanded without mercy, forcing her tongue to keep pace, and her body to grind against his.

  He would meld her to his soul.

  One of his hands slid down the bare skin of her upper arm, then down her side, to the sumptuous curve of her waist, then hooked beneath her thighs and lifted her. He spun her and strode forward, until her back pressed against the wall. Hands now free to roam, he jerked at the hem of her gown, untangling the material from her legs. Automatically she wound herself around him, his body becoming an anchor for hers.

  It nearly slayed him.

  He’d never had more reason to despise intimacy, and yet he’d never craved it more.

  The harder he kissed her, the more she rubbed against him, his own little kitty, and the more she rubbed against him, the more he wanted their clothing out of his way. Every hated piece. Her skin was like heated silk, and he was desperate for more. All. Her taste and scent were his dream of home...his...yes, yes. His, and no one else’s. He needed to put his mark on every inch of her.

  She moaned, and he lifted his head long enough to peer down at her passion-hazed features. Her beauty was a fantasy he’d never dared have. Her lips were swollen and red. Moist. Perfect.