The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “The doors could be cursed.” He felt something radiating off them. It was like coming too close to dry ice.

  He withdrew, swearing softly under his breath. He’d been entirely off his game. The hunger inside him was growing, demanding he take what he needed and heal. His wounds were splitting apart and burning, as iron wounds were wont to do. He was growing irritable. His words were becoming acidic.

  Minerva was right; he had been baiting her. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to start a fight with her. He wanted her to attack him. Hell, he needed it. Because if she attacked him, then he would be well within his rights to defend himself. If she dared cast a wish at him, he would have every right to throw her up against a wall, pin her by her wrists, and take her mouth with his own. Just to shut her up. Because everyone knew that a Wisher’s most dangerous weapon was her tongue.

  Caliban took a very deep breath and tried for all he was worth to focus on what was happening. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Think, damn it! They’d walked into a trap. The diner was nothing more than an illusion. He had no idea how extensive it was, or when the other shoe was going to drop. He had no idea what was going to happen. This wasn’t like him at all.

  Someone else was here or had been here very recently. Someone very powerful was using illusory magic, and had successfully lured them into one of the most elaborate cages Cal had ever seen. It was incredible how well it had been laid.

  Once he’d realized his pilot was dead and the plane was doomed, he’d transported himself and Minerva to the ground and disintegrated the plane to destroy evidence and spare anyone below from harm. Having done this, it was up to him to decide what to do next.

  He could have transported them again. But it was plain that his attacker was one step ahead of him. The enemy seemed to know him. So Cal had done something a little out of character and suggested that they walk.

  “Walk?” she’d asked with a disbelieving look at the extent of dry land around them.

  “We’ll be safer,” he’d insisted. The fae were very good at finding their way through nature. They were excellent trackers. Deadly hunters. Caliban knew which direction to go in order to find civilization. He even knew how long it would take – a few hours or so, at most. It was night, and their travels would be over before the dehydrating, burning rays of the sun were high again in the sky. Finally, he knew that if they hungry or thirsty, his fae magic could at the very least provide them sustenance. He was the Unseelie King, after all. He could transform air to chocolate in a way that would put a Hollow Box to shame.

  But it turned out that none of this had been necessary. They’d run into incredibly good fortune when they’d topped a hill to find what appeared to be a relatively well traveled dirt road and, of all things, a restaurant. The diner’s lit-up sign read, “Alice’s Cup of Tea,” or it would have, anyway, if Alice’s “e” and the “p” in “Cup” hadn’t both been burned out.

  Looking back now, maybe that was the detail that had fooled him. Caliban couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he and Minerva had both naturally assumed the café to be authentic, and they’d traipsed right inside and sat down.

  Son of a bitch, he thought now in pure, broiling frustration. How much damage had already been done? Why was the illusion here? Who was behind this? And what the hell were they waiting for?

  Caliban gritted his teeth until he felt they might crack. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight they hurt. But neither helped him focus. His wounded body was raging. He’d never had to wait this long for healing magic. If he ever ailed of so much as a splinter, ten women would hone in on him as if he were a beacon. He could take his pick.

  His body was well aware of this. It was out of control, like a terribly spoiled child. It wanted what his mind knew it could not have.

  He couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to press Minerva up against that wall and feel every inch of her furious body against his as he captured her lips and drank her in. She would probably fight him. She may be the most empathetic soul on the planet, but that also meant she was one of the strongest. She didn’t like injustice one bit. She no doubt rooted for the underdog. Likely, she stood up for the weaklings against bullies. She would consider his actions wrong, and she would probably use every physical defense she could muster to rally against him.

  And they would all fail. And he would win anyway. Because that was who he was. And she was who he wanted.

  I want her.

  It was more than the healing her touch would give him. It was more than a hunger he felt for her strength and magic and power. Oh, it was so much more. I need her!

  “Your Majesty?” she asked, and he felt a gentle hand on his shirt sleeve. He glanced down at her fingers, taking in their long, slim grace. From the tone of her voice, he would wager this wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get his attention, which might be why she’d resorted to referring to him as “your majesty.” He had been lost in his selfish thoughts, and she’d lost patience.

  Irritation rode him hard. “It’s Caliban,” he told her between gritted teeth. “Call me Caliban.”

  There was silence behind him. Her hand dropped.

  He fought the urge to snatch it back again. Instead, he turned to face her, and with immense control, he managed to school his thoughts and tame the beast inside him long enough to plaster an indifferent expression on his face and keep the red from entering his eyes. If they started to glow with fire… they would both be done-for.

  “’Cal’ will work as well.”

  She watched him in uncertainty, her gaze darting every now and then to the room around him, a room which they both now knew was fake.

  “Take my hands,” he instructed calmly, holding his hands out palm-up for her. “I’ll transport us again, this time to some place crowded. It’s our safest bet.”

  “Do you think you have it in you?” she asked, nodding toward the red on his shirt. No doubt, she was also wondering what the people in the “crowded” place they transported to would think of all that blood.

  “I do.” He held his hands up a little higher, his entire body tensing with anticipation and need.

  This time, she took them. Her skin was cool and dry against his, a balm of sweet, unbelievable relief. He was burning up; if a mortal had taken his temperature just then, they would have wanted to put him on ice.

  But if she noticed this difference, she expertly managed not to show it. Maybe she knew this was not the time. Or maybe she simply knew that he was in a rough state and realized there was no point in dwelling on it. Rather, she maintained eye contact with him, kept her expression serious, and waited patiently, exhibiting a kind of faith in him that he didn’t even have in himself.

  Caliban’s grip closed gently over her fingers. He straightened, closed his eyes, and focused on her touch. Even this small gesture, this brief and impersonal contact, was already having a curative effect upon him. He could feel one of the slices in his chest begin to mend, as if a doctor were pulling its two edges together with invisible thread. He felt a small bit of her magic infuse his blood stream, cooling it off like an ice cube thrown into a boiling pot of water.

  He hadn’t even realized his head had been throbbing, until it at last began to let up, easing its pressure off his temples and sinuses, and opening up his air passages like an oxygen mask. He took a deep breath. He’d been worse off than he thought. That iron had really done him ugly.

  When he opened his eyes this time, he could actually see the edges of the illusion he and Minerva had walked right into.

  He’d been oblivious to it before, completely bamboozled by the minute detailing of the expertly crafted spell and the fact that he couldn’t pull his mind away from the needs of his body. Whoever had cast the illusion of the café possessed immense power. But it shouldn’t have fooled him. Yet it had.

  And Minerva had pulled the wool away from his eyes with a single touch. She was already more powerful than he was. She just didn’t know it yet.


  We’re going to make an amazing team, he thought wistfully. Then he blinked. He was surprised at the thought. It wasn’t like him to be sentimental, and the timing was way off.

  But there it was, all the same.

  At once, he released Minerva’s left hand and turned, raising his right hand outward as he moved. Magic poured from his out-turned palm, resembling shadows, pixie dust, and fog. He dragged his arm through space in a way that forced it to relinquish its hold on time, and the diner in front of him wavered.

  He heard Minerva gasp as little by little, the illusion around them was dispelled. The café seemed to disintegrate inch by inch, just as the plane had. Caliban turned a full circle, Minerva turning with him, and all the while, he maintained his grip on her right hand.

  At last, they stood in the center of a small plain in the vast desert. There was not another sign of life as far as the eye could see. Caliban looked down. Around twenty feet away, a red ruby the size of a man’s fist pulsed with fresh color and life.

  “I should have known,” he muttered. He released Minerva’s hand and strode toward the ruby. He bent and picked it up, knowing it would do him no harm. In fact, he knew exactly why it pulsed red and glowing and oh, so beautiful.

  “There’s another one,” said Minerva behind him. He turned and she pointed to the second pulsing ruby several feet away. There was a third, as well – and a fourth. Four pulsing, glowing, blood-red rubies at the four corners of what had once been an illusory diner.

  “Grab them,” he instructed calmly. He did the same, moving quickly toward the second ruby. Minerva did as instructed, perhaps instinctively knowing it was important. When they had all four rubies, they met once more in the middle and combined them in their open palms.

  “What are they?”

  “Rubies,” Caliban replied.

  Minerva probably would have asked why they were pulsing, but the rubies chose that very moment to stop pulsing. Within a few seconds, the rubies had all died down into their normal rosy red hues. They glimmered with perfect multi-facets, and if they had been taken to a jeweler, they would have sold for millions a piece. Perhaps billions. Maybe they would have wound up in museums.

  “What just happened?”

  Cal took a deep breath. “Black diamonds are used to store magic,” he began, lowering his hands to squeeze the rubies between his fingers. “They’ve been used for centuries by all manner of magic user from fae to warlock. But they are also used to take magic. These were once black diamonds. They’re rubies now because they’ve taken my magic. This is how rubies are made. They’re actually no more than black diamonds that have stolen fae magic. This was the point of the illusion.” He squeezed the forsaken stones between his fingers until he was afraid they might shatter. “To drain me. And probably you as well.”

  Minerva looked from him to the stones and back again. “Well, can you take the magic back now?”

  He shook his head. “No. Once it’s taken, it’s gone forever.” No wonder he’d felt so horrible. “Rubies are a one-way door. There’s no going back.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Minerva ran a hand through her white-blonde hair and took a step back from the Unseelie King so she could breathe. His proximity to her was starting to have a strange effect on her. She had so many questions for him, but she was smart enough to prioritize. Someone was trying to kill her, and according to him, they seemed to be always be one step ahead.

  She needed to think. First thing’s first. They needed to get somewhere truly safe, some place that they wouldn’t be expected to go.

  “Do you have enough magic left to transport us again?” she asked.

  “I do. But I believe it would be wise to spare it in case we fall under attack.”

  “Okay… that makes sense.” She thought some more. “Alright. Can I wish us out of here?”

  Caliban’s expression was unreadable, but there was a tightness to his jaw and that darkness under his eyes. They had her worried.

  “The truth is, I don’t know,” he told her. “Wishers are known for casting magic after the fact. Vengeance spells. Wishes made in anger. But….”

  “But?”

  “Well, frankly, you’re different, Minerva. I honestly have no idea what you’re capable of.”

  “Then I’m going to try.”

  He held up a single finger, juggling the rubies with both hands as he did. Minerva watched as he tried to slide them into his trouser pockets, where they then bulged like horse riding pants. He changed his mind, pulled them back out, and looked down at the red-stained pen pocket on his ruined dress shirt. His tight jaw got tighter.

  Minerva held out her hands. “Here. Give them to me.”

  He looked at her questioningly.

  In that moment, he reminded her of someone much smaller than he was, someone much weaker. Someone open and innocent, even. It made her chest feel funny.

  She tried to give him a reassuring look, and forced her voice into dulcet tones. She was good at that. “Look, I know that you want to keep them because they have your magic in them. So,” she gestured rather desperately to her open hands, “trust me and hand them over. Okay?”

  He glanced down at her hands, hesitated a second more, then carefully placed all four rubies in her palms.

  Minerva thought for a moment, turning the extraordinary, perfect rubies between her fingers. She had been planning on using a wish on one of the rubies to see whether she could successfully transport it from one place to another and not have it come out looking like The Fly. But now, a different idea was taking shape in her mind.

  “After the fact….” she muttered softly.

  In front of her, Caliban frowned slightly, as he no doubt wondered what the hell she was talking about. So she explained. “You said that wish magic was cast ‘after the fact.’ That it was usually like vengeance.”

  Caliban waited, his gaze narrowing.

  “Well, as far as I’m concerned, justice is the best revenge.” She looked down at the rubies, imagining the magic that was in them that could give them such a pure, gorgeous, vivid color. “And the best justice is the kind that sets things right.”

  She made up her mind then and there. She held her arms out completely and said in a loud, clear voice, “I wish the magic that made these black diamonds into rubies belonged once again to the Unseelie King!”

  The earth waited just a moment. It was like a double take – as if the universe just wanted to be sure it had heard her correctly. Then the ground rumbled a bit, and Minerva gasped, glancing down to see pebbles dance slightly across the dirt. Suddenly, the rubies in her hands cracked open like four hatching eggs, and her head jerked back up.

  Red mist coalesced above the broken stones. In time, that mist darkened, and sparkles of black shimmered within it like pixie powder. It swirled higher above her hands, four little whirlwinds of escaped magic.

  Caliban watched it in frozen fascination, his amethyst-jade eyes wide with untold emotion. He straightened, as if he knew the magic was about to come for him – and just then, it did exactly that.

  The four tiny tornadoes of magic swirled together all at once, grew to ten times their mass in a single heartbeat, then bent in the air, forming a spear of sharp and potent power. That spear rushed at Caliban with merciless speed. He managed a single step back before the sparkling spear pierced his chest and buried itself in his body, directly over his heart.

  He stumbled back a bit, but caught himself as the last of the magic seeped into him. His body started to glow, shedding an aura of red first, then bright pink, and finally a deep, dark purple that faded into black and then nothing.

  A spark of illumination hit the amethysts in Caliban’s eyes, lighting them on purple fire. That fire coalesced in his pupils, becoming an actual flickering flame that she could almost hear sizzle and pop. Then that, too, vanished.

  In that aftermath silence, Minerva realized she’d been holding her breath.

  She waited.

  Caliban looked down at
his hands. Slowly, he placed those hands to his chest.

  Minerva swallowed hard. A gentle breeze picked up a lock of her hair and brushed it against her cheek.

  Finally, the Unseelie King looked back up at her. He smiled. “The wounds are healing.” He shook his head and let out a laugh. “I don’t have a fucking clue how, but you did it, Minerva. You actually set magic free from rubies.”

  Minerva released the breath she’d been holding, and swooned a little when dizziness hit her. She’d been so terrified that she’d done something wrong, like accidentally hurt him.

  “It isn’t supposed to be possible,” he said, suddenly taking the single step toward her that closed the gap between them. He reached out like lightning to snatch her hands, holding them tight. “You keep surprising me. The gods only know what you’re capable of.” He turned her hands over, and very tenderly, kissed the back of each one.

  The gesture was so chivalric and unexpected, Minerva was caught completely off guard. Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened. She felt her breath hitch and her heart flip-flop in her chest. Why am I here? her inner soul questioned again, a small voice that whispered at the back of her budding senses. Why does the Unseelie King care like this?

  “We’re getting out of here,” he told her, releasing her hands somewhat reluctantly, and smiling a devil-may-care grin that made her legs feel tingly. “I’m going to transport us. You’ve done enough.”

  “But… you mean, you can now?”

  He just continued to smile. Minerva’s knees felt strange.

  Okay, so he can. The magic she released from the rubies must have restored him quite a bit. Which meant they had been draining him just as much. Whoever they were up against was exceedingly dangerous. “I thought we didn’t know where to transport because the bad guys were one step ahead of us,” she ventured.

  “It just so happens that I know of a few places they will never expect us to go.” His grin broadened confidently. It was positively wicked now.

  She couldn’t say anything more. Some sort of cat had taken her tongue.