by Alisa Woods
“We will not attack the Winter Court.”
“We have to!” Tajael felt his fists might break with how tightly he was squeezing them. He was drenched, and the rain kept coming.
“For one, we are far outnumbered. The Winter Court is prolific in their reproduction.”
“I can’t believe you’re not… you can’t just let them have her! She’s key to everything!”
“Secondly, we have the other scientists. Even the technicians can reproduce her work.”
“What?” Tajael actually took a step back. Markos was abandoning Charlotte outright.
“I know you are greatly attached to her, and it will be a personal loss—”
Tajael took another step back and drew his blade.
Markos’s attention fixated there, then he gave Tajael the coldest look he had ever seen from an angel of light. The kind a Warrior Class angel used when calculating the maximum damage an enemy could bring.
Tajael wasn’t an enemy. And he wasn’t shadow. But there was no magic in any dimension that could keep him from going after Charlotte… and Markos had better not try.
But it was clear Markos would be no help whatsoever.
Tajael didn’t bother explaining, he simply twisted, opened an interdimensional door, and stepped through.
“But I really want to kill her.”
The pouty female voice roused Charlotte. Kill? What? She tried to open her eyes, but they felt like they were glued shut. And her head… it was as if someone had taken a hammer to the back of it.
“You can’t have everything you want, Alvara,” a rough, masculine voice said. “That’s the price of royalty.”
“I thought that was the point of royalty.”
Charlotte blindly found her face with her hand and rubbed at her eyes until they opened.
“Oh, look. It’s waking up.” The sneer was enough for Charlotte to want to lash out with some witty retort… but her brain was still throbbing with pain. Instead, she just squinted up at the source of the voice. Alvara, the other one had called her. She was towering and absurdly beautiful—high, sculpted cheekbones; a dress of pure white that captured the glow of the walls; long, straight black hair that nearly reached the floor as she bent over to peer at Charlotte; and blood-red lips that weren’t lipstick. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but her eyes were a blue so pale they were almost clear… which just made her look inhuman.
That, and the pointed ears.
What the hell—
“Can’t I torture her a little?” Alvara asked.
“No.” The male voice came from a throne in this too-bright-white room. It had a chill that sunk into Charlotte’s bare hands and through her thin t-shirt.
“You let Zephan torture them.” Alvara curled a lip at Charlotte and stood up straight. “I know he’s your son, Remasay, but surely you can allow me some of the favors you gave him.”
Remasay sighed and gave her an irritated look. “Zephan only tortured the dragons. And the angels. He knew better with the humans. They break too easily. And besides, he had a strange fascination with fucking them.” He waved a hand in Charlotte’s direction. “Try that if you wish but leave her unharmed at the end.”
Alvara snorted her disgust and turned away, swaying as she strode back to Remasay. “I know you love Zephan, but really. That’s disgusting.”
“His perversions were part of his charm.” The man—no this wasn’t a man, but some kind of immortal creature—looked actually sad for a moment. He was unnaturally beautiful, just like the woman, with a black hair, clear eyes, and those pointed ears. Then Charlotte remembered what Tajael told her about Zephan—that he was a fae, the enemy of the angels, and prince of the Winter Court. So that would make Remasay the King. And given Zephan had tried to wipe out humanity… and now she’d been captured by his father… she was truly fucked. Apparently, not in a literal sense, though—holy shit—but still. This was very bad.
Charlotte worked her way up to sitting. She was at the bottom of some impossibly tall chamber. It glowed like Markos’s Dominion, but everything was even colder as if made of ice. A frosty mist floated across the floor and curled up at the walls, which weren’t straight but undulated in a wave pattern that confused her eyes.
“Zephan could still awaken and return to you.” Alvara was perched on the edge of Remasay’s throne now. “Or he could tragically perish in time. Either way, carrying on his ambition is truly the best tribute.” She leaned in, a purr her voice… it was exactly the kind of thing Craig would have responded to. And every other creep she’d ever known in her life. The fae seemed just as bad as Tajael described. Sadistic, crazy, and creepy as fuck. And apparently into some weird sex fetishes too. They were nothing like angels or angelings—then again, angelkind had their own issues with sex. Issues she hoped, given enough time, she and Tajael could somehow get past.
But only if she got the hell out of wherever this place was.
She quietly scooted backward, away from the sleazy display on the throne and toward the wall. Maybe if she could find a place to hide—
Some invisible force picked her up and sailed her backward through the air, crashing her into the wall. She cried out, but mostly because she was stunned. Then she slid to the floor, but she got her feet under her, plus the wall helped her stay upright. Thankfully, she hadn’t hit her head, but now her shoulder was throbbing, too. She held it and glared at Alvara—she had to be the source of whatever that was.
“There’s nowhere to go,” Alvara called to her, then she turned back to Remasay. “They’re so stupid.”
Remasay was scowling at her. “I told you to be careful. If you break the treaty, the Summer Court will have a fit.” Then he ground the fingers on one hand together and stared at them like he was working out some kind of frustration. “This plan of yours… I’m still not convinced it will work.”
“Oh, it will work,” she purred. “It’s already working splendidly.”
He peered at her.
She shrugged. “We’ve got their scientist, and the shadow angels destroyed the human’s machine. Plus a few of the light angelings, I hear.”
Charlotte’s heart seized. Tajael. He would have tried to defend her, save her… please, no, don’t let him be one of the ones she’s talking about.
“I want them all dead,” Remasay growled. “Or turned into the shadow they despise. But preferably dead.”
“You will have your vengeance for Zephan,” Alvara said in her syrupy voice. “I want vengeance, too, you know. He was my cousin, after all. I promise it will happen, Remasay.”
“You really think they’ll come here?” He gave Charlotte a skeptical look. “Just for her?”
“Well, I’m certainly not depending on just that,” Alvara replied. “There’s much more at work than simply luring them in. But if they do take this little bait, we’ll make sure plenty of them die.”
Remasay grunted, but he still seemed unconvinced.
Charlotte’s heart was ready to pound out of her chest. She didn’t want anyone to die. But she was in some crazy immortal’s domain, somewhere in the over-dimension, with exactly zero way to escape and get home. Rescue was her only chance. She could try talking to these fae, but she had a feeling that would only make things worse.
“What if they don’t come after her?” Remasay said, finally. “What next?”
“You leave that to me.” Alvara leaned in further. Charlotte couldn’t see if Remasay was actually groping her, but they were close enough for it. And he had his eyes feasting on the chest she was thrusting toward him.
“Maybe I need a little more convincing,” he said, roughly. It was a voice Charlotte recognized, and it made her shudder. But she was utterly unsurprised when Alvara slipped to her knees before the throne and bent her head into Remasay’s lap. The loosely draped clothes were quickly pushed aside.
Charlotte looked away, but she couldn’t avoid hearing the wet sounds and grunty moans. Holy shit, these people. Zephan was her cousin? That made this guy,
what… her uncle? Ew. Factually, she knew the taboo of incest was grounded in bad shit happening to your genes and your babies when you fucked your cousin. Did that just go away when you were an immortal fae who lived thousands of years? Did genetics not play a role anymore? Or was it just okay to blow your uncle if you wanted power for whatever your evil plan was?
Because Charlotte was dead certain that Alvara was evil, and she definitely had a plan. One she was leading Remasay along by the balls. Sure, he was the one getting “serviced,” but it was Alvara who was in control. Charlotte had been in a relationship where she had been the one on her knees—if there was anything she could sense right away, it was who had the actual power.
But seriously… these fae were messed up.
She prayed hard for rescue—she didn’t want to find out what would happen to her when she was no longer useful to Alvara’s “plan.”
Tajael appeared, knife drawn, inside the Summer Queen’s bedchamber.
It was a very risky move, given he would be vastly outnumbered by the fae of the Summer Court, plus the queen’s powers were extraordinary given she was over 12,000 years old. The only reason he wasn’t cut in half immediately and had time to magick his clothes dry was the fact that the queen herself was tied up. To her bed. And being vigorously penetrated by a large male fae with long red hair that hung down his bare back.
As it was, Tajael had to cough to gain their attention.
“What the—?” The male fae ceased his sexual activity and hurled a blast of energy at Tajael.
He flew up, dodging that, then landed closer to the bed, where the queen lay bound with an elaborate set of black leather straps. He couldn’t determine their function other than restraining her wrists to the posts, as most of the rest of her skin was left exposed, notably her sexual parts.
Tajael raised his hands, including the one holding his blade, in surrender. “I mean you no harm.”
“The fuck you say, angeling,” the red-haired fae spat and lunged from the bed to come after him.
“Kalen, wait.” The queen’s words froze her lover half off her bed.
“My queen,” he growled. “He should die merely for the interruption.”
“I’ll allow you to finish soon enough.” With a flourish of fingers, her wrist restraints disappeared. She rose from the bed, trailing her fingers along Kalen’s back—he gave a small moan in response—and she walked, naked in all the ways that counted, right up to Tajael. She looked him up and down. Somehow Tajael felt like he had on less clothing when she was finished. “I loathe your kind, Tajael, but you’ve earned my forbearance.” She was referring to the time, very recent, when they worked together to save one of the dragon princes of the House of Smoke. The child they saved, Aurora, was not only the first angeling born in the light—she also had dragon blood and traces of fae from the Summer Court. “So you may ask a favor—for I assume that’s why you’re here? Or have you decided to take a Fall and want to make it a glorious one? Because I can help with that as well.”
“I do not want to have sex with you, Nyssa.” The fae queen was physically beautiful—snow-white hair that floated everywhere in a cloud behind her, all the female curves in alluring proportions, delicately curved cheeks—but the only creature he could feel less Lust for would be a vampire.
Nyssa let out an elaborate sigh. “Pity.”
Kalen growled in the background but otherwise stayed silent.
“But I will ask for your assistance,” Tajael went on quickly. “The Winter Court has captured a human—a female scientist of great importance—and I need you to persuade them to release her.”
Nyssa scoffed and turned to saunter back to her bed. “What is a human female to me? The House of Smoke already has their mates for the moment. That is the beginning and end of my concerns with humanity.”
“She has bridged the gap between the realms.”
Nyssa stopped her hand toying with Kalen’s chest. His eyes had been closed in pleasure, but they also snapped open at Tajael’s words.
Nyssa turned. “That pulse. It was her?”
“She has a machine which sends artifacts to the immortal realm.”
Her eyes grew sharp. “So Zephan was right.”
“No, he was wrong,” Tajael said sharply. “Charlotte is a scientist. A seeker of knowledge. She means no harm to the immortal realm. But Remasay has taken her, sending Alvara of the Winter Court to snatch her away. She’s innocent of whatever crimes they will try to punish her for—”
“I see.” The queen’s eyebrows had lifted. She turned and sashayed back to stand in front of Tajael, examining him once again. “You love her.”
Tajael swallowed. Would admitting it put Charlotte more at risk? Or less? “Yes.”
Nyssa smirked. “Oh, you are going to Fall. Splendid. When you’re in shadow, and before they eat you alive, come see me.” She licked her lips. “I’ve never bedded an angeling, but I’ll make an exception for you.”
Was this some kind of demand? He was lost. “As I said—”
“Yes, I know.” She waved him off. “Not yet.” Then she turned and flicked her hand to summon what looked like a large mirror, but which Tajael knew was a portal. The kind used for communication in the immortal realm. With another circling of her fingers, the silvery shine of the mirror warped and twisted and finally resolved into the image of the King of the Winter Court. His dark hair and chiseled face were similar to Zephan’s only weathered with time. His eyes were closed, the lower half of his body below the reach of the mirror but obviously moving rhythmically.
“Oh yes, my dear,” he grunted. “The whole thing.”
“Oh, for the love of magic,” Nyssa snarled. “You can stop for a moment, Remasay.”
“Not unless you want to finish for me, Nyssa,” he rasped out, then his mouth fell open, and he groaned, long and deep.
Tajael cringed.
Nyssa rolled her eyes. “Are you quite done now?”
Remasay was panting and flushed, but a lazy smile climbed up on his face. “Unless you’re offering to come over here and—”
“Dismember your favorite parts? Yes, I’d happily do that.” The queen’s voice had gone from indulgent to cold-as-ice.
The king of the Winter Court quickly sobered. “I meant no offense, Nyssa. Your beauty precedes you, of course.”
“You mean the reputation of my thousand fae warriors.”
“That as well.” He gestured roughly at something off screen then turned his attention back. “But we have peace among us now. The treaty has renewed. Forgive me for assuming the Summer Court might be calling for pleasure.” He tried a smile, but Tajael wondered what sort of creature that might work on. Certainly not the Queen of the Summer Court.
“I hear you’re meddling with the humans again,” she said, her tone imperious. “I thought that would end with Zephan.”
The king’s eyes grew cold. “He has not ended. Not yet. Watch yourself, Nyssa.”
“Have you taken up his bad habits, then? Because last I heard he was still… recovering.”
“He has not yet awoken, if that’s what you’re asking,” the king snarled. “What is it to you? My quarrel is not with your precious House of Smoke—it is with the angelings who nearly murdered my boy. It is none of your concern.”
“This human is.”
The king scoffed. “I will not harm her. I’m not a fool, Nyssa. I’m not risking the treaty.”
“Then release her.”
The king’s eyes grew pinched. “You have no standing here. She is not a mate of the House of Smoke. She is not being harmed. I will keep her as long as I wish.” He grunted and then reached for the mirror portal. “Do not call again unless you wish to watch the woman riding my cock.”
The portal returned to silver.
Tajael’s heart lurched. What? Did he just say… Tajael was so stunned at the thought—the king forcing himself upon Charlotte, using her for his pleasure—that at first, the fury merely blanked out of his mind.
The anger was building and building. Tajael felt the Wrath like a distant wave speeding toward shore, where it would crash and destroy him.
“Angeling!” Nyssa snapped her fingers in front of his face.
It jolted him and snapped his attention to her.
“Listen carefully,” she said. “I cannot help you in this—my help would only worsen things at this point—so you’ll have to seek elsewhere.” She hesitated a moment. “I’m sorry.” And she seemed to mean it, but that didn’t mean Tajael could breathe. That he would not drown in his own Wrath.
She pursed her lips. “Look, if you’d like my advice, I would go to someone who can truly help you. Not that fool of an angel, Markos. I know he’s your leader, but he’s not going to risk this. Not for your female.”
That grabbed his attention. “He’s already said as much.”
Nyssa rolled her eyes. “I swear I loathe every single one of you. The only tolerable angelkind I’ve met—other than you, Tajael—have been the ones in shadow. There’s a certain… liberation there, of which I approve.”
He frowned. She was speaking of the endless orgies of the shadow realm, he was sure. But there was a second meaning he thought he understood. “Razael. Erelah’s father. He might be willing.”
Nyssa tipped her head. “Indeed. Especially for the angeling who helped save his daughter’s life. And his granddaughter’s.”
A wash of relief made his limbs go loose. “I’ll travel there right away.”
“Wonderful.” She rolled her eyes again. “I’ve been waiting for you to leave from the moment you arrived.”
Tajael shook his head as she turned her back on him and sauntered back to her bed. Then he twisted and willed himself to the one place to which he’d been desperate never to return.
The shadow realm.
Charlotte was hidden, but she heard every word.
It wasn’t as if she could actually hide—the walls of the king’s throne room in the Winter Court undulated with a weird not-quite-sinusoidal pattern—but she could tuck herself against the cold walls and hope the king and Alvara would forget about her. Which they did as long as Alvara was giving him head. That seemed to take a ridiculously long time, too. Probably would have gone on a lot longer if he hadn’t received a strange, inter-dimensional Skype call from someone named Nyssa of the Summer Court. She was someone important, judging by the way she told off the king. The strange part was that it was about her—Charlotte Netherman.
