Tithe

by Chani Lynn Feener

  She took the offered glass and peered in at the contents. It was a deep burgundy, and the smell was distinctly that of wine. She watched Brix take a sip and thought about placing hers untouched onto a table nearby. Yet she was a Heartless, so the food shouldn’t be able to hurt her, and therefore neither should the drink. Mavek had never warned her about drinking anything offered at these revelries before anyway. What could one small sip hurt?

  The liquid was rich and tasted of blackberries and raspberries mixed together. Arden drained the glass.

  Brix clucked his tongue at her and took the crystal goblet from her hand. He turned to set it down, and when he straightened, he was suddenly wearing all black. Even his hair was different, long and curly, and his complexion was darker, like he’d gotten a tan. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have sworn he was someone else.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he quipped. Yet, even as he spoke, he reached out and lifted another glass drifting by. His smile was wicked when he held it out to her.

  Arden’s brain was telling her not to take it, to focus on the meaning of his words, but she was hot all of a sudden, and very thirsty. She drank down the contents and felt the world around her sway. Strong arms caught her around the waist and she looked up into green eyes. Eyes that were laughing at her.

  Arden pushed Brix away and stumbled, practically falling onto a table. A tower of cakes the color of blood shook, almost tumbling over before settling once more in their stacks. She hardly noticed. She was burning up and her fingers were already working at the buttons on her coat.

  She glanced up to demand he explain himself, only to find Brix gone. Or dressed as someone else pretending not to notice her. She tried to find his shadow but there were too many people and accompanying splotches of gray dancing across the floor.

  Forcing her spine to straighten, she waited a second for her head to settle and then attempted to walk. Arden thought she’d been aiming for the door, heading back to the manor. But she blinked and when she focused again, she was standing on the other side of the courtyard, farther from the building than before.

  Her forehead was resting against the smooth surface of a pillar, the chill from the stone a welcome reprieve from the licks of fire that streaked up over her. The heat was unbearable enough for her to contemplate removing her dress as well.

  The sound of mirth tugged her in another direction, and she stepped through a maze of hedges that grew over her head. Just past them, a small group of Unseelie was gathered around a low fire.

  Arden blinked as she drew closer, trying to work through her addled mind what she was seeing. With a gasp, she stopped, hand going to her stomach as she felt its contents roil.

  The Unseelie weren’t just standing around the flames for warmth, they were roasting something on a spit. One of them, a man dressed like he belonged in eighteenth-century high society, twisted the handle, turning the meat evenly over the fire.

  Still, the hobgoblin was recognizable enough that Arden almost threw up. It was a small creature no bigger than a cat, with wrinkled skin and stubby arms and legs. A wound on his head told her that he’d probably been bludgeoned to death, and she suppressed another heave when her next thought was that at least they weren’t cooking him alive.

  Two members of the small party heard her sharp intake and looked up, one being the finely dressed man. They smirked, showcasing rows of pointy, shark-like teeth. The man tipped his hat to her.

  Arden spun on her heels and fled, their laughter chasing after her. She was disoriented and couldn’t focus on anything. She had no idea where she was going, and bumped into at least five other faeries in her haste to put distance between herself and the roasting hobgoblin.

  Somehow she ended up back in the courtyard, caught by strong arms and locked into a fast-paced dance that left her head pounding even louder than the music. She was aware of the fae passing her around—sometimes she was dancing with a female, other times a male—but lost count of how many after the first three. A glass was pressed to her lips and she drank, more of that wine slicking over her tongue and down her throat.

  Bodies writhed around her, some in ecstasy, others looked pained. Some had smears of blood drawn across their cheeks or down their arms, and Arden absently glanced down at herself to see if any of it was her own. She lost interest before she could take full inventory. At least, she didn’t feel any pain.

  She heard her name called over the crowd, but a scream echoed in the opposite direction at the same time and she turned toward the latter. The arms around her were abruptly yanked away, with so much force that Arden lost control of her legs and dropped.

  Just before she hit the ground, someone swooped her up, tucking her against his chest. She squeezed her eyes closed and buried her face against him, settling her head beneath his chin. Her mind was still too fuzzy to process much of anything, but her instincts recognized the scent of roses, mahogany, and teakwood. She clung to him and prayed for the stars to stop spinning and the laughter to die down.

  It was a long while before Arden was able to come to her senses. She cracked her eyes open slowly, frowning when she found herself seated on his lap. Her hands were clutching the silky material of his shirt so tightly that they hurt when she pried them off. It was cold, and she shivered, confusion only growing when she noticed that it was a man’s dress shirt over her shoulders and not the jacket she’d come with.

  What had happened to her jacket?

  The night was quiet and dark, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the far off trickles of music. She saw lights moving in the distance, but they were far enough away from the revelry that even the largest of bonfires was a mere speck in the black. She shifted and the heels of her black shoes scrapped against the surface of the stone bench he sat on.

  Roses surrounded them, the blooms all shades of red from cherry to crimson. Pathways of white stone cut through the garden in every direction with large rose bushes scattered among them. The greenhouse was lovely, but this…

  “Shh, heart,” he cooed down at her when she tried to move and ended up with her head pulsing. “Gently.” He ran a hand through her hair, cupping the side of her head to hold her more securely against him.

  “Mavek,” her throat cracked on his name and it felt like someone had poured a desert down her windpipe. She was so thirsty. She swallowed in a poor attempt to wet her throat, moaning when all it did was send fire racing down.

  “It’s the wine,” he told her. “It won’t fully be out of your system until morning.”

  “Home,” she managed. She wanted to go home and sit in an ice bath. When she looked, she thought she could see smoky tendrils trailing off her overheated flesh, but that could just be a hallucination.

  “You’re staying here tonight,” he disagreed, “where I can watch you. We just need to stay out here long enough to get your temperature down, then I’ll take you inside.” He paused, and then added, “I could play for you, put you out like the other night if you want. You’ll sleep through the worst of it.”

  She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the pounding headache.

  “As you wish.” He didn’t sound very happy with her decision. “What on earth possessed you to drink the wine, Arden? If I hadn’t found you in the courtyard before—” he cut himself off.

  “Tell me,” she urged when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to continue.

  “Have you heard about Bacchus?”

  “The Roman god?”

  “He made wine that caused frenzies. Orgies of the carnal type, as well as bloodbaths. It puts people in a state of euphoria so strong that they don’t know, or care, what they’re doing. Or what’s being done to them.”

  She’d read some of the myths about Bacchus, also known as Dionysus. Mavek was putting it nicely. The stories claimed that people who’d been put under the god’s thrall tore limbs from animals and people alike, and had sex with just about anything they didn’t kill. There was even a nam
e for the frenzy he induced: bakkheia.

  Arden felt like she was going to vomit all over again.

  “I didn’t…”

  “I got to you in time,” he assured.

  She frowned. “How come I’m not trying to attack you right now?”

  “You did,” he said, and there was a hint of humor in his tone. “Don’t you remember trying to tear off my clothes?”

  She pulled back enough, forcing herself to look in the hopes that she’d find he was teasing her. Instead, she got a good look at the black silk shirt, which was ripped open down to the last button, exposing his toned chest. The left sleeve was torn from the shoulder, hanging so that his shoulder was bare. On the other end of the bench, his vest was in a bundle, as if having been tossed there.

  “Oh shit.” She dropped her head into her hands and refused to glance back up when he went to pull them away.

  “It’s alright,” he said, “trying to ravish me is certainly the better of the two scenarios. You could have attempted to claw my eyes out.”

  She groaned again, his choice of words not helping. “You people do this willingly?”

  “Some do,” he admitted. “Not all.”

  Now that she was coming to her senses, Arden could pick apart certain pieces from the night. She recalled in great detail seeing the hobgoblin, and then later, watching as one of the dancers next to her bit the ear off his partner. One of the tables had been haphazardly cleared by two Unseelie who’d already been half undressed when she’d spotted them. Someone, a male, mumbling nonsense in her ear.

  “I feel like I need to shower. For a week,” she mumbled into the palms of her hands.

  “Arden,” Mavek was serious once more, “whatever you saw, I need you to remember we aren’t all like that. We aren’t all slaves to our passions or our boredom.”

  She dropped her hands and forced herself to meet his hazel eyes head on. He was so beautiful, with the star-filled night sky at his back and hundreds of roses surrounding them. Before she knew what she was doing, she reached up and cupped his strong jaw, tucking her fingers behind the curve of his ear.

  “You didn’t drink the wine,” she said, seeing that his eyes were clear and his skin wasn’t sweaty or clammy like her own.

  “I haven’t for many years,” he told her. And he didn’t pull away, not even when she shifted in his lap so that she was straddling him. Or when she brought her face toward his, slowly, like she didn’t want to spook him.

  Arden closed her eyes, pressing her lips against his in the barest of touches. His mouth was soft, and she pressed harder, silently urging him to return the kiss or pull away. After all of her secret yearnings, she’d never once tried to act on her feelings. Even in her groggy wine-addled state, she knew that at least if he pushed her away now she would finally have a real answer.

  But Mavek didn’t push her away. His arms banded around her narrow waist, pinning her closer, holding her in place so that she couldn’t move away even if she wanted to. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, manipulating her head so that he could take the kiss in a better angle.

  She felt his tongue line the outside of her mouth and opened, sucking in a breath when he became frantic against her, starved. She had a moment to wonder if she was dreaming before he lifted her and in one move had her lying back against the cold stone bench, his body settling on top of her.

  His fingers trailed down her side, gripping her hip, his other hand tangled in her hair. A breeze blew past and the roses shook, rustling like millions of tiny whispers in the dark. Watching.

  Arden tilted her head when he pulled his mouth away, placing kisses down the curve of her neck, nipping at the hollow just above her collarbone. In the distance, the bonfires sparked and flickered, and she saw shapes moving past them. She couldn’t make anyone out, but the reminder of what was going on only half a mile or so away stilled her, bringing her back to consciousness.

  It took Mavek a few seconds to note the change in her, and once he did he slowly eased up onto his elbows. His eyes searched her face, and he brushed a strand of her dark hair off her face. He didn’t, however, remove himself, still keeping her pinned to the bench.

  “Mavek…” She didn’t know what she was trying to say. Her hands were back in his shirt, twisted around the silk material. She held him tightly, not knowing if she wanted to tug him closer or push him away. Not knowing if it was the drugged faerie wine in her system causing her to act this way, or if she had finally worked up the courage to do what she’d always wanted to do.

  He bent and pressed his lips against her forehead, holding them there for a few moments. Then he got to his feet and offered a hand to help her up. He supported her weight when her legs shook beneath her, bending to hook an arm behind her knees.

  When he started carrying her toward the manor, she stiffened in his hold.

  “They’re all outside now,” he assured her, knowing what was troubling her without her having to voice it. “I kicked them out as soon as I realized what had happened to you.”

  “You were supposed to pick me up,” she remembered, thinking about the green-haired faerie that had driven her here. “You stayed with her instead.” Arden frowned at herself, and the way her brain still felt too fuzzy to properly filter what she should and shouldn’t say.

  “I sound like a whiny child,” she heaved. It was stupid to complain about him and Titania.

  “You sound like a jealous woman,” Mavek corrected, speaking the words directly against the curve of her ear so she shivered all over.

  Except, he wasn’t supposed to know that. Her eyes went wide as she looked at him, feeling the blush creep past the fever to stain her cheeks redder.

  “It’s the wine,” she croaked, and it sounded like a lie even to her own ears.

  “That’s making you so forward?” he lifted a dark brow. “True. But I don’t mind.”

  “You don’t?” Maybe she was hallucinating after all. “But I’m your Heartless.”

  His smile died immediately. “Yes, you are.”

  He carried her the rest of the way in silence, bringing her through the now empty parlor and up the winding staircase to his bedroom. Inside, he tucked her beneath his red sheets and disappeared into another room.

  She must have closed her eyes and fallen asleep, because when she opened them he was propped against the headboard and she was curled in his lap once again. He tipped a glass against her bottom lip and she felt the cool water fill her mouth. She sucked the whole glass down greedily, sighing when some of the burn was alleviated.

  Arden wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. He said something to her, but she couldn’t distinguish the words and her response was an unintelligible mumble.

  When his body shifted around hers, she gave in to her exhaustion and felt the darkness embrace her.

  Arden woke in her bed.

  There was nothing odd about it, at first. Then the happenings of last night flooded back and she gasped, sitting up so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash. Sunlight spilled in from her left, alighting millions of dust motes. The quiet was eerie.

  She’d tossed the covers off and was moving toward the door when the sound of approaching footsteps halted her. Mavek. She sighed, not sure what she’d been afraid of only seconds ago. She dropped down to the edge of the bed, closing her eyes, keeping them shut even when she heard him come closer.

  “I made you coffee,” Mavek told her. He lifted one of her hands from her thigh and settled the steaming mug against her palm.

  It was hot so she was forced to look and adjust her grip. She sipped at it as he settled next to her, their shoulders brushing. Last night was a blur, but she could still recall the kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wanting to cut to the chase and be done with it. “For…” She tugged at her shirt collar to indicate what she was talking about and then paused. “Did I change my clothes?”

  The last thing she remembered, she was passing out on his bed lyi
ng beside him, still wearing the dress. Now, she was in a gray sweatshirt two sizes too big and—

  With a yelp she jumped up, moving to the three-drawer dresser in the far corner to yank out a pair of shorts. She slipped them on, sending him a glare in the process. After a quick check to make sure she was at least still wearing her bra, Arden crossed her arms, remaining on that side of the room.

  “Oh, come on,” Mavek drawled, leaning back so that he was propped up on his elbows on the bed, “I didn’t peek at anything important. I just figured that dress couldn’t be very comfortable, that’s all.”

  “So I kiss you one time and you think it’s cool to undress me?” Noticing the discarded dress hanging over the side of her desk chair, Arden was forced to admit he was probably right. The scratchy, stiff material of the poufy skirt wasn’t very comfortable to sleep in.

  “I was taking care of you,” he corrected, sitting up to rest his arms against his knees. “Now that you’re sober enough to answer this, who gave you the bakkheia wine?”

  “Brix,” she hissed, picturing the blond he’d been last night. “That asshole.”

  “Since when did you associate with Lutins?” he asked, clearly displeased. “They’re capricious, Arden.”

  “Like those damn Sour Patch Kids commercials.” He didn’t laugh and she didn’t expect him to. Running both hands through her hair she sighed. “Well, now I know. Too bad he can appear as anyone at any given time.”

  “The next thing he does will probably be something nice or helpful,” Mavek said absently. “Though I intend to speak with him about staying away from you before he gets another chance. Last night could have gone very badly if I hadn’t shown up at the right moment. The Erlking had just let you go to one of his darker subjects.”

  “The Erlking?”

  “The two of you were dancing,” he informed. “You don’t remember?”

  She shook her head, stomach clenching with dread. The Erlking freaked her out on a good day; knowing that she’d allowed him to get close and couldn’t even recall doing it terrified her.