Covert Fae: A Demons of Fire and Night Novel (A Spy Among the Fallen)

by C. N. Crawford

  Kratos pushed his wineglass away. “Enough of this bleak discussion.” He stood, holding out his hand to me. “Before I leave for my hunt, I have something I want to show you.”

  With my hand in his, he led me into the hall. Kratos was the one powerful being here who still trusted me, and I had to do everything I could to keep him intrigued with me. As we walked, I let my arm brush against him, and his gaze slowly slid to mine. The expression on his face was purely carnal. This angel wanted to fall bad.

  He led me through the torchlit corridor until we arrived at a set of oak doors inset into the wall. He pulled open a door, revealing an expansive room with a wooden floor, a mirrored wall—and a bar across the mirror.

  A strange flicker warmed my chest. He’d built a dance studio in his castle for me.

  Was he actually, genuinely, being kind to me? How did I reconcile this with the fact that he was a murderous maniac?

  Maybe it was the fact that Eimmal was coming up the next day, the fae spring fever beginning to heat my blood, but I suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to dance. My body seemed to strain against the confines of my clothes. What sort of wild temptations would torment Kratos if he watched me engage in my favorite activity, my body glowing with pleasure?

  I smiled at him. “Thank you, Kratos.”

  Maybe I had just thought of a good way to keep him distracted from his apocalyptic hobbies.

  I ran my fingertips up his arm, watching his body tense. “Soon, I want you to watch me dance.”

  In the candlelight, I threaded a needle with white string. I’d be keeping tonight’s activities under wraps.

  Already, I’d blown out the candles in the bedroom and snuffed out the fire, which of course had scared the shit out of me. I’d placed Fake Ruby in the bedclothes to confuse the sentinels.

  Then I’d hidden myself in the toilet alcove where the sentinels couldn’t see me, and I’d begun working on my costume in the candlelight. For tonight’s performance, I had no sequins or proper wigs. Just a sewing kit I’d gotten from Susie, and the makeup that I’d brought with me in my quiver.

  I curled another loop of white fabric, then pinned it down to the silky base. Carefully, I began sewing the loop shut. When I finished, I’d have something approximating a wig—except one made from fabric. It was the best I could do.

  When I used to dance on the stage, I’d been in control. Some people called burlesque stripping—and yes, taking your clothes off was part of the act. But stripping usually meant something else—a business transaction where the dancer has to please individual customers.

  When I put on a burlesque show, it was like any other performance—I controlled the production, the stage. The audience was full of both men and women, and I didn’t get too close to any of them. Didn’t matter if any particular individual was happy with the act. As long as people kept buying tickets night after night, I got paid.

  I kind of thought of it as art. I chose the music, the costumes, the dance routine. It might be sexy, it might be funny, it might be aggressive—or it could be downright disturbing. I had an act about a repressed Victorian woman with hysteria, one about President Lincoln, and one about Harry Potter. I even had a Mario Kart act.

  A few times in Massachusetts, I’d performed a routine about the Salem witch trials: sexy Cotton Mather dancing to a Tom Waits song—Dead and Lovely.

  For this private show? I was still sewing my costume exactly the way I wanted it, even if I only had sliced-up dresses to work with. So even though I was about to perform for one man, alone in his room—a man who’d said he wanted to control something beautiful—I still felt like I was running the show.

  On Eimmal eve, I actually needed to dance, and a powerful desire to move my body pulsed through me.

  Already, my skin was heating with excitement, my heart racing faster. In just twelve hours, I’d devolve into a completely wild beast. Tonight, hopefully, I could keep things under control in Adonis’s room.

  On top of the urge to dance, I was kind of looking forward to the fact that Adonis was getting my Cotton Mather routine. You want to watch me dance? How sexy do you find a Puritan judge?

  Tonight, I didn’t have any pasties or tassels, and I didn’t want them. I wore a long black gown, with a shorter black dress under it. Even though my neckline plunged, I’d fashioned a white Puritan collar to go around the top. And under both of those, I wore the poison-tipped knife strapped to my thigh.

  I sewed another loop shut, straining my eyes in the dim candlelight. The only other thing I’d need tonight would be music. I hadn’t told Susie why I needed it, but from Johnny’s collection, she’d rummaged up a cassette player. Tonight, I’d be dancing to Tears for Fear’s Mad World.

  With the last curling white loop sewn, I pulled the wig on over my red hair, tucking in the crimson strands. I smiled at myself in the reflection. Despite the weirdness of the evening, for the first time in forever, I actually wanted to dance.

  I grabbed my cassette player and my witch-trial victim off the floor—a broom, with a severe Puritan face taped to the front. I called my drawing Goody Brown—a generic victim of Cotton Mather.

  I grinned. “All right, Goody Brown. Ye olde show must go on.”

  As I crossed into the darkened bedroom, a wave of fear slammed into me, and I hurried through it. Still afraid of the stupid dark.

  With one eye on the windows for sentinels, I tucked myself into the corner by the door, my heart beating hard. I focused on the light I could see—the moonlight washing over the room, gleaming off candlesticks, highlighting the floor. I steadied my breathing.

  After a few painful minutes, the sentinel passed. With a racing pulse, I pulled open the door to the hallway.

  Moving swiftly, I skulked through the drafty hallway, taking care to hide from the sentinels’ prying eyes. As I moved, anticipation lit up my body.

  Tonight, on Eimmal eve, the air vibrated with an ancient magic. Maybe it was the power of the Old Gods, skimming and humming over my skin. Already, I was feeling the call to reconnect with the earth, to lose myself in the soil and moss, the hellebore and blackthorn. Eimmal was a day to binge on euphoria.

  As I stalked through the corridor, my silk gown skimmed luxuriously against my legs. I hummed the Tears for Fears song to myself, my heart pounding rhythmically to the tune.

  Given the excitement in my blood tonight, I definitely had to lock myself away tomorrow, or I’d end up running through the woods covered in nothing but hemlock boughs and a smile.

  By the time I reached Adonis’s room in the Tower of Ash, I could practically smell the vernal power curling through the air.

  I knocked on Adonis’s door.

  He opened it a moment later. Even without his wings in appearance, the full force of his heartbreaking beauty hit me like a hurricane wind. Candlelight danced over the striking planes of his face, gilding him. It had to be Eimmal heightening his allure, bringing out the silver flecks in his stormy eyes.

  Right?

  This close to Adonis, the magic in the air felt different—deadly and seductive at the same time.

  Something like amusement twinkled in his deep eyes. “Beautiful wig,” he purred, then glanced at my broom Puritan. “You didn’t mention you’d be bringing a friend.”

  “You want to let me in before the sentinels see me?”

  He opened the door wider. “Right, I nearly forgot. You’re a prisoner here.”

  Shadows swarmed in the air around him, sending a lick of fear up my spine. In his presence, some of that vernal giddiness subsided, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. When I stepped into the room, the door seemed to close by itself behind me.

  I glanced nervously at the windows, the curtains drawn back.

  “The sentinels will see me in here,” I pointed out.

  “I can’t imagine why they’d be interested.”

  I glared at him. “Kratos told me not to come here. I wasn’t supposed to leave my tower.” And Kratos is the only person here who tr
usts and protects me.

  His eyes blazed. “Don’t worry, little succubus. I told you I’d keep you safe.”

  Like hell he would.

  Chapter 30

  Adonis sat on his bed, leaning back on his hands. “Well? I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me. It’s not every day I have a succubus dressed as a Puritan in my room. And I’d love to see what you have planned for that broom.”

  I glared at him. “I’m dressed as Cotton Mather, to be specific. One of the figures in the witch trials.”

  He nodded. “I’m familiar with his death work.”

  “Tell me, Adonis. Are you particularly interested in burlesque, or do you just like exerting control over people?”

  “Mostly the latter, and it’s particularly delicious to exert control over a succubus. Plus, it will annoy Kratos.” A tinge of venom underscored his voice.

  Now that was an interesting admission. “Why would you want to annoy Kratos?”

  “Come now, Ruby. When you’ve lived for as long as we have, you find ways to amuse yourself.”

  He wasn’t telling me the whole story, but I couldn’t trust a thing he said anyway.

  Best get this night over with.

  I leaned down, pressing play on the cassette player. As soon as the drum machine started, the rhythmic spirit of Eimmal pulsed through my body.

  I grabbed my broom Puritan off the floor, launching into the dance. The music filled me, rumbling through my blood. Soon every step was falling into the right place, every movement imbued with a perfect surety as I twirled over the flagstones.

  As my body twisted and writhed to the music, I lost myself in the role of Cotton Mather and his forbidden love—a sinful prisoner in one of his cells. Cotton, you see, was tormented by lust for his witch captive, even though the fusty old pervert wouldn’t admit it to himself.

  Unacknowledged desires happened to be my favorite theme.

  As I stroked the broom, my only regret was that I hadn’t adopted the role of the prisoner. Call me crazy, but I kind of related to her a lot right now.

  In fact, I didn’t want to be Cotton, didn’t want the wig on anymore. I pulled it off, shaking out my red hair. The collar came off next.

  To the pulsing rhythms, I threw myself into the dance, filled with a sense of pure, powerful freedom I hadn’t felt in years. I was fully fae again, a creature of the soil and moss, honeysuckles and apples, and the darker things too: an arrow through the air, teeth piercing flesh, a necklace made of bones. A heart pounding like a war drum.

  A thrill rippled through me as I stretched my leg high into the air, giving a full view of upper thigh—the one without a knife strapped to it.

  And as Adonis watched, the ancient power of the fae lit up my body. This is what it meant to be fae—to be me.

  Humans could be stupid about the human body. They wanted women covered up; they valued virginity. I had no idea why. Their lives were so short, and they had no idea how to enjoy them.

  As I danced, my movements felt precise, every footfall landing in the right place, every sinuous twist of my arms exactly the way nature intended it. Slowly, I ran my fingertips down my ribcage, my hips swaying languidly to the music.

  Time for the long dress to come off.

  I shouldn’t have looked at him as I peeled off my long gown, but his gaze drew mine like a magnet.

  He was a monster, and I should have hated him looking at me. And yet, for some reason, I didn’t mind his eyes on me. It was weird, but in his beautiful features, I found an expression I’d never seen on him before. It wasn’t his usual wry amusement, wasn’t boredom or disdain. Instead, I saw intense curiosity.

  If I wasn’t mistaken, I saw lust there, too. In fact, he was gripping the edge of his bed with an alarming ferocity, and his inky magic coiled sensually around his body.

  See, Adonis? You’re not the only pretty thing around.

  What was he thinking about right now? As I twisted my hips, I had a strong suspicion that he was envisioning exactly what I looked like under the black fabric that hugged my body.

  Poison hemlock, I reminded myself. I definitely had to stay away from him tomorrow, or I’d end up dead.

  Under the powerful thrum of his magic whispering over my skin, I’d become Angela Death again.

  At last, the song ended with me lying on the cold flagstones. And yet, I hadn’t wanted it to end. I wanted to keep dancing into spring, until Kratos found my sister and brought her back to me, until we could run off into the woods together.

  My heart hammered hard against my ribs. I blinked to clear my thoughts, then sat up.

  From his spot on the bed, Adonis stared down at me.

  I curled my knees into my chest. “I danced for you. Am I done now? Have I met the demands of your bargain?”

  “Quite beautifully.”

  A thin sheen of sweat covered my body as I looked up at him. I’m not sure what compelled me to ask the question, but the next words out of my mouth were, “What happens if you fall?”

  “I don’t think you’d like the results,” he said. “Not only would I become a demon, but the Heavenly Host would come to Earth to finish our jobs for us.”

  Oh. Shit. So luring the angels to their fall wasn’t an option?

  Adonis leaned back on his bed. “Lucky for me, my curse hasn’t taken effect yet. Kratos has spent his whole life under its control. I do believe the sight of you undressed would drive him completely mad, but you’d be stupid to tempt him unless you want to destroy every living creature on Earth.”

  I swallowed hard. It was a good thing I was learning about this now—assuming Adonis was telling the truth.

  “If Kratos fell, the entire Earth would be destroyed?” I repeated.

  “So you’d best keep your dresses on around him.”

  A cold breeze shivered over my skin, bringing with it the first glimmers of spring. My skin heated, and a thrill bloomed in my chest, making it hard for me to focus. I needed to keep my senses clear tonight.

  I rose from the floor and crossed to his windows, the magic of the dance still soaring through my blood. I pulled the curtains shut. Since Adonis seemed willing to talk right now, I had before me an opportunity to learn more about these angels.

  Leaning against the windows, I crossed my arms. “And you can’t fall at all until, what… some curse takes effect?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’d be like after a fall. You seem evil enough already.”

  His body had gone eerily, inhumanly still. He reminded me of a beautiful statue of Lucifer I once saw.

  “What have you seen me do that’s so evil?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth to list his litany of offenses—but I didn’t have much. Mostly, it was the fact that he terrified everyone, and what he’d done to the redcaps. Though maybe they deserved it. “It’s not what I’ve seen you do. I’ve heard that you spread death across the world, that you’re an angel of the apocalypse. And that you hate the fae in particular.” The last words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  He stood, lazily prowling closer to me. As he closed in on me, the scent of myrrh coiled around me, raising goosebumps on my skin.

  “Why would you care if I hate the fae?”

  I shrugged. “Just curious about whatever trauma you might have. When you’re as old as we are, you have to find some way to amuse yourself. Surely you know that.”

  A smile ghosted over his beautiful lips for just a moment before the air thinned around us. When he spoke again, his voice was a low rumble. “Because, my little succubus, they can’t control themselves. They’re beasts with divine powers. Abominations.”

  My breath was coming faster. “Control is a big thing for you, isn’t it?”

  His eyes burned like stars. “Of myself, yes. Without it, the world falls apart.”

  Okay, that sounded… ominous.

  My breath hitched in my throat. “Why?”

  “Tell me who those humans were. The
ones that I let live.”

  I made my expression blank. “I have no idea.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Is that any way to repay my generosity? I saved the lives of your friends, and you lie to me.” He shrugged, an elegant gesture. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to tell me one true thing about yourself.”

  He could, actually. “I’m looking forward to when Kratos brings my sister back. She was taken by the dragons.”

  He snorted. “And you actually think he’d do that?”

  Fear gripped my heart. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because your sister’s absence means you need him. You’re dependent on him, and he likes that. He doesn’t know you’re pretending to be something you’re not.”

  A heavy silence hung in the air.

  As he took another step closer, he narrowed his eyes, studying me closely. “Did you know that I’m something of an expert in pain?”

  I swallowed hard. “I had that impression.”

  “I can see it in your eyes. And when you danced, too. The way you moved your arms—it was graceful and sensual, but they didn’t move quite the same.”

  He reached for one of my wrists, gently lifting my sleeve. His touch sent a thrilling shiver through my body. It took me a moment to realize what he was exposing—the deep, purple bruise on the inside of my arm. The one I’d gotten from shooting arrows.

  Oops.

  He pinned me with his gaze. Then, shockingly gently, he raised my wrist to his lips. He pressed his warm, sensual mouth to my bruise. Heat raced through my body as Adonis’s silky magic whispered around me, and his kiss pulled the pain from my arm, his tongue flicking against my skin.

  His lips moved against my exposed forearm, and a shock of euphoria raced through my body, tempting me into the wild abandon of spring. Ecstasy washed over me. I tilted back my head as he worked his tongue over my skin. Liquid heat pooled in my core, and suddenly I felt too hot, too constrained by my dress, the desperation to pull off all my clothes nearly overtaking me.

  Slowly, he pulled away from me, silver light sparking his eyes as he appraised my healed arm.