The Fall Of The King (Lightness Saga Book 3)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  “What the hell was that?” I folded my arms, leaning my weight to one leg.

  A muscle popped in his back, but otherwise he didn’t respond.

  “Ignoring me?”

  “Go away,” he growled, punctuating the tension expanding in the room.

  “No.”

  “I am not kidding, Ms. Cathbad.” His fingers dug into the table. “Walk. Away. Now.”

  “I’m quite aware you have no sense of humor,” I quipped. “But I’m not moving.”

  A noise vibrated from him, pricking the hairs on the back of my neck. My nails dug into my flesh.

  “Growl, bite, tear the room to shreds. I don’t care. But you are going to deal with me.”

  “DAMMIT, DRUID!” He swung around with a roar, shaking the chandelier above the table. His olive skin bleached to a translucent color, displaying the veins and bones under his skin. His eyes plunged into blackness. “You want to die?” His body curled forward, his steps eating up the room as he stalked toward me.

  My rational side was telling me to run, to hide in the corner and hope the end came fast. My heels only dug farther into the wood floor, my legs locking as he barreled up to me.

  “Do you want to die, Druid?” He sneered, his cusped teeth growing out resembling daggers.

  I stared up at him, defying his threatening appearance, keeping my expression neutral. “Try it. We’ll see how far you get.”

  His nostrils flared. “Do not challenge me. Not much is keeping you alive as it is.”

  “Bring it, tough guy. Let’s see what you got.” I was sure not too many people, if any, had ever challenged him and been able to match his magic. I was not his inferior.

  I stepped closer, my folded arms shoving into his chest.

  “You’re angry at me because I saw there is an actual person under this façade. Is that it?”

  His lips thinned, straining against his teeth.

  “You want to hurt me because I saw you vulnerable for once?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Who did you think I was? Who have you been seeing?” I pushed into him. “Something is torturing you.”

  “I said shut up.”

  “I don’t take orders. Especially from you.”

  “I. Am. A. Fucking. King.” His chest bumped into me, almost knocking me over.

  “And. I. Am. A. Fucking. Druid.” I rammed my hands into his chest, shoving him back with extra force. He hit the table, knocking over two chairs.

  His black pupils became bottomless, a spark crackling along the rims. It was a heartbeat, a tick of the clock, when we both reacted.

  Magic spilled into the room, as though a hole in the dam finally splintered, gushing in torrential waves. The force of my words and his power ran into each other like two rugby players crashing against each other, shoving us both back off our feet.

  My spine throbbed as I slammed into the wall and landed hard on my arse on the wood floor. I was trained to respond instantly, giving the fae no time to attack or muzzle me. My spell shot across to where Lars was getting on his feet. He sailed back again; the table and his body crashed into the wall with a splintering snap.

  My mouth opened to speak when I felt an invisible hand lock around my throat, stealing my words. Pressure entered my head, forcing a sharp cry from me. My knees buckled, and I dropped to the ground.

  Panic was a hard thing to control. It was instinctual. It had taken many years to teach myself to overcome it. I dug deep inside, the black magic jumping up and down like an eager puppy wanting to be taken off its leash.

  Words grew sharp and strong in my head, magic flowing up. I was the only one I knew who could use black magic without actually speaking. My years living with Olwyn, being outcast and alone, had prepared me for the war I knew was ahead. I was brutal in my own lessons, knowing my challengers would come at me with the force of the earth.

  I would come back with the power of my people.

  With a snap, the hold on my throat and mind broke away, my lungs drawing in gulps of air. Before I could do anything, energy rammed into me, kicking me like a football into the kitchen, cupboards stopping my momentum, my face whacking painfully into the wood. Blood spurted from my nose, my bottom lip slicing against the hinge.

  “You had enough, Druid?” The demon prowled over to me. His cheekbones poked out of his skin, his body filled the room, taking over every molecule. Healing gashes and dried blood covered his face.

  I wiped the fresh blood from my lip, smiling as I rose to my feet. “Not even close.” Damn, I couldn’t deny it; this made me feel alive. Who needed sex? This had me burning with life and euphoria.

  Lars’s mouth twisted into what could be called a grin. “Good.”

  Our magic met in the middle again, butting heads similar to rams, tossing us like rag dolls. Furniture fractured as we pitched each other over the room. We were just batting each other around, testing each other’s power.

  My bruised body shook with adrenaline, firing up dormant nerves. My clothes chafed against my skin, which wanted to be free.

  The demon crackled with energy. This was the true man. He played a refined king but was nothing more than a monster underneath. He forced it to hide in seclusion.

  “You like this.” I gasped for air, brushing back the loose hair coming from my ponytail. Most of it was stuck to the drying blood. “Look at you. You can’t deny it. You get off on me kicking your ass.”

  “Kicking my ass?” he rumbled, the vibration shooting between my legs. He tipped his weight from leg to leg, ready to strike.

  “Yeah. When was the last time someone really equaled you? Actually challenged the demon? Stretched those muscles?”

  “You think you are challenging me?” he quipped but couldn’t hide his chest going up and down in heavy drawls.

  “I know I am.” My eyebrows curved up.

  “You haven’t even gotten close to the demon.” The side of his lip went up in a smug grin, moving closer to me.

  I darted to the side, expecting his magic to head for where I was standing. Instead he leaped for me, his arms encircling me, his body crashing into mine, taking me backward over the sofa. The couch rolled with us. My back and head slapped the floor as I hit, knocking the air out of my lungs. His body fell on top of mine, engulfing me.

  We both lay there, our breaths the only sounds in the silence. He peered down at me, my reflection visible in his black pupils. Seeing myself so clearly in his eyes rendered me still. My cheeks were flushed, blood smeared on my lips and temple. I looked hungry. Wanting. Turned on.

  His mouth was so close; every part of him strained against me, stealing more air from my lungs. His body reacted to violence as mine did. From my hip to my belly button, every inch of him pressed into me. My lord, he was huge. It would be so easy. Meaningless. Two people letting off steam with extremely good hate-sex.

  My lashes pressed together, the idea flaming my body painfully. No. No. Unequivocally no.

  I lifted my lids to see him watching me; he seemed even closer than he had before. His dick twitched against me, and I couldn’t stop the sharp inhale, my hips tilting up, rubbing against him.

  Every muscle in Lars’s body tightened as a low rumble erupted from him.

  There was no denying I wanted this. I needed it, especially after the years of stress being leader of the DLR put on my shoulders. It would just be sex. Release. Nothing more than a fuck.

  My hips moved against him again, eliciting a deeper growl from him. He pushed himself firmer into me, moving with me, the fabric creating more friction. Lust rolled through me with such force I gasped, my brain shutting down. Whatever the consequences, I didn’t care. Just feeling him now, I knew it would be well worth it.

  His hand moved up my side, pushing up my top. When his skin touched mine, I had to bite my lip. With a tug, he had my jumper off, tossed in the corner. We stared at each other. His skin and teeth were back to normal, but his eyes still were black, reminding me I was about to have sex with a fae.
>
  Not just any fae. The Unseelie Demon King.

  I ignored every warning telling me to stop when his hands skated up my stomach, his fingers shoving up my bra, cupping my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples.

  Oh. Holy. Shite.

  My head cranked back, shoving my chest up higher into his hands. Desire flushed my skin, and I opened my legs wider for him to settle in.

  I hated him.

  He hated me.

  It didn’t seem to matter.

  He moved down, his mouth covering one of my breasts with a moist heat. His tongue flicked my nipple.

  Fire.

  I had to be on fire.

  My body had never responded like this. With one guy I had been keen for, we were so sweaty and horny after a boxing class we barely made it to the locker rooms. But this was as though he actually was driving electricity straight into my nerves. Was it because he was fae? Or was it just Lars?

  I blocked the last thought from reaching the analytical side of my brain. Not wanting to think, I shoved his chest until he was on his back, and I straddled him. Tugging his shirt over his head, I leaned down, brushing my lips against his. His hands slithered up, cupping my face.

  “No,” he whispered. He didn’t need to say more. I knew he meant no kissing. Too personal. This was anything but that. I nodded and wiggled down, my hands working the buttons of his jeans. Foreplay was too intimate, a time to learn someone’s body and responses. This was about fucking.

  He swore under his breath, the need rising between us, our movements growing more frantic. He started wiggling out of his jeans as I tugged mine down.

  “Hello?” A cheery man’s voice emerged from downstairs. “Knock, knock.”

  “Shite!” I scrambled away from Lars, trying to get my bra back in place as feet began to pound up the stairs.

  “Iona, told me to stop by with a few item—” A gray-haired, round-faced man peeked up from the top of the stairs, his sentence dying on his lips. His wide eyes took us in.

  “Jacob.” Lars was up on his feet, buttoning up his jeans, his eyes back to green.

  “Oh, my liege, I am so sorry,” Jacob bumbled, already turning down the stairs.

  “It’s all right, Jacob. Please, we both know Iona would be more than upset with you if you didn’t leave that.” Lars nodded toward the box in his arms.

  “Oh, right.” He turned back around, looking distressed. “Right.” He placed the box at the foot of the stairs. “I’ll just get out of your way.”

  Jacob’s face turned a deep shade of crimson right in front of us. I quickly snatched up my jumper, tugging it fast over my head.

  “Thank you, Jacob. And tell Iona we appreciate her kindness.”

  “Aye, aye.” Jacob waved, taking a few steps down.

  “And Jacob?” He stopped and looked back at Lars. “I will pay for the damage. Order whatever you want and send the bill to my secretary.”

  Jacob’s mouth opened as though he wanted to refute the offer.

  “No debate,” Lars said firmly. “And I apologize for the mess and inconvenience.”

  A smile grew on Jacob’s face. “Och, aye, I remember what it was to be young and not able to get enough of a lass.” His eyes wandered the battered room. “Well, maybe not quite like this.”

  “Thank you, Jacob.” It was Lars’s way of ending a conversation.

  Jacob gave a quick nod and wink toward me. “Glad to see you so happy, Majesty,” he said and disappeared down the steps.

  When the door shut, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The mood of the room had shifted in only a few minutes. Lust and need turned cold. Anger, shame, and regret took residence inside me. Lars’s aura kicked off remorse and disgust similar to a footie player. Keeping my eyes on my boots, I placed my hands on my hips. Awkward didn’t even cover it. The clock in the kitchen ticked away at the unbearable silence.

  “I need a fucking drink,” Lars grumbled, seizing his shirt and putting it back on.

  I let out a strained laugh. Drink? Feck. I needed to immerse myself in a barrel of whisky, until all memories and feelings of him against my body washed away.

  Lars grabbed keys and started to head down the stairs. “You coming, Druid?” he asked from halfway down the steps.

  I blinked in surprise. “Yeah.” I nodded, following his trail. I was surprised he wanted to be anywhere near me, but hell if I was going to turn down a drink.

  Bruised, crusted in blood, and looking as if we both had the shite kicked out of us in an alley, we headed to the local pub.

  The only way to deal with what just happened?

  Get shite-arse drunk.

  ~~

  “Another?” The bartender lifted an eyebrow at us. I could feel my body teetering side to side on the barstool, trying to adjust every time the room moved on me.

  “Yesss.” Lars nodded buoyantly, looking like one of those bobblehead dolls. He had put on a newsboy cap and kept his head low as we sat at the bar, our backs to the room. The fae-owned pub was not something you’d find easily. The small, seedy space was warm and perfect on this drizzly, cold night. A burning fire across the room provided some of its only light. Most patrons had looked curiously at us when we first came in, probably feeling the magic coming off us, especially Lars, but they soon returned to their drinks. If we didn’t mess with them, they would certainly stay away from us.

  The fae bartender, James, looked back and forth between us. He got cuter and cuter with each drink. He was young with dimples and bright blue eyes. He didn’t seem to recognize Lars, but I could tell by his body language and attention on us he grasped the concentrated power coming off him and understood Lars was important and powerful. “You sure?”

  I wanted to say no. Not to me but to Lars. The King was not handling the magic-induced whisky as well as I was. Humans would be on their backs with only one or two. Most fae weren’t far behind.

  I think we were on our fifth... sixth… Hell, I’d lost count. Being Irish and living with Olwyn, I had obtained the skill to outdrink most people. Except her. Even at her advanced age, she could outlast me. We’d spent many winter nights deep in the drink. My tolerance grew so high I would make wagers at the pubs. Time and time again, some brawny man could not fathom a girl, notably one of my size, matching his intake. I frequently walked away with a lot of cash.

  My lids fluttered at the memory of the woman who raised me, my heart aching at her memory. Her loss still hadn’t sunk in yet. I was truly an orphan now.

  The barkeep refilled my glass, the warm, brown, spicy liquor perfuming my nose. “To Olwyn.” I raised my glass in the air, my throat tight. “Death leaves a heartache no one can heal; love leaves a memory no one can steal.”

  I felt Lars’s eyes on me as I cheered to the air and downed the glass of whisky.

  Lars’s glass went up in the air. I turned to look at him. His eyes were glossed with drink, unable to truly focus on me. “Aspron páto,” he slurred. I understood enough to recognize it as a Greek toast. He tipped back his glass, and some dribbled down his chin.

  “Holy shite, you’re trolleyed,” I snorted, a smile breaking over my face. Could I videotape this? The Unseelie King was pissed off his arse in front of me.

  His head bobbed, a grin edging at his mouth, making him look like a naughty boy. “I don’t get to do this. Ever.”

  “What, get shite-faced?”

  Lars turned his head, his gaze landing on my face. “Be myself.”

  For some reason, a pitying sadness nipped at me. Most people would kill to be in his shoes, but it also came with a price. He could never relax or be off. The world, especially now, needed a formidable leader. Strong, in control, and capable. He couldn’t show anything less. Fae were too scared and unsure. They needed someone to carry them through this hard time, making them feel safe. He could never doubt or stumble. Be himself. If he even knew who that was anymore.

  For once when I looked at him, I saw no barriers and walls. He was just a man. Real and re
laxed.

  His long lashes were half-mast, his cheeks rosy, and a grin hinted on his perfect mouth. Damn, he was gorgeous. His appearance and power were daunting and impressive, but all I could think of was the feel of his skin on mine, his mouth. The need to have him kiss me.

  I could fight the asshole King. But this man? The one slurring his words, laughing, and smiling? I turned away, my tongue grazing my bottom lip.

  “What?” He swiveled his chair to me, leaning in. “What is that look?”

  “What look?” I cleared my throat, tipping my empty glass at the bartender.

  “That.” He leaned in closer, and his hand grabbed the bar to keep him from falling all the way over, his presence running over me like a lorry. He reached up touching the creases between my eyebrows. “What went through your head right now?”

  “Nothing.” I pulled away from his touch and tapped my cup on the polished wood to get James’s attention. I could flirt with the barkeep, use him. He was cute and safe. Fae, yes, but he felt almost human compared to the man next to me.

  “Liar.” Lars leaned in closer, his breath brushing my cheek.

  My chest clenched at his nearness. The liquor lowered my defenses. Whatever we started earlier was slinking back around us, but this time it didn’t stem from violence. It was pure lust, and I had to defuse it.

  “I was just thinking what an annoying wanker you are. Poor rich boy who can’t find a room in his mansion where he can just be himself.”

  Lars’s lips thinned, his brows wrinkling. His head bobbed as he scooted back away from me, letting me breathe. “You think money and being raised as a royal prince made my life easy?”

  “Easier than most.”

  “True.” He swirled the tiny bit left in his cup. “It also rendered it more difficult. Nothing was simple about my life. Ever. I was not given unconditional love or respect from my parents. It never came free. I had to earn it. And the bar was ever changing, rising, never achievable.”

  His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed heavily. “I do not feel badly for myself. I never went without food or clothing. I slept in a comfy bed, not an attic with leaks.” He tilted his head to me. I sucked in a gulp of air, his words nudging past my walls. He took a sip. “Like you, Ms. Cathbad, I find out all about my enemy as well.”