Agent of the Fae (Dark Fae FBI Book 4)

by Alex Rivers

  Unable to sleep, I’d stripped down to my tiny, lacy underwear. After that, Roan had ended up pretty much wrapped around me in his sleep.

  In fact, right now, his entire body was pressed against mine, his arms encircling me. Despite his steely muscle, his skin felt velvety soft against mine.

  After he’d curled around me, I had slept for a few hours. My dreams had been purely X-rated—Roan and me shagging up against a tree, me chaining him to a bed and having my way with him, Roan’s mouth between my legs, my fingers gripping his hair. I’d wake up to find myself wrapped around him, my hips moving against him rather embarrassingly. But no kisses, of course. Those were off limits. All he wanted was eternal commitment.

  But how could I promise my life to a man who might attempt to slaughter the human race if he learned too many of my thoughts? Just because I wanted to throw him to the ground and have my way with him didn’t mean I could sacrifice humanity.

  And it wasn’t just the risk to humans that stopped me from committing, either. It was the fear of being bound forever to the terrifying, bloody, and cruel world of the fae. Did I really want to live here, or in Trinovantum?

  When I’d come to London, I’d had my life together—a forensic psychologist for the FBI, a successful twenty-six-year-old with friends who liked to hang out in gastro-pubs on the weekends and read books. Since meeting Roan, I’d been imprisoned, tortured. I’d nearly lost my mind more than once, hearing voices from a rock and from the darkness. I’d killed my own father. Like Alvin had said, there’s some mad shit going on.

  That was the down side.

  On the other hand, when I thought of Roan carefully making me the cider, or felt his protective arms around me, it was hard to think of it all rationally.

  I pressed my backside into Roan, and he stirred in his sleep. Given what I could feel pressing against me as he slowly awoke, he was struggling with this situation as much as I was.

  I rolled over to look at him. A cold November breeze filtered into the room, rushing over my skin. Roan’s eyes opened slowly, the irises shifting to a deep amber. He was in his unveiled state—not fully in control yet. His gaze raked down my body, and a hint of a growl rumbled from his throat as he lingered over my peaked breasts in the lace bra. Under his gaze, my skin grew hot.

  Okay. So the underwear was working.

  “This outfit suits you.” His deep voice skimmed over my body like a caress, touching me in places that ached for him.

  I reached for his face, cupping it in my hand.

  “If you agree to be mine, I will insist that you wear something like this in our bedroom at all times.” His word and touch were gentle, but his gaze was ferocious. He was using all his restraint to stay in control of himself. The hint of horns shimmered above his head, his hair a pale blond. This was the real Roan. The unveiled Roan. And he was beautiful.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said, too turned on now to remember how words worked.

  He leaned in, brushing a kiss over my throat—the very place where he’d claimed me. My breath began to race out of control, my body heating. At the feel of his lips on my neck, his tongue moving against my skin, a wave of pleasure washed over me.

  “Roan,” I whispered.

  “You want this.” His words hummed against my neck.

  “Yes.”

  “You want to be mine?” His sensual voice seemed to lick at my skin, and his hands gripped my hips.

  I groaned slightly, unwilling to give him my commitment. Instead, I reached around his back to pull him closer, my hands skimming over his tattoos.

  He stopped me, gently pulling my arms from his neck. Then, he gently pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. He wanted to call the shots here. Typical unveiled fae.

  With his other hand, he pulled off the sheets, giving himself a full view of my body. Desire burned in his eyes, and my blood heated my veins at the purely carnal look he was giving me, gazing at my body through my sheer bra and panties. I wanted to touch him now, to pull him on top of me, but he’d trapped my hands above my head so he could stay in control.

  Languidly, he moved closer, brushing his lips over my throat. The feel of his mouth on me sent heat racing through my body, pooling between my legs. I arched my back.

  Slowly—painfully so—his lips moved lower, brushing over the curve of my breasts. He pulled down the strap of my bra, and the cool air whispered over my skin. When his tongue swirled over my nipple, I gasped, my legs dropping open, a swelling ache building between them. My skin felt damp with heat. Is this actually going to happen? Will he give in?

  He still kept my wrists pinned, but as if responding to my body’s demands, his free hand moved slowly down to my hips. His touch seared my skin, feather-light and scalding at the same time, and my hips began to move in anticipation.

  “Roan,” I breathed, ready to beg for him.

  He slid his fingers into the side of my panties, yanking them down and exposing me completely. Fire raced through my body at the look he was giving me. Desperate for him, I moved my hips toward his hand…

  He pulled himself away with a snarl. Abruptly, he turned away from me, veiling himself again. His horns, the pale hair—they disappeared in the blink of an eye as he gained control of himself.

  I groaned in frustration, my body still exposed, but untouched.

  Sitting at the edge of the bed, he ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I woke up unveiled. It was that outfit you wore to bed. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  An unfulfilled need seared my body. I threw a pillow at him. “This is really cruel, you know that?”

  “Sorry,” he repeated.

  I tried to slow my breathing, to cool my body. Jellied eels, a bucket of mayonnaise on a street corner, drinking glass that smell like old sponges…

  From the bed, I stared at his back, at the network of scars that bit into his skin where iron nails had poisoned him.

  I wanted to kiss each one of his scars, but I knew he’d pull away from me.

  I sat up in the freezing room, pulling up my bra, then my panties. I hugged myself, shivering now that Roan had pulled his warmth away. Still, I needed the windows open, or I felt like I’d been buried alive.

  With one last pained look back at me, Roan crossed to the door. “I’m going to the training room. I have some things to work out.”

  “The sun isn’t even up yet. No breakfast or anything?” But he left without another word.

  It took me at least fifteen minutes to come to my senses again. When I’d sufficiently cooled down, I stood and rifled through the drawers until I found a cozy sweater and a pair of comfortable jeans. On my way to the training room, I stopped by the kitchen, picking up a thermos of coffee and a buttery roll. The kitchen clock told me it was just after four in the morning.

  I found Roan standing in the middle of the training room, one of the wooden training dummies by his side. He still hadn’t put on a shirt, and already a sheen of sweat glistened on his tattooed body. My pulse raced again at the sight of him.

  Roan gripped his golden sword. In a flash of metal, he began striking the dummy, his blade moving too fast to track, carving scars in the dummy’s wooden surface.

  I cleared my throat. “What did Pinocchio do to deserve this?”

  Roan swiveled to face me, his expression unreadable. “Pinocchio?”

  I nodded at the dummy. “Your training partner.”

  “You named the training dummy?”

  “No, I just… He was a puppet made of wood, and he wanted… Never mind.”

  Roan arched an eyebrow. “I hope it won’t grieve you to learn that I killed some of his friends.” He pointed his sword at a pile of what I had mistaken for kindling. “I didn’t know their names.”

  I crossed my arms. “I’m not sure how we both ended up awake at this hour. It’s still hours from dawn.”

  “I couldn’t get back to sleep. Not with those tiny scraps of fabric you chose to wear to bed.”

  I shrugged. “You don’t need
to sleep in the same bed as me, you know.”

  “I don’t like feeling your fear and not being able to do anything.” He lowered his eyes. “Healing a body for the fae is easy. Healing the mind… sometimes I wonder if it’s harder for us than for humans.”

  I wanted to close the distance between us, and I stepped closer to him. “I think it’s hard for everyone. I’ll be fine, in time. And I survived the reflection attack. Siofra won’t manage to surprise me like that again.”

  He nodded. “Good.” He sheathed his sword. “There’s something else that disturbed my sleep.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Grendel,” Roan spat the name. “The new head of the Court of Terror. He still refuses to meet with us. Apparently he’s irked about the way our last encounter ended.”

  “Oh. That.” I’d shoved an iron bullet into his throat and kicked him in the balls. In fact, I’d almost killed him. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that he was miffed about it. I was beginning to realize I’d left a trail of destruction across much of the fae realm, even without the dread powers. “Maybe we can get him another pelvic bone to fondle. Keep him happy.”

  “I doubt that would pacify him. And without the help of Grendel and the Court of Terror, we don’t stand a chance,” he continued. “Like it or not, almost a third of the Unseelie army has ties to that court. We need Grendel’s cooperation, even if he is a vile creature.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Vile is being kind.”

  He held my gaze, his green eyes intense. “Oh, believe me, I fully intend to kill him as soon as we’ve dealt with the Seelie threat. We’ll replace him with a less repugnant terror fae. But for now, we have to deal with him.”

  “Any idea where he is now?”

  “He is living in his ruined club. Under heavy guard.”

  I shuddered at the memory of him—his slimy skin, the way he treated the women around him like property. “Can’t we just force our way in?”

  “It would be a bloodbath, and we need an alliance, not a massacre. And we’re running out of time.” His voice sounded strained, tired. “Just before I went to bed, I received a message from Cingeto's Fortress. The Seelie army surrounding the fortress is growing every day. They’ve already launched three attacks on the walls. They’ve been killing the Unseelie. We need a unified alliance now, so we can send reinforcements from all the factions.”

  I thought of Grendel, sitting in his razed VIP lounge, sulking childishly, as Unseelie lives were being lost. “I can jump through a reflection into Grendel’s lair.”

  “He’d slay you on the spot,” Roan said dryly. “You humiliated him.”

  “The Cassandra he met then was a simple pixie,” I said. “I’m the Mistress of Dread.”

  “Mistress of Dread or not, a sword through your neck would kill you.”

  “I think my presence will terrify them. They wouldn’t dare get close.”

  He looked at me worriedly. “I don’t want you there without me, but the guards would never let me through.”

  I frowned, running my fingers over my lower lip as I thought. “It would be better if I went alone anyway. The Mistress of Dread doesn’t need protection, right? I need to put on a convincing show. What if you waited just outside?”

  “Can you keep a connection open through the reflections? So I can watch?”

  I nodded. “And I can jump out to you within a single heartbeat if things get dicey.”

  “What’s your plan, exactly?”

  “I’ve got to find a way to offer him something he can’t refuse.”

  A trickle of sweat ran down Roan’s golden cheek. “And what do you think he wants?”

  I cringed as I mentally profiled him. A man like Grendel would want one thing and one thing only: dominance over the woman who’d humiliated him. He’d want to destroy me completely, to humiliate me like I’d humiliated him, then probably kill me in the most brutal way possible.

  Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t share my full profile of Grendel with him. “I took something from him. He’ll want something from us. Something that feels like a sacrifice, that will allow him to feel like he’s conquered us in some way.” Something to substitute a conquest over my body.

  Roan closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. “Everything rests on this alliance.”

  “I know.”

  “Offer him this mansion.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? You can’t possibly give this place to Grendel.”

  “A London mansion in exchange for the safety of Trinovantum. It’s a worthwhile deal.”

  Swallowing, I nodded. “If we kill Grendel after we defeat the Seelie, can you get the mansion back?”

  “It will be passed along to the next Weala Broc leader.” His gaze met mine, his eyes shining with concern. “It’s not important. I want you to stay focused. Once you walk in there, your feelings will be unmasked. The only way this can work is if Grendel believes you do not fear him. Can you really hide your fear that well?”

  “What fear?” I smiled, faking a courage I didn’t feel. “There’ll be nothing to hide.”

  Chapter 11

  The morning sun rose over Southwark, casting a ruddy glow over the scorched brick walls of Grendel’s club. The Seelie hadn’t completely destroyed it, but it was a near thing.

  Roan stood by my side, his jaw clenched tight. He raised a hand mirror. “Okay. Is he there?”

  I let my mind bond with the first reflection—something on the floor of a dimly-lit room. I scanned through one image after another—visions of destruction, of blood-streaked walls and blackened hallways. At last, the reflection showed me Grendel’s face, contorted with anger. A pale light flickered over his greenish-gray skin, slick with thick water.

  My stomach clenched at the sight of him. “He’s there.”

  “Good.” He softly moved a strand of hair from my eyes. “Remember. The second you feel anything even slightly amiss, you jump back. I’ll be here waiting with a mirror.”

  I nodded, even though it wasn’t that simple. If I ran away, it would destroy the illusion that I feared no one. It would give our whole game away, and Grendel would never ally with us. Fleeing would be a last resort, an option I’d only take if I thought I was about to die. I had to get this right.

  I looked up at the reddening sky, at the pink streaking the horizon. I took some courage from the warm light, and breathed in deeply. I couldn’t rush this, and I definitely couldn’t show any fear. Even a flicker of nerves could give the game away.

  Closing my eyes, I relaxed my toes, my feet, my ankles, my calves. Slowly, breathing deeply, I imagined every muscle in my body limp, soothed. My breath grew heavier, until I felt almost drowsy.

  I opened my eyes again, scanning my body from top to bottom and back up again. Then I glanced at Roan and smiled lazily as I saw him staring at me, clearly impressed. I wondered if he could feel the calmness emanating from me. All I felt was a slight desire to lie down.

  Sleepily, I glanced at the mirror in Roan’s hand, letting myself bond with the reflection. Then, I searched for Grendel again, thinking of his hunched, frog-like body. He still sat there in the flickering candlelight, glaring into the gloom. I let myself fall into the reflection, feeling its icy embrace over my skin.

  When I plunged through to the other side, I found myself in Grendel’s sooty club—or what was left of it, anyway. The jewels had been plundered from the walls, only gaping holes left behind. The furniture lay in ruins, broken chairs scattered on the floor, the carpet torn. A few guards stood around the room, swords at their hips.

  In a far corner of the room, Grendel sat in the only remaining booth, his arm draped around a slim girl dressed in a shimmering sequin dress. Her skin was bruised in several places, and I instantly guessed that Grendel was using her mostly as a punching bag to vent his frustration over the loss of his club. Grendel, for his part, merely stared straight ahead, his lip curled with anger.

  I felt a flicker of anger, and let it stay. Anger was fine.

&
nbsp; His head turned to stare at me, dark eyes wide in surprise.

  I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. Casual. “Hello Grendel. It’s been a long time.”

  His guards began to move towards me.

  I held up my hands. “Stay right where you are.”

  Some of the guards hesitated, fear in their eyes. They were the ones who knew who I was. The others simply looked perplexed.

  Let me clear up any confusion. “I’m Cassandra Weala Broc, Mistress of Dread.” I let the words fill me, believing in them. How could these men even contemplate attacking me—a goddess of terror? The fucking balls on these guys. My anger grew. “I’m here to talk, and I really hope I don’t have to strike you with dread.”

  Grendel stretched, his face betraying nothing after his initial surprise. He yawned, blinking at me lazily. “Last time we met, you were just Cassandra Liddell, the little pixie.”

  “Last time we met, you were a club owner. Now you own a bunch of burnt rocks. Things change.”

  “They certainly do. Well, I’m not in a talking mood.” He flicked his hands at me. “So run along now, back to your master, and tell him that your attempts at scaring me failed.”

  “I’m not here to scare you.”

  “No? What then?”

  “I’m here to offer you an alliance.”

  Grendel let out a small bark of laughter. “Why would I want that?”

  “We plan to attack the Seelie. You know, the people who destroyed everything you have?”

  “Mmm. I’ll need more than just an alliance if you want me to help you.”

  “And what would that be, exactly?”

  Grendel flicked his long tongue, licking his lips. “What I wanted last time we met. To open your thighs wide, pixie.” He fondled the pelvic bone tied to his throat, one of his fingers sliding in and out of it suggestively. I had stolen that bone from him once, but he had apparently gotten it back.

  Anger was good. Revulsion was fine too. But the way to really get at Grendel was to impugn his masculinity. “So you’re content to remain king of this burnt-out shit-hole, I take it. You’re going to let the Seelie screw you, and you’re going to like it. You’re their bitch now, aren’t you?”