Crowned by Fire

by Nenia Campbell

  “No?” Finn said, and while his words were pleasant they fairly dripped ice. Yes, you know. Don't you?

  He raised his voice to be better heard over the murmurs.

  “Tell me, would you rather follow a deviant or a traitor? Because it seems as if you might have to make that choice before the night is over.”

  “Phineas,” said his father, “this sounds like treason.”

  “On that, we agree.”

  And then he wove a spell of wind, and magic pulsed through the currents, seeking out the traces of spoken words floating listlessly through the air.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, as the completed spell burned silver-bright, “I give you—my father's politics.”

  There was a loud boom:

  “You said her family was forced to relocate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then they won't be able to seek revenge when she's dead.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know the type. She's far too uppity. Tensions with the savages are high. A single spark would incite them to rebellion like the bloodthirsty beasts they are—and that creature over there burns like a spark. I want her extinguished.”

  “I was under the impression that this ceremony was created to acknowledge her—”

  “Yes, yes. It wasn't my idea, although I admit that it may placate the savages, seeing one of their kind thrown a bone and then patted on the head. Cheyenne and Raj certainly seem quite pleased. They don't have to know how the story ends. WHEN THE CEREMONY IS OVER, TAKE THE BEAST SOMEWHERE QUIET AND KILL HER.”

  The last two words echoed in the silent hall, like a chant: “…kill her, kill her, kill her…”

  Eyes turned to Raj and Cheyenne. Cheyenne had her hand over her mouth. Raj was blazing, as if he were a step away from Changing over and raking out the king's eyes with his talons. “If what you have said is true,” said Raj, “you have another War on your hands, Your Highness.”

  Royce was livid. “Guards,” he said. “ Bring me my son and those three traitors so that I may deal with them now.”

  It said a lot that even his own guards hesitated.

  Finn cast another spell, and all the lights in the room exploded at once. While the other witches conjured up glowing balls of light to see by, the shape-shifters would have no problem seeing in the dark.

  Catherine was already headed for the exit. His hand was still wrapped around her wrist, so he followed her. If she noticed the contact she didn't seem to care.

  Not yet, anyway. But she soon would.

  Just when she had thought that it could not possibly get any worse, the witch had branded her as a traitor in front of their king—and then, to top it off, he started another war, as well.

  Catherine had heard terrible rumors about the things that had transpired during the last War. This world was not yet ready for the cruelties of a second one. But are we ever?

  She wasn't sure she wanted to live in a society that was constantly prepped for war.

  “Grab what you need from the room,” said the witch. “We're leaving, and we aren't coming back.”

  There was no time to argue, and she didn't want to. Not while he looked like that. Magic was coming off his skin, making it glow; it made him look grim, dangerous, alien.

  The witch gave her the key. She rushed up the stairs and stepped into the beautiful hotel room. The smell of ozone hung heavily in the air, but she wasn't sure whether the scent was Finn's or another witch's. It was too caustic to identify. It could have been either, both.

  Graymalkin had said that this hotel was owned by the Council. She wouldn't put it past them to phone ahead and have the place checked out. Better get moving. She doubted the humans would try to forestall her, but people had done stupider things.

  She grabbed her messenger bag. It smelled different, which led her to believe that it had already been searched. Someone had beat her here after all.

  “Shifter? Is that you?” Graymalkin crept out from under the bed. “Two humans came in here earlier.”

  “Yeah. Finn pissed off the Council and might have started another war.” At the look on his familiar's face, she said, “You didn't know?”

  “I knew there were problems, but none that severe.” She blinked her yellowish eyes. “He's shielding his thoughts.”

  Of course he is. Catherine shook her head and grabbed Graymalkin, and left the room as quickly as she could.

  “Run into any trouble?” the witch asked.

  “No.”

  Graymalkin squeezed herself out from under Catherine's arm. “What's this I hear about you starting a war?”

  The witch ignored her. “Good. The humans are still burying their heads in the sand.”

  “Graymalkin said there were two of them in the room.”

  “And they clearly found nothing of interest.” The witch pulled a bottle of champagne from the fridge of the limo. “So that buys us some time.”

  Catherine flinched at the pop of the cork; it sounded too loud in the silence. “You were on my case about alcohol all evening. Now you're going to booze it up while we're on the run for our lives?”

  He took a deep drink and passed the bottle to her.

  “There is a time and a place for everything, shifter mine. This is the time, and while it is not necessarily my place of choice it will do as good as any for now.”

  Catherine hesitated. Then she downed a long gulp as well. He had a point. Anyway, with her metabolic rate, the alcohol would scarcely have time to tingle her central nervous system before passing through.

  “This changes everything.”

  “So does everything else, shifter mine.” He sounded and looked very tired, all of a sudden. “We're all changing.”

  The limousine took them across the city to a roadside motel that reeked of rot. Finn leaned back against the door. The shifter watched him unbutton his gloves. He tugged them off impatiently and tossed them on the floor, since there was nowhere else to toss them, not even a nightstand.

  The alcohol, meanwhile, had taken its effect on the shape-shifter. She was angry, and repetitive in her anger.

  “You've completely fucked us over,” she kept saying. “You realize that, right? We're fucked.”

  She kicked off her heels, stumbled, and then leaned against the wall for support as she wrenched the heel off in spite of the alcohol burning its way through her blood. Were all shifters so angry when drunk?

  “Did you hear me?”

  “All it needed was a single spark,” he said. “It simply happened sooner rather than later.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed out angrily. “You're not making any sense.”

  “Sense walked out and left a long time ago,” Finn said, striding past her. The gold braid weaving its way down from his shoulder kept causing his uniform to droop to one side. He unbuttoned it from his jacket and balled up the cord, letting it fall in front of the AC alongside the gloves.

  The shape-shifter sniffed the comforter in disgust—“I bet it hasn't even been washed”—before collapsing on it in frustration.

  He tried not to look but the strapless gown had slipped down dangerously low on her breasts, just a few scant centimeters above her nipples. The emeralds in her borrowed necklace caught the light of the lamp, infusing her skin with color as she stretched.

  She looked up before he could avert his gaze, and he saw the exact moment on her face when realized that the dark crescents of her aureolae were showing.

  “You're insane, aren't you? Always looking at me like that. Like you think you can own me. Even if it means that we both die.”

  “Your point?”

  The shifter got to her feet unsteadily, and stalked towards him. Her narrowed eyes reminded him of a lioness tracking her prey. Finn's cock hardened when she dragged her sharp nails down his cheek.

  “You'll do anything to get what you want.” Her fingers dipped below his high, stiff collar. “No matter who gets hurt. No matter whose life you ruin. No matter if you star
t another war.”

  He hissed in pain when she drew blood. She must have experienced the retaliatory pain of the blood bond, but if she did, she gave no indication.

  “What are you doing, you savage?”

  “Giving you what you want.”

  Finn hooked his fingers through the necklace. “That isn't what I want.”

  His mouth brushed hers with every word, and she glared up at him through those slitted eyes.

  “Isn't it?”

  “No.”

  And then they were kissing, biting. She dug her nails into his neck, and he twisted his fingers in her short dark hair to pull her head to one side. There was nowhere for him to retreat; his back was against the wall and the shifter was pressed against his front.

  He bit her throat, and then her lower lip, tugging until she winced in pain, before returning to her neck again. Soft, supple skin; it healed almost as soon as it began to bruise. Not enough time to leave his mark.

  She broke free and shoved him back against the wall, baring her teeth as she breathed in his scent like an animal. He should have been repulsed. He was still holding onto her hair, which looked like tufts of fur where it spiked through his fingers. She growled, and squeezed his cock.

  Hard.

  Finn mashed his mouth against hers to muffle his snarl, bruising her lips. He tried to use her hair as a lead to pull her back but she refused to be led and her hair was too short; the strands slipped right through his fingers.

  Their feet tangled, and her body slid against his. When she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, he automatically grabbed her ass, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. The bodice of her gown had slipped down and her skin was even hotter without the extra layer of fabric to act as insulation between them.

  She bit his ear, and he stumbled.

  They hit the floor, and he was already breathing so hard that it took him a moment to realize he was winded. Her nipples had been lightly chafed by the rough fabric of his uniform when her bare breasts had rubbed up against his chest. He dragged her wrists over her head, forcing her spine into an arch that pushed out her breasts. He brushed his lips over her nipple before closing his teeth over the taut skin, teasing her with his tongue as he gradually increased the pressure of his bite.

  When she yipped in pain he stopped and switched to her other breast. “Enough,” she growled. She rolled over, so she was on top of him, sliding her fingers into the gap of his coat for purchase. Then she tore, and the fabric snapped against his skin, one of the buttons catching on his erect nipple through his undershirt. Because of the blood bond, she winced, and he was glad. Glad to see her suffer. Glad to see her emote.

  “You ruined my uniform.”

  “See if I fucking care,” she said.

  She reached for his wrists and he closed his fingers over hers, and then, with a quick series of moments, she was under him again. “I'll make you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “My pleasure.” Their mouths met, and he closed his fingers around her neck, squeezing lightly as he began drawing up the hem of her skirt. She whimpered into his mouth and when he pulled back, he saw one of the pins—the ruby—had worked free of its bob and stabbed her just below her left nipple.

  Finn took that as a cue to remove his torn jacket. He yanked his undershirt over his head, and made a low sound of pleasure when he felt the softness of her skin against his chest. The last time they had been like this, she had still been wearing a thin top. Now, Finn could feel all the heat and friction, the miniscule tearing sensations when the points of contact between their bodies shifted. As he slipped his tongue into her mouth he ground his hips against hers, and thought about how good it would feel with nothing left.

  No barriers. No rules. Nothing but skin on skin.

  Her skirt was pooled around her waist like a dark sea. He ripped her underwear, which was more difficult than he'd expected. It took him three tries before he had her thighs bare. Her eyes had turned faintly mocking now, as though she found his strength lacking, and his temper flared.

  “Something amuses you?”

  “You're no alpha,” she said, inciting him to pin her wrists to the floor with another ward. With a flick of his fingers, and a single spell, the moisture on her skin turned to whorls of ice. He tapped her nipple and it grew fuzzy with hoarfrost: the center of a flower of ice in the frozen motif.

  She shivered violently from cold and something else—maybe fear. She had told him before not to use magic to seduce her. Finn unzipped his pants without taking his eyes off hers. Maybe that was the only way to dominate her properly, without silver.

  “Is that right?” he said, freeing his cock from his fly. She looked away. Submissive. Perfect.

  He slid a condom out of his wallet, and stretched it over the head, rolling it over the shaft. She was a sight, shimmering with ice, her hair a dark halo against the off-white floor of the cheap motel. He stroked himself, although it was unnecessary, more a formality than anything else; he was already hard.

  As he slid inside her—and she was just as hot as he imagined—he sealed his mouth over her in another possessive, lingering kiss. The taste of blood filled his mouth and he was not sure whose it was, but it was sweet, and he pushed into her, forcing her to accommodate his size and length—

  And then, he met with resistance.

  Finn pushed again, eliciting another yip, and she bit him. Finn hissed, glaring down at her. She was panting, with quick, hitched gasps. The ice on her breasts had melted and her eyes were squeezed shut. Finn, also breathing hard, realized what the problem was. He was surprised. She had never acted like a virgin; she had not blushed or shied away. He had always assumed that shape-shifters tumbled in the woods like animals just as soon as they were able.

  Apparently, he had been wrong.

  He shifted his hips so only the tip of him was still inside, moving her damp hair out of her eyes. Then he pushed into her, with more force this time, and she made a sound that didn't even sound human. When he looked at her face, her expression was completely alien to him; he had never seen its like on the face of a human or a witch, and had no words to describe it.

  Finn lowered his head to kiss her, to fill her mouth as he filled her cunt. He braced his weight to one arm, using the other to reach down between them and massaged her clit until his thrusts became more fluid. She was tight; he filled her snugly, without any room to spare, and every time she clenched around him he felt it in his lower belly as his spine and brain stem buzzed with pleasure. Her face still bore that odd expression but she hadn't told him to stop, so he didn't. Wasn't sure he could have if she had.

  The shifter didn't speak, until the very end. “What was that?” he demanded.

  “I said, bite me,” and she turned her head, baring her throat.

  His cock twitched inside her as he sank his teeth into her skin. “Yes,” she said, “just like that, harder,” so he nipped and sucked until a bruise blossomed on her swarthy skin.

  She mewled, arching against him, and her fingers dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood. He felt her climax and he came shortly afterward, releasing her from the ward. That was a mistake, as it turned out, because the moment her wrists were free, she scratched him, swiping from his shoulders all the way down to his nipples.

  “There,” she said. “Now you're mine.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom before he could come up with a response.

  Chapter Nine

  Catherine didn't wake up so much as plunge back into reality with all the force of a sinking stone. Her entire body ached, the way it did when she Changed into several beasts over the course of a single day; her tongue was as dry as cotton; and for some reason, her spine felt stiff and sore.

  Why am I on the floor?

  There was a blanket wrapped around her. It kept out some of the chill from the otherwise unheated room. She pulled the sheet more tightly around her and rolled over. Better to go back to sleep now and figure this out la
ter—

  But then Catherine found herself facing the witch.

  His shoulders were bare and from the way the sheet draped over his body, she suspected the same held true elsewhere. A peek beneath the sheets confirmed her fears; they were both naked. She had fucked the witch.

  That actually explains a lot.

  Luckily, he hadn't woken yet. She had some time to think about what she was going to do. Catherine sat up, trying to jostle the sheets as little as possible.

  There were scratches on his shoulders—she remembered doing that quite vividly—and what looked like a bite mark. His mouth hadn't escaped the onslaught; his upper and lower lip were both bruised and swollen, patchy with flecks of blood that had been left to dry at the corners.

  A bizarre sort of pride welled up inside her. Predator wanted to lick it off and awaken him with a coppery-tasting kiss. Fuck, she thought, and then winced. That was the issue at hand, wasn't it? Look where it's gotten you.

  Unlike her, he still had most of the injuries he'd gotten from fighting the vampires in the mall. She couldn't figure out why he hadn't healed them all, unless there was some sort of physical cap upon his abilities. It was possible that casting magic exhausted him the way shifting did her.

  A number of these wounds had reopened during sex. She hadn't bothered being gentle, and the knife wounds on his chest and side were open and raw-looking. Catherine's eyes dropped to his hands, one of which was thrown over his chest, and gravitated towards the thick, gnarled scars that ringed the inside of each wrist, just below his palms.

  The Bracelets of Misfortune. Bleeders' marks. He had been left to die and survived, against all odds. She couldn't figure out if this was divine intervention or a clever curse.

  Misfortune is something we both have in spades.

  The sheets rustled as the witch stirred, shifting his limbs. The slow movement of his arms made it seem as though he were trying to swim his way back to consciousness.

  He's waking up. The thought was chased by a sense of panic; she still had no idea how to approach this situation, and could feel herself slipping from offense to defense.